Chapter Thirteen
January 10, 1970
For once, Face hadn't heard the guards coming. Sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall, he flinched awake as, almost seventy-two hours after Callaghan had been taken, the cell door swung open again. Heart racing, Face maneuvered into a crouch, knowing full well that the new position would alter nothing of what was to come.
At least BA was at the ready. Standing, facing the door with fists balled, the big guy looked as if he'd been tracking the movements outside their cell for a while. Hell, a simple heads up would've been nice, but there was no use complaining, not now anyway.
Two guards peeked into the room, not yet daring to enter. From further down the hall, a sudden flurry of angry shouts in Vietnamese almost hid away the soft scraping sound of a body sliding over the dirt floor.
BA took a step forward, jaw tight, a white-hot hate burning in his gaze. Orders wouldn't stop him this time. Christ almighty, even the presence of AK-47's aimed at his head didn't seem to faze the sergeant. How in the hell could Face even begin to fool himself into believing he could control the man?
Drawing in a shaky breath, Face prepped himself for that moment of blind, raging chaos slinking ever closer, as he waited for the thunder of gunfire to start plowing them down. One more move from BA would do it—he could see it in the guards' twitchy expressions as they peered into the room. At this point it didn't matter how valuable they were to Chow. To these guards, this was a moment of life or death.
Broad shoulders tensing, BA was about to launch his attack. Face had seen the man in action enough to know his tells, but whatever hurt the sergeant had planned to unleash never came. The guards parted, nimble hands working deftly to shift their burden forward, to send the unconscious man hurtling into the cell.
Their aim had been impeccable. The small, limp body almost caught BA by surprise. He barely managed to get his hands up, catching the man but losing his balance in the process. They both toppled downward, the door slamming shut, lock clicking as they fell.
And just like that, Callaghan was back.
Face watched silently for a moment as BA started to gently untangle himself from the medic. It was a slow, painfully awkward process. Finally, as Face was about shift closer to give BA a hand, Callaghan roused from his death-like stupor.
Whatever Face had expected the bout of fists and curses hadn't been it. Hell, with how rough he looked, Face hadn't thought Callaghan was going to have enough strength to even utter a few words let alone put up a fight. BA looked just as surprised as the little man launched himself upward, getting to his feet with unsteady, swayed movements.
Callaghan's face was a battered, puffy mess of flesh, layered in shades of an angry, deep purple. Both eyes were sealed shut, forced into blindness by the massive swelling amassed over the last couple of days. Crusted bands of dried blood layered his skin, broken only by the streaks of dirt and sweat tracked over them. Whatever injuries he'd sustained to his thin body were hidden beneath his loose fitting, black pajama-like garb—which reeked of stale urine.
BA sprang up and grabbed Callaghan by the shoulder, none too gently, offering some much needed support before the man toppled over again. It was a deed which earned him a surprisingly forceful left hook. Fortunately, the punch landed without much damage—probably due to the fact it connected with one solid, tensed bicep. BA didn't even flinch as he blinked down with a scowl at the still struggling medic.
"Piss off..." Callaghan hissed before taking another clumsy swing.
"Don't you be talkin' about piss, fool," BA growled, easily dodging the fist that swung painfully wide. "Ain't Charlie, now lay down and shut up."
For a long moment, Callaghan kept one hand clenched. Then, a weary smirk eased onto his split, chapped lips. "Damn, I should've guessed it was you when it felt like I was punching a sack of hot, rock-hard bullshit."
Face relaxed as he heard the jab. Callaghan was one of the few people who could actually lighten the mood by flinging an insult BA's way. Anyone else would wind up dead or with a nifty new fist imprint.
"I said t' shut up, fool." BA's gruff bedside manner almost made Face miss just how carefully he lowered Cal to the ground. His big hands, surprisingly gentle, supporting Callaghan until he was in the most comfortable position they had to offer—sitting, propped up against the wall.
Callaghan cocked his head to the side, his body drooping a little more as he sucked in a shallow, raspy breath. "BA?"
"It ain't Snow white." BA's low, rumbling voice was gruff, like it always was, which, at least to Face, seemed strangely soothing. It was as if the man was proving everything was going to be alright with the pure fact he wasn't concerned enough to even try his hand at niceties.
Pale, bloody and bruised, the medic held his hint of a smile, but the second he tried to shift positions, the shock-wave of pain from his movements had his swollen expression contorted and twisted in pure agony. He was breathing too fast, panting, gasping for air.
And if that wasn't enough to have Face regretting his role as the sole officer in the cell, that questioning, expectant glance BA gave him did the trick.
They were his men at this point and that weighed heavier than OCS had ever prepared him for. If it weren't for the fact that Ray was leaving, Hannibal seemed to trust him, and the Army frowned heavily upon the idea, he'd be turning those stripes back over. Either way, it didn't help him now. Lieutenant Templeton Peck had no CO to turn his bars over to and no one to piss off that would demote him—beat the ever living hell out of him, yes—demote him so his men weren't looking at him for direction, no.
"What's the damage, Cal?" Face tried to take BA's approach, keeping his tone neutral. This was business as usual. Yeah, right. All the act did was made him feel like a bona fide asshole for being so nonchalant while watching someone writhing in pain.
Callaghan was shaking by the time he managed to answer. "Better question would be what's not damaged."
Again, BA shot Face a look, one that was just as concerned as it was questioning. The sergeant was deferring to him. It was that look that Face had come to detest. He was sure that it was the same one he, himself, gave to Hannibal whenever the shit hit the fan.
"That's hardly an answer Mr. Give-it-to-me-straight." Using the medic's own words against him, Face stared at the man, unsure how eager he really was to find out what the true damage was. They'd only be able to do so much for him here.
Callaghan tipped his head, his puffy-lidded, sightless gaze directed downward, a new, tight smile edging onto his face. "It was just a good old fashioned beating that lasted a couple of days. Bruises and all—nothing more to tell."
Face wasn't about to buy that. He moved closer to Cal, making sure the man could hear him approaching. "Ok, let's take a look then."
"Shit..." Whether Callaghan meant to vocalize the curse, Face wasn't sure, but he sure as hell didn't look too pleased about the whole exam aspect of the conversation. "I don't think anything is broke," he added, smile fading. "Just stiff and bruised…and some swelling..." He was fumbling on his words, likely searching for an out.
"I'm sure..." Face didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in that.
Broken bones were only a part of the problem. Infection, organ damage and any number of other things Callaghan had gone on incessantly about when looking everyone else over came into play.
Carefully, Face reached up, fingertips delicately taking hold of Cal's jaw and turning the man's head so he'd have a better view of the damage.
The jaw itself wasn't broken. Callaghan was far too chatty to be in that kind of pain, but the deep lac on his right cheek looked ugly. Worst yet, it was dirty—just like everything else in this godforsaken place. They wouldn't be able to stitch it, but at least they could clean it. He started the mental list in his head of what needed tending after the initial exam was done.
With all the swelling, it was pointless in trying to pry the eyelids open to get a look at Cal's pupils. Face would just have to assume, from all the visible head trauma, that the medic had suffered a concussion of some sort. That meant any sleep the man could get would have to be interrupted every couple of hours just to be sure he could still be woken up. That was going to be a new slice of hell for them all.
Face sighed and continued to prod every inch of Cal's head. He noted each hissed breath and near silent curse the medic gave, taking care to remember which tender areas seemed to elicit the most reaction. So far, the cheek lac and painfully swollen eyes looked to be the worst of the damage.
Finally satisfied with his survey of Cal's skull, Face eyed the dark, dusty shirt practically hanging off of Cal. Shit, for as much as he wanted this to be over, there was more hidden beneath that fabric, he just knew it. "Time to lose the shirt."
Arms tucked at his sides, defiantly, if not weakly, Cal shrugged. "It's fine. Really…"
"I'll have BA help me if I have to." It wasn't a hollow threat either. Face would use BA in a heartbeat if he needed to, and he could almost guarantee none of them would enjoy that.
Apparently, no more needed to be said. With a sour scowl, Cal obediently raised his arms, letting Face pull the soiled shirt off him.
Thank god Cal couldn't see Face's reaction, because he certainly knew he did a shit-poor job of holding anything back. The only thing he did manage to do was keep quiet. BA, however, did not.
Eyeing the mess of welts, decorated in an array of gruesome colors—red for the freshly acquired ones and hues of purple, yellow and green for those slightly older—BA let out a low, rolling growl.
"That good?" Cal chuckled, but for the first time in a long while, his tone held something other than that indestructible confidence it normally contained. He sounded unsure, and that coupled with the sight of his slim frame with ribs protruding covered in ugly bruises made him look so fragile, so young.
But, it looked worse than it was. True to what Cal had said, Face found no broken bones as he ran his hands over the medic's tender ribs. He took another minute to press and prod the man's gut, to make sure, as best as his limited knowledge would allow, that there was no internal bleeding.
Callaghan remained stoically silent during the latter part of the exam. In fact, Face almost found it unnerving how detached the man seemed to become from the pain. Still, he didn't find any pleasure in the sudden, sharp yelp Cal gave as Face's hands roamed lower, toward the soft patch just below his belly button.
"OK…you're done!" Cal snapped, slapping Face's hand away. "I'm good."
Judging by the fresh sheen of sweat coating Callaghan's upper lip and forehead, he was anything but good. Face shrugged. Maybe it was time for reinforcements.
"BA…" He didn't get any more out though before Cal cut him off.
"No…" Callaghan paused, licking his lips but hardly wetting them. "I-I…it's just…I've just spent about three days tied up, getting randomly kicked in the nuts. I'm just not entirely sure what the damage is...down there..."
Shit.
Face could feel his brow crease as he tried to figure out the most tactful way to deal with this. There was no other medic here to turf this to and somehow he doubted BA would volunteer for this particular inspection duty.
Those bossy nurses with cold hands from MEPS filtered through Face's mind and for once he was grateful for the experience. "No time like the present. Let's have a look."
Callaghan started to stand but about halfway up his knees buckled, his face flushing from red to purple as he tried to catch himself. There was no way he was going to be able to do much of anything without assistance.
"Just..." Cal gasped as Face came to his aid. "...just make sure everything is where is should be..." The man looked like he was about to be sick as his pants slid to the floor and he waited for Face to answer.
"Well, don't think you're going to win any photo contests, but it looks like you're mostly true to what I remember from ninth grade health class." That was if his health class had been taught by demented circus clowns that used props like a deformed jimmy dean sausage and purple grapefruits. But, that wasn't what he'd been asked and by the time Callaghan's eyes were able to open again, things would look better— hopefully.
Callaghan let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God. I gotta admit, I really should've considered how badly the guards hold a grudge. Whatever you do, don't piss on them. They really take it out on your weapon of choice."
Pulling the pants back up had been awkward as Callaghan was quickly losing what little strength he had left. By the time Face, with BA's help, had lowered him back into a seated position, it was more than obvious how much pain Callaghan was in. He'd hid it well when he first came back, but now all illusions were dropped.
"I'd literally push my grandmother down a flight of stairs for a bag of ice." And by all accounts, Cal sounded like he meant it.
"Man," BA huffed, "that ain't right."
Grinning from ear to ear, Cal gave a chuckle. "Why? She wouldn't feel a thing. She's been dead for five years."
The disgusted grumble that sounded from BA was all the reply Callaghan needed to fuel another deep, happy chuckle.
"I don't know 'bout you, fool. Damn sick bastard..." BA sounded as tough as always, but there was a hint of a smile on his face—something Callaghan couldn't see.
Cal almost couldn't contain his lopsided grin any longer. "Hell, I don't care what you say, BA. I'm just gonna bask in this win. I still got both my nuts. I was almost sure I'd lost one somewhere along the way."
Though he didn't want to deny BA and Callaghan any slim joy they'd found, Face couldn't sway too far from the task at hand.
"Hey, fool, that…"
One silent glance up was all Face needed to silence BA and for the big man to understand his unspoken order. With a curt nod, Baracus positioned himself near the door, his large face hulking near the peephole, keeping watch for any approaching guards.
With BA in place, Face slid their jug of clean water out of its hiding place from beneath a pile of rags. If they were caught with the supplies Lin had been sneaking them, they'd be in for a whole new world of hurt. None of them would give the little Vietnamese man up, and the punishment for that alone would be brutal.
"Keep your mouth shut, Cal." It was more of a warning that Face was going to cause him pain than anything else. Callaghan knew the score. In here, silence was their friend.
Callaghan's only response was to clamp his lips together, causing each breath to whistle faintly through his swollen nose.
Face made quick work of cleaning the large lac up as best he could. A few smaller cuts hidden within Cal's scalp got a once over as well.
Capping the jug and sliding it back into its hidden sanctuary, Face gave himself a moment to gather his thoughts before turning back to BA and Cal. "Neither one of you are in any shape for another round of twenty questions. So cool it." Damn. That tone sounded a lot like Hannibal's.
Cal gave a weak nod. He was slumped now, head lolling off to one side as pain and exhaustion seemed to be winning over. BA scowled his acknowledgement of Face's demand, but whether he'd abide by it, well, only time would tell. It didn't matter though. One way or another, Face would make sure neither of them would be taken again before their departure date rolled around. He promised himself that.