Morale
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 25 White Dog Crossing
B. A. approached Murdock with a reddish-brown fig in his hand and stopped in his tracks. Face halted as well, seeing the same thing the black man did.
The pilot had fallen asleep, his head pillowed in the crook of his left arm. The heavy bruising along the right side of his face seemed subdued in the shade of the jungle around them. His left knee was bent and his back rounded slightly. The Sergeant noted with concern that the stiff right knee was swollen to the size of his own muscular upper bicep.
The butterflies continued to fan the humid air with their metallic blue wings.
Fool looks like a li'l kid fallen asleep watchin' for Santa Claus. Almost hate ta wake 'im. He needs sleep in order ta heal up but I gotta make sure Face can help take care of him if I can't.
"That was fast. One minute all of his attention's on those butterflies and the next, he's out of it again," Face murmured behind him as the black man hesitated. "We'd better check to see how his temperature is."
"No need. He's been burnin' up ever since I been carryin' him." B. A.'s expression softened as he watched the pilot frown in his sleep. A shudder passed through the lean body and a small whimper escaped Murdock's lips.
"Whatever he's dreamin' about can't be good," the Sergeant muttered.
He knelt beside the sleeping man and placed a calloused hand on his forehead. Glancing up at the Lieutenant, he shook his head. "Like I said. Burnin' up. Ain' no wonder he fell 'sleep again."
Without opening his eyes, the pilot reached blindly for the hand that touched him. His fingers curled around the palm and pressed the hand to his chest before relaxing once more. He sighed, his features becoming peaceful again.
B. A. peered over at Wilson. The gaunt Navy pilot watched the whole scene through glassy eyes. He tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace of pain.
At least Wilson's able ta walk. But he ain' doin' all that much better 'n the fool.
The Sergeant acknowledged the smile with a quick nod. To the Lieutenant he muttered, "Don't know if we're gonna make it outta here, Faceman. Six escaped POWs leave a big 'nough footprint for someone ta follow. Four plus two injured, feverish an' needin' help ta walk? I don' know, man."
The black Sergeant cast a worried look at the Lieutenant. Face frowned down at him, his expression betraying his mixed emotions.
"What are you suggesting, B. A.? Just what do you think we should do? Leave them?" he hissed with a ferocity the black man rarely saw him exhibit. His hands balled into fists.
Even as he mulled the questions in his mind, B. A. knew a decision would have to be made soon. Groups of two or three at the most stood a much better chance of evading the enemy, especially when they had to do so on the enemy's home turf. As he turned his attention back to Murdock to avoid the rage and anguish he felt coming from Face, he gritted his teeth.
Faceman knows it, too. Just doesn't wanna think 'bout it 'til it comes to that. Hannibal's gonna hafta make the decision. None of the rest of us can.
He wasn't prepared for the iron grip the Lieutenant placed on his shoulder. "Well? What do you think we should do, Sergeant? What's your great idea?"
He's gonna force the issue?
Taking in a breath, B. A. paused to control his temper before speaking. "I got no quarrel with you, man. I was just sayin'. So take yer hand off me."
The two men glared at each other. A soft whine from the sleeping pilot broke their silent argument and turned their focus back to him. His muscles tensed up as though he was readying himself to run away from something.
With a brilliant blue flash, the butterflies wafted into the air as a group and fluttered away into the canopy above. Moments later, Hannibal parted the ferns beside the muddy patch of ground and gave the two men an icy frown.
"Trouble, gentlemen?"
Neither Face nor B. A. answered him. Hannibal's grim expression and abrupt tone told them he had seen something ahead and he did not have time for disagreements.
"None at all, Colonel," Face muttered.
With a slight frown, Hannibal glanced down at the pilot and bent to feel his forehead. He shook his head and straightened.
Man looks tired, like everythin's weighin' on him heavy.
He looked at B. A. and then at each of the others. "Get ready to move out. We have to get to the other side of this stream. We can't move forward."
Heller nodded and bent to help Wilson to his feet. The Navy pilot swayed as he stood. Heller secured the man's arm around his shoulders but Wilson still drooped beside him.
B. A. placed a massive hand on Murdock's shoulder and gently shook it. "Time ta wake up, li'l brother."
Another small whimper escaped from Murdock's lips before the lids opened and he stared up at B. A. squatting beside him.
"Billy?" He brought shaky hands up to his face and rubbed at his clouded brown eyes.
The Sergeant nodded. "Gotta start movin' b'fore the bad guys find us."
"Pa ain' left yet?" The brows furrowed in alarm and Murdock attempted to sit up much too quickly. His face paled and he clutched at B. A.'s upper arms to prevent himself from collapsing. "I can't take no more, Billy. Ya gotta protect me."
B. A. suddenly got an uncomfortable knot in his stomach with what the pilot seemed to be saying. But there was no time to try to figure it out. Hannibal said they had to move.
"My friend Face here's gonna help me get you to your feet. Alright?" The Sergeant swallowed as the injured man nodded, his frightened eyes searching B. A.'s face for reassurance.
Why's the fool gotta look at me like that? I decked him. How can he trust me so much?
"Faceman, you get on his left side an' I'll take his right. Now ya gotta try ta help push yourself up with that left leg of yours, li'l brother. Okay?" B. A. shifted position and waited for the Lieutenant to squat on the other side and gently place Murdock's arm over his shoulders. "Ya ready, Faceman?"
The Lieutenant gave the black man a short quick nod. B. A. positioned Murdock's other arm around his shoulder and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Ya gotta bend that left knee, get some of your weight on it so Faceman ain' deadliftin' ya on that side. Ready, li'l brother?"
"I guess." The pilot's voice wavered.
"On the count of three. One . . . two . . . three!" Face and B. A. rose at the same time. Murdock shakily drew his left leg up under him. As he put weight on the stiff right leg, he arched his back and stifled a groan.
"Hurts bad, Billy. Hurts so bad." B. A. could hear the dammed up pain behind the rasped words and tightly squeezed eyes but he couldn't stop to comfort the pilot.
"I know it does, I know it does. Listen. I'm gonna stand in front of ya. I want ya ta wrap yer arms around my neck just like before an' I'll carry ya. Got that?" The Sergeant bent slightly at the knees and waited for the thin arms to snake over his shoulders before grasping the injured man's legs and standing up.
As soon as B. A. had Murdock in position, Hannibal led the way to the stream. The Sergeant felt the heat of the pilot's body radiate through both of their black shirts.
"Hang back out of sight and let me cross first. Heller, you watch our backs. As soon as I'm on the other side, B. A., you bring Murdock. Then you and Wilson, Face. Then you, Heller." Without another word, the Colonel waded into the water and slowly made his way across. At its deepest the water came to the middle of his thighs.
He scrambled over rocks on the opposite shore and waved for B. A. to come across. The black man watched Hannibal take a hidden position among the ferns to watch for the enemy. Shifting the pilot's weight on his back, he stepped into the current.
"Hold on tight. I don't wanna get wet 'cause ya squirm 'round."
The injured man mumbled something and rested his head on the black man's shoulder. The action reminded B. A. of a time when he gave a weary three-year-old cousin a piggyback ride during a visit to an amusement park.
Some of the rocks were slimy with algae. The Sergeant felt his foot slip twice on the way over but he managed to prevent himself and Murdock from falling into the waters.
Face and Wilson were not so fortunate.
Halfway across, the Navy man's face paled even more than it had been. He blacked out, slipping from the Lieutenant's grasp and into the deepest part of the stream. Completely submerged, the coolness of the water revived him and he emerged from the waters sputtering.
With Face's hands gripping his arm, he struggled to stand. Heller hurried to help, slinging the AK-47 onto his shoulder. Between Face and Heller, they got Wilson to his feet and half-dragged him up into the ferns on the other side of the stream.
As soon as all of them were together again, Hannibal picked his way through the dense foliage to get several yards away from the water and from the view of anyone on the other side.
"That wasn't exactly the smoothest maneuver we ever made."
B. A. glanced at the Colonel, surprised at the comment, wondering if it was intended as a joke. The leader's gaze was on Wilson, still dripping from his unintended bath but fully conscious now.
Then his attention shifted to Murdock. The pilot had fallen asleep again, the flushed unbruised side of his face nestled close to the Sergeant's neck. The man's slow even breathing told B. A. that much. That, and Hannibal's weary expression as he shouldered his AK-47 and turned away, his jaw twitching with emotion.
He's wonderin' if the crazy man's gonna make it outta here. An' if he don't, Colonel's gonna blame himself.
When Hannibal finally spoke, his voice did not reflect any of what B. A. knew he had been feeling. "We'll have to stay hidden if we continue to parallel the stream. An NVA soldier was filling his canteen a short distance ahead of us. Same as before. We send out a scout, the rest follow about a half hour later unless there's trouble. The three of us trade off."
Hannibal scrutinized Wilson before adding, "And each time we wait, I want you and Murdock to rest. We'll get you both back safely but you have to reserve your strength just in case you need it later."
B. A. took encouragement from his CO's words.
Man ain' given up on them. An' what Hannibal says, he tries his best ta deliver.
"No problem there, Colonel," the Navy man grunted. "Not much good t' ya'll right now but get ridda this dysentery 'n' I can fight 'longside the best o' them."
The corners of the Colonel's mouth twitched upward in a sad smile.
"Heller, you're it. Stay out of sight and go about a half hour upstream. If you see anything, report back." Hannibal watched as the man quietly picked his way through the ferns and vines and disappeared from view.
The Colonel turned his attention to Face and his Sergeant. "Help B. A. make Murdock comfortable. Then I want to talk to both of you in private."
The black man let the Lieutenant carefully take the Captain into his arms and lower him to the ground. A grim reflective look on his face, Hannibal waited a short distance from where Wilson rested. Whatever the Colonel had on his mind, B. A. had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.