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 49 White Dog Misses His Plane

B. A. frowned at Murdock's empty bed and quickly glanced around him to see if he could spot him in the ward.

"Damn fool! Told 'im I was gonna be shippin' out today. Now where is he?" he muttered to himself. He held the letter for his mother in Chicago he had written the night before in the pocket of his pants. He figured the pilot would have a letter of his own to send back to the States.

I know he started one ta send ta his girl Cyndy. Maybe he even got 'nother one ready for his Grampa an' Gramma.

He wanted to go with Murdock one last time to the mail room and give him some brotherly advice about staying out of O'Keene's way.

B'cause sometimes Murdock seems like he's a trouble magnet, attractin' guys like O'Keene that wanna do him damage.

But the pilot wasn't in his bed. It looked like he hadn't been there since the nurse put fresh sheets on it that morning.

Cursing again under his breath, he turned to go and came face to face with Nurse Ann.

"He went out for a walk on the beach." She spoke before he could ask, as if she anticipated the question. "That was two hours ago." Her brow puckered as she gazed at him.

"Two hours, huh?" B. A. grunted the reply. He tried to decide whether to go looking for him or not.

In two hours O'Keene could tear the crazy man limb from limb an' leave 'im ta bleed out on the sand.

"He missed his last dose of antibiotics and thorazine. I thought he'd be back by now. He said he would." She sounded worried as she added softly, "He had a very restless night. It was all I could do to settle him down and keep him from screaming."

B. A. could see that the pilot had become one of her favorite patients.

"Knee botherin' him?" He thought back to the encounter with O'Keene. The pilot had been in a lot of pain when he got back to his feet and limped toward the beach.

Wouldn't be able ta defend hisself no matter what he said yesterday.

"Partly. Sometimes he grabbed his knee and let out the most heartbreaking howls of pain. But he was having nightmares, too. I can only imagine what of." She shuddered. "He kept wiping his hands on the bed sheets and muttering names under his breath."

"Let me guess. Face, Heller and Wilson." B. A. heaved out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his hand through his beard.

Ann nodded. "But there were other names. Jackson, Henderson, Collins, Lazzard, Ferret, Billy, Sky . . . It took at least fifteen or more minutes each time to calm him down and another fifteen minutes to get him back to sleep. The doctor finally ordered a strong sedative so the other patients could get their rest."

B. A. shook his head.

Li'l brother can't go on like this.

"It was almost like something happened yesterday to undo some of the physical therapy and emotional healing." Ann stared down at the empty bed.

Yeah, an' most likely that somethin' was a combination of not knowin' what happened ta the Faceman, me leavin' and O'Keene steppin' up the threats.

"He told me to give you this if you should come here and not find him." She stuffed a hand in the pocket of her skirt and took out a folded piece of lined notepad paper.

The Sergeant cast a worried glance at the note in his hand and then at the nurse.

"I didn't read it. Maybe I should have. Is it something bad?" Ann's eyes were on the piece of paper, almost as if she were dreading what the note would say.

B. A. quickly scanned the neat handwriting. Crumpling the paper into a ball, he tossed it on the bed. "I gotta find 'im." The Sergeant put his hand on the nurse's shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Don' worry, li'l momma. I'll find 'im an' bring 'im back. I think I got a pretty good idea where he's gone."

An' if that plane takes off for Da Nang without me on it, it don' matter. Fool needs me.

Ann glanced toward the other ward nurse. "Wait for me. It's the end of my shift anyway so let me tell Lois I'm going with you." Before he could protest, she said, "Two sets of eyes will find him faster. Now wait for me."

He watched her pick her way over to the other nurse and wondered if they weren't already too late.

oooooo

Murdock took a deep breath of the saltwater breeze coming at him from Cam Ranh Bay and dug the tip of his cane into the damp near-white sand on the beach. The letter to Cyndy he had finished the previous night was still in his pocket. He wasn't sure if he would send it as he had written it. Maybe he wouldn't send anything at all.

Better she forgets me, forgets I ever existed.

The evening's nightmares had taken their toll on him. He blindly stared at the waves surging toward the shore and felt them wash over his bare feet. If nothing else, the refreshing water kept him awake enough to think.

B. A. would be gone on that plane to Da Nang by the time he returned to the ward. He planned it that way.

Th' Big Guy ain' one for long drawn out goodbyes. I'm gonna miss 'im . . . I miss Face but I can't do a thin' 'bout that. If he's dead 'r got recaptured, it's mostly my fault. I slowed us down too much. I made Hann'bal d'cide t' split up th' group. Hell, I'm th' one crashed th' chopper in Happy Valley so we got caught t' b'gin with.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a trembling hand.

Ever since he arrived in-country, he had nightmares. They began the first time he flew a dust-off in Nam.

Still green to the job, he looked back to see a leg being sealed with its owner into a pair of mast trousers. The medic thought a surgeon might perform a miracle and reattach it.

After that, his personal rule was to determine the extent of injuries only by what his crew chief told him. Not by looking back.

But the nightmares continued as long as he remained sober enough to have them. Because sometimes he had to help stuff body bags with the remains of those who didn't make it. And he always had to wash the floor of his chopper from the accumulated blood from another med-evac.

One of his nightmares of the previous evening was a slow-motion replay of the crash that had got them captured. His peter pilot Tommy "Stork" Lazzard yelled at him that he was hit. Murdock looked over to see blood begin to seep through the chest area of the Lieutenant's flight suit. He remembered thinking if he just had a cork, he could plug the hole. Instead he white-knuckled the cyclic and collective and felt the blood drain from his face, knowing Lazzard would be dead before he could get back to base.

"Jus' stay with me, Tommy. If I gotta flap my arms t' get us back t' base sooner, I will. Jus' keep talkin' t' me," he pleaded. The Lieutenant was quickly going into shock and Murdock could do nothing but keep the bird on a steady course for the base and medical help.

"You'd . . . look funny . . . " Tommy stuttered out before slumping in his seat.

A second later, the chopper jolted sideways in mid-air. Before Collins his crew chief could tell him what had happened, Murdock knew. The tail rotor had taken a hit. They were going down.

From the rear compartment where Colonel Smith's Special Forces team rested from a mission close to the Laotian border, he heard the burly black Sergeant chanting hysterically, "We gonna crash! We gonna crash!"

His nightmare ended with the chopper's impact in the softly swaying elephant grass that lined Happy Valley.

How long 'til these dreams send me over th' edge into looney-land? Not like I'm not already there, pretendin' my dead baby brother's a dog jus' so's nobody thinks I'm strange for talkin' t' him.

Dead brothers and imaginary dogs were not the only things he heard and saw. Another dream involved the march toward Phu Bai and the knife that seemed to magically appear in his hands moments before Ferret died.

He heard the NVA officer's last breaths. He still saw the man's blood on his hands.

No amount of wiping his hands or scrubbing with soap and water removed it. No amount of whiskey or painkillers was going to erase the memories.

Thinking of that nightmare and all the others that populated his dreams of the previous night made the goose bumps rise all over his body despite the warm sea breeze. If he looked carefully enough, he could almost see the stain of blood on his hands from every death he either caused directly or didn't move quickly enough to prevent.

Grampa 'n' Gramma wouldn' be proud, knowin' th' stuff I did t' stay 'live and even a li'l sane over here. 'N' what 'bout Cyndy? Cyndy don' know what kind o' man this war's made me into. She shouldn' hafta put up with a guy that wakes up with th' nightmares o' all the death he's seen. She shouldn' get married to a murderer. Deserves better 'n that . . . better 'n me.

And now he would be alone with all that. B. A. had become a lifeline, keeping him from remembering, and he was leaving. He felt abandoned and too tired to fight the memories by himself anymore.

He dropped his cane on the beach and waded into the warm crystal clear water. Ankle deep. Knee deep. The water was inviting him to submerge himself in its depths and soak away all the pain.

"Going for a swim?"

He knew who the voice belonged to and stiffened at the menace in the tone.

Why now?

"I see your black watchdog was scheduled on the plane to Da Nang. That plane's about ready to take off. He ain't here to defend you anymore."

Murdock stayed where he was, the water sloshing around his knees, his back turned to O'Keene. With a sinking feeling he realized he had abandoned his cane on the sand, out of reach for him to use as a weapon. For a moment his will to defend himself and survive made him try to think of a way out of the situation.

Then he thought of the nightmares and drew in a deep breath.

"I see Trouble's been followin' me."

Maybe if I prod 'im 'nough he'll take 'way my nightmares f'rever 'n' do it so quick I won' hurt no more.

"That's right. And I brought my friend, Hurt, along with me," the voice sneered.

"Hiya." An equally threatening voice greeted the pilot.

He froze and gulped.

This's gonna be real bad. But maybe they'll get it done faster with two o' them. Jus' a matter o' findin' th' right words.

He kept his tone low and snarled, "What's th' matter? Ya got a special thin' for me, O'Keene? No mama-sans t' keep ya happy? Gotta tell ya, I got a gal back home, smells 'n' looks sweeter 'n either o' you." He wasn't going to turn around, not even to measure the effect his taunt was having. What his words implied wasn't that difficult to figure out.

Come on, ya redneck jarhead. What'd I just say ya were?

A moment later, he heard the approaching roar that told him what he wanted to know.