Warnings/Content: Contains male/male SLASH plus torture and non consensual. Also some full-bodied soldier type language. Adult themes are discussed here and relationships between men. If you don't like the thought of it please do not read. I do not wish to offend.
PART TWO: Fall In
Peck fastidiously smoothed down the crease in his trousers one more time. He still longed for a mirror but the guards had just laughed at his request. Still he could tell by touch that the bruise on his face had faded. He knew he must look good – he always did in his dress uniform and it made him feel so much more comfortable than those stinking fatigues he had been wearing since his arrest.
He let out a long sigh as he glanced around his cell one last time wondering if he would be coming back to it again. His brief seemed to think he would be on his way home by this time tomorrow. He had been shocked at that and last night as he sat on his bed contemplating it, he had realised that he would be sad to leave, after all it wasn't as if he had anything to go home to.
He had spent the whole night thinking over what had happened to him during the past few months and had slowly come to see that his time here had been the best in his life. Sure he hated the weather, the red dust and the noise but there had been so much opportunity for him here. He felt suddenly cheated that he was going to miss out on exploiting the rest; so many scams, so many eager, naïve people to fleece, all in one place. No matter where he ended up he was never going to get this again. And with the recognition came the accompanying thought that he had blown it big time. How the hell could he think himself talented if he couldn't even keep himself clean enough to exploit this treasure?
Court marshalled, dishonourable discharge maybe even time in a military prison in the States that was where he was headed and all because of his lack of control when it really mattered. He thought he had overcome it, found strategies to avoid it, set in motion careful plans to keep it hidden but in the end it had come back to haunt him.
Smith had seen it in him. With a bitter sigh, Peck thought back to the Colonel's words, 'How come you've only managed two missions out?'
How indeed? By lying, cheating, and faking orders, of course. He had even dislocated his own shoulder one day to avoid a mission. He had been in the brig for minor indiscretions more times than he had lifted his gun in anger – hell, he wasn't even sure he remembered how to fire it! All the time telling himself that he was doing the right thing, that he was too intelligent to die in this godforsaken wasteland in a war that he didn't care about, for a country that could go to hell! Who was he trying to kid?
The first time out in the jungle had been a painful revelation of his inadequacy. While Smith was correct in saying that he had faked his training scores, truth was that Peck hadn't been bad in training, he just lacked the motivation to try hard at it. It was a constant theme through his life – just do the bare necessities and if you can cheat so you don't even have to do that, then all the better. But out there, beyond that wire, was so terrifying for Peck that it petrified him, his whole being shut down literally. Control was something he had to have and out there with the Gooks laughing at him, skirting through the jungle, watching him, killing him; he had no control.
He had survived that first time simply by throwing himself into a foxhole and lying there, frozen completely by sheer terror. All thought, all power lost until one of the others had picked him up on the way out and literally thrown him into the Huey. He had sat in the chopper, shivering frenziedly, face flushed, eyes wild and all his squad pointedly ignoring the stink of piss that emanated from him.
God, the memory of it even now sent him rigid with embarrassment.
The second time out had been worse because he had felt it coming; known that the fear was so deep he had no hope of tamping it down enough to be able to function. All the strategies and plans he had conceived the night before to overcome it were useless, trying to breathe steadily, trying to still his trembling heart; but even as he did so finding himself falling to the ground and whimpering softly. Again he had escaped only because some green soldier, unaware of the piece of crap he was risking his life for, had the selfless foresight to help him to the chopper.
It was after that that Peck promised himself he would never go the other side of the wire again. He knew his commanding officer suspected, but by using all of his scamming skill he had managed to keep well enough out of his way to avoid the confrontation that was coming. Still even as he admitted his weakness he had acknowledged that his inability to control himself where it really mattered could only have one final conclusion; eventually he would be caught, his luck would run out. Someone would find the time and the inclination to draw him to account and when that happened he would have no defence. Although the obvious reason for his current predicament was the fight in the bar and the drugs subsequently found on his person, Peck knew his military record was not going to save him now, in fact if anybody dug into it, as Colonel Smith clearly had, they would see that in itself was a ground for further punishment. His forthcoming court marshal was as predictable as clap in a whorehouse. And he was going to miss out on all the lucrative action at the base because of it.
Peck groaned as the door to the cell block opened. Nervously he fidgeted with his tie. Maybe it was for the best he had no mirror, right now he knew he couldn't stomach the sight of the cowardly face that would stare back at him.
The guards entered. "What no wisecracks today?" one asked as he cuffed Peck's hands together. "Would have thought you'd have been full of them."
"That's enough, boys!" Colonel Smith's arrogant voice preceded him into the room. His cigar poked nonchalantly from his mouth as he waved a piece of paper in front of him. "Change of plan," he said eyebrows raised. "Take the kid's cuffs off."
"What?" The guards asked bemused. One took hold of the paper and screwed his eyes to focus on the orders it contained. "Well, I'll be damned!" he muttered.
Smith's smile got wider as he moved through the cell door. "You ready?"
Peck stared at him, mouth wide in shocked surprise. It took long seconds before he managed to recover enough to say "For what?" and even then his voice was high pitched from astonishment.
"Been with General Hollard all morning," Smith beamed. "Took some time but I finally persuaded him that this army had invested too much in you kid, to send you home to a prison. No sir, makes much more sense to keep you here, where I can make you into a real soldier, where you can get that selfish ass of yours doing a bit of good!"
"But the charges?" Peck stuttered.
"Oh, I think we know you were guilty on all counts, Lieutenant. Didn't need to bother wasting the big brass' time on even listening to them."
Peck stared at him incredulously trying to grasp what was being said. "You mean I'm free?" he whispered as the cuffs were removed.
Smith's smile froze. "Oh no, kid," his voice was cold and firm. "You lost your liberty the day you signed on the dotted line and gave your soul to Uncle Sam." His face brightened and he threw a fatherly arm around Peck's shoulders. "But you're staying put, for now."
Peck gulped. He may not have expected this last minute reprieve but he sure as hell could use it to his advantage! "I don't know how to thank you," he grinned disarmingly. "Whatever you want I'll get you. I ……"
Smith raised a hand to silence him. "You seem to be labouring under a misapprehension here, kid. Two things I have to get you to understand." Disentangling himself he turned to face Peck all trace of friendliness gone as he stabbed his finger painfully into the younger man's chest. "First this is not a good thing for you. I'll give you two days, three at the most, before you are begging me to send you home or back to your court marshal at the very least. And second, there is no point in you opening your mouth if all you are going to spout is utter bullshit!"
It was the Colonel's turn to be surprised for although Peck stepped back from the accusing finger, his eyes met Smith's in challenge, he gave his most stunning smile and said, "Guess I'm gonna have to keep quiet for a while then, Sir!"
Recovering Smith matched the smile. "Where I'm taking you Peck, you won't have the energy to even think any wise-ass comments let alone say them! Now General Hollard informs me the camp needs some new latrines dug. Get back into your fatigues and get moving, soldier!"
Peck's smile faded. "Latrines!" he breathed with a gulp. "But I'm an Officer, I don't ….."
Smith shook his head slowly. "Wrong. Hollard has given you to me, Peck, for as long as I want. You're nothing except what I tell you to be. You do whatever I tell you and you do it now!"
Peck hesitated but then with a sigh of acceptance, muttering about slavery being abolished centuries before, he turned towards his neatly folded fatigues on the bed behind him. Smith silently waited until Peck stood before him dressed in his old uniform at attention once more.
The Colonel ran an appraising eye around the lieutenant. "Think it's about time we got you into shape, Lieutenant," he said. "Strikes me sitting on you ass in here not to mention mooning about this base for months has stolen that Special Forces finesse from your physique. Don't worry I'll get you back up to those scores you got in training!"
Peck raised his eyes to see the Colonel's twinkling maliciously at him. "Would it help at this point to inform you I have a weakness in my shoulder, Sir?" he asked. "The MD has signed me off all physical activities!"
"Only to give me more ammo to aim at you, kid!" Smith chuckled. He bent in closer. "And between you and me I think I've already got more than enough."
Peck let out a resigned groan. "Thought so," he muttered.
"Now let's go Lieutenant – latrines wait for no man! About Face! Double time, quick march!" Smith's smile was so broad it covered the whole of his face. He lit his cigar, took a long pull and then laughed. "I love it when a plan comes together!"
"Goddamn it, Murdock, you are going to have to talk to him!" Ray started.
"Me? Why?"
BA snorted impatiently. "Because it's getting out of hand. Can't hardly get to ma bed cos of all the stuff he's scammed!"
Ray nodded in agreement. "I only mentioned yesterday I'd lost a sock by the time I got back from the shower there were twenty new pairs waiting for me!"
Murdock sighed and scratched his head. There were standing under a tarpaulin cover as the monsoon rain beat an annoying tattoo outside. Rivulets of water splashed on to the already saturated ground in front of them, the red dust had long since turned to a sucking, cloying mud. The pilot searched for his cigarettes in his breast pocket and cursed when he saw how wet they were. "Goddamn it – isn't anything dry in this country?"
"Cheer up, Murdock – rainy season's nearly over!" Ray smirked as he took out his own packet, neatly wrapped in waterproof plastic. Murdock smiled his gratitude; he placed the cigarette in his mouth and then leaned in closer, shielding it as Brennan lit it for him. He took a long draw and then turned his attention back to the muddy, wet square in front of them.
It was empty – no fool would venture out in this kind of weather. Everyone was hunkered down in their hooches, playing cards, cleaning weapons, getting bored; just wishing for the rain to stop. Murdock shivered, maybe not, because when the rain stopped the missions would start and the fear would return, clutching deep in your gut. Rain was bad but no rain was bad too. Murdock sighed; everything was bad in this place!
"He's better than he was though, eh?" The pilot ventured finally, remembering how during the first few weeks he had been with them Peck had hardly said a word. He had just withdrawn into himself and save for the time Hannibal had forced him out, remained silent on his bunk. At least now relations had thawed enough for the kid to actually be aware of the needs of his Team and to go out and try to satisfy them.
"Different ain't always better!" BA growled.
"I'm working on it, BA," Murdock revealed. "You gotta admit he's a class act on the scam though."
As he spoke two figures came into view through the murky rain. One was holding a colourful umbrella to keep himself dry. The other was dressed in full battle gear, pack on his back and rifle in hand. As they got closer it became clear, though the protection of the incongruent brolly had not stopped the first figure from getting wet, the second was miserably saturated and covered from head to toe in the cloying mud.
As the three men watched the second figure suddenly lost balance and slipped ending up sprawled face down in the mud. The first figure leaned over him and although the words were lost in the thrum of the rain it was obvious from the tautness of his stance that he was screaming at the unfortunate beneath him.
Slowly the mud figure climbed to his knees. Then using his rifle as a crutch managed to pull himself back on to his feet, where he stood swaying slightly as his companion balled him out.
"Colonel is pushing him hard," observed Ray.
"Needs to," replied BA. "Still reckon he ain't up to this. Man's got a pretty face and a smartass mouth – when did that ever make you a soldier?"
"He's up to it, BA," Murdock said, his eyes never leaving the two figures as they moved towards them again. "He's stronger than he looks."
Baracus snorted. "Ain't saying nothing!"
"Afternoon, gentlemen!" Hannibal smiled, sucking on a particularly sorry looking cigar as he stopped before the members of his Team. "Enjoying the entertainment? Attention!" The last was thrown over his shoulder to an exhausted and filthy Peck who had looked about to collapse into a muddy heap. The order had the desired effect and he clicked into position.
"It's mighty wet, Colonel," Murdock ventured. "Maybe you should call it a day."
Hannibal's eyes gleamed under his sodden hair. "Nonsense, Captain! Little bit of rain cleanses the soul! Got a light?" He proffered the cigar.
"Think it's passed that, Sir," Murdock said politely. "Only good enough for a decent burial now!"
Hannibal guffawed. "You could be right." He looked sadly down at his never-to-be smoke. "Damn I hate wasting such good Havanas!" He was reminded then of the pathetic figure standing, shivering behind him. "Still now I got such a good supply it's not so bad." He shook his head slightly still amazed by the fact that only two hours after he had released Peck from the brig, and when Smith knew the lieutenant had been digging latrines, a beautiful wooden box of high quality Cuban cigars had somehow found its way on to his desk. Kid was a genius, he had to admit!
But genius or no, that was not going to get him out of his training. "Pack off, Lieutenant!" He ordered. "Down on the floor. Fifty push-ups. Count 'em for me!"
Peck let out a weary sigh. "But Colonel I ….."
"Make that one hundred!" Smith cut across him sternly.
Peck hesitated, his handsome face creased into a horrified expression as the rain dripped off the edge of his helmet running down his face like tears. His eyes flew wildly towards the men standing in front of him, seeking support but the three Team members knew better than to question their Colonel and they all refused to make eye contact. Peck sniffed.
"I don't hear no counting, Lieutenant!" Smith pressed.
Peck let out a weak groan but after placing his rifle on the floor beside him began to unbuckle the massive pack on his back with fumbling fingers. He dropped it to the floor, misjudging its weight in his weariness and almost fell over with it. Murdock had to school himself not to step forward and help the guy who was obviously so close to the end of his endurance.
Peck wearily assumed the position and though his muscles screamed at him began his push-ups. "One, two, three …." His voice grated but Murdock noted his eyes flashed their anger.
Smith let him get to twenty before he growled. "Start again!"
Peck stopped, the fire burning fiercely in his eyes as he looked up at the Colonel. "What?"
Ray and BA exchanged knowing looks as they shook their heads. Murdock drew in a tentative breath, his heart suddenly beating with fear for his budding friend.
"That's 'What Sir,' Peck!" Smith held the Lieutenant's challenging stare as he bent down in front of him. "And it's 'One, Sir, two, Sir'. Do you understand that now?"
"Yes…. Sir!" Peck did not even try to hide the hostility in his voice.
Smith shook his head. "Peck, I've told you not to fight me. I will win and the only person who suffers is you. You're an intelligent boy, surely you can see that?"
Peck held the Colonel's gaze and gulped. Slowly he bent his arms, muscles straining as he eased his body downwards and then pulled it back up. "One, Sir," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Two, Sir."
Hannibal held the aggressive stare and spoke as Peck continued to count. "It's professional pride, see kid. You conned your way to a green beret, now it's my duty to ensure that you are fit to wear it. I have to do that for all the good men who earned the honour the correct way. It's my job."
"Fifteen, Sir, sixteen, sir ……"
The Colonel stood up slowly. He stood in silence but his eyes never left Peck as the younger man struggled to finish.
"One hundred, sir!" He finally groaned as his arms gave way and he fell to the ground breaking eye contact and oblivious now to the wet mud rushing up to claim him.
"Good job, Peck," Smith breathed. "Now get your pack back on. It's time for another run!"
The mucky, almost unidentifiable figure stretched out in the mud groaned desperately. "Take me back to the brig," he gasped. "Court marshal me – anything is better than this!"
Smith's smile was satisfaction. It had taken longer than he had predicted to the kid in the brig. In fact the first time Peck had pleaded to return to prison had been five days into the training but now it was becoming more frequent and Smith recognised it for what it was. Although Peck would never admit it to anyone, especially himself, he was coming around to the Colonel's way of thinking.
"That's 'Take me back to the brig, Sir!' Peck!" Hannibal could never resist rubbing it in.
The mud creature began to stir, climbing painfully to his feet and groaning as he automatically reached for his pack, shouldering its weight.
"Attention!" Without missing a beat Peck assumed the position. "Around the perimeter, double time. Let's go soldier!" Hannibal barked. Murdock thought he heard another pitiful groan but it could have just been the sound of sodden movement as the two men turned and moved away.
BA shook his head. "For someone who's supposed to be intelligent he sure seems to like mud."
Ray laughed. "It's not too long ago that I could have said the same about you, mud sucker!"
The big black man bristled. "At least I could see when I was beat," he pouted. "Man's a fool!"
"He's no fool, BA," Murdock countered.
"Why he keep back-mouthing the Colonel then? Why he keep refusing to call him Sir, when everybody knows he's the boss?"
Murdock sighed. "It's all about control, BA," he began. "The kid don't like to think he's not in control, so he does crazy things to show he's still got the power."
"But he ain't!"
"We know that and the Colonel knows that," Murdock replied patiently. "Now we just got to get the kid to understand it." He chewed his lip thoughtfully before adding. "And to realise that it really doesn't matter at all."
BA snorted and muttered. "Fool," under his breath.
"That's where you and the Colonel come in, Murdock," Ray said. "Me and BA, we just want a hooch we can get into, so we don't have to stand out here in the rain."
Murdock raised his hands in surrender. "I hear you! I'm on it….."
TBC