Part 11
"Closet? Do I have a closet?"
Murdock snorted. "Right between the door and the window, in the bedroom – that large wooden box shaped thing, even you can't miss it, surely."
Peck looked blank. "And it's mine?" he asked. Murdock nodded as the other man continued. "Which means that no one else, even you, should be rooting about in it?"
Murdock shook his head slowly, and sitting down on the other chair placed the rifle with great care down on to the table in front of them. "Don't play the innocent, wounded party with me, Face!" he snapped impatiently. "I was putting away some of your shirts that I ironed, not rooting around – it wasn't exactly well hidden!"
"Well I didn't think anyone would be looking!" Peck snapped, his appealing features colouring and his jaw twitching angrily.
"So what is it?" Murdock refused to be distracted from the case in point.
Peck gulped, seeing the steely resolve in his lover's eyes and flicking through the alternative strategies he could use. "It's a rifle," he said dully when he could come up with no better tactic.
"Very good, Face," Murdock nodded. "What's it doing in our house?"
Peck shrugged. "I didn't… erm.. I…"
"Lost for words again? It's becoming quite a habit with you! Let me help; how did you get it?" Murdock was not to be denied, his eyes probing Peck's submissive, guilty glance trying to hold it challengingly as it passed fleetingly around the room, resting no where for long and certainly not near his inquisitor.
"Robby," Peck sighed eventually, those wondering eyes finding the table top in front of him suddenly hugely interesting.
"Oh, the blue eyed wonder boy – why am I not surprised?" Murdock shook his head. "Jeez, you two don't take this parole business serious at all, do you?"
Peck lifted a nervous hand to his neck and fumbled with his tie. He cleared his throat with an uneasy groan. He looked up and Murdock rolled his eyes in encouragement. "It seems kind of stupid now," Peck confessed, "But when we talked about in prison, it seemed the best way out and that whiskey went straight to my head – I couldn't think straight." Peck sighed. "It sorta looked plausible then."
"What did?"
"Robby said I should take Lorelei out. She was the cause of all my problems, if I got rid of her I would be OK, I would be free of it all."
Murdock snorted. "And I'm the one whose supposed to be mad!" he muttered.
Peck gulped again, his face colouring deeper. "It does sound a bit stupid like I said," he ended lamely.
"Face, you just spent one hundred twenty one days in prison, and we barely survived it. How the hell do you think you're gonna cope with a life sentence or worse? How are we gonna cope with that? And how the hell does that make you free? Shit – what is going on in your head, muchado? You done some pretty dumb things in your time but this is just too stupid for words!"
Peck ran his hands through his hair. Murdock noted how much they were shaking and a wave of sympathy rushed through him. Face appeared to be even more affected than he feared. He reached out gently enveloping the quivering hands in his own. "You ain't gonna hit shit with an itch like this, Face. Man, you must be desperate!"
Peck nodded, his eyes closed for a second and he remembered how it had been years ago, how in the jungles of Vietnam the Colonel had taught him what true control had been; how just the feel of his sniper rifle had brought him a calmness, a sureness, a serenity which he now could only dream of. Maybe that was the real reason he found himself drawn to the weapon, not that he wanted to use it to kill but he wanted to remember that feeling of composure that had oozed through his body at the moment before he took the killing shot. He wanted that moment of supreme power; he needed to feel it again.
Shit! When had his life spun out of control this badly? When had he resorted to just clinging on by the finger nails instead of striding froth and boldly influencing his own path. When had he become the twig swirling powerlessly before the eddy of fate instead of the powerful wave pushing the useless flotsam before him?
He looked back up into Murdock's eyes and the pilot read the reckless thoughts there. "It ain't gonna save anything, babe," the pilot whispered softly.
Peck nodded. "I know, but I have to do something Murdock. I can't let this fear eat me away. I need to take control."
"You can beat Lorelei, Face but not this way. We can beat her together and do it within the law, so we can walk away, so we can be together, so we can carry on living. Isn't that what you want?"
Peck nodded. "Of course but…."
Murdock squeezed their hands together more tightly and lifted them to his lips to kiss gently. "She's getting greedy – too many fingers in too many pies, over stretching and allowing us the chance we need. You and me, babe; we're clever enough, we know the moves, we've done it before – it'll be so easy and it'll be beautiful. She'll go down for a long time and then you'll have your life back. You'll have the control you need. And no need for sniper rifles. What do you say, babe?"
Slowly, Peck eased in hands away from under Murdock's and ran them along the weapon on the table before him. It was cold and lifeless as death but he sensed it still; the latent power reaching out to him, promising, enticing and tempting ….. how could a poor, little orphan boy walk away from the soul liberating release it offered? Wasn't he damaged all ready, what difference did one more sin matter especially one that would lead to a greater good? He didn't understand love and he never would, so why should he even try?
He looked up into Murdock's eyes so wide with love and he knew he did not understand it but he could not resist the even stronger power he saw there. He broke into his brightest smile. "I say; I love it when you get all assertive on me, Murdock," he drawled.
"Like I said before, Face, your job is to look good and let me do the thinking. Now what was it we agreed earlier about the way you are gonna thank me…."
The mission was done; he had delivered the killing shot to the Cong Colonel and turned, shouldering his trusted M21 semi-automatic sniper rifle and taking hold of the M16 that Ray offered him. Then he was running as fast as he could in a squatting position, eyes picking out the boot prints in the soft jungle mud and mind ensuring his foot landed in their exact indentation with practised precision. In front of him Ray and BA's hunched bodies bobbed up and down as they retreated through the clinging and swinging branches. Peck's adrenaline was thundering through him as the sweat washed from his pores, sticking the stinking fatigues to his skin. His dog-tags swung violently around his neck as he jumped a small stream and his helmet strap bit into the sensitive area just under his left ear where a mosquito had engaged in a feeding frenzy the night before. He ignored the small discomforts and the tiredness that fought to slow his muscles focusing instead on his own breathing, trying to control it as he furiously drew in air.
"Down!" somebody- was it the Colonel? - ordered from over to the left.
Peck threw himself to the floor. The ground was wet and so close to his nose that the smell of festering decaying vegetation caused his nostrils to flare. Peck moved his head slightly and felt the dampness of the soil touching his cheek; it was not cool but warm and clammy, like everything else in this goddamn country. He tried to lift his head up to check what was going on around him but the strength had inexplicably deserted him, so he lay motionless, trying to breathe but his lungs seemed suddenly unable to take on oxygen.
He lay there as the harsh rat-tat of gun fire slewed over his head, bouncing dangerously off the trunks of the trees and thudding into the ground around him. He pushed his head deeper in to the mud, closing his eyes as he still fought for breath.
Time seemed to slow and the gunfire became a series of dull groans. Peck tried to move his legs but they would not answer his commands, he opened his eyes to gaze down at them and instead found himself entrapped by the movements of a shiny grey centipede on a leaf beside his head. He watched amazed at the beauty in the movement as its legs moved in perfect unison. Somewhere in his unfocused mind the memory of a spider he had caught as a kid and kept in a matchbox had sparked into life. He had classed that spider as his best friend in the particular orphanage that he had been staying at the time. But he remembered he had betrayed its friendship by allowing another boy to put it in the bed of one of the girls who was petrified of all insects. Peck snorted as a pang of guilt swept through him – the girl had squashed his spider in a screaming panic with the heel of her shoe and the kid he had leant it to had beaten him brutally because his ruse had not given as much pleasure as he had wished.
The centipede that was at the centre of his current vision and had caused the strange flight of fancy into memory, seemed to shimmer and blur; Peck shook his head but all suddenly appeared watery and indistinct as everything wavered into each other – the lines of separation were no longer apparent. A wave of nausea rushed through Peck then and his head felt so heavy he had to rest it back in the mud. His breathing was no easier and a slight feeling of disquiet budded into his mind. Shit – what the hell was wrong with him? Why couldn't he focus? Where the hell had his senses gone? His sight was so watery he could not see and the only sound his ears were reporting back was a long dull rushing noise. He gulped, tasting the metallic hint of blood in his mouth and a violent blast of thirst grabbed at him.
He was still on his front in the mud; the sniper rifle on his back, Lord knew where his M16 had gone since his hands had given up sending back signs of what they could feel. He tried to roll over but his whole body was now equally unhelpful and to make things worse as he endeavoured to do so, a sharp pain flared through him. He tried to define its source but that eluded his growingly anxious mind.
What the hell was wrong with him? The Colonel was going to kill him if he didn't get his ass in gear and move, not to mention what the VC would do to him! He tried again but no part of him was moving anywhere fast.
He forced himself to draw in a long laboured breath but even that hurt. He tried to let it out in a loud call; Ray and BA had to be quite close, surely they could come help him. His lucid mind in trying to make sense of his position, had decided he had got himself stuck somehow with the rifle on his back entangled in some branches or roots, making it impossible for him to stand. He just needed some help but his voice was as useless as the rest of him, coming out with just a pathetic moan, no louder than the breeze in the trees.
Peck snorted as the anger took him – this was just stupid. He concentrated on his hands, forcing them to move but it was hopeless. And now the grinding, burning in his lungs was getting worse. He realised with a shock that he was frightened, more frightened than he would normally be when on a regular mission with the Colonel in the jungle and running away from the VC.
There was something here he did not understand, and not understanding always made him fearful.
"Kid!" The voice cut through the thrumming in his ears and his growing panic, bringing with it on overwhelming wave of expectation.
"Col'nel!" He tried to shout back but it was a weak attempt. Shit, he had to do better than that – a paralysing fear that they would leave him here rushed through him. "Col'nel!" It was louder this time, fuelled by fear.
Then strong hands were reaching out to him and gently turning him. The muddy world before his eyes spun and he was looking up, blinking his eyes to focus on the green canopy of the jungle above him with just the odd hint of grey sky above it.
"Easy, kid," Hannibal's voice came from close by.
"I'm OK," Peck tried to say. "I just got stuck. I'm sorry." But his words just came out as an incomprehensible jumble of sounds and he stopped, gulping, as he saw the looks on the faces of the three men who knelt over him.
"Jesus!" Ray muttered and BA was shaking his head slowly.
"It's OK, kid," Hannibal said. "Hang on."
Hang on? Peck's face crumpled in puzzlement, what the hell was going on? He'd got stuck that was all, stupid but easily solved. Why were they all still standing over him, shaking their heads, why weren't they helping him to his feet, moving off? Christ, Murdock would be waiting for them at the pick up point. Why weren't they moving?
Peck squeezed his eyes together, trying to get the scene more into focus and it was then that he saw the blood dripping from Ray's hand. Still long minutes passed while his tortured brain tried to register the fact that his friend was injured but something was not right – so much blood from a hand wound? Peck was no doctor but he had had enough time in Vietnam to know that something was not quite right. Gulping he forced his involuntarily blinking eyes to follow where Ray's hand was going down and down, down to Peck's own lower abdomen.
Shit; he'd been shot!
How in hell had he missed that? How stupid could he be? This was turning out so bad. No wonder he'd been feeling so strange! No wonder his body was unable to action any on his commands. The pain that had formally drifted hazily through his whole body was suddenly pinpointed into the bullet-hole in his gut. With the realisation that he had been shot, the pain intensified into a deep agony that stole away what remained of his breath. Peck whimpered and his head fell back on to the mud as panic raged through him.
Hannibal was there again, gently lifting up Peck's head and taking hold of his flailing hands, his voice masterful and honeyed with the promise of hope. "Calm down, kid. Save your strength. Ray's just gonna apply a field dressing and give you something for the shock. Then we're out of here. Recon point is less than a click away and we'll get you to a hospital in a couple of minutes." Peck felt a cool hand on his forehead. "Breathe deep for me, kid," Hannibal's voice came again. He complied as best he could and nodded slightly as he was rewarded with; "Good boy!"
He drifted then, words like 'peritonitis', 'septic shock', 'high fever', and 'internal bleeding' along with 'petroleum jelly gauze', 'IV kit' and 'antibiotics' floated over his head but he took no note of them. Thinking was suddenly difficult to do and he stopped the process, unable to stop the numbing pain from ruling him as the blurred heads of familiar friends swam in and out of his vision. Aware only that he had fucked up yet again.
"Lieutenant!" It was the Colonel's voice pulling him back, forcing him to listen.
He licked his dry, parched lips and tried to concentrate although the drumming of his erratic heart in his ear made it difficult for him to hear. "Thirsty…" he managed to groan.
A damp piece of material was thrust into his hands. "Suck it, son," the Colonel's voice was soft. Peck felt his hands lifted and the material near his mouth. He opened and did as he was told, the moistness lessening the dryness in his throat although doing nothing to quench his heaving thirst.
"Now kid, I want you to listen to me, can you do that? Look at me, kid." The Colonel's voice was strained but no less compelling for Peck, he opened his eyes as he strove to comply. "We gotta move quick son," Hannibal continued. "I don't want to miss our ride home. BA and Ray are gonna carry you but it's gonna hurt – you OK with that kid?"
Peck nodded slowly, his eyes threatening to roll up into his head. "I don't wanna die," he said softly.
The Colonel smiled then wide and confident. "Look into my eyes, kid," he said. Peck forced himself to look into those deep blue pools, to loose himself in the comfort they promised as the Colonel continued, "You are not going to die. I will not allow it. Look into my eyes, kid, never stop looking."
"I'm scared, Col'nel," Peck whispered.
"I know, son," Hannibal squeezed Peck's cool and clammy hand. "Trust me kid, trust me. I won't let you down. Look into my eyes and keep looking. Do you trust me, son?"
"Uh-huh," Peck gulped and nodded, still staring deep into those jazz filled eyes. "I do."
"Then I'm gonna get you out of this, kid. Keep looking……"
…………….Peck sat bolt upright in the bed, sweat drying on his straining muscles as the power of the memory hit him. He gulped, shaking his head to clear it but the memory that had come to him in the dream would not budge.
He had never been able to remember with such clarity the events that had happened in the jungle the day he had been shot. Afterwards in the hospital had always been clear to him – waking up with Hannibal there, the pretty nurse – what had been her name and later the awful biting loneliness of Hawaii but he had only ever had vague recollections of the painful struggle through the trees grasping for breath and shuddering as BA and Ray laboured to carry him, the brief respite at the sight of Murdock's bird as it waited for them in the clearing, the pale look of fear that haunted the pilot's eyes as they looked on his own shuddering form and the sweet morphine injected straight into his system to deaden the pain. All a tumble of memories but now recalled into some semblance of order and sense and all punctuated by the twinkling blue eyes….
……..….blue eyes that he could see now staring at him from the corner of the bed room through the gloom.
"Hannibal?" he whispered hoarsely.
The figure stepped out of the shadows and into the light cast across the bed room by the street light outside, revealing the well loved features of the Colonel. "Hi, kid," he beamed.
"Why now, Hannibal?" Peck asked. "Why give me that particular dream, that memory now? I've forgotten it for so long. Hell I've never been able to recall half of it, and never in so much detail – the sounds, the smells, my thoughts. Christ I even saw a goddamn centipede. Why now?"
The Colonel snorted, eyes twinkling. "Because I thought it might help you understand. You could have died there but you didn't."
Peck shuddered. He glanced toward Murdock, but the pilot remained blissfully unaware as he slept on. "Understand what?" He did not want to ask the question but something forced him onwards.
"I want you to understand that your time is running out, Face." Peck gulped, shaking his head in disbelief. "But it does for us all eventually. You've had a hell of a lot longer than you could have."
Peck ran his hand through his hair, noted it was shaking again. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"
Hannibal's smile was wide with sympathy and something more. He moved forwards so he was only inches away but Peck could tell he was resisting the urge to reach out to him with anything other than those expressive eyes, still they were enough for Peck to feel their warmth. "You have nothing to fear, Face," Hannibal said. "Put your faith in me like you did all those years ago."
"I'm scared, Col'nel," Peck whispered unknowingly regressing to the soldier boy of the dream only moments but so many years before.
"I know, son," Hannibal nodded. "Trust me kid, trust me. I won't let you down. Look into my eyes and keep looking. Do you trust me, son?"
"Uh-huh," Peck gulped and nodded, still staring deep into those jazz filled eyes, sensing the salvation there. "I do."
"Then I'm gonna get you out of this, kid. Keep looking into my eyes; keep believing in me.……"
…………."Faceman, you OK?"
At the sound of Murdock's voice, the piercing eyes and the body behind them were gone but their memory branded stunningly deep into Peck's thought. He turned to see Murdock sitting up in bed beside him and staring searchingly.
Peck nodded slowly. "I think, yes," he replied. He forced himself to lay back on the bed, forced his heart to slow the rush of pure adrenaline that had enlivened his body.
"You dreaming again?"
Peck nodded. Surprisingly finding himself wanting to speak about it he ventured softly. "About Nam."
"Nam?" Murdock was watching him closely.
Peck pursed his lips. "You remember that time after I nailed that Cong General outside Khe Sahn, when I took it in the gut?"
Murdock nodded, his memory of that awful moment when he peered through the cockpit window and saw BA and Ray pulling the pale, shivering, nearly dead form of Face into the clearing, rushing back into his head like a physical pain causing his stomach to squirm painfully.
"Was it bad?" Peck asked.
"Yeah," Murdock's voice was weak with the memory. "Man, you lost such a lot of blood. I thought… we all thought…"
"I was gonna die?"
Murdock nodded. "'Cept for the Colonel. He pulled you through it. Kept telling you to look into his eyes and trust him. And you kept clinging on to life like some brave little flea clinging to Billy's fur!"
"Nice description, HM," Peck said with a very slight smile. "I would have hoped to be seen as something a little more… well you know; memorable, dashing, handsome …. than a flea!"
Murdock shrugged. "You make a cute little flea," he said without the hint of apology. "Anyway it was the Colonel that kept you alive through that flight and before. Why, what brought this back on?"
Peck let out a long, deep sigh. "I really trusted him, didn't I?"
Murdock rolled his eyebrows expressively. "Of course."
"Then I should keep doing it shouldn't I?"
"Face, the Colonel would never lead you wrong – never did and never would. Never let any of us down. You could trust your life to him, you know that."
Peck nodded. "I think I'm going to have to trust him again," he said bleakly. "Time is running out for me ….."
TBC
