CHAPTER TWELVE
January 22, 1972
Face came awake slowly. Oh God, he hurt. But he was warm. He was also cramped - as if he hadn't moved in hours. As he gradually found his way back to consciousness, he realized that he was surrounded on either side. He opened his eyes slowly, and blinked a few times. BA was in front of him, facing the fire that was burning steadily in the fireplace, only a few feet away. That meant that Hannibal was the warm body behind him. Where were they?
He closed his eyes again.
Several full minutes later, he opened them again and looked around. It was a cabin. He was lying on the floor. Every muscle, every bone, every joint in his body hurt. He shifted, trying to take the pressure off of his shoulder. It didn't work. What the hell was he doing on the floor of a cabin? The memories came back slowly. A cold walk in the snow, first. Then Fort Bragg. Then the court martial - the reasons behind all of this. Face gave an involuntary shiver as he looked to the window. What the hell time was it?
There was a metal pot near the fire, and a coffee mug next to it. Carefully - trying not to disturb the sleeping figures on either side of him, he slid out from under the blankets. The cold hit him hard, and he shuddered again as he grabbed the top blanket and wrapped it around himself.
Hannibal was facing the room, cradling an M-16. Face was surprised that he hadn't woken up with the shifting and maneuvering it had taken to get out from under the blankets. BA opened his eyes briefly, but quickly shut them again. Face didn't say a word.
Slowly, Face reached for the mug and dipped it into the water. It was warm against his lips, and all the way into his chest. He took a moment to move his fingers and toes. His boots and socks were near the fire beside BA's and Hannibal's. His pants were on the floor - still wet and cold. He huddled in the blanket. He had no desire to get dressed right now. At least, not in that.
He turned his head and looked to the window again. Through the trees, he could tell the sky was lightening - probably just before dawn. Reluctant to move away from the heat, he took the blanket with him and stood shakily.
The quiet shuffling alerted Hannibal, and he was awake instantly, weapon ready. "It's okay," Face whispered reassuringly. "Just me."
Hannibal relaxed the gun, and rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"
"I don't know. Just relax. I'll find out."
Hannibal closed his eyes again. Clutching the warm blanket tightly around him, Face walked to the window, barefoot on the cold linoleum floor. He'd regained feeling in his feet; that was a good sign. He took a closer look at the sky through the dusty window, then returned to Hannibal. "We got maybe thirty minutes before dawn."
Hannibal opened his eyes again. "We should get going then."
"Any chance there's some clothes here?" Face asked. "Maybe even jackets?"
"Yeah." Hannibal sat up, throwing the blankets onto BA before rising to his feet. Like Face, he took the top one with him for warmth. "In the bedroom closet."
Face cast a lingering look at BA, surprised he hadn't made any effort to communicate when he heard them talking. "Let him sleep," Hannibal whispered. "He's been tending that fire all night."
Face knelt and picked up his pair of the black boots. The socks draped over the front of them were dry, and he slid them on before he put the damp boots on. At least they were warm, if not dry. Still wrapped in the blanket, he followed Hannibal into the cold bedroom.
"Jesus, it's freezing," Face whispered, already shivering. "Why couldn't we have been arrested in June or something?"
"It's not really that cold," Hannibal answered.
Face cast him a sarcastic look. "Hannibal, there's four inches of snow outside."
"Temperature in here is almost fifty degrees."
"How the hell do you know that?"
He gestured to a small figurine on the dresser, and Face walked to it. It was a thermometer - ceramic, with a hummingbird on it and red mercury that lingered near the fifty degree mark. "I think it's broken," he mumbled as he turned away, not willing to stretch his arms out of the warm blankets to check. "It's too damn cold to be fifty degrees."
"You're just not used to it anymore," Hannibal said with the faintest smile that warned of a challenge to come – some sort of quip about how Face was going soft, to be sure.
Face preempted it with a bitter, "And you are?"
Luckily, Hannibal was too tired to answer.
With a deep, heartfelt sigh, Face took a few steps closer, looking over Hannibal's shoulder as he rummaged through the clothes in the closet. "Hey, Colonel, why exactly are we going north?" he asked. "If I remember correctly, there's nothing but wilderness up here. And a few little towns."
"That's the idea," Hannibal confirmed.
"Why not head for the interstate?" He stood back again, watching in the dim light as Hannibal grabbed a few flannel shirts off of the rack. "If we'd done that to begin with, we could've gotten a vehicle."
"The moment we left that camp, they probably put an APB out on all of us," Hannibal said. "Besides," he glanced tiredly at Face, "would you pick up three half-dressed men with razor cuts on their palms near a military prison? Would you even slow down?"
Face looked down at his hands. He'd almost forgotten about the cuts. The cold had numbed him to the pain, and by now, they had closed up with weak scabs that would probably get infected. He'd worry about that later. "So what's your plan?" he asked quietly. "The dogs will follow us this far at least. And if you're right about the APB, we'll never get out of the county."
"Not in a vehicle," Hannibal agreed.
Face stared at him. "You're planning on walking?"
Hesitating only a beat, Hannibal inspected one of the shirts, looking for a size. "I'm not planning on getting caught at a roadblock, if that's what you're asking."
"No, that wasn't exactly what I was asking," Face responded with a deep frown. "I was asking if you plan for us to walk through the snow until we all fall down dead."
"You can stay here if you'd like," Hannibal answered, throwing the shirts onto the bed before turning back to the closet. "I'm sure Colonel Lynch would be happy to give you a ride back to the base."
"Shit..." Face sighed deeply as he leaned against the wall, clutching the blanket more tightly around him. "I'm not staying here. Not after all this."
"You know, it's funny," Hannibal said, pulling sweatshirts from the closet and tossing them onto the bed, "the things that men are willing to push the levels of their endurance to accomplish."
Face studied him. That sounded deep and introspective, even for Hannibal. Maybe even especially for Hannibal. "What do you mean?"
"You'd rather keep walking - maybe die of hypothermia and exhaustion - than face a court martial."
"So would you," Face pointed out.
"Before this," Hannibal continued, ignoring him, "you kept walking through 120 degrees in a sweltering jungle with men in camouflage shooting at you rather than sit at the base and feel like you didn't accomplish anything. And before that -" he tossed a pair of pants at Face, who caught them as they hit his chest "- you trudged through fifty miles of swampland - and would've gone another fifty - just for the chance to walk through that jungle, and to go on this walk through the snow."
"Hindsight's always 20/20," Face answered emotionlessly.
Hannibal chuckled. "That phrase only works if you wouldn't be willing to do it all over again. Will those pants fit?"
Face checked the tag. "Probably." He glanced back up. "And as for doing it all over again... ask me when we get on the other side of this long walk. If I'm still alive."
Hannibal only laughed. It was amazing that in the face of the greatest misery of Face's patently uncomfortable life, that man still laughed.
Vietnam
Aug 30, 1968
Face was well-known here. That much was obvious from the moment he walked in the door. The smiles and greetings, the whispers, the way the workers eyes lingered on him as if they were trying to place him. There were American and Vietnamese workers alike here, and even at first glance, Jessica knew that the DMZ Racquetball Club was unlike any of the other American-aimed getaways in the country.
A full bar was on one side, complete with flashy lights and dance floor. Card tables (and gambling?) were on the other. There were signs pointing toward several shops selling and trading god-knows-what and - the part that really made this "club" unique - toward the indoor swimming pools. One thing was for damn sure - there was more going on here than was strictly legal. "American" club or not, the Army had not endorsed this. It was shocking to think that they had so much as allowed it to continue. Of course, with so many Americans in the resort-like atmosphere, it was probably safer than some of the clubs "in town."
He squeezed her hand as he guided her towards the bar, exchanged friendly and meaningless greetings with the bartender, retrieved a bottle of (American) beer for himself and one for her, then took an extra one with him as he headed away. She stared at it for a long moment, shocked to be holding an honest to God, cold, American beer. Taking a small sip, she savored the ice cold taste of home - of a life without bombs and dying boys. She didn't even like beer, but still she could feel a smile creeping over her face. Whoever was responsible for this place deserved a medal.
Face was looking for someone. Jessica didn't catch the name. With all the people around her - the size of the "club" was shocking - she really had no option but to follow him if she didn't want to end up lost. He exchanged lingering glances with one of the men at the tables as they passed, and she could've sworn she saw him shake his head slightly, suddenly serious. But if she'd seen anything at all, it was gone as they started down a short hallway with several rooms.
She had no idea what was behind any of the doors, but she'd spent enough time in the Army to guess that most of it involved drinking, sex, drugs, more sex, and gambling. Those were the things that soldiers seemed to need in vast amounts. Life was too short in this part of the world to justify denying themselves. As much as she'd been taught to abhor that kind of lifestyle on moral grounds, she couldn't really blame them.
She was so busy gawking at the adult version of Disneyland that she almost walked into Face when he stopped. He peeked through the window on the door to their right, then gestured to the handle, a beer in each hand. "Can you get that?" he asked with a grin. "I'm probably not that coordinated."
Something about the wink he tossed to her and the gleam in his eye had her smiling back. He really was drop dead gorgeous, and interested in her, of all people. Besides that, in just fifteen minutes, he had given her a reason to really smile in the middle of a war. All her jitters and uncertainty about whether or not she should have followed him this far seemed to melt away in an instant. Maybe she was a fool for trusting him, but at least she'd have a bit of fun in the meantime.
He stepped through the door ahead of her as she pulled it open, breathing in the steam from a room that apparently contained - to her complete surprise - a jerry-rigged hot tub. How they had managed to engineer it was anyone's guess. Built right into the wall, steaming and frothing - it might not have been what she'd consider sanitary, but neither was the ocean the guys liked to swim in.
It was a struggle not to let her mouth drop open. It wasn't just the hot tub that made her eyes wide; it was the man in the hot tub, seated between two Vietnamese women. He smiled as he saw Face. "'Bout damn time you showed up."
When the hell did the military start hiring guys from MGM? She had been sure that a man as beautiful as Face was the exception to the rule. But here was yet another movie star handsome man sitting in front of her.
Face smiled at the women - naked women - in the tub, and greeted them with a simple nod. "Ladies." A few extra words in French made them giggle. Then Face looked at the man in the water with them and handed him the extra beer. "You don't waste any time, do you?"
"I'll sleep when I'm dead." The unfamiliar man cracked the beer open on the side of the tub.
Face held out an arm towards Jessica, and slid it around her waist as she stepped closer. "Jess, this is Cipher. He's our medic. Cipher, this is Jessica. She's stationed at Lai Khe and we happened to get a few days off together. Thought I'd bring her up here for a good time."
Cipher smiled at Jess, and stood to offer her a hand. "A good time is the least you'll have with this guy."
Her jaw did drop this time. She couldn't help it. She was standing face to face with a gorgeous, naked man who was standing there with water rolling off his chiseled body. Her eyes widened and then dropped to somewhere safer - in this case his feet - as she shook his hand. "He, uh, does seem to know how to impress a girl."
She knew she was blushing when Face pulled her closer. Did he say this man was their medic? Dear God, were they some kind of elite unit, fighting communism with pure raw sexual magnetism? Come on girl, pull it together. You have seen lots of naked people before.
Face was laughing. "Of course, I feel like I'm being a bit upstaged at the moment."
"Feel free to raise the bar, LT," Cipher challenged with a smirk.
Something about the way the two of them were so damned relaxed and confident helped put her mind at ease. This was about fun, about having a little break from the awful reality out there. Besides, when these two smiled, it was physically impossible not to smile back.
Face leaned a little closer to her, dropping his voice as he spoke in her ear. "I'd join my friend in giving you something to ogle, but I think a more private atmosphere might be better suited for what I had in mind."
She could feel her cheeks burning. His lips brushed her earlobe lightly, cutting off any thoughts of a reply. Suddenly, he had all of her attention again; every muscle and nerve was acutely aware of him. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she involuntarily leaned in closer to him. She didn't even know what to think. She was standing between two incredibly hot men - one naked and one making promises that made her want to touch him. This didn't happen to people like her. Ever.
She smiled shyly as she looked over at him and whispered back, "There's a lot to be said for privacy."
Face smirked, and kissed her cheek - closer to her jaw, really - before looking back at Cipher. "I'll let you get back to your," he glanced at the women in the tub with Cipher and smiled, "entertainment. Just wanted to stop in and make not-so-formal introductions."
Cipher smirked. "I do 'not-so-formal' well." He glanced back at Jess and smiled confidently. "Good to meet you."
She smiled back. "You too."
Face turned and guided her back to the door, tipping his head down to kiss her neck.
"Oh, hey, Face?" Cipher suddenly called them back, and Face turned to answer without missing a step. "Somebody named Alex was looking for you."
For just an instant, she thought she saw him frown. But then the smile was back in place, and he nodded. "Yeah, thanks. I'll take care of it."
His next kiss, on the way to the door, was just as soft as the first, but it brought a wave of sensation with it, so intense that she had to close her eyes for just a second. She felt a shiver pass through her as her mind began to work overtime, imagining how good the rest of him might feel.
When her eyes opened, she smiled. He had a club full of women. But it was her he wanted. That in and of itself left her feeling sexy and almost giddy. Emboldened by that thought, she ran her hand along his back, letting her fingers play against him. No matter what else happened tonight, Jess was sure she would remember this day for the rest of her life.
Near Fort Bragg
January 22, 1972
Eight layers of clothing made the second day of the journey through the frozen forest less dangerous than the first. But it only made it marginally less miserable. Starving and exhausted, they paused at an unplowed road with only a few tire tracks. It was snowing hard, and while it didn't make their travel any more comfortable, it did hide their tracks - and their scent - from their pursuers.
"Follow the road?" Face pleaded.
Hannibal considered it carefully. He, too, had had enough of the branches and the thickets and the dormant wild rosebushes that tore at their clothes. He was cold, and weak from hunger, and it was unlikely that Lynch was still on their trail. They'd probably passed the county line several miles back, and it was getting dark. They needed to find another place to RON.
"Alright," he agreed.
It was two more hours before they came to a more travelled road. Though there were still no cars - this road had been plowed before, and the tracks were fresh enough to be visible in spite of the still-falling snow that covered over the road behind them. They unloaded and then hid the guns - strapped to their backs and under the jackets. It was uncomfortable as hell, but they had a much better chance of hitching a ride if they weren't carrying assault rifles. And they weren't about to leave them behind.
They headed west, and only got a few hundred yards before a passing truck pulled over to the side of the road. Out of the driver's seat stepped a man in a heavy black coat. "Hey, you fellas need a lift?" he called through the wall of snow that separated them.
"Go ahead, Face," Hannibal said quietly, weakly. He was too tired to put forth the effort himself, and Face could probably do a better job under the circumstances.
Slipping into his role, Face stepped forward, ahead of the rest of them. "Boy, do we ever," he called back in a thick accent straight out of Nashville. As he came close, he gestured back over his shoulder. "Our truck broke down. Off on a side road, way the hell back there. If you could just give us a lift into the next town, that'd be great."
"Next town's about five miles up," the driver answered, offering a hand as Face came close enough to shake it. In the dark, he was pretty sure the guy wouldn't get a good look at his face. "I'd be happy to give you a ride. It's damn cold out here."
"Yeah, it sure is. I'm Harry Reed. My Uncle Dale and friend Toby," he gestured. "You know of a hotel in that next town where we might be able to put up for the night?"
Vietnam
Aug 30, 1968
Behind the bar and down the narrow hallway where no one ventured, there was a door. Through that door was a desk that no one really claimed - at least not on a daily basis. But Face knew it would be occupied now. He'd seen Brian Alex in the bar while Jessica was downing her fourth beer and giggling like a schoolgirl. She'd still be there when this conversation was over, he was sure.
He didn't bother knocking on the door, just opened it and quietly stepped inside with a smile, closing it behind him. Alex was leaning with his hip against the desk, lit cigarette in his hand. He smiled as he caught a look at Face, but that didn't mean a damn thing. Alex was just like any of his other business associates. They had no problem gutting people with a smile.
"Peck," the man greeted with a nod.
Face returned it, just as cordially. "Alex."
"Where in the hell have you been?"
He expression was unreadable. Still, Face had worked with him long enough to know it wasn't a real question; Alex always knew more then he let on. And judging by the way his jaw twitched when he took a slow drag on his smoke, he was pissed. Face met his smile, calm and casual.
"I had a little run in with the military's code of conduct," he answered, sure he wasn't telling the man anything he didn't already know. "Sorry I've been out of touch, it was a bit difficult to get to a phone."
"So I heard," Alex confirmed, tapping his ashes on the floor. He gave a grim smile – a signal that pleasantries had come to an end. On to business, then.
"While you were sweet talking your way out of the stockade, I've been having to explain to our comrades why I haven't been able to pick up the next shipment," Alex said accusatively. "And you know how much they like excuses and delays."
Wincing a bit at the clear memory of just how much trouble delays and excuses – even the really good ones – could cause, Face rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'm real sorry about that. Couldn't be helped. You understand."
Alex inhaled and blew the smoke out of his nostrils in a long stream, like a dragon. "Christ, I've got so much smack backed up in the warehouses, we could get all of fucking Vietnam real high for a week."
Face nodded slowly, and lowered his head for a moment, considering his words carefully. He put his hands in his pockets as he looked up again. Now came the hard part. "I'm not here to make deliveries, Alex."
Alex didn't move for a few seconds, he just stared at Face, trying to read him. Finally, he tossed his smoke to the ground and crushed it under his boot. "That's a good one, Peck."
"It's a sincere one," Face corrected.
Alex stood up straight, hands at his sides. "Alright, fine," he snapped, though Face could instantly tell the message still hadn't gotten across. "You're a bright kid. You know you've got me over a bit of a barrel here, so you're angling for a bigger cut. Smart. Dangerous, but smart."
Face sighed. He wasn't surprised that this wasn't computing, but the more times he had to say it, the more dangerous it got when the penny finally did drop.
"You got balls, I'll give you that," Alex continued. "And five percent more of the profits on this shipment."
"I don't want a bigger cut," Face said flatly, looking him straight in the eye. "I want out."
Alex's face held no hint of a smile. "You're pushin' my patience a little too far."
"Look, Alex…" Face took a slow breath. "You have a nice little operation here that's all set up for you. Someone else will gladly run the shipments if you offer them even half of my usual cut. You don't need me anymore."
As Alex stared in shock, Face withdrew a folded piece of paper and held it out in front of him, arm fully extended. "These are the names of my contacts. You can tell them I'm dead, and that whoever you're getting to replace me is in charge now. I'll make sure our paths never cross again. Meantime, the business is yours - signed, sealed and delivered."
Alex reached out slowly and took the paper from him, just barely glancing at it before folding it and putting it in his chest pocket. "What do you think this is? Some sort of lunch date that you can just walk away from?"
"I think this is a very lucrative and powerful operation that you and I put together from scratch," Face corrected. "And now it belongs entirely to you. Call it a gift."
"What in the hell makes you think you can take all your information and walk without serious consequences?"
This wasn't working. Eyes narrowing with irritation, Face's tone turned a bit harder and less conciliatory. "I got caught, Alex," he reminded coldly. "I'm a liability if I stay. You want this operation to stay running, you need to realize that my CO is breathing down my neck. I'll be up against a court martial if I step out of line and God knows what they'd turn up. I've kept your name out of it, but if I push my luck, they will track down my contacts to make a better case against me. You'll lose a hell of a lot of business and I don't see how that helps either of us. So just look the other way, and let me walk."
Alex leaned back on the corner of the desk, arms crossed. "We both know a court martial is the least of your worries if you walk out of this room without a plan to deliver my drugs."
Face's eyes narrowed. "If that's a threat, I should remind you that they're my drugs. And if I go down, I will take you with me. I have no problem seeing this whole fucking club go up in flames."
"Shame to waste such a terrifying warning," Alex answered, his voice dripping sarcasm. "You got much bigger, scarier people than me to worry about - people with more influence and power then the two of us combined. And they ain't gonna give a fuck if you decided to turn over a new leaf."
"That's why you're going to tell them that I'm dead," Face said with an even more irritated glare. "In case you haven't noticed, I do a little moonlighting as a soldier. And none of your contacts know my real name unless you told them, which would be a direct violation of our original agreement. So the only people I really have to worry about are my own contacts, who won't have any problem as long as they're still getting their drugs from you."
"You want to run off and play Boy Scout, be my guest. There's plenty more kids like you out there." Alex placed one hand on his chest. "Me personally, I got more than enough business to keep myself occupied. But the Chinese have this whole 'honor' thing."
Face could hear the threat, but he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he simply took a step back, towards the door. "The Chinese are your problem, Alex. And you're right. You probably should think about reorganizing a bit to keep the operation from falling apart if one of your guys - or you - happens to go down."
"Don't worry about me," Alex sneered. "Good luck with your life on the straight and narrow. You're gonna need it."
It was as close to a friendly goodbye as either one of them were going to get. Guard fully raised as he turned and headed out of the room, Face knew full well it wasn't over for Alex. He might not shoot him in the back in the middle of the club, but there would be reprisals for this betrayal.