Christmas 1969: After Cam Ranh
Chapter 3 Memory
Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.
"Why don't you see if you can talk to him now?" the Colonel murmured to Face. The younger man solemnly nodded his agreement. His focus was already entirely on his friend.
"Let me get in there, B. A." Face stepped aside to allow the Sergeant room to get out of the chopper. As the black man backed out of the way and got to his feet to stand beside Hannibal, he shook his head. "Didn' mean ta do anythin' ta him."
"It's okay, B. A." The Colonel said it absently. His attention was on the interaction between the Lieutenant and the pilot.
Face climbed into the cabin and carefully crept on hands and knees to within a foot of his friend. Feeling the water from the bucket soaking the legs of his fatigues, he grimaced.
At least the water can't be very dirty as much as this chopper has been cleaned since yesterday.
In a voice that was almost a whisper, he began the process of talking Murdock back to reality. "I'm here, buddy. I'm here." It was too soon to reach out with his hand and reassure Murdock with a physical touch. There was no telling how he would react.
Still kneeling, the Lieutenant sat back on his heels and waited for a sign of recognition. The tremors passing through the other man's body lessened but there was no other reaction.
"B. A. wasn't trying to hurt you. You were going to fall out and he kept you from doing that. That's all." Face kept his voice low and non-threatening, almost like he was trying to reason with a child.
Am I so sure at this point I'm not?
Behind him, he heard Hannibal murmur, "Keep going. You're doing fine."
"We're all just worried about you. We don't understand why you want to spend most of Christmas Day cleaning . . . " Face stopped, knowing the words sounded harsher than he intended.
But it's true. We don't understand.
Slowly, cautiously, the pilot lowered his arms and raised his head to look at Face. His expression was a confused melange of horror, anxiety and uncertainty. For a moment, he stared at his friend, and then out of the open cargo door at Hannibal and a repentant B. A.
"I . . . can't . . . leave 'er . . . dirty . . . " The voice, husky with emotion, faltered. His gaze dropped to the spot on the floor he had scrubbed so furiously. When he lifted his eyes again, he was frowning. "Th' blood . . . don' ya see it?" He glanced quickly at each of them. His voice hinted of his desperation as he pleaded, "Don' ya see it?"
Hannibal cleared his throat and gazed at the spot as if willing the stain to be there.
He probably thinks Murdock won't be able to handle it if we tell him the truth.
B. A. stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes averted to the ground at his feet. Except for shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he remained silent.
Face was thankful for that.
At least he isn't saying what we all know to be true. Murdock's hallucinating but B. A. isn't going to call him crazy out loud.
"I'm th' only one that sees it, ain' I?" Murdock muttered. "Guess I should o' let 'em sen' me t' a psych ward after all." Face noticed the pilot begin to tremble again, barely noticeable but still there. He clapped his buddy on the shoulder just to keep his friend focused and with them.
Not off in that nightmare he remembers from yesterday.
Face's touch seemed to bring Murdock back from the bloodbath he thought he saw. The pilot searched the other man's eyes for something he could hold onto, then stared down at the metal he had been scouring. He ran one shaking hand over the surface of the floor.
Finally Hannibal lied for the three of them. "We don't see the blood because you cleaned it all up."
Murdock swung his tormented gaze up to look at Hannibal. His anxious brown eyes scanned the older man's expression. Face silently prayed the Colonel's reasoned response was enough. His heart sank again when the Captain picked up the scrub brush.
Hannibal didn't seem to notice as he continued. "Now if you think the job is done, maybe we can all go to the mess hall for that Christmas dinner. It would be a shame not to take Uncle Sam up on a feast like that."
For a moment Face wasn't sure his friend would accept that answer.
Murdock frowned down at the brush in his hand and seemed to be struggling with a decision. When his friend swallowed, the Lieutenant knew the pilot had managed to overcome the delusion. After a few seconds, he set the brush aside and carefully wiped his hands on his pants.
In a choked voice, Murdock answered, "Yeah, guess so." Taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders, he got to his feet. Face noticed he peered down at the floor one more time before reaching into the cockpit to retrieve his package from home.
Face nodded his thanks to the Colonel for saying what he did, then stood up. He saw the visible relief on both Hannibal's and B. A.'s faces and wondered if his expression showed the same thing.
Murdock moved past him toward the door without another word. Face felt he had to say something to alleviate the mood.
"And later we can go and find ourselves a bottle of whiskey to celebrate the day in style," the Lieutenant suggested as he followed Murdock out of the chopper. "How does that sound?"
The pilot said nothing at first. For a few seconds he stared over his shoulder at the spot on the floor he had been so careful to scrub clean.
Then he resolutely turned away and gave his friends a weak smile. "Only if it's th' good stuff."
Face breathed a silent sigh of relief. "When have I not been able to get the good stuff for a day like today?"
oooooo
Murdock sat with his back against the sandbags stacked up against one wall of their hootch and took another drag from his cigarette.
Scattered gray clouds picked up traces of pink and pale yellow from a setting sun too low on the horizon to see. The pilot knew that the clouds could easily fill the sky in minutes and unleash a deluge of rain. He hoped they wouldn't.
Then 'gain, it'd match th' mood I'm in.
Beside him, about a foot away, Face relaxed, his legs straight out in front of him. He was close enough to pass the remains of the latest open bottle of whiskey they were sharing. The Lieutenant's eyes were half-closed against the smoke from the cigar he enjoyed, the spoils from a poker game earlier that evening.
The pilot sensed that Face was watching him but for what reason he was being monitored, he had no idea. Passing it off as just another small episode of his own paranoia, Murdock heard his stomach gurgle a protest.
At least I ain' gonna be pukin' my guts out anymore t'night.
Remembering the last hour, he regretted eating as much as he had in the mess hall. And following it up with as much whiskey as Face offered him.
What a waste o' good food. Wasn' much fun havin' it all come back up on me after we got done with that bottle . . . 'r was it two . . . 'r three . . . bottles?
He squinted through the cigarette smoke at his friend just in time to see the Lieutenant look away.
Th' only reason Face'd be watchin' me so much is if Hann'bal said he had to. I must o' done somethin' so crazy they're wonderin' 'bout my sanity.
He frowned when he realized his memory of everything from morning until now was fuzzy at best.
One good thing 'bout losin' my meal. I ain' nowhere near as drunk as my buddy.
He wasn't sure he wanted to ask too many questions about his day because he might have to answer some Face directed back at him.
'N' would I have th' answers?
His friend nudged him in the arm. The glass chilled his skin where it touched him. "Drink up. Last bottle."
Murdock pasted a good-natured smile on his face and shook his head. He waved his hand in dismissal, accidentally jostling the bottle with his fingertips. "Think I've had 'nough. In fact, I'm sure I've had 'nough."
B'sides, I gotta try 'n' r'member so th' guys don' think I'm goin' nuts on 'em.
"Is there such a thing as enough?" Face shrugged when his friend didn't respond and tipped some more into his mouth. Swallowing it, the Lieutenant let a contented sigh escape.
"I'm pretty sure Gramma'd skin me 'live if she knew how I spent Christmas Day over here." Murdock winced at remembrance of the photo enclosed in his Christmas care package. He was glad for the photo his girlfriend Cyndy sent with the other things but it reminded him of how much he was missing at home.
While he was in the POW camp, his beloved grandmother suffered a stroke. The photo, now taped to the door of his locker, showed his grandfather standing behind Murdock's grandmother's wheelchair. His arms enveloped her and both of them grinned like a couple of high schoolers in love.
'cept Gramma's smile ain' th' same. If I'd been there maybe . . .
"Guess you'd better not tell her. You've got my word I won't." Face's voice hinted of mischief. He tipped the bottle once again and tossed it to his side when he found it empty.
"You don' even know my Gramma 'n' Grampa," Murdock muttered.
"When we get back home maybe you can introduce me."
"If we get back home, muchacho." The pilot stared at the sky, now growing deep blue. All traces of the sunset had disappeared and one or two stars sparkled among the patchy black clouds. A memory from earlier that the liquor had started to blot out flickered at the edge of his meditations.
There's somethin' 'bout those words . . . somethin' happened . . . someone . . . died?
"Well, that's an optimistic thing to say." Murdock glanced sharply at his friend and found Face frowning at him.
"Didn' mean nothin' by it." The pilot crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed back onto the sandbags. The brim of his cap dipped low to hide his eyes from the Lieutenant's view. "Meant nothin' at all by it."
An uneasy silence filled the space between them as Murdock tried to piece together the meaning behind what he said.
If we get back home? I s'pose I could o' meant any one o' us might not o' made it outta the POW camp. But I don' think that's what . . .
"We've all seen our share of guys who won't ever go home, at least not in one piece. You've probably seen as much as I have, flying those dust-offs like you do." There was something to the tone of Face's voice that suggested he was probing for something. Maybe the bit of information Hannibal pressed him to find out.
Dust-offs . . .
When the memory hit Murdock, it hit full force. The perilous flight back to base . . . the bloody stumps where legs had once been . . . the kid's delirious, frightened babbling . . . his own effort to get the young soldier medical attention . . . the final realization that his efforts were fruitless . . . the vain attempts to wash away the kid's blood . . . the way it was all etched in his mind.
And the face and name of the boy he had held in his arms as he breathed his last. He drew in a ragged gasp of air as he remembered.
Oh God, how could I o' forgot? Did I block it out?
His mouth went dry. A feeling akin to panic rose inside him.
No, not panic . . . more like feelin' helpless 'n' lost . . .
Face needed to know why he had reacted in the way he did. He needed to know why Murdock saw blood when he looked at the floor of his chopper.
'N' Hann'bal . . . is Face gonna tell Hann'bal 'bout it?
He wasn't sure he could say it and keep his emotions in check even now. He was glad for the cover of darkness and the brim of his cap that would hide the moist trickle of tears on his cheek.
"His name was Luke Summers. He lived down th' road from me back in Texas. He was one o' those tag-'long li'l brothers ev'ry group o' good friends puts up with."
Images of Luke and his brother Stu weaving their way to the back of the school bus where he and the rest of the guys sat flashed through his mind. Murdock bit his inner lip hard to stay in control of his emotions. "'N' I didn' even know he was over here 'til yesterday."
He heard Face swallow hard. "I'm sorry, Murdock," he murmured. "God, I didn't know."
The pilot acknowledged the sympathetic response with a grimace.
Yeah, I know yer sorry. So 'm I. If only I was faster . . .
Pushing his cap back, the pilot raised his eyes to the sky once more. Maybe he was searching for a sign, a special star, that would tell him Luke wasn't really dead.
Nothing was there but the same stars from minutes before, playing hide-and-seek with the clouds.
"No way ya could o' known, muchacho." Now that he remembered, he didn't know what else to say or do.
"No way you could have known either," Face insisted.
Murdock waved away the statement. "I'm okay."
Face wants t' help but he don' know how. 'Nother mem'ry t' lock way deep inside. 'N' only I can do that.
A puff of artillery smoke in the distance caught his eye.
"Look!" He pointed as the star shell exploded with a muffled boom and a green parachute flare floated lazily in the air. Another joined it, this time with a red glow. Others followed, all in red, amber or green.
"I thought the truce was supposed to last until midnight. Damn them! The brass should've known we couldn't trust them." Face spat out his anger.
Murdock smiled weakly, despite the grief and pain in his heart. "Naw, Face. It ain' Charlie. Someone's celebratin' Christmas with their own dec'rations."
They sat in silence, watching the lights flare and slowly fade. They reminded Murdock of sparks from fires he and his high school buddies sat around during camp-outs. Who knew when they were telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows that some of them would soon be fighting overseas for their country?
Or dyin' for it?
He lit another cigarette and drew on it as if to blot out the memories. Blowing out the smoke in a slow stream he muttered, "Ya know what I'd like t' do if I could get 'way with it?" He stared straight at the brightest star.
Maybe if I try hard 'nough I can 'magine Luke's up there somewhere enjoyin' th' lights, too. Or maybe Luke's one o' those stars lookin' down on us.
Face murmured in a slightly slurred voice, "No. What would ya do?"
Murdock smiled. It was crazy but he had to say it. "I'd like t' take my slick up there 'n' gather up all th' lights 'n' stars 'n' save 'em in my locker. Maybe I'd hang 'em back up in th' sky when we need cheerin' up."
'N' I could see if Luke's spirit's somewhere up there. Maybe even tell 'im how sorry I am.
Face chuckled. "You know what, buddy? I'd almost help ya do it if I wasn't too drunk ta stand up."
"Well, it was jus' a crazy thought anyhow. Merry Christmas, Faceman."
"Merry Christmas, Murdock." Face drifted off to sleep then and left Murdock to his memories.