Chapter Two
Maybe it was paranoia, but, as he asked around the Phan Rang Base for Captain Murdock, Hannibal was getting the sinking feeling he was on the wrong end of a really bad joke; no one could answer him with a straight face or tell him with any certainty where the pilot might be. He was starting to wonder if there even was a Captain H.M. Murdock.
Tired of the runaround, Hannibal snatched the next warm body he saw, determined to get some answers. "Sergeant."
The dark-haired young man snapped to attention and Hannibal quickly sized him up. Short and squatty, face marred with acne, he couldn't have been a day over twenty. Judging by how he had paled the moment he realized a Lt. Colonel was addressing him, he'd probably do his damnedest not to piss Hannibal off either— which was good for both of them.
Not wanting to shake the kid up any more than need be, the colonel focused on keeping his mounting frustration from catching in his voice. "Sergeant, where can I find Captain H.M. Murdock?"
At first he thought the young man suffered from a nervous tick, but then, as he recognized it for the restrained smirk that it was, Hannibal felt his self-restraint snap.
"Damn it, sergeant, I'm going to make your life a living hell if I don't get some answers." He paused to take a deep breath, but kept his heated gaze fixed on the kid. "Now, where can I find Captain Murdock? And don't tell me you don't know."
Any trace of amusement that had been on the sergeant's blemished face fled in a heartbeat. Eyes wide, he pointed toward the mess hall; his voice was no more than a feeble squeak. "Around b-back, sir…Murdock should be at the matinee show."
Hannibal blinked. Matinee show? What the hell did that mean? He was about to press the kid for more answers, but, upon noting the sergeant's quaking legs, he cut the man loose.
"Dismissed."
He could appreciate the fact that the kid attempted to keep some dignity intact by not immediately scampering away; still, after a shaky salute, he shuffled off quickly enough.
With a tired sigh, and armed with new intel on the captain's location, Hannibal marched toward the mess hall, veered around to the back and halted. Damn it—he didn't have time for this.
Dressed in a flight suit, a lanky young man, maybe around twenty-five or so, stood amongst a large crowd of giggling Vietnamese children. A mischievous, happy light gleamed in the man's eyes as he stared down at the swarm of squirming youngsters vying for his attention. When it seemed that their energetic shouts had reached their peak, a simple wave of the man's hand quieted them.
Suddenly, and in perfect Vietnamese, the man launched into smooth flow of words. Obviously already deep into a story, he rapidly rotated through a cast of characters—each with some quirk that he imitated with great flourish, bringing further delight to his audience. Frequently he'd pause, still in the guise of a character, and ask the children a question. Wholeheartedly, their tiny voices screamed their answers back, as they waited anxiously for him to continue.
Though Hannibal admired the talented one-man show standing before him, he couldn't help but think doing a full-fledged performance in the middle of a war made this guy look absolutely nuts.
Catching sight of the man's name tape, Hannibal shrugged; unfortunately, it looked as if he'd found his pilot.
"Captain Murdock?"
Instantly, the zany voices and theatrical gestures ceased. Murdock glanced up; his wild, fluffy brown hair a mess after his enthusiastic acting. The children tensed, obviously sensing the intrusion was to end their fun. Their small faces filled with disappointment as they turned to nervously watch the colonel.
"Yes, sir." Murdock offered a salute, his posture turning to a rigid army stance as he addressed his superior officer; his brown eyes quickly darted to Hannibal's shirt, taking in the man's name and rank. "Colonel Smith, What can I do for you, sir?" The question lacked any curiosity and seemed more of a way to break the ice than anything else.
"Captain, I need to have a word with you." Casting a quick glance around at the children, Hannibal hastily added, "in private."
A toothy grin, almost too large on the lean face, brightened Murdock's expression. "No problem-o, sir."
Turning his attention back to his pint-sized audience, the captain said a few gentle, hushed words of Vietnamese. The children's unisoned groan was followed by their quick departure, as they scattered and fled in all directions. Only one little boy remained behind, listening intently to the quiet words the captain was directing at him. With one last devilish grin, the boy glanced at Hannibal and then took off in a dead run.
"And what, pray tell, was that about?" Hannibal asked, staring off after the boy.
Murdock shrugged. "I asked the kid to put another coin in the meter for me…" Again an overly large grin graced his face. "…I think I only put in enough for an hour of parking for my chopper. I'd hate to have it towed. But, enough about little ol' me, what are you in the neighborhood for, sir?"
The man's smile was infectious, and, despite his foul mood, Hannibal grinned back. There was something about this Captain Murdock, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, but he liked it.
"I heard you were going to be my pilot for an upcoming mission. I normally use Captain Williams." He watched the man carefully, curious to see his reaction.
Relaxing a bit, Murdock's shoulders hunched as he crammed his hands into his pockets and stared thoughtfully down at the ground. "Yeah, Williams is really good. I can see why you'd use him." He glanced up, meeting the colonel's gaze. "I flew as his peter pilot when I first got here; he's a hell of a guy."
Hannibal nodded. The fact that the young pilot hadn't turned this into a pissing match was a good sign.
"But, I hope you're alright with me flying." Murdock added quickly. "Williams' wife back home just had a baby—a little girl named Jezebel— and that, along with the fact that he's short, meant he really didn't wanna take this mission. He's put in for doing nice safe cargo runs until his time is up."
Shit. Hannibal held his groan in. How had he not known his preferred pilot was short? Yeah, Baracus and Peck had kept him busy lately, but that was no excuse.
"What was up with the story time?" It was a good question— it'd let him gauge the man a little better and buy him some time to process the information about Williams.
The pilot gave a sad smile. "It's more for me than for them, I guess. Helps remind me why we're over here." Then, the full, jubilant grin returned to his face. "And they seem to like it."
That made sense; that actually made some of the most sense Hannibal had heard since shipping over. Any doubts he had about man's sanity vanished.
"So, you're a good pilot?"
This time Murdock gave a warm, loud laugh. "Good enough to go traipsing through the jungle and then brave the walk back again."
Startled by the answer, Hannibal frowned. "What is that supposed to mean, captain?"
If Murdock felt intimidated at all, he didn't show it. "Aw, come on colonel, I've heard some of the details of the mission and there is no way you're gonna load your men into that chopper. No one would. This is a boondoggle if I've ever seen one. We both know there is no way I'm getting up in the air this go around. You just need me for show, right?"
Hannibal blinked. The kid was good, but, if he'd known he was going to be grounded, that left the colonel with one nagging question.
"Why agree to come at all, if you knew you wouldn't get to fly?"
"Guess I just like the idea of a good stroll." Murdock replied, and, for the first time, Hannibal could detect a hint of uncertainly playing across the pilot's face.
"You could opt out if you wanted to. I'd explain it to Morrison."
Murdock's eyes narrowed, fixing on the colonel. "You tryin' to get rid of me already? You haven't even seen me in action yet! My hiking skills are A-one, tops."
Hannibal laughed. "No, I'd just understand if you didn't want to go. Flyboys seem to have an aversion to ground missions, though I can't imagine why." Satisfied with the pilot, and starting to feel the pressure of his time crunch, Hannibal gave a brief wave and started to turn away. "That will be all for now, captain. I'll see you at…"
"Seventeen hundred hours." Murdock finished. "Morrison already told me." Then, voice tinged with amusement, the captain added, "he also warned me that you'd probably hunt me down and question me before then; I guess he was right."
Hannibal paused, wondering what else Morrison had told Murdock. He almost asked but shrugged the question off instead. He was running short on time and he still had to find Peck.
"Captain…" Hell, it was a long shot, but he had to try. "…you wouldn't happen to know where a Lieutenant Peck is, would you?"
Murdock's eyes lit up. "Faceman? A' course I know where he's at. Want me to take you to him?"
An odd mixture of relief and suspicion filled the colonel. He was either tremendously lucky or there was a lot more going on than he knew about, and, since Peck was involved, he was pretty sure it was the latter of the two. Not to mention the fact that he just heard Murdock call Peck Faceman. What the hell was that about?
Hesitant to interrogate the pilot before he had recaptured his wayward lieutenant, Hannibal stared at Murdock for a long moment. If Peck and Murdock knew each other, then it probably wasn't just a coincidence that the pilot had been assigned to their team. Damn, Peck was good—better than Hannibal had imagined.
"Yeah, that'd be great," he finally answered, his voice steely cold.
Murdock must have noted the change in Hannibal's tone and taken it as a warning. Smile gone, his eyes seemed to be searching the colonel for answers, but, clearly finding none, he shrugged and turned to lead the way.
They hadn't gone far before Hannibal's impatience got the better of him; he had to know what was going on. "How exactly do you know Lieutenant Peck?"
There was a long pause, and, although he couldn't see the captain's face as they walked, he could hear the fond remembrance laced in the man's voice.
"We met in Da Nang," he offered, "…back when Face—I…uh… mean Lieutenant Peck—was still stationed there. He seemed to have a knack for getting into trouble and, somehow, I always seemed to be around to bail him out."
It was a slightly vauge answer but better than nothing. Hannibal carefully chose his next question."What's with the nickname?"
"Face? Well, the nurses in Da Nang gave him that. He could talk cheese away from a rat and it would thank him later, so those gals in uniform didn't have a chance against him. They wised up after a while and realized that the only way they were safe was if they avoided him altogether. They'd all scramble when they saw 'the face' coming their way, and pretty soon the name stuck."
Yeah, that sounded like Peck alright.
Realizing they were headed toward the hospital complex, Hannibal slowed. "Where exactly is Peck at?"
Murdock glanced over his shoulder at the colonel. "Why, he's in there," he said, pointing toward one of the hooches in the complex. "He's been offering comfort to the wounded during his downtime."
Hannibal raised an eyebrow. "For the last forty-eight hours?"
There was a snort of laughter that almost escaped from the captain before he regained his composure.
Turning away quickly, probably to hide his surprise, Murdock's answer lacked confidence. "Um…yeah?"
Trailing behind the captain, Hannibal smiled. Now this he had to see.