Chapter Four
No one spoke to him, but he didn't much care. Actually, BA preferred to be left alone. Even in a room chock-full of guys, he could still manage to remain very solitary. Drowning out their banter and laughter, he settled onto his cot and unfolded the letter from his mama.
She loved and missed him—she wrote that every time, just to remind him. A tightness settled into his throat as he eyed the looping cursive on the page, picturing her seated at her little wooden desk writing out each loving word. He prayed she was doing alright—she said she was, but he didn't know if he believed her. Their neighborhood was tough. What would she do without him there to take care of her?
His letters back were always short; he felt bad about that, but there wasn't much he wanted to tell her about 'Nam. Mainly, he just wrote back how much he loved and missed her too.
A boisterous round of laughter sounded, louder than before. Irritated, BA peered over at the table in the corner. Lt. Ray Brenner was still there, playing poker with Sgt. Casey Callaghan and Sgt. Dominic Rodrigo. From the looks of it, Ray had just taken Rodrigo to the cleaners.
Unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, Ray was beaming from ear to ear. "Straight beats your trip-kings, Dom. Looks like I take the pot," he hooted, reaching over to take the pile of cigarettes—which was amusing seeing as he was the only one of the three that didn't smoke.
"No way!" Rodrigo bolted up, toppling his chair to the floor. "I was sure you were bluffing. You haven't had a hand all day!" He leaned forward, running a hand through his short, dark hair as he stared incredulously down at Brenner's cards.
"Well," Ray laughed, "that just meant I was due. You should've known better." He glanced over at BA and winked, but, spotting the man's already bruising eye, BA turned away.
Colonel Smith was going to blow a gasket when he found out about Brenner's shiner. BA frowned. He hadn't meant to hit Ray—Callaghan had been his target. The little red-headed weasel had been poking fun of him pouring over his mama's letters. Hell, it might have been some harmless teasing, but BA wasn't having any of it. Callaghan would've gotten what was coming to him if Ray hadn't stepped in the way.
Man, Smith had specifically told BA that he couldn't punch any more officers. Callaghan was just a sergeant—so he didn't count, right? Of course, since he'd slugged Ray instead, he'd inadvertently gone against the colonel's orders.
BA sighed, folded his mama's letter back up and tucked in it into his shirt pocket.
When it all came down to it, he wasn't even sure why he was on this team anyway. He'd been on the verge of getting court martialed for nearly breaking his Company Commander's jaw—he would've probably ended up with a BCD, but then Colonel Smith swooped in, worked some magic, and got him moved to his team. Why the colonel had taken an interest in him, BA hadn't a clue. He was good at fixing things—real good— but plenty of guys could do that.
Whatever Smith's reasons were, BA wasn't going to question him. There was no way he could have explained a Bad Conduct Discharge to his mama. She would've died of shame.
And, for once, it was nice to be under a commander that wasn't a total shithead. Hell, that's half the reason BA was always getting in trouble; there were too many green officers looking to push their weight around. Smith was different; the man had nothing to prove—he was already a bit of a legend.
With a loud sigh, Rodrigo flopped down on the cot next to BA's. It was rare for them to interact; Rodrigo, or Dom as the other guys called him, seemed wary of BA—which was good. The more people that avoided him, the less people there were to piss him off.
"I can't believe he got me," Dom whined, his eyes darting to BA. "He's not even going to smoke them, and I know like hell he's not going to give them back either."
BA glared back, but Dom hardly seemed to notice.
"Now, I'm gonna have to see if Peck can get me another carton." Dom paused to chuckle as he folded his arms behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. "That is if the colonel ever finds him."
Templeton Peck—BA frowned as he thought of the man. Smith must have had some kind of bizarre affinity for misfits, because about a month after BA came to the team, the colonel dragged Peck in as well. As far as BA could tell, the lieutenant was himself about to get a court martial and probably a dismissal for his various unauthorized 'requisitions.'
The logic might have been screwy, but BA hated Peck for one simple reason—the man was too damn likeable. In fact, Peck was one of the few guys BA considered a friend—which infuriated him. He didn't want no 'Nam friends—especially if they were officers. He just wanted to do his time and get out. Experience had already taught him that it was the guy you befriended who ended up dead on the next op. So, having Peck weasel his way into a friendship simply pissed BA off.
On Peck's first mission with the team, as soon as they were in a hot zone, the lieutenant stumbled out of their jeep, fell on his face and promptly lost his helmet. BA had been sure he was gonna lose another friend that day, but that wasn't the case. Ray, the team's Detachment Technician—second in command to Smith, hauled Peck to his feet, plopped his own helmet on the guy's head and, with a wink and a smile, pointed him in the direction of the action.
"Ah, speak of the devil…" Dom hissed, and, startled out of his thoughts, BA glanced up to find Smith strolling into the room.
The colonel's gaze settled briefly on Ray before quickly shifting to BA.
Damn.
"And what exactly happened to Ray's eye?" Smith snapped.
Ray was swift to get to his feet, offering a lopsided grin to the colonel. "Ah, Hannibal…I just walked into a door was all—a really angry, big, mean door."
"Is that so?" Smith kept his steely gaze on BA.
BA shrugged. He wasn't gonna lie about it. "I hit him, sir."
Smacking a palm to his forehead, Ray groaned. "Damn it, BA. I had this one for you. I really think Hannibal would've bought the angry door story."
"Why'd you hit Ray?" Smith asked, arms crossed—totally ignoring Brenner's attempts to lighten the mood. "I thought Ray was one of the few officers you liked."
"Didn't mean to hit him—was aiming for Callaghan." Ba mumbled; Smith was about the only officer he'd ever known that could actually make him feel as guilty as if he were being scolded by his mama.
A long tired sigh rolled out of the colonel. "And why did you want to hit Callaghan?"
"He was making fun of the letters from my mama."
Callaghan nearly fell off his chair at BA's reply. "Hey! Now that's not exactly…"
"Stow it Cal," Hannibal barked. "Just leave Baracus alone when he's reading his letters, ok?"
Callaghan scowled at BA but nodded. The red-headed medic was hardly intimidating. With his freckles, spectacles and large protruding ears, the guy looked like a character out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
"And…" BA said, surprising even himself that he dared to speak up again. "You said not to hit any more officers."
For a moment, the room went silent, and BA could feel everyone's gaze settling on him. He swallowed hard, staring down at his calloused hands. Maybe he should have kept quiet.
It was Ray who started laughing first. He was soon joined by Dom and finally, though somewhat reluctantly at first, Callaghan. BA glanced up—surprised to see that even Smith was chuckling.
Whatever tension the colonel had been holding seemed to ease out of him. "You got me, Baracus. I did give you a little bit wiggle room there, but, as of now, I don't want you tenderizing any officers or enlisted men, understand?"
BA nodded.
"Hey," Peck called out, sauntering into the room with a lanky looking fellow in a flight suit hot on his heels. "No offense BA, but I like the idea of muzzling those fists or yours. When did that order go into effect?"
Ray sat back in his seat, slouching as he eyed Peck. "Well, you'd have known about it sooner if you hadn't gone missing for the last two days."
"Ah…uh…yeah…about that…" Stumbling on his words, Peck quickly sidestepped and gestured at the guy who had come in with him. "This is Captain H.M. Murdock. He's going to be our pilot for this death mission Morrison is sending us on."
BA got to his feet, glaring at Peck's skinny friend. "New pilot? What happened to Williams?" BA didn't much like any pilot, but at least Williams wasn't no crazy fool trying to pull off stunts that was gonna get them all killed. He didn't like the looks of this new guy.
"Yeah, what about Williams?" Dom chimed in. "He's saved our asses plenty of times in the past."
"I vote for Williams." Callaghan added, though he seemed far more interested in his cards than the conversation at hand.
"I'm not sure if you were all listening or not…" A concoction of amusement and concern tinged Ray's voice. "…but you all heard Peck say death mission, right?"
"So," Dom grinned, "more of the usual shit then?"
Ray opened his mouth, as if to protest, but seemed unable to find the right words. Finally, he simply shrugged and replied, "Yep, exactly like the usual."
"Face, I like these guys," Murdock said, his eyes gleaming as he watched the team. "They're crazy."
"Who you callin' crazy, fool?" BA bustled forward, standing toe to toe with the new guy.
Murdock didn't flinch; he just stood there with a goofy grin on his face. "I'm sorry; I didn't catch your name yet."
"That's Sergeant BA Baracus," Face answered with a nervous chuckle, as his eyes darted from BA to Murdock.
"It stands for Bad Attitude," Ray added, pointing to his own black eye.
"Ah, BA?" Murdock said, leaning back ever so slightly so he could extend a hand to BA. "Glad to meet ya!"
BA glared at the man. Fool pilot was gonna get them all killed, he could already tell. After letting one deep growl rumble out, BA turned away and skulked back to his cot.
"Don't mind him." Face's voice seemed to relax a tick as BA retreated. "He's just a little cranky before big missions. He'll warm up to you…eventually…maybe."
Callaghan set down his cards, obviously finally realizing there was no way in hell they were going to finish the game. He frowned over at Peck. "Did I just hear that guy call you Face?"
"You guys can commence with the chitchat later," Smith said, instantly drawing everyone's attention. "Right now, I want you all to get your gear ready. We have a briefing at seventeen hundred, and, if I know Morrison, we'll be lifting off soon after that." He drew in a deep breath, eyes scanning each of his men. "I'm not gonna lie; this one's going to be a doozy. Write your letters now." And, with that, he turned and trudged out of the room.
BA felt it then—that raw, inescapable fear. The mood had quickly turned somber as each man retreated to their own areas to write their letters. Only the quiet murmur of conversation between Murdock and Face sounded as they sat at the abandoned poker table; neither man seemed interested in writing home.
It was in these moments that BA's mind drew a dull, agonizing blank. What could he write? What if this really was his last letter home? He didn't want to think about it; he didn't want to write it, but since Smith had suggested the letters, chances were that they weren't all coming back from this mission.
Pen in hand, BA stared down at the blank page before him, willing the words to come. Slowly, he started writing.
Dear Mama,
I got your last letter. Don't let Uncle Herb fix the sink. He'll only make it worse. Call Rob in B-12. He owes me a favor and he's a very good plumber. He'll fix the leak and get the garbage disposal working again.
I'm sorry I'm not there to fix it myself. I should be there, I know.
I miss you so much and I think of you every day. I can only hope I'm doing you proud. I love you.
~BA
Besides the part about the sink, it was nearly indistinguishable from every other letter he'd written home. He thought briefly of rewriting it but decided not to. He wouldn't do any better. After folding the letter, he placed it in an envelope and addressed it. Hopefully, she'd never know how hard of a letter that had been for him to write—how he had thought that maybe it really was his last.