Chapter Five
After advising that all letters home be taken care of, Hannibal hustled outside. He couldn't stomach seeing those looks from his men—those fleeting, desperate glances that begged him to do his best, to keep them alive. But, the grim actuality was that he couldn't save them all; if not on this mission then on another, he'd lose someone—it was inevitable. He was no longer naïve enough to believe his team would manage to remain unscathed; experience had since taught him otherwise. Rolland and Mills hadn't been the first men to die on his watch, and they doubtlessly wouldn't be the last.
Reaching into his pocket, he fumbled around until he caught hold of a cigar. In one solid motion, he brought it to his mouth, clenched it between his teeth and had a lighter hovering beneath its tip. It lit, and he grimaced as he drew in the first warm breath of tobacco. The cigar was cheap and tasted like shit, but it was better than nothing.
"That bad, huh?"
Without looking up, Hannibal grinned. He hadn't heard the man coming, but it had become a sort of ritual for Ray to search him out before a major op. They wouldn't necessarily talk about the mission; hell, they might not talk much at all. Most times they just stood, thinking and keeping each other company in those few moments of peace before the urgency to busy themselves with preparations set in.
Ray leaned back against a wooden post, his hazel eyes settled on Hannibal, but his gaze didn't make the colonel squirm. Brenner wasn't much older than the other guys on the team, but, despite his light-hearted antics, he had a calm inner strength that had aged him well beyond his years—that's probably why he made such a damn fine LT. Hopefully, in three months' time—when Ray's tour was up, Peck would be able to fill the man's shoes. So far, Hannibal wasn't sure if Face was up to the task.
"Yeah, it's that bad," Hannibal sighed, exhaling a lungful of sweet cigar smoke. He was already dreading the day Ray went home; the team wouldn't be the same.
For a while, they stood quietly, neither obviously feeling the need to combat the silence—there was no reason; it wasn't awkward or imposing.
Eventually, a faint, cheerful whistling alerted them to the arrival of Captain Murdock. Hands in his pockets, the pilot strolled over and then hunkered down on a nearby crate. His happy whistles died away as he grinned over at the two men.
Chomping down a little too hard on his cigar, Hannibal waited for Murdock to speak—to press for information that the colonel wasn't ready to share. He frowned. This wasn't the time for twenty questions; this was the time for enjoying one last shitty cigar before he had to take responsibility for the lives of his men. His annoyance at this intrusion surprised him; he hadn't ever realized how comforting he found this quiet time before.
Ray, for his part, was staring incredulously at the pilot. Slowly, his gaze shifted to Hannibal, a slight grin adorning his 'would you get a load of this guy' expression.
As his tension mounted, Hannibal shifted uneasily—desperately craving his last moments of respite. It was then that Murdock scanned the colonel, his eyes finally settling on the cigar.
Damn, that's what the kid wanted—a smoke. Hannibal only had two left, one of which he was damn sure going to save for after the mission, but the other…
He sighed. About to ask the captain if he wanted a cigar, he paused in bewilderment as Murdock started zealously pawing through the pockets on his flight suit. Whatever he was looking for, he found and, large toothy grin again adorning his face, he quickly leaned over extending a clenched hand toward Ray— a slender white shape was just visible between the pilot's fingers. To Hannibal's surprise, the lieutenant took the offered item.
Knowing that Ray didn't smoke—his dad had died of lung cancer—Hannibal had to wonder what the hell Murdock had offered over. Curiosity beat out his irritation as he studied the captain.
Paper crinkled before Murdock's hand darted to his mouth. For a moment, Hannibal thought a cigarette dangled from the pilot's lips, but, as he peered closer, he realized it was the white stick of a sucker. Murdock's cheek bulged holding the hard candy. Gradually, the man reclined on the crate—his left leg swinging leisurely back and forth as it dangled off the side. There was a contentment that spread across the pilot's face as he peered upward, studying the few wisps of clouds hanging in the afternoon sky.
Hannibal glanced over at Ray, intrigued to find his lieutenant happily smacking away at a lollipop. Looking sheepishly up, Brenner smiled and then shrugged; well, what did Hannibal expect—the man did have a hell of a sweet tooth.
Letting the wash of stillness settle over him, Hannibal relaxed. Obviously, Murdock wasn't there to disturb the moment. He took in another lungful of warmth from his cigar.
Five minutes later, Hannibal knew they had to start moving. He snubbed out his cigar and sighed. So much for R&R—if they were lucky, they might get their week back after the mission.
"Ray, go check on the men; make sure they're ready. Then, take Peck and go to the ammo dump to load up." Hannibal was trying to stick Peck with Ray as much as possible, in the slim chance some of the man's leadership skills would rub off on the newbie.
"I'm on it," Ray answered before crunching down the last of his candy and heading inside.
"And…" Hannibal turned to look over at Murdock—who had sat up, quietly watching the exchange so far. "I need you to go and…"
"Change into fatigues?" Murdock asked, glancing down at his flight suit. "That might be a bit more jungle friendly, yeah?"
"Exactly," Hannibal answered, turning away toward his hooch; he still had to get his own gear ready.
"You know…" Murdock's voice was low, thoughtful, causing the colonel to pause. "I was kind of glad that the higher ups didn't want me to bring my crew on this mission."
There was a pause, and Hannibal had to wonder if the man was finished, but he eventually continued.
"It's hard…" The captain's face was oddly serious as he stared at Hannibal. "…to know you are responsible for their lives, isn't it?"
Startled by the insight, Hannibal chose his words carefully. "And yours."
With a smirk, Murdock nodded before he slowly stood and started to stroll away. His melodic voice calling out, "Unless we're in the air, and then I'm responsible for you."
Watching the pilot walk away, Hannibal grinned. Yep, he was going to work out just fine.
Dressed in his fatigues, Murdock sat listening to Morrison give the briefing. The rest of the team seemed to be soaking in every word, but it was more difficult for Murdock to pay attention; most of the info had been given to him hours after the chopper went missing. Hell, he knew more than Morrison did, but, for appearances, he had to play along and act as if this were all new to him.
"The chopper went down at oh-nine hundred hours doing dust-offs." Morrison read from the report in front of him.
Murdock frowned. The time was right, but he knew for a fact that the chopper hadn't been doing dust-offs.
Because of the sensitivity of the mission, he'd known the briefing would be full of holes and misinformation, but it still bothered him. Hannibal's team was one of the best; they deserved better. Still, nothing vital was missing from the report—if it was then, CIA involvement or not, Murdock wouldn't keep his mouth shut. If these men were going to risk their lives, they had every right to know what they were getting themselves into.
He glanced over at Face, surprised to see the man earnestly listening to Morrison, and he felt a stab of guilt. Fooling Faceman had been easy; the lieutenant, for as good as his cons were, had a blind spot for Murdock. The fact that Face had already been pushing to get Murdock on their team had helped, but, in the end, Peck hadn't had much of a hand in getting him as Hannibal's new pilot. Still, Murdock didn't have the heart to tell Face that he really hadn't just pulled off the biggest scam of his life; instead, he opted to let that secret be. Hopefully it wouldn't inflate Face's ego too much.
Morrison drolled on about coordinates—which they had been waiting to confirm before sending Smith's team out. Having verified the exact location of the chopper, they were now ready to strike.
Murdock stifled a yawn. Damn, he should have caught a nap earlier in the day, but he had wanted to check the chopper rotation to see who was going to fly them out. Plus, he didn't want to miss the matinee. The kids seemed to really like his rendition of Snow White.
"There are reports of heavy enemy activity in the area…"
Well, at least that much was true. It made Murdock wonder if the Viet Cong had realized who they had captured. Hell, the agent, Sergeant Stinson, would have been hauled somewhere far away for questioning already if that was the case. Murdock's job, one which he was not to disclose to any of his new teammates, was to confirm Stinson's location and condition; if possible, he was to attempt a rescue as well. Sources said the man was killed in the crash, but confirmation was needed. Whatever Stinson knew, the CIA didn't want leaked.
For the better part of the last year, Stinson had inserted himself as a gunner on various choppers—which was how Murdock knew him. Though not an agent himself, Murdock had been recruited to fly a couple of high profile, classified missions for the CIA in the past, so they weren't hesitant to call him up in their current time of need. Apparently, they didn't want to chance losing another full-fledged agent in the field, but they were also anxious to get someone out there who could properly id Stinson. Plus, getting the chopper back would be a feather in their cap.
Still, the whole story about Intel wanting the chopper back intact was just a cover—a lousy one at that. Quite frankly, Murdock was surprised Hannibal hadn't seen right through it. But, then again, maybe the man had; he was a little hard to gauge.
Morrison's voice rose a little, startling Murdock out of his daydreams. "You leave in one hour, dismissed."
"You ready for this?" Face asked, suddenly appearing beside Murdock.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Murdock answered with a grin, hoping that was true.