Chapter Twelve
Stepping from the cockpit, Hannibal mulled over Murdock's latest concern. The pilot's suspicions made sense, but, damn it…
The Colonel let his gaze sweep over his men; battered, exhausted and emotionally spent, they were in no condition to fend off an enemy attack at Dong Xoai. For their sake, he hoped the Captain was wrong, but he doubted it.
As his gaze halted on Face, he was surprised to find the kid sitting up, alert, staring intensely back at him. Face had to be running on nothing but fear and adrenaline at this point.
Hannibal kept his expression neutral— not wanting to feed the kid full of any more worry, if that was possible. God damn; he needed to come up with a new plan if he wanted to keep these boys alive.
Unable to endure Face's imploring stare any longer, Hannibal turned away, making it perfectly clear he wasn't ready to talk…yet. It wasn't until he flicked his lighter open and clicked the little flame on that he realized he'd absentmindedly retrieved his cigar from his pocket and put it to his mouth.
He clenched the cigar between his teeth, steadying it with his thumb and index finger as he raised his lighter, letting the flame dance well beneath its tip. The first few tentative puffs were merely meant to draw the flame upwards, and, as he did so, he slowly rolled the cigar between his fingers so that it lit evenly. Shitty or not, it was still a source of comfort—one he couldn't afford let sit idle any longer.
Hannibal hoped the cigar would help with his plotting. His mind seemed to function better when he smoked; he wasn't sure why, but it did.
In one swift motion, he snapped the lighter shut and pocketed it.
With the cigar lit, his thoughts wandered, and he found himself staring out the side door of the chopper, locked in deep contemplation as he savored the sweet tobacco smoke filling his lungs. The way he saw it, he had two separate issues that needed addressing—one of which was the explosives latched to the skids. No matter what Murdock had said earlier, Hannibal had no intentions of bailing out of the chopper with the rest of his team. He had not planned on leaving the pilot to tackle the issue alone.
But now…
He took another puff off his cigar and shrugged. How could he stay airborne when there was a possibility his men might be walking into a firefight at the SF camp in Dong Xoai?
But, hell, he didn't have a lot of options over who he could leave with Murdock either. The only person on the team better at working demo than Hannibal was BA, and he certainly wasn't up for the task at the moment.
Ray was a possibility; he could stay aboard and defuse whatever nasty surprise the Viet Cong had left, but, although he wasn't an entirely superstitious man, Hannibal didn't much care much the notion of giving someone so close to wake-up a suicide mission; that never turned out well. And, he really didn't want to have to write home to Ray's gal, Trish, telling her that he'd gotten Ray blown up three months before he was discharged; that would've certainly gotten Hannibal's standing invitation to Christmas dinners revoked.
No, this was the sort of thing he wouldn't order someone to do—he respect himself and his position far too much for that. Hannibal was either going to stay behind himself or none of his men would, but that hardly made his decision any easier.
"Colonel?"
He turned, staring back at his LT, fully aware of how Ray's gaze was settled on his cigar. Suddenly, with striking clarity, Hannibal recalled each time he'd lit a cigar up while still on an op; it had only been during the bleakest of times. How had ne never realized that before?
After this new revelation, his first instinct was to stub the cigar out, try to bring some reassurance back to his men, but, as he caught sight of Callaghan and Face, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, staring at him, he knew it was too late for that.
Shit…
With as much nonchalance as he could muster, Hannibal plucked the cigar from his mouth and tapped the ash onto the chopper floor. "Listen guys, things might get a little dicey here pretty soon." He paused, taking in a deep breath and trying to exude as much confidence as he could. "We're gonna get through this though."
Doubt hung heavily in the bird, Hannibal could practically taste it. He was going to have to come up with one hell of a plan…
"Hannibal!" Murdock's voice suddenly drew the Colonel's attention, but before he could make his way to the cockpit, the pilot quickly added, "We're at Dong Xoai. I'm lowering her now, get 'em out."
SHIT… Time was up. He clenched the cigar back between his teeth just as the Huey dipped down, halting only to hover a few feet above the ground.
"Use the right door only, as far back on the skid as possible…" Hannibal had eyed that section earlier and it looked fairly clear of booby-traps. "Face and Callaghan, you two out first."
There was a slight stir of confusion and both men made as if to protest but instead set about following Hannibal's orders. They hopped out—quick to turn and take hold of Dom, who Hannibal was already easing out of the chopper. Next, Ray helped the Colonel maneuver BA out into the outstretched arms of his comrades.
"Ray…" Hannibal paused with his LT at the door. "…get the men to the camp. Warn the SF unit and the ARVN that there might be a Viet Cong attack on the base in the next few hours or in the morning. I can't be sure of the numbers."
Ray grimaced. "Shit, Hannibal, really?"
Hannibal nodded. "Yeah, it looks that way."
"And…You're not coming with us, are you?" Ray asked, but it was a question that Hannibal was sure his LT already knew the answer to.
"Not now…" He replied. "…but I'll be there soon. I just have to take care of these flyboys first."
Ray didn't answer as he met the Colonel's gaze, but Hannibal could read the man's expression well; he was searching, seeing if there was any way to dissuade him from this plan, but there wasn't—which seemed to be the exact conclusion Ray came to as he gave a silent shrug, turned and exited the chopper.
Alone as the Huey steadily rose, Hannibal stood in the doorway watching his men converge on Ray, surely hounding the man for questions. Hannibal's departure would only fuel their concern, but he couldn't help that, not now.
"Whatcha thinkin' about?"
Hannibal flinched at the question, wheeling about to find Murdock standing beside him. What the hell was he doing out of the cockpit again? This bit was getting mighty stale.
"Captain, you had better have a damn good reason for…"
"Being back here again?" Murdock asked with a grin. "Well, I do, just so you know, I wanted to wave an adios to my amigo Faceman down there." He stepped closer, waving a hand at Peck—who, some fifty feet below, stared back with what could only be described as stunned dread.
"Murdock, this isn't…."
"Ah, I know, this isn't the time or the place for shenanigans." Murdock leaned out the door a little further, weaving a hand behind Hannibal so he could grab the frame of the door for support. "You know, Colonel, I really came back here to thank you for saving me out there in the jungle today…and…" He paused, a happy, mischievous gleam lighting his eyes. "…to repay you for that."
For a few seconds, Hannibal stood staring at the man, trying to deciper what he meant. Repay him? How?
And then, two things happened in quick succession—the chopper dipped down again, halting and hovering only six feet from the ground, and then Murdock lunged at Hannibal.
Hannibal may have had more training in hand-to-hand combat than the pilot, but Murdock had both the element of surprise and his damn lanky limbs on his side. In a flash, he'd shoved Hannibal from the chopper.
His instincts kicking in, Hannibal managed to hit the ground without doing any damage, although he certainly wouldn't have called it a soft landing. Stunned, he lay still a moment, staring up at the whirling chopper blades above him. Gradually, he sat up, finding both Face and Ray crouching beside him.
"You alright?" Ray asked, but Hannibal merely waved the man off.
"Yeah, besides the fact that my pilot just threw me from a chopper," he snapped back, getting to his feet. "Are the men ready? We need to move out…now."
Ray nodded before moving off—taking the hint that Hannibal needed some space while he stewed in this new embarrassment. Face, on the hand, either did not take the hint or chose to ignore it.
Hannibal cast a quick glare at the kid, but he found that Face's attention was solely on the chopper. He followed Face's gaze, spotting Murdock standing triumphantly in the door with a toothy, goofy grin. The Huey must have risen another twenty feet off the ground.
"I TOLD YA…." Murdock yelled down. "…THAT NO ONE WAS STAYING ABOARD, EVEN YOU, COLONEL. IN THE AIR, I'M RESPONSIBLE FOR YOU, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND."
Damn it, Hannibal was pissed but impressed too—not that he was going to admit that; there was no way in hell he wanted his men to think they could start pulling shit like this on him.
"SO…" the Captain added, "…CAN I LOOK FORWARD TO A COURT MARTIAL AFTER THIS?"
Hannibal blinked. What the hell was his game now?
"HOW ABOUT NOW?" Murdock grinned, proudly holding up a small object for Hannibal to see.
The Colonel frowned, not recognizing what the Captain held until he put it to his mouth and took a few puffs.
Rational thought tainted by a blind, furious frustration, Hannibal clenched his fists, yelling back at the pilot. "DAMN YOU, MURDOCK! I'LL GIVE YOU A BLASTED COURT MARTIAL IF THAT'S WHAT'S YOU'RE GUNNING FOR!"
Murdock, for his part, merely laughed, turned away and disappeared into the chopper. After a few moments, when the Captain was, no doubt, back behind the controls again, the Huey gained altitude before pulling away, heading toward a nearby expanse of rice paddies.
Hannibal watched the chopper leave, an inkling of relief overcoming him. Staying on the chopper had been a difficult decision, and, almost as soon as he decided to do so, he felt sure he was going to regret it. Murdock might have just done him the best serve anyone could have, with the exception of the cigar. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't going to give the pilot hell when he saw him again…if he saw him again.
"Holy shit…" Face hissed, causing Hannibal to cast a quick sideways glance at the kid—who stood, staring upward, brow creased, eyes filled with concern and bewilderment.
"Yeah…" Hannibal narrowed his gaze on his young Lieutenant. "What?" If the kid knew what was good for him, he'd choose his next words very carefully.
"Well…" Face's shock slowly seemed to melt, giving way to a roguish grin. "…I had no idea Murdock smoked cigars."