CHAPTER ONE
September 3, 1968
Doc here says I'm ready to hit the ground running again. Eight days is apparently the minimum recovery time for a flesh wound. It's disappointing. The American nurses here in Lai Khe are the best time I've had in a long while. But now that the bet with Cipher is over (I won, by the way, and in less than 24 hours), I guess my work here is done. And I can always come back and see her again. I doubt it would take me anywhere near a full day to get her into bed a second time.
"Face!" Boston called into the tent where Face was lounging, still wearing boots, on the cot temporarily assigned to him with pen in hand and a notebook propped against his legs.
"Yeah?" he called back without looking up.
"Pack up," Boston ordered, letting the green canvas flap swish back into place again. "We're movin' out!"
Face smiled to himself, but otherwise ignored the directive as he continued writing.
As for the list I wrote up for Westman, it's gone dead quiet on both sides. Either it'll stay that way or I'll be met with some friendly fire in the not-too-distant future. We'll see which. I guess it depends how much he wants to keep his "A-team" alive and functioning. Not that I think Hannibal would even flinch if he had to find a way to go on without me. Or any of us, for that matter. The man is a fucking machine.
"Face?" Hannibal's voice was at once less confrontational and more commanding than Boston's. "We're in the air in ten minutes, with or without you."
Glancing up from the notebook, Face smiled at his commanding officer, who was strapping a pack over his shoulders. "Gee, Colonel, you really mean it?"
The look that answered him was anything but patient. "Move it, Sergeant."
Face chuckled, swinging his legs obediently to the floor and turning his back as Hannibal finished readying his pack, then exited the tent. But still, Face was in no hurry.
Well, off to... a remote area of South Vietnam. Not that anyone particularly cares. Though I guess I'm kind of glad for that, in all honesty. I'd hate to think that anyone is going to be terribly heartbroken someday when I don't make it back.
A hand to the back of his head elicited a knee-jerk reaction. He grabbed and almost broke Cipher's wrist. For some reason, the sergeant found that amusing, smiling from the awkward position, half-lying on the cot that threatened to collapse under the weight of both men.
"C'mon, Faceman, let's go."
Releasing his grip, Face gave him a wave. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."
Straightening again, Cipher rotated his wrist a few times before heading to the exit. "You're gonna be hangin' off the skids if you don't get yer ass out there," he warned, picking up his gear along the way.
In case this is my last entry, I want my body (if it's ever recovered) delivered to the bastard protestors in the States. They can burn it as a token of their appreciation. And make sure Sarah Jane gets all the gory details that can pass classification ratings. I'm sure she'd appreciate it.
Face slapped the journal closed and threw it into his open pack, then grabbed his gear and extinguished the gas lantern before pushing his way out of the dark and musty tent. Juggling a CAR-15, his pack, and a vest loaded with grenades and charges and canisters of various sizes, he made his way quickly to the LZ and dropped the gear into the back of the chopper that was refueling hot, rotors still spinning
"Where the hell have you been?" he yelled to the pilot. He could barely hear his own voice over the echoing beats of the helicopter. "We were supposed to leave at noon!"
"Ash and trash, baby," Warrant Officer Rick Sanfree, called back with a grin. "An Lac, halfway to fuckin' Saigon."
"Fuck that!" Face answered loudly. "Why didn't you tell them you were booked out?"
Cipher clapped Face's shoulder, and he glanced back. "You see the captain's daughter on that base?" he asked by way of explanation. His hands waved an hourglass shape and Face rolled his eyes. He didn't even want to know what the captain's daughter was doing in the middle of Vietnam.
"Hey, you didn't have to wait for me," the pilot said with a wide grin. "There's ten other choppers sitting right there!"
"Yeah, we'd just put it on autopilot, huh?" Cipher chuckled.
Face rolled his eyes as Sanfree laughed, but turned away as he thought he heard his name. Hannibal was
waving at him. He jumped down from the chopper and jogged over, away from the deafening sound of the blades. "Did you call Dac Seang?" Face yelled out once he was within shouting distance. "Tell them we're running late?"
Hannibal grinned, probably at the irritation in Face's tone. Few things got under the Colonel's skin, and being late wasn't one of them. Besides, he'd found other things to do besides sit on his bunk and write useless journal entries no one would ever read.
"Boston's grabbing food supplies," Hannibal said, not bothering to answer. "Think you can find a few more Green Hornets before we go?"
Face frowned at the implication they might need them. Then, casting a glance over at the medical tent, he considered his prospects. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal smirk. "Of course, if it's too much trouble..."
Face passed him a glare. "You got a stopwatch?" he challenged confidently. "Time me."
Hannibal clapped a hand over his shoulder and headed to the chopper as Face trotted toward the makeshift field clinic. It was too small to be called a hospital, but it was soaked with its fair share of blood just the same. Few serious injuries were ever treated here, but it was the job of the nurses and medics to at least stop the bleeding before sending their patients to larger bases. The most serious cases were sent to Japan or back to the States. Armed with only the most basic first aid - bandages, IVs, and painkillers, mostly - soldiers took consolation in the fact that if they made it to this base without bleeding to death, they were probably stable enough to make it to the next one.
One thing made this medical center unusual among many in the smaller A-camps. Though predominantly staffed by CIDG - midwives and medicine men who knew nothing of technology or modern techniques, or even antibiotics - Lai Khe served as a training center for new recruits. Their teachers, who patiently explained their procedures through an impassible language barrier, were round-eyed nurses on rotation from the nearby B-camp. Lai Khe was one of the few places Face had been in the past few years where American women could be found.
"I help you?" a short, ragged looking woman asked in broken English as he stepped into the tent and looked around at the cots along the edge of the tent where injured men were sleeping or lying with books.
"I'm looking for Jessica," he responded.
The woman instantly turned away and called loudly with little regard for the sleeping figures on either side. "Jessica! A man for you!"
"A man for me," a female voice repeated as Jessica Summers brushed in through the flap on the opposite side of the tent. "What else is new?"
The young blonde looked frazzled and tired, her fatigues stained with blood from the morning's shelling casualties. Face hesitated for a moment as he evaluated her mood, and the way her exceedingly polite smile showed no real joy when she greeted him. "What can I do for you this time, Face?"
His smile held more intent than mere formality as he came closer. "This time?" he repeated with mock offense. "Maybe I was just coming in to see how you were holding up after this morning's excitement."
"You're looking at it," she replied, holding her arms out to the side for him to take a good look at her stained clothes. Then she folded her arms over her chest and fixed him in a hard stare. "Surprise me and say you're not here looking for anything else."
Opening his mouth, he realized it was a catch 22 and closed it again with a smile and a shrug. She smirked, pleased to be right even if she wasn't pleased to find her wellbeing was secondary on his list of interests. "I thought so," she replied, spinning on her heel.
He followed a step behind as she headed back in the direction she'd come. "Hey, it's not like I wouldn't come here just to see how you were doing, you know," he said. "Or that I haven't done just that. You're the one who's making up excuses for why I can't take you out again, but I've been the perfect gentleman here, from day one."
She laughed mockingly. "Perfect gentleman?" Spinning back to him, she set her hands deliberately on her hips. "The last time you took me out, you left me at the side of the road with a broken down jeep while a couple of guys with guns dragged you off for god-knows-what. I thought they were going to kill you. I thought they were going to kill me!"
"But they didn't," he clarified with a brilliant smile.
Rolling her eyes dramatically, she turned and headed away again.
"There are nice restaurants in DaNang," he reminded, careful not to step on her heels as she brushed the tent flap aside and led the way out into the bright, smoldering hot sunlight. The air was so thick out here, away from the fans inside, that it was like drowning on dry land. "It's only a half hour away by chopper and I'll probably have a day or two off when I come back from -"
"What do you need, Face?" she interrupted with a deep sigh, turning back to face him.
Realizing he'd made all the prerequisite efforts at softening her up, he cut to the chase. "A couple of Green Hornets," he replied.
"I already gave those to Hannibal," she answered curtly.
Face shrugged. "Well, yeah, but -"
"And I gave him the maximum number that I'm allowed to hand out," she interrupted. "Which is more than enough. They're not candy, Face."
"If the VC doesn't kill me, the caffeine will, is that it?" he smirked.
She sighed tiredly and wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. "What are you doing with these things, selling them?"
He laughed heartily at the thought. "If I was selling anything, it wouldn't be caffeine pills."
She looked up at him, staring him in the eye. He could tell he'd won by the look on her face. She was too tired to argue. And besides that, she knew he was right. The dangers of too much caffeine paled in comparison to the dangers of being too tired to stay alert.
"Please?" he asked, holding out a hand, palm up.
His best impression of a begging puppy made her sigh again, and she reached in her pocket for a small plastic bag filled with little green pills. He hid his smile. She'd known he would be coming for them and she'd known she would give them over. This was just too damn easy.
"Thanks," he smiled, tucking them into his pocket before he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I owe you one."
"You owe me a hell of a lot more than one," she reminded, resting her hands comfortably on his chest.
He grinned back at her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "I'll make good on it," he promised, pausing for just a moment to pull the soft lobe of her ear between his teeth gently. "Next time."
"Be careful," she pleaded as he pulled back and set a light kiss on her lips. "All of you."
"We always are," he lied, pulling away. Then, with a casual, two-fingered wave, he turned and jogged toward Hannibal and his stopwatch.
Los Angeles
August 23, 1978
"Want me to walk you in?" Face offered as he pulled the 1971 Pontiac GTO into the parking lot of the VA hospital.
"Nah, I'll be fine," Murdock answered with a big yawn. "Think I'm gon' go sleep for a week or so."
Face sympathized. Their last assignment, in Panama, had been exhausting for all of them. But it had been profitable, and that made it worth the effort. BA had managed a good long nap on the plane ride home - like it or not - and Hannibal had caught some shut eye as well. But Face was too wired to sleep and Murdock had to fly the plane. They'd kept each other company in the cockpit of the A36 Bonanza.
"Does that mean you don't want to come along if Hannibal decides he can't sit still after a day or two?" Face challenged as Murdock got out of the car.
Murdock looked back and smirked. If past experience was any indication, he'd be ready to go again by morning. He liked the fast pace Hannibal had been setting for them recently - with three cases in as many weeks, and two of them out of the country. Face, on the other hand, was exhausted in every sense of the word and in desperate need of a few days off. Hopefully, Hannibal had gotten the jazz all out of his system now and could spare a few days for recovery.
Ever since they'd started this gig, they hadn't gone more than a few weeks without another case. They (and their unconventional problem solving techniques) were popular; business was plentiful. Hannibal had recon in his blood, and that hadn't gone away after the war. If Face was really honest, it was still in his blood, too. But for him, that didn't equate to actually wanting - seeking, even - a way to get himself killed. Nevertheless, he was along for the ride, wherever that road took him. His team was the closest thing he'd ever had to family - a bond even stronger than blood that no one else could ever understand. They'd killed for each other. Died for each other...
Face's wandering thoughts of peaceful rest were cut off abruptly by a pair of long, thin legs crossing the sidewalk in front of his car. Before he even saw the rest of the woman attached to them, she had his full attention. As his eyes moved up, he saw a lab coat and, above that, a pretty face. "Who is that?" he asked, thinking out loud.
"I dunno," Murdock replied, turning to look as the woman removed her coat to reveal a dress underneath that was a bit too short to be strictly professional, but had a high enough neckline to be considered modest.
"I think she's new," Murdock continued. "Never seen her before."
Face was already stepping out of the car. With a chuckle, Murdock exited as well and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Later, Faceman," he called, walking backwards a few steps before he turned and started for the hospital entrance.
It only took Face a few steps to catch up to her. "Excuse me..."
His intent had been to ask if he knew her when she turned around, but he never had the chance. The instant she looked at him, her eyes widened in surprise. "Face?"
It was not the response he'd been expecting. Startled and confused, it took him a moment to place the voice, the face, and the name she'd called him into one coherent memory. Thank God he was good with names. "Jessica," he greeted with his best smile. "Wow! I thought that was you. You look... great."
The last part, at least, wasn't a lie. Ten years older now, she was even more eye catching than she'd been back then - thin, about his height in her practical pumps, and pronounced curves in all the right places. Her eyes were wide with shock - and something else he couldn't immediately identify - as she gave a tight, almost tense laugh that set off warning bells in Face's mind. Something was wrong - unnatural. That kind of anxiety and raised guard was not the expected response to a reunion of old friends.
"You look really good, too," she finally stammered out.
"So what are you doing in LA?" Face asked. Over her shoulder, he saw Murdock walk through the front doors of the VA and out of sight. "I thought you lived in Missouri."
Jessica chuckled at the question. "I uh..." A hand quickly pushed her hair back, eyes darting as if looking for an escape. "I moved here."
Ignoring her uneasiness, Face kept his tone light. "Really?"
"Yeah." She shifted from one foot to the other and directed her attention to the building behind her. "I just started work here at the VA a few days ago."
"Wow." He feigned utter fascination with the small talk. "You've lived here long?"
"Yes, a few years," she replied, too simply. "You?"
She was eyeing him warily, and shutting down attempts at conversation before they even started. But damn, she had a body, and he had one foot in the door with someone he'd known once before. They would have plenty to talk about, and even if that was as far as it went, he could think of worse ways to spend an evening or two than sitting across a candlelit table from her.
He shrugged casually to answer her question. "I've always lived here," he replied, then quickly corrected. "Well, when I say always, I was in Vegas for a while. And the Army doesn't count."
"Right." She checked her watch, shifting her purse over her other shoulder. "Well, look, I'd love to stay and talk but I really have to go. I need to catch the bus and it won't wait."
The window of opportunity flung itself open in front of him, and he smiled broadly. "Why don't you let me drive you home?" he offered.
"Oh, no," she answered enthusiastically, "I couldn't - "
"Please." Face gestured toward his car. "I insist."
He gave her his best smile, and watched as the protest died on her lips with a sigh. After a moment of hesitation, she resigned herself to accepting the friendly gesture and smiled back. "Okay," she agreed. "Actually, that sounds wonderful. Are you sure it isn't any trouble?"
He noticed the way she hesitated when her eyes came to rest on the sporty car, but he only smiled as he opened the door for her. "Not at all."
She stared, feet firmly planted. "This is your car?"
He raised a brow. "You don't like it?" he challenged with a slight smirk.
After a moment of stammering, head shaking and nodding at the same time, she managed a hesitant, "It's... nice."
It was very nice. It had cost him a small fortune when he'd bought it, and was still worth every penny, years later. "Coming?" he urged, still holding the door.
She hesitated for a long moment, then stepped off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, slipping into the passenger seat. He closed the door before heading to the other side of the car. A moment later, he turned over the ignition and pulled out of the parking space.
"So, uh," she hesitated as he turned slowly through the parking lot, avoiding the few pedestrians. "What were you doing here at the VA?"
"A friend of mine... lives here," he answered haltingly. It was always a bit awkward to explain Murdock's situation to people who didn't know him.
For a moment, the confusion was written all over her face. "At the hospital?"
"In the psych ward," Face specified.
She raised a brow, interested. "A friend from the war? Who?"
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Was she serious? She'd recognized him – and remembered his name – in a flash. Surely she knew how Vietnam had ended for him. Here in LA, everybody and their brother had heard the rumors of Murdock's involvement with the A-Team, and Face's presence here all but confirmed it. It might have even concerned Face a bit to let her in on the secret if he thought Lynch hadn't already considered it a hundred times over.
"How long did you say you've been in LA?" Face asked, curious.
"About five years," she replied, avoiding his gaze. He couldn't immediately tell if it was a lie, but his gut told him it wasn't the truth. Why lie about it? Curiosity scratched the surface of his awareness. "But this is only my third day at the hospital."
Murdock hadn't even been in the hospital since four days ago. Their paths wouldn't have crossed yet. With a knowing smile, he decided to let that scene unfold on its own, for the amusement of all.
"What do you do here?" Face asked innocently.
Confident in her response, she seemed to sit a little straighter as she declared, "I'm an orthopedic surgeon."
His eyes widened slightly. War nurse turned surgeon; it was quite a step up. "Really? Congratulations."
"Thank you," she replied coolly. "Turn left here."
It was twenty minutes of choppy conversation before Face pulled into the driveway of a nice house. It sort of surprised him; if she lived in a house like this, why was she riding the bus? Come to think of it, why was an orthopedic surgeon without a car? He thought to ask, but didn't think she'd answer. She was being even more guarded than he was, and he was the one with the fugitive status. About the only thing he'd really found out was that she wasn't seeing anyone and that she didn't own a TV or read the paper. She hadn't even known he was alive, much less that he was wanted by the military police. He didn't feel it strictly necessary to fill in the blanks.
"Listen," he said as he pulled the car to a stop and put it into park, glancing first at the house and then at her. "If you're not busy this weekend, how about dinner? Friday night, maybe?"
"Oh, I..." She was looking for an excuse. He could see it in her eyes. "I can't. I'm sorry."
Undeterred, he continued smoothly. "How about Saturday, then?"
"Really, I - "
"If you think," he cut her off, "that after finding you, ten years later, I'm just going to let you turn and walk away without so much as one dinner date, you don't know me very well."
He smiled as she stared at him, knowing she would be no more able to refuse that smile now than she had all those years ago. "Alright," she relented, though he could tell by the way she said it that she was already planning the excuses she would pull from her hat at the last moment. "But don't go getting any ideas, Face. Things are a lot different now than they used to be."
Face put up his hands in surrender. "I have no expectations. Just a nice dinner and a pleasant evening with an old friend. Who looks every bit as beautiful now as she did ten years ago."
His attention flickered to the window nearest the door as an older woman pulled the curtains aside and peeked out at them. He studied her for a moment and Jessica followed his gaze. "My mother," she explained. "We help each other out."
Face nodded. "I see." He turned to look at her again. "So what time should I pick you up?"
"Uh... well..." She hesitated. "Can we do it later in the evening? Say eight? Or nine?"
"Eight sounds good," he confirmed. "I'll be here."
He watched as she opened the door and stepped out of the car, then started up the drive toward the door. She turned to look over her shoulder halfway there, and he smiled as he gave her a quick wave. By the time she reached the door, the figure in the window was gone. Once Jessica disappeared inside, leaving him to ponder the awkward reunion with some amusement, Face put the car in reverse. But looking over the seat to back out of the driveway, something caught his eye. It took him a minute to even figure out what seemed out of place. He paused. Three cars sat across the street, parallel parked along the curb. They'd been there since he'd arrived and would not have attracted his attention at all except that one of them was occupied by a figure not clearly visible through the darkly tinted windows.
Gaze lingering for just a moment, he shrugged off the feeling of uneasiness. There could be a hundred reasons why someone was in a parked car at the side of the road and the car wasn't hurting anything. Face made note of it, then finished pulling out of the driveway. But two blocks further, he still couldn't shake the discomfort. It was a sixth sense, developed during the war when danger was imminent, and he trusted it. Stopping in the middle of the empty street, he made a U-turn.
After parking around the corner, he walked the rest of the way to the car. The dark tinted windows prevented him from seeing inside as he tapped on the driver's side, leaning one arm on top of the car. A moment later, the window rolled down smoothly. A middle-aged, slightly balding man stared up at him looking less than thrilled at the intrusion. "Can I help you?"
No woman in the car. That eliminated at least one reason for him to be sitting here. No uniform. No papers or recorders for note taking. No badge ready to flash at anyone who disturbed him. That eliminated a few more.
"Hey, I hope so. You know that girl over there?" Face gestured to the house that Jessica had disappeared into. "The one I just dropped off?"
The man's eyes shifted to the house, to Face, and back to the house again. He was caught off guard; Face had the upper hand. "Who the hell are you?" the stranger demanded.
"Oh, I'm just a friend right now but see, that's kind of where I was wondering if you could help me."
Maybe he was just waiting for someone or had some equally innocent reason for being here. He didn't look "caught." He wasn't the least bit intimidating, and wasn't trying to be. And in spite of his surprise, he showed no fear. He wasn't afraid of Face, and Face wasn't afraid of him.
"See, I've been trying to find out if she's got a boyfriend and... well, maybe you could tell me." He glanced back at the house. "You ever see any guys come in or out of that house? The kind who might be, you know, romantically involved?"
The man clearly didn't know what to say. It was too bad, really, because an answer to that question could have killed two birds with one stone. Was the silence because the guy had no answer or because he couldn't believe the nerve of a man who would walk up to his car and ask? Face wasn't sure who the man had expected him to be, but from the look on his face he'd had an explanation ready for anyone but a nosy potential boyfriend.
"I'm sorry," the man finally stammered. "I can't help you."
"Are you sure? I could uh," Face reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a bill, folding it so that the guy could easily see that it was a fifty, "make it worth your while."
"Get lost," the man answered, apparently offended by the offer. "I told you, I can't help you."
Backing away as the window rolled up, Face raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, man, no problem. I was just wondering." The car started and, without waiting for him to stand clear, pulled away.
Face stared after it, amused. The fact that he hadn't taken the money stood out. Most likely, he was already on the clock. His hostility toward the perfectly valid, unassuming question raised even more flags. Maybe he wasn't so harmless. Face made note of the license plate as the car drove off, tucking it into the back of his mind as he headed back to his own vehicle.
September 5, 1968
"What's the matter, Sergeant?" Hannibal asked without looking at Face. His attention was instead directed to the sky, the clear patch in the jungle canopy where a chopper would hopefully come for them shortly.
Several things were "the matter". It was hot and sticky and muggy and Face was tired. They'd only just finished hoisting the bloody and mangled body of Specialist Five Steven Ulrich up through the trees and onward to the nearest base. He'd probably been dead even before the air strike had gone down right on top of him. A simple miscommunication and just not enough time for a string extraction had left him trapped and alone. There were too many NVA to even think he'd still be holding on if his team came back around again, and too many RPGs to try it. Face hated it, but he would've made the same call. The man was gone; there had been no way to save him. The only thing they could do was send a team for his body.
For the team being sent, it wasn't, strictly speaking, a "specialized" mission. Although Bright Light was an exclusively SF operation, it didn't really require the expertise of General Westman's "right hand man" and his team of adrenaline junkies. The problem was, their expertise hadn't been required much lately and not only was Hannibal beginning to get stir crazy, if they stayed out of the field too much longer, they would start to lose their edge. And although he was officially healed, Face's recent injuries and down time made this as good a time and place as any to offer a helping hand on a mission not likely to get them killed. After all, Westman would be a little unhappy if they should happen to die on a mission not requiring their "specialization".
In any case, the lack of glamour afforded by their current assignment wasn't the "matter" on Face's mind right now. Traipsing through the battle-burned jungle in search of a mutilated body wasn't pleasant, and certainly not comfortable. But it wasn't terribly difficult, either. At least, it hadn't been up to this point.
"I got a funny feeling," he admitted, shaking his head as he swung the machete at the bamboo obstructing their landing zone around a bomb crater from the strike the day before.
Suddenly, Hannibal's attention was firmly fixed on him, a deep frown creasing his brow. "What kind of funny feeling?" he demanded, concerned.
Boston laughed nervously, catching the tail end of Hannibal's question. "Oh no, you don't," he chided Face. "You just keep chopping."
Face fell silent, confident that he didn't have anything substantial to base his feeling on. Even if he did, a funny feeling wasn't really enough to drive Hannibal to change their plans, especially if his own sixth sense wasn't itching.
But he couldn't shake the uneasiness. It was the sensation of being nearly caught, not sure there was even a chance of getting away with whatever mischief was brewing right under the noses of those who would put a very quick stop to it if they knew. Growing up, it had been a feeling that thrilled him. But out here, being "caught" was the same as being killed, and feeling the danger close in was less exciting than anxiety-inducing.
He glanced up at the two alert Montagnards on the high ground nearby, watching the surrounding area, covering them. Would it be enough if this threat turned out to be real? Turning in the other direction, he wasn't even surprised when he saw enemy movement. The reaction was instantaneous. With a quick call to Hannibal, he fired the M-79 that had been hanging on his shoulder. Instantly, the warning yell from Hannibal was followed by a half dozen American guns shooting into the foliage.
The return fire came from three sides and at least two NVA platoons rose out of the jungle overgrowth, appearing out of nowhere. Instinct said to fall back as a heavily-armed human wave suddenly advanced, but Face instead fired the grenade launcher until it was dry, then switched to the CAR-15. Four, five, six, seven dead as he shot into the crowd that was trying to overtake their high-ground position. The daring squad of soldiers fled.
Undeterred, the enemy's plan B involved grenades. Face turned and plowed into Boston, pushing him down and as far from the blast as possible. The two Yards who were too busy firing to even notice the threat were caught directly in the explosions. Face felt the sharp fragments slice and burn through his leg, and he grit his teeth hard as he pushed himself back up and turned to fire again, careful at what he was shooting at. Hannibal had taken Cipher and the other two Yards directly into the swarm.
Face grabbed the radio off of Boston's shoulder and shoved it into his hands. "Covey! Skyraiders! Get us the fuck outta here!"
Boston nodded quickly. Face turned, dropped down to his knees to make himself a smaller target, and started firing again at another wave coming from the right side.
Damn those instincts. And damn the fact that they did no good in the end. Of course, on the plus side, it looked like they would be heading back to the pretty nurses at Lai Khe.