CHAPTER FOUR
September 13, 1968
Cipher regarded Face out of the corner of his eye as he stripped his muddy, sweat-soaked shirt and stepped into the cool water of the running stream. The kid wasn't a complete idiot; he knew how stupid it was to let his guard lower like this, even if there wasn't anyone around. But Hannibal had enough of arguing with him for one day, and had eventually settled on, "If you get shot, I don't care." It was pretty obvious there was a bigger argument going on than whether or not Face should take a bath. Cipher wanted no part of the drama, but he didn't want anyone on his team dead, either. So he had offered to stand guard while Face cooled off. Yes, it was dangerous. And Face insisted it was worth it.
They hadn't seen action since they'd set down, and there was no reason to think there was a heavy concentration of enemy in the area. They were still some distance from COSVN, and there wasn't much intel to be found out here in the hot, humid jungle. Cipher had a feeling that was a big part of the reason for the tension between the two of them, though he wasn't entirely sure why it mattered. It seemed like every now and again, Face just looked for something to butt heads over - the angsty, rebellious teenager who had some trouble with authority but found himself stuck in the jungle with an authority figure who, strangely enough, was often the difference between life and death.
The whole routine was a bit melodramatic for Cipher's taste.
"Hey, Face?" Cipher didn't look up as he spoke. He was leaning on the shoreline with a cigarette in one hand, Face's prisoner report in the other, and a CAR-15 across his lap.
Face dipped down below the surface of the water to wet his hair before answering. Cipher waited until he turned to make eye contact. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"
As Face chuckled, Cipher made no attempt to hide his shock that the kid would bring classified Agency documents out into the field – and into Cambodia, no less! "You could be court marshaled just for having this, Face," he pointed out. "Let alone if it fell into enemy hands. Are you insane?"
Face pushed his wet hair back with both hands before wading out of the water. As he pulled himself up beside Cipher, he immediately reached for his clothes. "We could pull it off," he said, ignoring the reaction entirely.
Cipher stared at him. There was a light in his eyes - the one that only seemed to show when he was talking about doing something he knew was going to get them in trouble. Cipher hadn't known him all that long, but it was long enough to know that look. Normally, it was enticing; Face was a hell of a lot more fun when he was searching for trouble than mourning his pitiful existence and he tended to swing from one end to the other while skipping all the bits in between. But Cipher was reticent when it came to provoking Hannibal, of all people. He also knew from experience that some of the trouble the kid courted was nothing he wanted to fuck with.
"Pull it off?" he repeated. Although wary, he kept his voice neutral. "Care to elaborate a bit?"
Face had been waiting for the opportunity. He suddenly looked like a kid on Christmas morning. "There's only six guards, and we know exactly where they are. He was hearing air traffic from the camp so nobody is going to be all that surprised even if they hear us set down. If we go in maybe two klicks east of that camp, past the stream he talks about in there. We could probably attack with just the few of us - couple of Yards, maybe, but no big deal - and go right back out. 94 prisoners, Cipher. Four Americans. Pick them up by chopper and take them home!"
Cipher watched the energy and excitement with a sort of stunned amusement. He was really serious about this. Cipher's own grin spread, but it had nothing to do with Face's plan. "Yeah?" Mocking enthusiasm laced his tone. "You talk to Hannibal about it?"
The kid's face fell noticeably. "He was... hesitant."
Cipher nodded, and his smile matched his tone. "That's because you're nuts."
Face ignored him. "We don't have that much time! I mean, they know they've had an escape; if they move those prisoners or step up security while we're out here wandering the freakin' jungle in search of... whatever the hell it is we think we're going to find if we survive..."
He trailed off, clearly irritated. Cipher narrowed his eyes at him, not quite sure he even wanted to hear where this was going. "Are you suggesting we abandon this mission for a flavor-of-the-moment pet project you just stumbled upon?" His tone was less amused than before.
"Flavor-of-the-moment?" Face stared at him, stunned. "Cipher, these are American prisoners! We know right where they are!"
"Yeah, I know that." His tone made it clear that such information was entirely inconsequential. He took a deep breath and handed the papers back to Face. "You shouldn't even have these out here. You have any idea what would happen if they got into the wrong hands?"
Face looked as if he'd just been struck. It took him a moment to find words. "You're missing the point, Cipher."
"No," Cipher answered firmly. "You're missing the point." He looked away. He couldn't believe he was actually having this conversation. "Don't get me wrong, Face. I'm all for saving every American we can. But this ain't a free-for-all. We do things through Hannibal. End of story."
"Don't you get it?" Face's shock at being turned down turned to anger instantly. He folded the papers, shoving them back into his bag as he muttered under his breath. "Fuck. You're as bad as he is."
Cipher's back straightened a bit at the tone. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Face looked up and glared at him. "You don't. Fucking. Get it. We're wandering around out here and people are dying that we could help! How would you feel in one of those camps, knowing that your people were more concerned about," he waved his hands, searching for an insult, but found none and merely spat his next words with contempt, "recon sweeps, looking for information that may or may not even be here?"
"Face." Cipher's tone was sharper than he had expected. "I get it. But running off and doing whatever the hell you feel like isn't how we do things. You want to do this, you take it to Hannibal. I'll even fucking back you. But if you think for a moment that I'm going to go flying off the handle for something like this when he says no, you have another thing coming."
Face growled audibly and looked away as he buttoned his shirt again. "Fuck. Forget it."
Cipher raised his brow at that, wondering what exactly Face's malfunction was. When he said nothing more, Cipher finally got up, turning back to him before he headed to the team's resting spot only a few paces away. "Face..." He searched for the right words, but couldn't really settle on anything. "Talk to Hannibal. But don't get your panties in a bunch and play me for a fool when you don't get your way. I don't know what kind of unit you came from, but here we have a chain of command. And if you can't handle Hannibal's rules, I'm amazed you haven't found yourself on the receiving end of a court martial under someone else's."
Face's glare was bitter and penetrating. "Fuck you."
Cipher shrugged it off. He wasn't looking for a fight. Especially when it wasn't his fight to begin with. He leaned back on a tree with a well practiced casual gaze as Face finished dressing, grabbed his pack, and shoved his way past Cipher with a furious glare.
August 26, 1978
The sun had long ago settled below the horizon. Face could barely see Jessica, walking along the edge of the water as he watched from the smooth, damp sand, safely out of the ocean's reach. Luckily, it was a full moon and the lights from the path behind them cast a slight glow all the way to the water's edge. He suddenly realized, as she paused to stare intently at him, that he hadn't heard a word she'd been saying for the last several sentences. He shook his head briefly, to clear it, and made his best attempt at smoothing over his inattentiveness.
"Sorry, I was... thinking." And then, quickly, "Why don't we go down the boardwalk a ways? There's a nice wine bar not far from here."
"You're very good at avoiding the question," she said over the soft hiss of the waves.
"What question?" he asked innocently.
He focused his attention as she kicked one foot, splashing in the saltwater. She looked like a little girl, sandals in her hand and past her ankles in the water. The gentle waves came up nearly to her knees.
"You still haven't told me a thing about what your life has been like since the war," she prodded.
He shrugged, hands clasped behind him in a relaxed, "at ease" pose. "What's to tell?"
"How about what you do for a living?" she suggested.
"Well, I have... diverse investments," he answered honestly. "I own pieces of various businesses all over the States. Hotels, taxicab companies, manufacturers of all kinds of products. Profit sharing with a nice return."
"So you live off of your investments?" she assumed.
"I do other jobs on the side. Modeling photography, for instance." He grinned. "But that's just for fun."
She laughed. "I'll bet it is."
With a wistful sigh and a knowing smile he stared off into space. "Yeah, my life is... pretty boring."
"Do you ever miss it?" she asked. "The adrenaline, excitement."
He shrugged.
"You never told me why you left the Army."
That was his cue to look at his watch. "You know, it's really getting late. I should probably get you home before your mother starts to worry."
She laughed as she came closer, leaving the cool of the ocean water. "Damn, you are smooth, aren't you?"
To his surprise, she walked right up to him and draped her arms around his shoulders, holding her shoes behind his head. Instinctively, he held her waist, but realized afterward that he would've probably done better to take a big step back.
"What's the matter, Face?" She grinned. "Does that history just not go with your playboy image?"
"Not at all, as a matter of fact," he answered, eyeing her carefully. She was teasing, but he didn't know why. And he wasn't falling for it. He'd already decided not to bed her tonight, and his mind hadn't changed. On the off chance that she really was psychotic, it could do untold damage to Murdock's peace and rest. And if she wasn't, it would be almost sadistic. Not to mention this most recent change in behavior could potentially have something to do with the alcohol she'd consumed. It had only been two glasses of wine and a couple of beers, but God only knew what her tolerance was like. Whatever she was looking for, she'd made it clear he wasn't it, and although he was glad the evening hadn't turned out to be a total waste, he certainly had no plans on seeing her again.
"Too bad," she said with a grin. "He was much more interesting."
She pulled away and he let her go. "How so?" he asked, following a half step behind as she started slowly down the beach. Damn, he was going to get sand in his shoes.
She turned and walked backwards as she gestured at him. "This guy's afraid to even get his feet wet in the ocean."
"This is a fifteen hundred dollar tuxedo," he pointed out with a patient smile.
"Uh huh." She stepped a little further into the water. "How much am I worth?"
He didn't let her see that he was surprised by the question. He simply said the first thing that came to mind, letting well-formed instincts take over. "I didn't know you were for sale."
"How about lease with option to buy," she corrected, answering his confidence.
He stopped walking and tipped his head as he watched her, considering the sudden change in her tactics. All night, she'd been pushing him away. Now she was playing coy. Split personality, maybe? He didn't think he even wanted to know, much less did he want to get caught up in whatever game she thought she was playing. His smile was as perfect and practiced as the flirting, but he was anxiously forming a list of excuses to end this evening before she fell madly in love with him. Or whatever she had in mind...
"What kind of price range are we talking?" he played along smoothly. He could flirt in his sleep; how long could she keep it up?
She laughed loudly. "He who takes me for a five hundred dollar dinner wants to haggle over pricing?"
"I wasn't trying to buy you with dinner," he clarified. "I'm not quite that shallow."
Stepping back, deeper into the water, she was up to her knees now. The bottom of her dress soaked up the saltwater with every wave that washed past her. She didn't hit the comment back to him, and he let it go.
"You know there's signs posted against swimming here at night," he reminded casually.
"Since when do you obey all the rules?" she challenged.
"Not all the rules," he smiled knowingly. "But we hashed out our rules of engagement somewhere between a very nice restaurant and a cheap pizza place. And those, I respect."
She crossed her arms over her chest as she smiled at him. "Since when?"
"I really should get you home."
Smiling, she splashed out of the water with high, careful steps. As she passed him, she stopped to exchange glances. "I rest my case," she said quietly. "You've turned rather boring over the years."
He turned to watch her walk back up to the paved path, and waited until she'd gotten there before he finally followed, frowning deeply.
September 14, 1968
COSVN was not impressive for a "central headquarters." But a series of tents and shacks strewn throughout the jungle was more difficult to bomb - and more efficient - than one large, central building. Under any other circumstances, Face probably would have loved the simple thrill of walking right into the enemy's territory and taking what they wanted as if they owned the place. But right now, he was simply seething over the fact that they were gambling on what might turn out to be nothing of great significance rather than pursuing a mission they knew would give results, and save American lives to boot.
In the first three clearings, Hannibal's plan worked like a charm. The explosions drew the NVA out of the tents, and a few rounds of fire from different, unknown directions sent them scrambling for reinforcements. Hannibal and Cipher were into the tents in a flash, and the sound of their pistol shots was lost in the gunfire outside as the NVA exchanged with what they assumed was an attack from the west but had in fact come from every direction but west.
There was no telling just how much useful information they were able to gather from inside the tents. They emerged with bags full of papers, and after three clearings, it was about all that they could carry anyways. Boston was out of claymores. The NVA was getting wise to the pattern, and each clearing had more men than the last. At the edge of the fourth, they regrouped again.
"We're done here, Hannibal," Face said quietly, looking over the crowd that had gathered in the clearing, ready for them. "We've got enough."
Hannibal smiled. "I think we can take one more."
Face's eyes blazed as he grit his teeth. "And I think you're out of your fucking mind!" he hissed. "They're coming in from everywhere!"
"The whole place is crawling, Hannibal," Cipher agreed. "We need to get out of here."
"And we're out of claymores," Boston reminded.
Hannibal smiled. "Then I guess we just do this the old fashioned way." He pulled his gun in front of him and leveled it at one of the groups of soldiers who'd not split up into the jungle.
"Hannibal!"
Face's protest wasn't heard. With a spray of bullets from his CAR-15, Hannibal was moving forward. Blood boiling with anger, Face could do nothing but follow with only a frustrated, "God damn it!" under his breath to serve as a protest.
Hannibal walked directly into the clearing like a man committing suicide. The full frontal attack caught the NVA off guard, and they hardly had a chance to fire back. Of course, the truly dangerous fire was coming from the trees behind the team, from the soldiers who'd been sent to find and corner them. Hannibal walked straight into the tent with Cipher a step behind as the rest of them scanned the tree line and fired at anything that moved.
Face could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Out in the open, they were all prime targets. And it hadn't escaped his notice that they still had to find a way out of here. In essence, that meant going out through the trees where dozens of enemy were searching for them.
Hannibal and Cipher were in and out of the tent in seconds. Sacks bulging with heavy papers, they headed back to the cover of the trees at about the same time that the soldiers who'd walked away returned and opened fire. Dodging bullets on the way out of the clearing was the lesser problem for the team. More importantly, the enemy knew exactly where they were and could track which way they were going.
Stealth, skills, and marksmanship were all set aside. Organization was lost and only one thing mattered: speed. They were losing papers from the sacks, and they didn't stop to pick them up. There was no time to think, to plan, to react. Face just ran.
A cry from behind him made him stop short, skidding to a stop and dropping to the ground. "Hannibal!"
"Go!" Hannibal yelled, scrambling back up to his feet. He was clutching his stomach, and blood was seeping through his fingers. "Just go!"
One of the Yards - Face couldn't immediately tell who - had stopped as well. As Face rushed back to Hannibal's side, ignoring the order, the Yard returned fire into the trees. Bullets were flying in both directions as Hannibal dropped to his knees before Face skidded to a stop next to him, shoving him behind a fallen tree that would offer them minimal cover, if only for a few seconds.
"Take off your pack!" Face ordered.
"I'm okay," Hannibal gasped.
He wasn't okay. He was losing blood. "Take off the fucking pack!" Face yelled again, unstrapping it for him.
Face grabbed the bag of papers and threw it aside, but Hannibal lunged for it. Without thought, Face grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back against the tree trunk, damn near hard enough to cause a concussion as his head bounced. "Don't be fucking stupid!" he growled. "You can't run with that!"
Hannibal stared at him. It took several seconds, then finally, the realization crossed his face. He was dazed by the shock, but he wasn't an idiot. He nodded, and slipped his arms out of the pack that was strapped to his back. Face turned, perched over the top of the fallen tree, and fired into the bullets that were coming towards them from what seemed like every direction. No telling where the rest of the team was now. They would regroup at the LZ if they were lucky. Right now, the priority was to get as far away from those damned AK-47s as possible.
"Go!" he yelled to the still-stunned Hannibal. "Go now!"
Hannibal was up and running with only his CAR-15 in tow. Face watched him, providing cover for as long as he was able, then cast a lingering glance at the bag full of papers. God damn it...
He grabbed the bag, threw it over his shoulder, and bolted after Hannibal. In the thick overgrowth, he'd already lost sight of him. But he was leaving a trail of blood that was easy to follow. It would be a hell of a lot harder to find Cipher and the others than it would be to find Hannibal.
Face caught up with the Yard who'd fallen behind to provide cover before anyone else. Two steps apart, they dodged the vines and limbs and rocks until suddenly, the young Montagnard soldier stopped so quickly, Face ran right into him. They both toppled forward, head over heels into the mud. Face's eyes and his gun snapped up at the same instant, and he froze as he found himself staring straight into the barrels of a half dozen AK-47s, held by soldiers who'd formed a tight line across their path.
Face's heart skipped a beat. Breathing hard, hands trembling from the adrenaline, he slowly pushed himself up as the NVA screamed orders at him that he could not understand. "Chu hoi," he choked between gasps of breath, hands up over his head as he slowly rose. Dizzy, sick to his stomach, and still struggling to catch his breath, he stopped while he was still on his knees and laced his fingers behind his head, eyes sliding closed. "Chu hoi..."
September 14, 1968
This was not part of the plan.
Lying on his back, propped against the bank of the creek, Hannibal was trying to measure the amount of blood he'd lost. He was dizzy and disoriented, but one thing he knew: he had to slow this bleeding or he was going to be powerless to help Face and Wo.
He could hear the orders, the angry yelling in Vietnamese. Face wouldn't understand a word of it, but he was smart enough to know when and how to comply with a prisoner routine. Through the confusion, Hannibal could hear the shaky sound of Face's surrender.
Bleeding. He looked down at the blood seeping through his fingers. He still couldn't feel the pain through the adrenaline, but that was little comfort. Pulling his hand away from the wound, he set his gun on the ground beside him and ripped off his shirt. He twisted it, then tied it tight around his waist as tightly as he could, pressing the knot hard against the open hole in his gut. That, he could feel. He winced at the pain, but put it out of his mind. His medical supplies were all in his pack. And he had bigger problems right now than how to treat this.
"{Get up!} the soldier yelled at Face. "{Get on your feet!}"
The constant stream of orders came riddled with expletives. Hannibal took a deep breath and turned slowly, carefully, crawling up under the thick leaves of some kind of low-growing palm. Cradling his gun to his side, he switched it to full manual as he looked out at the men standing in front of Face. He couldn't take six of them down before they got a shot off. No way in hell. And the first shot they fired would go right into Face's head.
"Where other Americani?"
Face's chest was still heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Oh, so you speak English?"
"Where other Americani!" The demand was punctuated by the crack of a gun hitting the side of his head.
Face fell to the side and immediately drew his eyes back up to his captors. "Here's some English for you," he growled through gritted teeth. "Go to hell!"
"We know other Americani here," the English-speaking NVA growled. "He bleeding. He come out." The barrel of the man's AK pressed into Face's forehead, pushing him down against the ground. "Or you die."
Face growled again. "Fuck you."
Hannibal shut his eyes. He couldn't think. He'd always done well under pressure; his best plans and schemes came when he was forced to think on his feet. But at the moment, his mind was a blur. The pain was setting in, and the blood loss made everything feel like a dream. Dizzy and confused, he lost track of the words from either party. His eyes slid shut as his head dropped forward. Think... Damn it, think!
The world faded to black.
He was jolted awake by a bloodcurdling scream. Eyes open, his vision was still blurry. "You come out, Americani!"
He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, forced his thoughts to find coherence. Face was on his knees with the end of a gun on each side of his head. He was not the one screaming. Facing him, just a few feet away, Wo was also on his knees, his hand in the grip of one of the NVA. It took Hannibal a minute to bring it into focus. The Yard still had all his fingers, but two of them were already bleeding as the NVA set to pushing his knife up under a third fingernail. The man screamed again, and thrashed violently.
"Come out, Americani! We kill you friends, you no come out!"
Face's gaze was steady on the man beside him, unflinching and unemotional. The situation didn't escape him; he knew when they'd killed Wo - less of a prize than an American - they would move on to kill him as well. He also knew it wouldn't be quick or painless.
Hannibal breathed slow, looking around the clearing for anything he might use to his advantage. Unfortunately, he was limited by the fact that he couldn't move. He had plenty of ammunition; but the moment he fired, they would answer it.
As the screams pierced the thick, humid jungle, he brought his gun up. It was a risk he'd have to take. At least he had a position to shoot from. The worst that could happen was that it wouldn't work, and they'd all be killed. That was a pretty sure bet anyways, if he did nothing at all.
He switched the gun back to full auto and braced it, aiming for the men on either side of Face. But before he could shoot, he had to get Face's attention. Otherwise, he was sure to be killed by the NVAs' reflexes. Forcing his eyes into focus, he gave a sharp whistle that could've been mistaken for the sounds of any number of birds and screaming monkeys. Face knew better. Hannibal saw the way he straightened, muscles tensing, eyes coming into focus.
"Wait!" he yelled as the NVA moved to another finger. The torture paused, and all eyes turned to him, guns ready. "You should let me talk to him."
"What you say?"
"He uh..." Face's eyes flashed. "The guy you're looking for. The one who's bleeding. He's not an American."
The NVA threw Wo to the ground as he approached Face with the knife. Two men trained their guns immediately on the shaking Yard as he clenched his bloody hand close to his chest.
"You lie," the NVA growled, placing the knife against Face's cheek.
"No no no," Face stammered. "He's not. I'm an American. He's not. He's... Scandinavian."
"You lie!"
Face tilted his head back, away from the knife. "He doesn't speak English! Just... just let me talk to him! I speak his language."
The NVA considered that for a moment. Then, glaring down at Face, he dropped the knife to his side. "You talk. He no answer? I kill you."
Talk to me, Face...
"Oot-shay on-ay ee-thray," Face called loudly.
Hannibal smiled weakly at the looks of confusion on the enemy's faces. Even those with a working knowledge of English had no idea just how beautifully years of pop culture had mutilated the language. "Pig latin" was easy enough to decipher... if you knew the English language. Their knowledge was intermediate at best, and they simply took his word for it that the language was something entirely foreign.
With facial expressions to mimic the fear they were looking for, Face continued steadily. "I-ay ill-way op-dray ack-bay. On-way... oo-tay..."
Hannibal readied his finger on the trigger. The instant Face counted three, he fell onto his back. There was no time for a startled response before all three men who'd been standing over him were cut down. Hannibal's gun never stopped firing as it shifted to the other group, standing over Wo. Face grabbed the nearest AK, but by the time he'd readied it, they were all on the ground.
The instant he knew it was safe, he jerked Wo up and spun to look all around the edge of the clearing. "Hannibal!"
"Over here," Hannibal called weakly, eyes sliding closed again.
In seconds, Face was crouched beside him. But he said nothing as he checked the bleeding, tied the shirt bandaging it a bit tighter, and helped Hannibal to his feet.
August 26, 1978
The ride home was silent, once again, and he felt relief when her house finally came into view. The car was back, on the other side of the street, but this time, it drove off as soon as he pulled into the driveway. He suddenly remembered that he still had to check the license plate.
"Thank you, Templeton," Jessica said quietly as he put the car in park. "I had a nice time."
She hadn't really had a nice time. They'd driven all the way back from the beach without saying a single word. This had been one of the most awkward and confusing dates of his life. He wasn't sure if he wanted to ask to see her again in the hopes that it might be better next time or peel out of the driveway as fast as he could. Perhaps equally confusing, he wasn't sure which she wanted him to do.
"So did I," he lied. He hadn't exactly had a nice time, either. The memories she conjured up were better off dead and buried and he didn't like not knowing what to expect. He was glad to have run into her again, if only to know that she had made it out of Vietnam in one piece. But given the option to do the whole thing over again, he would've simply smiled and waved when she passed by.
She stepped out of the car, still carrying her shoes, and gave a polite smile. "Good-bye."
The finality in her voice made it clear that if he didn't make a move now, he would never have another chance. Luckily, he didn't want one. What was he supposed to say, anyway? Thank you? Have a nice life? He opted for silence, and she continued to the porch. As she disappeared, closing the front door behind her, he put his head on the steering wheel. What a night. He didn't want to do anything like that again for a long while. The awkward silences and tense boundaries were bad enough. But being openly and blatantly compared to a younger version of himself made his skin crawl.
He glanced at his watch. It was still early. He could think of a few places to spend the rest of the evening. None of them seemed particularly appealing at the moment. Maybe it would be best to just head to a motel. He needed a few good hours of sleep anyways after an evening like this.
Pulling out of the driveway, he stopped as the streetlights glimmered off of something on the floor in the passenger seat. His eyes lingered there for a moment and he groaned internally. She'd left her purse. Damn it. That meant this nightmare date wasn't over yet. Maybe he could just leave it on the porch...
After a long hesitation to wonder what the purse was really worth, he drove back up into the driveway and left the keys in the still-running car as he carried her purse to the door. Although tempting, he knew better than to leave a purse on the front porch, even in such a nice area. Maybe he'd get lucky and her mother would answer. All he really had to do was hand over the purse and run. He repeated that over and over in his head as he rang the doorbell.
"I'll get it!" A child's voice. Face stood a little straighter. Child?
"James, no!" But the door was already opening. "How many times do I have to tell you that -"
Face didn't hear the rest. The door cracked open, and suddenly, he was staring into a familiar set of eyes. It was like looking at a living photograph of himself twenty years ago.
Holy fucking hell.