CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

December 19, 1968

Face had been able to feel the eyes on him for several full minutes now. He didn't turn. He knew who it was. Finally, Hannibal approached the bar, and sat down on the stool next to him. With a gesture to the bartender, the colonel ordered a beer. But he didn't speak. He didn't say anything as the barkeep returned with the drink, took the money, and went on with his business. He didn't say anything as he drank, as he lit a cigar, as he finished the glass slowly and then gestured for another.

"I was seventeen when I came over here," Face finally whispered.

Still, Hannibal didn't speak. He didn't even seem to acknowledge Face. But he was listening. If he wasn't listening, he wouldn't still be here waiting for conversation.

"Badass. Nothing scared me, nothing shook me." Face paused, and swallowed hard. "Until the first time we got shelled."

"What the fuck was that!"

The young sergeant had hit the floor on instinct. Not even awake yet, he suddenly realized that his heart was pounding so hard in his chest, it felt like it was going to burst.

"They're shelling again." Devon sounded almost calm, lying on the bunk next to him. He hadn't even bothered to drop to the floor. "If it makes you feel any better, you can grab your mattress and put it over you. Like they tell you in the drills."

"If it makes me feel better?" Tem was screaming. He had to scream to be heard over the sound of another explosion.

But even through the chaos, he heard Devon chuckle. "One of those rockets hits this bunk, you won't feel a thing."

The ground trembled beneath him, and he reached up to grab the mattress, throwing it over top of him. He shook violently, shutting his eyes hard. He was going to die. He was going to die here! The next rocket was going to incinerate him and his mattress right where he lay! Suddenly, not one of those training drills made one goddamn bit of difference. Another rocket passed, so close he could hear it whistle, and he screamed as he turned his face to the floor, tears flowing from his eyes as he sobbed involuntarily.

"Realizing how... insignificant you are," Face whispered, staring at the bar top as he relived the memory. "How quickly you could be gone… They'd told me about death. I knew it was a possibility. But when it suddenly hit me that it could be over so fast, in the blink of an eye, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it... That hopeless, helpless, terrified feeling... All the training, all the reconditioning, nothing could've prepared me for that feeling."

Hannibal said nothing. Face didn't really expect him to. After a long, lingering silence, he took a deep breath, and sat up a bit straighter as he continued slowly, hesitating on every word.

"Devon was with me at that camp. I think he realized that I didn't belong there."

"You okay, kid?"

No. He wasn't okay. Still shaking violently, face streaked with tears, he needed help just to sit up, to crawl out from under the mattress. The humiliation almost overruled the terror as he realized that he was covered in urine. "Oh, my God." Still shaking, he hid his face in his hands.

"Your first time?" Devon asked sympathetically.

"Oh, God." Still trembling violently, Tem wanted to curl into a ball and die. What was he doing here? What was he thinking, ever coming here?

"Hey," Devon cut through his thoughts. "Look at me."

Tem swallowed hard, forcing the panic down, forcing the tears to stop. He blinked rapidly and shoved his palms into his eyes, swiping the tears away before he looked up.

"It's okay, kid. The first time is always hard." He offered a hand, and Tem shook it hesitantly. He was startled when Devon pulled him to his feet. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

"I got into the Army to make something of myself," Face whispered. "I had no family, no future. That wasn't going to change. I was sixteen-years-old and I already felt like... I was dying. Like I'd seen everything there was to see. Stupid..."

He shook his head as he looked away, and fell silent for a long moment. He sipped his drink before he continued. "I wanted something more. I had people who cared, but they weren't going to be there for me forever. Not like family. The Army was the fastest, easiest way to get out of the situation I was in. And with the draft, I figured I'd end up there anyways, sooner or later."

"Why Special Forces?" Hannibal asked quietly.

"Because it was a challenge." Face reached into his pocket, searching for his cigarettes. "It was something they told me I couldn't do. Too young, scores too low on PT tests. I dug my heels in, did whatever I had to do. Just because they told me I couldn't."

"You scored 483 out of 500, private."

Templeton stared at the sergeant, not entirely sure what that meant. Clearly, it meant something. He was waiting for a response.

"Is that good, Sir?"

"Good?" The sergeant laughed. "It's the best fucking score I've ever seen."

Templeton couldn't hold back a smile.

"You ain't even old enough for Special Forces, boy. You gotta be nineteen. And you ain't that for another six months."

Templeton licked his lips. "I'll be nineteen by the time I'm done with training, Sir."

The sergeant's eyes burned into him. "I'll tell you what. I'm gonna push you through. But I'm gonna have my eye on you. And you'd damn well better shape up, boy. Bring those PT scores up and prove to me that you're Special Forces material. 'Cause I don't think you got it in you. And the last fuckin' thing I need is dead weight on one of my teams."

"The recruiter didn't think I could do it," Face recalled. "Made me that much more determined. But when I got here, I realized... he was right. I couldn't do this..." Face paused as he finally raised the cigarette he'd been staring at, and lit the end of it. "I'd never been so alone until I was at that camp. And it scared the shit out of me. Devon was the only thing that got me through that."

Licking his lips to bring moisture back to his mouth, Face dropped his lighter onto the bar, and took a deep drag on his cigarette. As he blew the smoke into the air, he stared down into the half-finished glass of whiskey. He swirled it a few times, but didn't raise it to his mouth.

"When he went into SOG, he wanted me to come. Took me a while to work up the nerve."

Hannibal sighed deeply. "You know, I never put it together that you were the kid he talked about," he admitted. Face glanced sideways at him, but didn't speak. "The one who was too young to be here, but was good on the ground. He wanted me to find you. But I never got a name, and then he was gone and I couldn't ask."

Face didn't answer right away. A few more deep drags, and he leaned forward on the bar. "My CO at the base," he finally continued, "Captain Rikland, he said Devon was dead. And then you told me he wasn't. The thought that he was out there somewhere, still alive..." He glanced up at Hannibal, but quickly looked away. The silence lingered as he tapped the cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, playing with the lit tip against the metal but not stubbing it out.

"It's all I thought about. It felt like all I had to live for. I was around all these guys who talked about their families back home and what it would be like to go back and hug their mothers or girlfriends or hold their kids they'd never met. And I started to realize that I didn't care if I ever went home. I didn't want to die, but I didn't really want to live through this, either, and come out on the other side. The only thing I cared about was finding the one person that made life bearable out here. And as I looked, and as time went on... and I pulled man after man out of those camps... I just started to go numb."

"Good job, Sergeant."

Face looked up at the lieutenant, startled out of his silent reverie. "What?"

A laugh answered him. "We just pulled three Americans out of a fuckin' POW camp, Face! Your instincts were right on. Fuck, man, you oughtta be leading this team."

Face looked away. "No thank you."

"Oh, come on, man, lighten up! Let me at least buy you a drink and celebrate."

Face sighed as he stood up, pushing his chair back and turning away. "Some other time." It was all he said as he headed for the door of the club, avoiding eye contact with the other soldiers in the room.

"I wasn't stupid," Face sighed as he dragged once more on his cigarette, then put it out. "I knew the chances of ever finding Devon were slim to none. It got to where I wasn't doing it for him, and I wasn't doing it for the men I was actually pulling out, I was just doing it because it was what I did. What I was good at. And all those other things I was good at, I did them too. For no other reason than because... it's what I did. And then I met you."

Face could hear his voice cracking, and he paused to swallow hard, trying to push the emotion back down. So long living so cold, unable to feel and unable to even want to. Every day was the same as the one before. Get up, kill the enemy, fake smiles to the allies, lie down again. There was no yesterday, no tomorrow... just one long blur of blood and booze.

"I don't feel anything, Hannibal," he whispered. He didn't trust his voice above a whisper. He could hear it shake. "I can't feel. And I haven't, in so long, I don't even remember what... what it's like to feel. There's nothing left inside of me, damn it. It's all just numb and cold and... and worthless."

Face wanted to stop talking. He knew he was going to regret this later. But the words were escaping. Against his will, they poured from his mouth. He shut his eyes as they burned, and clenched his hands tightly around the glass. "These things that people talk about - that you talk about. Trust and friendship and love... What the hell is any of that supposed to feel like anyway? People have been telling me about this shit my entire life. And the closest I've ever come to feeling any of it was for a guy that you let be taken by the VC. And whether you could've done anything about it or not, I..."

The tears fell, burning hot on his cheeks. He couldn't stop them, and he didn't try. Releasing the glass, he raised his hands to cover his eyes. Several long moments of silence passed before he took a deep breath, and lowered his hands slowly. With a strange sort of naked fear that he had never known before, he turned his head and caught Hannibal's gaze through the blur of tears.

"I don't know how to forgive you for that."

Hannibal watched him, not looking away. Face clenched his jaw, willing the tears to stop. But they only fell harder. Finally, Hannibal dropped his head a fraction. "If you ever figure it out," he whispered, "then let me know how you did it."

Face nearly broke down and sobbed in that moment, as he saw the glistening in the colonel's eyes. Hannibal could bite back the emotion. Face had no hope of doing that. He turned his head away, hid behind his hands, and breathed deep as he sobbed silently, shoulders shaking. Hannibal said nothing, did nothing, just let him cry quietly until finally, Face could feel his control slowly returning. Finally, he pushed his tear-dampened hands back through his greasy hair, leaning over his glass. Finally, he remembered he was in a public place, and that he should care about that, even if he didn't.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, rubbing the tear-smeared grease paint between his fingers.

"It's okay."

It was all Hannibal offered. Face shut his eyes and swallowed hard, drawing in a few slow, deep breaths. He tipped the glass up again, and let the bitter liquor burn is throat. The silence lingered, and Face finally sighed.

"I know it doesn't mean much now," he whispered, much more composed now. "But the pictures are in a safety deposit box at the central bank in Saigon. You probably should go get them before they clear the box out and someone else finds them."

Hannibal was quiet. Face lit another cigarette, and finished the rest of his drink. For a moment, it gave him something else to think about as he gestured to the bartender to bring him another one.

"Why did you take pictures in the first place?" Hannibal asked.

Face sighed. It was a genuine question, not an accusation. Which meant that it deserved a genuine answer, and not a comeback. Crossing his arms on the bar in front of him, Face leaned forward on them heavily. "I don't know," he admitted. He glanced up as the bartender refilled the glass, and took another slow drag on his cigarette.

Now it was Hannibal's turn to sigh. "Jesus, Face, why didn't you just ask me about Devon? I would've told you everything."

Face shook his head, eyes closed. "It's not that easy."

"I know it's not." Hannibal's voice was full of emotion, even if he was doing a damn good job of keeping it off of his face. "You wouldn't have heard a word of it. Why?"

Head still shaking, Face answered low. "I don't know."
"Why, Face?"

Face took a drink. "I told you, I -"

"Damn it, why!"

"Because I can't!" He slammed the glass down hard, and the liquor spilled onto his hand. As he turned to look at Hannibal, his eyes were full of pain. "What do you want from me? I can't do this. I can't be what you want me to be!"

"No," Hannibal said flatly, ignoring the glances of the men around the room, turning to see what the yelling was about. "You can trust me, kid. And you don't have to manipulate me or blackmail me or play games with me."

Face shut his eyes and hid his eyes with his hand. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, Hannibal, it's not about you. It's about me."

"Well make it about me, then!"

Face dropped his hand, and stared up at Hannibal blankly, as if the thought had never occurred to him.

"Look, I can't change what other people you've trusted have done to fuck you over," Hannibal continued, each word carefully measured. "I can't make you innocent and naive again. I can't make you feel like everyone's looking out for your wellbeing, like you're safe, like it's okay to wear your heart on your sleeve. I can't do that, Face, and if I could, I wouldn't want to. It's a goddamn war. You're not safe. But damn it, Face, you can trust me. Not people, not commanding officers, not other soldiers or even teammates. Me. This person. Right here. Who would die, kill, lie, steal, and go to fucking hell for you!"

Face didn't answer him. He just stared. Hannibal returned it for a long moment, then looked away, taking a long drink. The silence stretched, and Hannibal shut his eyes, leaning forward with his head in his hand.

"Look. What is it gonna take, Face?"

Face hesitated for a long moment. "What do you mean?"

"What's it gonna take to get through to you?" Hannibal shot a pointed look in his direction. "You want power? You want blackmail? Because I can give you shit that's a hell of a lot more potent than Elaine if that's what you need to feel secure here."

Face stared at him, bewildered. Hannibal saw it in his eyes, but he didn't pause.

"You want freedom? Respect? Loyalty? I've already given you all that. Publicly. Any soldier and any officer of any rank knows better than to talk you down in my presence. So what's it gonna take, Face? What's it gonna take to make you trust me?"

"Why do you care?"

Hannibal sighed, exasperated. "Because, Sergeant. For all of your skill, and all of your instinct, and all of your talent, you are useless to me if you can't trust me. And if I can't trust you."

"That's not what I mean."

Hannibal stared at him, waiting for him to clarify. Eyes locked, Face hesitated a long moment before he continued.

"I'm already useless to you," he said quietly. "You've already washed your hands of this. And rightly so. So why the hell are we even having this conversation?"

Hannibal looked away.

"I knew you'd know where to find me," Face said quietly. "I figured you'd come. Just didn't figure you'd come to sit here and have some long, drawn-out talk."

Hannibal sighed. "That's because you don't know me, Face." He turned, and met the Sergeant's stare. "And you still think that I can just turn my head and forget about one of my men."

Face stared.

Hannibal sat up, finished his beer, and pushed the glass aside. "Look, Face, this is your decision. And it is a decision, not a feeling. You either decide, right now, that you're going to trust me, even though it scares the hell out of you, or you decide that you're going to force my hand. And you can do that, Face. You can control the outcome of this situation. You can win this fight between you and me and force me to do something that I don't want to do. And you will end up in a military prison, just as alone as you always have been. Because I swear to God, Face, you will never find a place where you are less alone than right here in this team. And if you can't feel that, then you're right. You are never going to feel a goddamn thing."

Hannibal stood, and tossed a few bills on the bar next to the empty glass. "Choose to be in that cell in one hour, Sergeant," he said flatly. "Choose to submit, choose to apologize, and choose to do everything you can to repair the damage you've done to this team. Or choose not to. It's in your hands. Make your decision."

Without another word, Hannibal turned, and walked away.