CHAPTER ELEVEN

June 8, 1970

"You okay?"

Murdock's eyes shot open as the whisper cut through the hot, humid, unbearable silence. He'd only heard it because BA was pressed right up against his ear. All nine of them had crammed into a space so small, Murdock would've sworn it could only fit three. That was, of course, the idea. Using their rucksacks as pillows, fully dressed in their web gear, holding their weapons to their chests, they were almost piled on top of each other in the dense overgrowth.

"I'm alright," he managed to whisper back, unable to turn his head to look at the man and not sure he'd want to anyways. It was stifling even without breathing into each other's faces.

Hannibal had chosen the thickest, thorniest, most overgrown patch he could find on the side of the hill and designated which area each of them were responsible for if they should come under attack. Each one of them had a spot in which to throw grenades, and the claymore mines had been placed before they'd lie down. Murdock's weapons knowledge was limited, but he knew that those mines were not supposed to be placed quite so close to where they were hiding. Still, he understood the reasoning. They didn't want them being found further away, and alerting the NVA trackers to their position.

"You should sleep," BA advised in a low whisper.

Murdock almost laughed. Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. One look at Face - covered in sweat and dirt, streaked with layers of paint and looking as though he might fall down dead with exhaustion at any moment - had been enough to convince him Hannibal was right about the need to stop for the night. But the adrenaline pouring into his system wouldn't have let him sleep even if the atmosphere had been conducive to a good night's rest. Much less in this cramped and frankly painful hiding place.

"We ain't got much food," BA continued. "Which means we gonna be moving fast the next few days."

Murdock frowned. "Shouldn't we stay put?" he asked quietly. "I mean... if the rescue crew can't find us..."

"We got no way to talk to them," BA reminded him.

"Yeah, but Covey -"

"Covey knows we went down." The interruption silenced Murdock. "But he'll sweep the crash area before he'll send anyone in. You know that. We ain't there, and we didn't have time to leave a sign for 'em, to let 'em know we're alive. There ain't no rescue crew."

Murdock drew in a calming breath of hot, sticky, stuffy air. "What about a Bright Light team?" he asked hopefully.

"They won't find us," Face said quietly, entering into the conversation from the position right in front of him. Actually, it was more on top of him, since Face was lying on his right arm. It had lost circulation hours ago. "Any trail we leave will be found by the NVA before the friendlies. We're on our own out here unless we happen to catch the attention of a fly-by. Now go to sleep."

Murdock swallowed hard. In other words, they would either make it to Da Nang... or they would die trying. Those were the only two realistic options. Add to that the fact that Murdock felt guilty as hell for what had happened in the chopper - even though the gradually-returning memories confirmed it really wasn't his fault. All things considered, he'd actually landed the chopper beautifully. They all could've easily been killed if not for his reflexes...

He was certain he'd only closed his eyes for a moment. The memory of the crash was still imprinted on his mind when he felt someone shaking him awake. "Up and at 'em, Murdock." He blinked a few times, startled, and realized that all of the men were moving, climbing out of their hiding place to greet the dim grey morning. Unlike sunrises in the States, Murdock knew from experience that once the sun came up, it would be almost instant daylight.

Breakfast was as quick and as light as they could make it - cold rice and warm, iodine-laced water. The carbs would burn off in only a few hours.

"We low on ammo," BA informed. "We ain't gonna make it through another fight."

"I still have two clips," Murdock answered quietly. He hadn't fired the M-16 once.

"Still," BA replied with a worried shake of his head, "that ain't much."

"We'll have to pick up some AKs," Hannibal concluded simply, as if AK-47s were readily available at the corner store. Leaning back on a nearby tree with an unlit cigar in his mouth, he looked almost serene - as if he were enjoying a midday picnic. "I'm sure the NVA will be willing to donate a few."

Cipher chuckled at that. "Face? Get us some guns."

A one-fingered salute answered him, but in spite of it, Face was smirking a little as he looked the other way. Murdock glanced back and forth, realizing he'd missed the inside joke.

"Let's move out," Hannibal ordered. "The faster we move, the more likely we are to still be alive when we get to the base."

"You know what's really pissing me off about all this?" Cipher mused as he checked the area for any evidence of having been there, clearing away the last of the footprints.

"What's that?" Hannibal asked, finally rising to his feet.

"We failed the fucking mission," Cipher pointed out.

Face shrugged. "You win some, you lose some."

The casual tone earned a pointed glare from Cipher. "Oh, I'm sure that's exactly what Westman's gonna say to us."

Hannibal fastened his rucksack, casting a quick glance at the two Nungs who spoke only minimal English and gesturing for them to do the same. "Westman won't give us shit about it," he said confidently. "Peters might."

"I can't stand that guy," Cipher added with disgust. "Though he is the best dressed REMF I've seen in Vietnam."

Hannibal chuckled at the name-calling. "You ever see his record?"

Cipher frowned. "I know he's gotten a lot of infantry men killed over some pretty stupid shit."

"He was a good combat soldier once." Reduced to the role of spectator, Murdock watched in silent curiosity at the odd sort of posturing that accompanied the dispassionate argument. "But he got pretty cynical after Korea. He didn't want to be a part of this war."

"Did anybody want to be a part of this war?" Face asked, cynicism dripping from his voice.

"I volunteered," Murdock answered, shrinking back a bit as all eyes turned to him. He rubbed the sweat on the back of his neck as he smiled tightly. "But I gotta admit, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

"I volunteered," Bulldog admitted hesitantly. "But I never thought that -"

The sudden sound of three gunshots cut him off instantly. The two Nung soldiers snapped to attention beside him, instantly armed with the guns that had been set beside them. Another round of three shots came from the opposite direction, and movement in the trees drew the muzzle of every weapon of RT Cannon like a giant magnet. But no one pulled a trigger until they knew for sure who it was. Luckily, Boston entered the small clearing rather than an NVA soldier, back from a quick sweep of the area, and Hannibal asked for a report almost before turning his rifle away.

"We gotta move," Boston said quickly. "There's only four of them that I can see, but they're signaling."

"I heard it," Hannibal nodded, pointing in the direction he wanted to go. The team fell immediately into formation, and Murdock drew in a breath as he steeled himself for another day.

April 20, 1985

"The first gate is about a quarter of a mile up," Alan stated as he lingered at the side door of the van. Just off the road and surrounded by scrub and sun-scorched trees, Hannibal was standing on top of the van and peering through binoculars in the direction of what Murdock assumed was the driveway leading to Corrolini's complex. "The guards will be armed and they have video surveillance."

"Only two guards?" Hannibal called down. Apparently, he could see them from his raised vantage point.

"That's all they need," Alan answered. "You might make it through the first gate without a problem, but you've still got two more, and they won't hesitate to open fire if they don't like the look of you."

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Face looked up at Hannibal briefly before leaning on the van, focusing his attention on Alan. "What's the protocol for getting them to open the front door?" he asked simply.

"Each person has a specific five-digit code that the guards have to put in when they enter," Alan explained. "If there's no code - or if it's a wrong code - the next gate gets alerted to open fire on the approaching vehicle."

Face shrugged. "Well, I'm sure we could persuade the guards to put the right code in for us," he said with a smile.

"You'd have to be pretty careful about it," Alan said. "There's cameras. If the guys inside see anything that looks threatening, they will be ready at the next gate. Plus, the codes are so unique, there's no way to know if they put the right five digit number in until you get to the next gate."

Murdock could think of a way. All it would take was for the guard to know one person would stay behind - with a gun - in case there was someone waiting for them at the second gate. The fear of being shot tended to make people very cooperative. The cameras could pose a bit of a problem, though.

"What vehicles are allowed in?" Hannibal asked, jumping down from the open window to the dry dirt. He handed the binoculars to Face, who glanced up at the top of the van but seemed in no hurry to climb up and take a look for himself.

"Customers come and go," Alan said uneasily. "But I don't know anything about the screening process they go through. The boosted cars are dropped off here, then the drivers are escorted back across the border to a motel. You can call a cab from there to take you to the airport. I imagine Corrolini leaves once in a while, but I've never seen him do it."

"Got a picture of any of the drivers?" Hannibal asked as Face finally turned and pulled himself up onto the runner and then the seat of the van, climbing to the roof.

"Be careful!" BA called out gruffly, coming up an improvised path he'd made to the fence. "Don't you scratch up the paint on my van!"

Face waved him off. Distracted by the exchange and dumbfounded by Hannibal's question, it took Alan a moment to shake his head in reply. "No, no pictures. Sorry."

That ruled out an impersonation.

"There's a tree about 500 yards down that we could use to get over the fence," BA reported.

"You'll have a harder time getting over the second two," Alan said. "They're topped with barbed wire and razor wire. And there's a few dogs in the outer circle. They try to bite the tires of the cars when we roll in."

"What about service personnel?" Murdock suggested.

"Yeah," BA added, "I could mess with their phone lines from out here."

"There's only specific people he allows in to do his repairs," Alan answered. "One time I remember they had a power line go down in the woods of the outer circle and Corrolini waited two days running on a backup generator because when he called, it was his serviceman's day off."

As Face took his time getting a good look at the layout, Hannibal put on his gloves and headed for the chest of guns at the back of the van. Murdock and BA followed, with Alan tagging behind. "We'll split into two groups," Hannibal declared as he opened up the lockbox. "BA and I will go over the fence and try to clear the safest path from here to there. Murdock, you and Face need to get inside one of those cars and go through the gate."

"No problem," Murdock said distractedly. "We'll just fold ourselves into origami and hide in the backseat under a blanket."

"Not a bad idea," Hannibal grinned back.

Alan was shifting anxiously. "What do you want me to do?"

"You need to stay with the van," Hannibal ordered. "We'll need you on the radio for directions. You know more about this place than any of us."

Clearly disappointed that he was being kept from the action, Alan nevertheless nodded in agreement. As Face jumped down from the van, he raised a curious brow as he glanced at Murdock.

"We have a plan?" he assumed innocently.

"We need to find out if the girl is being kept here," Hannibal answered, "or if they have her elsewhere."

"I haven't got a clue where she'd be," Alan admitted. "But the only places I've ever been inside is the office and the study."

"We'll be in contact the whole time," Hannibal reminded, handing a portable radio to Murdock and one to BA. "We should be able to play it by ear. With any amount of luck -" Hannibal smiled broadly as he considered his luck. "- this could be over and done within a few hours."

June 8, 1970

The last twelve hours had been hell. With luck running out, none of them managed to fight off the exhaustion that led to careless mistakes. RT Cannon had been in the field for nine days; it was too long for any man to remain on constant full alert. A snapped twig under a heavy boot had sparked the current firefight, and already cost the life of one of the Nungs. BA and Bulldog had both been hit as well. BA's wounds weren't bad; one bullet shot straight through his leg and the other lodged near his right shoulder. Now, he used his other arm to fire. Bulldog's injury was more serious.

"No, I don't want it," he protested, glaring at Cipher and sobbing as the medic grabbed a morphine syrette.

"No reason to be a hero," Cipher said flatly, all business as he popped the cap off. "We gotta carry you anyways. You can't walk on a shattered femur."

"I can at least try!" The man was delirious, whether from pain, exhaustion, or both. Murdock couldn't remember ever seeing a wounded man try to refuse blessed morphine.

"Murdock!" Snapping up at Hannibal's call, Murdock almost lost his balance. Crouched next to the wounded man and the medic, Murdock was completely drained of adrenaline. Even with bullets flying all around them, he was past the point of caring.

"Yeah, Colonel?" Murdock asked as Hannibal approached quickly.

"How far did you say we were from Da Nang when we went down?"

It took a moment to remember that far back. After only four days (to the rest of the team's nine), he'd reached the sleep-deprived, adrenaline-soaked confusion where the lines between reality and nightmares blurred and everything felt like a dream.

"Ten clicks," Murdock finally answered. "We were about forty or forty-five from the DMZ. Why?"

"You're sure of that?" Hannibal asked.

"Absolutely," he lied.

Hannibal pointed straight up towards the jungle canopy above. "Then those choppers flying overhead are from Da Nang."

Murdock blinked. Choppers? He'd not even heard choppers overhead. The only thing he'd noticed for the past hour was the rapid fire of the AK-47s. Suddenly, the thought of rescue flashed across his mind for the first time in days.

"You got WP?" he asked hopefully. "So we can pop smoke?"

"No," Hannibal replied. "Not anymore."

Just as quickly, the thought of rescue was put down by the reality of their situation. "They won't see us unless we can clear some kind of LZ," he pointed out.

The rally point had drawn BA, Boston, and the remaining Nung, and they stood facing the trees as they waited for orders. "We're on a hill," Hannibal stated.

"Not much of one," Cipher observed as the sounds of Bulldog's pain ebbed with the confusion intensified by the morphine. Tossing the used syrette into the brush, Cipher rose beside Hannibal and pulled his weapon off of his shoulder, holding it at the ready again.

"Where's Face?" Hannibal spun, looking for him. "Face!"

"Here!" Face's voice called back from just on the other side of the tree line. Still firing in short bursts, he backed up towards the huddle. Murdock's grip tightened around his weapon as his eyes scanned the trees for the movement Face could certainly see if he was spending the ammo to fire at them. He wouldn't shoot if the enemy was out of range.

"What's the plan, Colonel?" Face asked, not taking his eyes from the trees. Sweat was pouring from his brow, streaking through the mud he'd used that morning in the absence of grease paint.

"Can we hold this position?" Hannibal demanded.

Cipher's eyes went wide, but it was Face's response that answered for all of them. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" he asked with a tone of authoritative challenge to match his superior's.

Hannibal was unmoved. "How long?"

"Maybe five to ten minutes if we're lucky!" Face turned his head just long enough to lock stares with the Colonel. "We've got the high ground but there's no extraction coming, remember?"

Murdock had to admit "digging in" seemed senseless to him.

Taking only a few seconds to debate, Hannibal looked back and forth into the trees and at his men. Then, with a determination and authority of a man expecting to be obeyed without question, he gave his order. "BA and Wo-" The Nung's head spun around as Hannibal called his name. "- you're coming with me. We're gonna break for the camp."

Now it was Murdock's turn to stare with wide eyes. Breaking for the camp meant a lengthy sprint through the jungle and there was no doubt the enemy was present all around them. But Hannibal's tone left no room for argument. "Murdock, you and Boston go back up to the top of this hill and find the clearest spot you can. Try and make a slash and burn. The rest of you cover the area up there."

Still gaping, Murdock finally found his voice. "You're splitting us up?" That sounded like suicide. He wasn't even sure which of the two groups was in more danger.

Hannibal's eyes narrowed as he stepped in closer. "Look Murdock," he growled, his formidable patience finally at an end, "Bulldog cannot run, and there is no way we're going to make it if we try to carry him. We need an extraction. And in order for an extraction to happen, we need some kind of an LZ. So get to it!"

The reality of the do-or-die plan was terrifying. If Hannibal's team didn't make it to the base - a very real possibility, given the number of enemy in the area - the team would be stranded on the top of the hill. They'd all end up dead. At the same time, if the others didn't succeed in creating enough of a clearing for at least a McGuire rig to be dropped down, they'd never get off the hill even if the team made it back to base. They would all need an awful lot of luck on their side. And their luck was dwindling...

Accepting fate for what it was worth, they moved without thought, without feeling. Murdock and Cipher tried to stay between Face and Boston as they carried a semi-conscious Bulldog between them. Murdock couldn't imagine the pain that the man was in, even with the morphine that Cipher had given him. Not that it would matter much in another hour if this plan didn't work...

They found a patch of sky between the jungle trees. It wasn't open enough for a helicopter, but they could drop a rig. As long as the rescue chopper could find them, they had a chance. Immediately, they set to work chopping at the vines and growth, firing at the rustling trees as the enemy closed in on all sides. The VC had stopped firing for the most part; they knew the team was completely surrounded, and preferred to take them alive. With ammunition low, Murdock became keenly aware of the fact they were counting bullets.

"You still haven't fired that .38, right?" Bulldog asked weakly.

Murdock looked down at the man whose wounds were still oozing blood in spite of the fact Cipher had patched them to the best of his ability. "Right. Why?"

Bulldog's eyes slid closed. "I won't get taken alive, man," he whispered. "Don't let me get taken alive. Fucking hurts too much..."

Murdock stared at him. He had mixed feelings about the request. He'd heard the same stories of torture and mutilation Bulldog inevitably had. An American POW was a prize that would be heavily rewarded by the NVA. God only knew what would happen to them then - especially if the enemy discovered that two of them were officers. But at the same time, Murdock had seen successful POW rescues. He had confidence in his team. As long as Hannibal was alive, he wouldn't abandon them unless they were dead.

Like Alan...

The consideration caught him so off guard, he almost lost reality for a moment. He was brought back abruptly by Face's approach. "That's it," he declared. "We're completely dry. Bullets, grenades, everything."

Murdock swallowed hard as he saw Boston coming in close as well. Face's eyes were lingering on the weapon Murdock held in his hand. For just a moment, their gazes locked. "Don't do it," Face said flatly.

It was all he said.

Murdock nodded slowly and in the face of Bulldog's protests, handed the gun to the younger Lieutenant. As the evening shadows crept closer, Face turned and held the gun out in front of him. Murdock wasn't sure how he could even see his targets. He fired all six shots, each in a very different direction, then dropped the gun, put up his hands and yelled, "Chu hoi!" into the foliage.

The pistol hit the ground with a thud and suddenly, it was silent. The shooting had stopped completely. Too exhausted to even feel fear, Murdock stood. He took a few steps away from the wounded man who was spending the last of his energy cursing Face. Without a word, he moved with Boston to Face's right as Cipher approached and stood to his left. Still and silent, they stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the advancing enemy filter through the trees.