CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

April 20, 1985

Murdock was laughing as he stepped out of the silver rental car. Mostly, the chuckle was brought on by the sight of Alan, wearing a path in the dirt as he paced back and forth while Hannibal casually played solitaire on the hood of the rare car. As he exited the other side of the rental, Face's attention turned immediately to the sleek vehicle parked right next to the van, sparkling in the midday sun.

"No problems," Murdock declared with a self-satisfied grin, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket.

"At least until later today, when the real representatives from Ford show up," Face added, apparently listening even though his attention seemed firmly fixed on the car. "Then I imagine that security guard is going to have a real problem."

Hannibal looked pleased. Or perhaps he was simply anxious to get on with the show. Able to travel much faster than the two following him in the rental car, Alan had probably arrived several hours ago.

"We got the radios set up," Hannibal informed, packing up his card game. "This mercenary Corrolini hired is named Joseph Linus."

Face looked up immediately, his attention jerked abruptly away from the pretty car. "Joseph Linus of the Wondersun Brothers Gang?"

Hannibal smiled, clearly amused. "You've heard of him."

"Sure, I've heard of him." Face walked around the car, crossing his arms with a worried look on his face. "I also did some business with him in 'Nam. The guy was a lunatic."

"I resemble that remark," Murdock replied, indignant.

"He ran speed out of Japan during the war," Face explained, shifting uncomfortably. "Dishonorably discharged in '70, and he started the Wondersun Brothers Gang with his best friend and their girlfriends. Cocaine smuggling. Last I heard, he's a suspect in almost two dozen murders."

Hannibal nodded his understanding. "Sounds like quite a guy!"

Wearing his best "not amused" look, the way he always did when Hannibal got that twinkle in his eye, Face shook his head. "The guy is nuts, Hannibal. I think he slept a grand total of five hours through his whole tour. You know what that does to a person's brain?"

Murdock spent a few minutes very carefully considering what that would do to a person's brain.

"Based on what we've heard," Hannibal continued, "I'd say it's a pretty good bet that Corrolini has never actually met him face to face. If one of us goes in there, pretending to be Linus -"

"By somebody, you mean...?" Face interrupted with a look that was somewhere between worry and disgust.

"I could do it," Murdock offered with a shrug. Playing the part of a lunatic didn't intimidate him in the least.

Hannibal smiled broadly. "I thought you might find it entertaining."

With a grin of his own, Murdock contemplated a bit more intensely the level of crazy brought upon by years of recreational drug use and sleep deprivation.

"Face can go with you," Hannibal stated. "Since he's met the guy, he may be able to smooth out any... misunderstandings."

"And by misunderstandings," Face shot back with a deep scowl, "you mean if Corrolini recognizes us as a fraud because maybe he's actually met the guy - who Murdock doesn't look anything like, I might add."

"Exactly!" Hannibal grinned.

"So, let me make sure I understand this," Alan said, lighting the end of a new cigarette with the butt of the last before dropping it into the impressive pile in the sandy dirt. "Murdock is a mercenary who's bringing me to Corrolini? I thought there were a dozen reasons why you didn't want me going in there."

"I didn't want you going in there alone," Hannibal clarified. "Especially without contact. Joseph Linus and his trusted companion -" a quick glance at Face received a heavy sigh "- will keep an eye on you. And in the meantime, Chris Jackson will wait for the opportune moment to deliver this car."

"Man already called him," BA informed. "He said he'd do it, real quick like. That part of the plan should go smooth. Long as he don't show up."

"He won't," Alan said confidently. "He's only got two other options to get that car, and neither one of them will be fast."

"Well if he does show up," Hannibal shrugged, "BA will just have to intercept him."

BA scowled, clearly not impressed by that part of the "smooth plan".

"And what are we supposed to do when we get Alan in there?" Face challenged, frowning deeply. "Ask to inspect the holding facilities? Corrolini will most likely want to lock up Alan, pay us, and escort us off the premises."

Hannibal smiled and clapped a hand over Face's shoulder. "Don't worry, Face. If everything goes according to plan, you and I will be escorted together."

With a deep sigh, Face rolled his eyes. "Hannibal, I don't like the number of 'ifs' in this plan..."

Hannibal looked past them, into the back of the van. "BA, I need you to do something about their phone lines. We don't need the real Joseph Linus or Chris Jackson calling while we're in there."

"Right," BA answered.

"You really think this is gonna work?" Alan asked with a lingering look at Face. The skepticism was shared between the two of them. "You think we're just gonna walk out of there when it's over?"

Hannibal remained unmoved. With a grin, he reached for his gloves, slipping them on. "Well, if we don't," he answered ambitiously, "at least we can say we tried."

Murdock hid a smirk at the look of worry on Alan's face, then turned away with a sinister laugh as he slipped deeper and deeper into Joseph Linus' psychoses. They were not so different, when he really got into the core of the character, from his own. In fact, he saw no reason not to tap into some of his own memories, to let them come, let them consume, and slip into the comfort of complete mental and emotional abandon.

June 28, 1971

Warrant Officer Charles "Snap" Pelt looked nervous as all hell. Murdock couldn't blame him. The poor co-pilot, still nursing his wounds from the crash that had ended in the most exciting few minutes of Murdock's adult life, was stuck in a UH-1 with a questionably sane AC and two stir-crazy adrenaline junkies in the back. Luckily for him, it was just a "fun run" - a way to get off base. And, if he needed a bit of reassurance, BA had come along for the ride. It should've made Snap feel better to know he, at least, was more interested in getting back alive than finding his fix.

They'd not only volunteered, but Face had actually pulled some strings to get them clearance. The commander didn't want to take the risk of pissing off General Westman by getting the general's favorite SOG unit killed on a mission they shouldn't have been authorized for in the first place. Face had assured him that they would proceed with the utmost caution. And it was just an ash-and-trash, nothing even remotely dangerous...

Murdock was itching for something more exciting. Ever since the crash and ensuing firefight, they'd been locked up on a base near the An Lao Valley. For days they'd been drilling and prepping, utterly bored but unable to move until the REMFs sorted through the bureaucratic bullshit keeping them there. They couldn't go into the field with injuries on the team, but they couldn't get leave without permission and paperwork.

The days passed slowly. They had nothing to do but training and - once they'd all beaten that horse to death - entertain themselves with beer and pranks of varying degrees of decency. Cipher was particularly good at inventing new and interesting ways to spend time. The camp had seen everything from an impromptu fireworks display that had everyone convinced they were taking enemy fire to the giant snake placed ever-so-carefully in the irritable and unfriendly mess sergeant's bunk. Murdock was pretty sure the commander was secretly glad to see them go, if only for a few hours. He might've been even more happy about it if Cipher had come along.

"Howlin' Mad One-Niner, this is Phoenix GCA - do you copy?"

Leaning back and looking out the open cockpit door at the passing canopy below, Murdock was enjoying the breeze and the crystal-clear visibility as the UH-1 headed out to one of the camps with a cargo full of water and miscellaneous odds and ends by request. He didn't look away from the scenery as he reached up to click his mic. "Howlin' Mad, readin' you loud and clear. Go 'head Phoenix."

"We've got quite a battle about five miles north of you. They're requesting casualty extraction."

Murdock groaned, but kept it out of his voice as he answered back. "Copy, Phoenix. Is the LZ red? 'Cause you know, Captain Jeffries has this thing with the color red an' he told us not to go near anything that ain't bright, happy, springtime grass green." As he turned his attention to the north, he realized he was already able to see the choppers buzzing around the area.

"LZ should be green, One-Niner," ground control reported. "You'll put down west of the fighting by at least five hundred yards."

"Oooh, a whole five hundred?" he smirked. "Sounds like a good time to me. I have a visual on the combat zone an' we're goin' in! Howlin' Mad, over and out."

For Snap's benefit, he pointed in the direction of the battle, and the bird turned gradually towards it as Murdock flipped the radio over to the intercom. "Casualty pickup," he informed his two gunners.

For a moment, there was no answer. Then a simple, "Copy," from Face. He wouldn't have expected much more. Picking up dead soldiers was nobody's cup of tea. The surprisingly good day Murdock had been enjoying was about to take a turn.

The entire area around the combat zone was buzzing with the rattle of chopper rotors and AK-47s. The LZ was west of the heaviest fighting, wide and clear enough that Murdock felt no need to take the controls away from Snap. As soon as they touched down on the soft ground, battle-worn soldiers carried the bodies to the chopper in a solemn procession. Soaked in sweat and covered in mud, they moved quickly but still took time to say their good-byes. It would be the only chance they had to do so.

Two of the bodies were bagged, but the others were uncovered. They must have run out of bags for them. Bloody and mangled, they were loaded into the back of the Huey just as they were. The familiar, sickening smell of death made Murdock's stomach turn. He would never get used to that smell. The lifeless bodies, oozing blood and other fluids onto the floor, were his least favorite cargo by far. There was no hope for them. No amount of skill, effort, or determination could save them now. Murdock could travel as fast or as slow as he wanted to the base. It didn't really matter.

"You'd better get outta here, man," one of the weary soldiers advised, yelling up at him over the beating of the chopper blades. "There's snipers everywhere."

"Thanks, soldier," he called down. "Hang in there."

The man offered a weak, forced smile as he stepped back. "Clear?" Murdock called back.

"All clear on the left!"

"Clear on the right!"

Murdock signaled to Snap and he lifted off, heading for the medical detachment pad back at the base. Once there, the bodies were unloaded, leaving a grotesque pool of blood and body parts in the back of the Huey. Noting the slightly-green peter pilot, he offered to fly solo to the river so they could clean the back of the Huey. But Snap declined the free pass, and stayed put as Murdock requested clearance to fly to the river.

Snap made a reasonably smooth landing on the sandbars in the Bong Son River. He hadn't said a word besides the requisite acknowledgements since they'd picked up the bodies. He didn't speak now, either, as they washed the back of the chopper as much as possible with the muddy water and a few plastic pails.

"You okay, kid?" Murdock asked as he tossed another bucket of water over the bloody sludge. It washed through to the other side, turning red as it went, and dropped back into the shallow river, carrying the evidence of war's cruelty downstream.

Snap looked up and forced a smile. "Never seen it so up close before, sir. Not like that."

Murdock smiled faintly. It was standard practice to stick the youngest, most inexperienced pilots with the most seasoned ones, but he still hadn't quite figured out why Hannibal had pulled this kid into "the team" proper. Snap still had to fight the urge to salute anything in fatigues, a habit left over from his training. It drove Murdock nuts. Unless it was an ass-chewing or a first meeting, salutes and titles were not used in Vietnam. It felt... awkward.

"Well, I have seen it up close," Murdock replied. "Lots of times. And it still bothers me." He heaved another bucket of water, and it sloshed out the other side. "I think if it ever stops bothering you, you ain't even human anymore."

"Hey, Murdock, check it out!"

Murdock glanced up and shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked up at an enthusiastic, excited Face. "Present company excluded," he smiled politely, for Snap's benefit. Face was far too distant to hear the conversation.

Holding up two standard issue army air mattresses from the supplies that had never made it to their destination, the young lieutenant was grinning from ear to ear. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he intended to do with them.

Neither BA nor Snap were up for a swim. Murdock didn't feel particularly up for it either, but he was more than happy to cash in on Face's surprisingly good mood. He'd kept his distance since the crash, and Murdock got the impression he still hadn't quite worked through the ramifications. The kid masked pain well, under a smile that he'd not yet learned could be misconstrued as shallow and even disrespectful. But really, Face used the same escapism that they all did, just in a slightly different way. Instead of escaping to alcohol, or to the comfort of like-wounded companions - real or imagined - he escaped somewhere into himself where none of this bothered him and kept everyone at a safe distance.

So into the water the two men dove, stripped to their shorts and splashing like carefree children in an effort to forget everything they had experienced in the past few days, weeks, months... The river was shallow, probably only ten feet at its deepest, and the current was weak. Though the rationale had remained unspoken, Face had been absolutely right - the cool water was a welcome relief, soothing both to their overheated bodies and their overly traumatized minds.

As Face reminisced aloud about long-gone days back in the States - mostly about the beautiful doe-eyed women - Murdock's own thoughts wandered. He would die here, he was pretty sure. But each new day that he survived, he had to think of what it would be like to return to the USA - to "normal" life. Face had certainly thought about it, even if he would freely admit that he didn't ever expect to see "home" again. To Murdock, "home" was no longer a welcoming thought. He'd experienced the emotional confusion of returning to normal life. He wasn't looking forward to experiencing it again. Even if he went back to the States, even if the war ended... he knew deep inside that he would never leave the military. He couldn't. There was no other place for him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a chopper somewhere overhead, and he looked up. It wasn't uncommon for the Hueys to come here to clean out their cargo areas, but it seemed odd that they were setting up for a landing so damn close to where they could clearly see there was another chopper already parked on the sandbar. Out in the middle of a river about as wide as a football field, Murdock shielded his eyes from the blinding sun as he looked up at the hovering aircraft coming down almost directly over them.

"What the hell do these assholes think they're doing?" he thought out loud. He was sure the pilot overhead could see them in the water.

"Hovering," Face answered brilliantly, the top half of his body lying across his raft.

Suddenly, Murdock realized exactly what they were doing. His eyes went wide. "Shit!" he cried. "Get to the sandbar!"

There was no time, at that point, to even begin the mad dash to the sandbar. The chopper positioned itself not more than ten feet upriver and a foot above the surface of the water. Hurricane force winds from the rotating blades of the helicopter ripped the surface of the otherwise calm river. Both men could do nothing but hold on for dear life as they were sent flying downstream on the rafts. It was an effort just to keep their heads above water as they skidded over the surface, at the mercy of the wind created by the Huey that was following them. Finally, the bird lifted away after pushing them a good 150 yards from their original destination. It returned to land about fifty feet from Murdock's chopper.

The two soldiers were left to paddle and walk against the current, all the way back to where they had started. Murdock was irritated - even pissed off - but he had never seen Face quite so vocal about his contempt for the offending party. It was almost comical. The lieutenant had vented his anger and adrenaline on scores upon scores of VC with only a few four-letter words here and there. But turned on the pilots of that chopper, his tongue was like a whip. As Face yelled obscenities drawn from the furthest corners of his vocabulary, conjuring up words Murdock had never even heard before, Murdock found that his amusement almost overcame his own frustration.

The men in the intruding chopper were laughing as the two of them swam past. The pilot gestured his apology with a shrug as they passed the bird, as if to say that they hadn't seen them. It only seemed to infuriate Face more. He told them things about their mothers, their sisters, and their dogs, shouted out little-known facts about their anatomies, and finally called them something that rhymed with "yogurt" before reaching the Huey.

Once inside, to the confusion and bewilderment of BA and the peter pilot, Face tucked himself out of sight of the other chopper and started laughing.

"Can you believe those guys!" he cried.

"What happened?" BA demanded.

Face turned and stared at him for a moment as Murdock strapped himself into the left pilot's seat. "Did you not see that? They pushed us halfway down the river!" But his laughter made it clear that he was not nearly as infuriated as he'd led the other team to believe.

Murdock had a few ideas of his own for how to communicate his appreciation for the prank. The peter pilot was barely strapped in when the chopper was light on the skids. "Clear behind us?" Murdock called back.

Face was already near the door. It only took him a second to look out to the back of the chopper. It took BA a moment longer; he'd been attempting to secure the tool box in the cargo area. He raced to the left side to look back and gave a quick, "All clear!"

A dark shadow passed over Murdock's eyes as the corners of his mouth quirked up into an evil smirk. He hovered just above the water for a moment, feeling the weight of the Huey, the balance, the pitch... When properly executed, a rear takeoff was as beautiful as it was difficult. The cyclic, pedals, and collective pitch controls all had to be perfectly synced with the pilot. He would have to slam everything all at once, just right, to get the chopper to turn 180 degrees on its vertical access. And he would do this just a few feet from the Huey parked nearby, and scare the hell out of them. He knew he could pull it off. He'd done a rear takeoff a hundred times before.

He keyed the mic as he smirked at the laughing bastards only about 20 yards away. "Hey, Face! Watch this!"

Suddenly, the chopper lurched. The peter pilot cried out in surprise as he realized they were heading - backwards - directly for the chopper behind them. Face and BA, in the back of the chopper, had no idea what was about to happen until it was happening.

It was about that same time Murdock realized he'd made a mistake. The Huey's tail was exceptionally low at a normal hover, and four feet off of the sandbar only took him two feet off the water's surface. As he'd applied rear control pressure, the tail had dipped even lower. He realized all of this in a split-second flash. Before there was time for so much as an "oh shit", the tail rotor hit the water. At the speed the blades were rotating, it was like hitting a cement wall. The rotor buckled and warped and detached from the rest of the Huey... along with the entire gearbox.

There went his anti-torque.

With the engine opened up at full power, the chopper whipped violently in the opposite direction from the spinning blades above. The 75-pound toolbox, still not secured in the back of the chopper, hurled forward between Murdock and the peter pilot, and smashed through the front windshield, taking half of the instrument panel with it before it crashed into the river somewhere below them.

Murdock's co-pilot was panicking. Having been repeatedly trained for tail rotor failure, Murdock knew to cut the engine and land in an autorotation. But before he could do that, he had another problem. Without the weight of the rotor and gearbox on the back end of the chopper, they were suddenly extremely nose-heavy. He had to be at least somewhat level before cutting power or they would crash. If he could just get level, he knew he could still land safely.

In another two seconds, in spite of his efforts, it didn't matter anyway. The chopper tipped a little too far to the left in its spin and the top rotor hit the water's surface. The Huey ceased to fly and they slammed hard into the water - six thousand pounds of metal dropped from a height of ten feet. The sound, and the jarring impact, was mind-numbing.

As Murdock realized he was still breathing, he could hear Snap screaming - a continuous yell of, "Oh God! Oh Jesus!" But if he was yelling so enthusiastically, he couldn't be too badly hurt.

Murdock set to the task of pulling himself out of the mangled chopper. In only a few seconds, he had help from the outside; BA was jerking on the door almost frantically. Realizing it was jammed, Murdock pulled the emergency release, and the door fell off its hinges. BA pulled it back and jumped out of the way as it splashed into the water. "You alright?" BA was wide-eyed. Frantic. "What happened? You okay?"

"Oh... just a slight miscalculation," Murdock answered casually.

"Miscalculation?" BA yelled. "Miscalculation! Are you crazy? You could've killed us all!"

"Yeah, uh... Help me outta here, will you?" He grinned as BA took his arm. "You know that's JP4 you're standing in, right?"

BA almost lost his grip on Murdock's arm as he jumped in surprise, looking frantically around at the jet fuel-tainted river water. Knowing the danger made him work that much harder and faster, and in no time at all, he'd dragged Murdock out of the seat, and both of them waded to the shore. Once there, Murdock looked back to see Face and Snap swimming away from the wreckage. The wrong way.

"Hey Faceman!" he called, cupping his hands over his mouth for a bullhorn. Face and Snap both looked toward him, wide-eyed and horrified. "Swim upstream, jackass! Not downstream!"

They reversed their direction but they went wide - out into the deeper water so as to avoid the fuel streaming into the river. As they came closer, Murdock started walking - a few paces down the edge of the water, toward the other chopper and the crew that was standing stock still, awestruck by what they had just seen. "What was it I was supposed to watch, Murdock?" Face called as he came within reasonable talking distance.

"Yeah, how'd you like that takeoff?" Murdock grinned back.

Face laughed, but it sounded a little more hysterical than humored. "Jesus, Murdock, how are we supposed to explain this? You know what it took to get them to let us off that base for a simple supply run? And now you just crashed their chopper in the river!"

"We...! I...!" Snap had no words as he stumbled to shore. "I could...! I could lose my wings for...! But I didn't...!"

"Nah, don't worry 'bout it, kid," Murdock assured him with a wave. "I'll take care of it."

"You'll take care of it?" Face challenged with a disbelieving laugh. "I'm the one who stuck my neck out to get us this chopper!"

"Alright, so you'll take care of it," Murdock shrugged. Before Face had a chance to respond, Murdock raised his hands to his mouth again and shouted at the top of his lungs at the other chopper. "Hey you! Assholes downriver!" The entire crew still stood gaping. "That's JP4 you're standing in, you idiots! Anybody got a match?"

Murdock chuckled as he watched them look at the water all around them, as if they hadn't figured out yet that they were standing in jet fuel. "Look at those fools," he grinned at the peter pilot. "Can you believe they're just sitting there?"

"You're the fool, Murdock!" BA grabbed his shoulder, jerking him back a little. "You coulda killed us all!"

"But I didn't," Murdock reminded with a wide grin. He pulled away and BA let him go, not entirely sure what else to do with him. Murdock immediately turned back to the other chopper crew, jumping at the opportunity to further antagonize them. "Hey, jackass! I think I left the battery switch on!"

At that, the crew scrambled to their places and prepped for dust off. Murdock laughed.

"Geez, Murdock..." Face had his palm against his cheek as he shook his head, surveying the damage. That chopper would never fly again.

Murdock chuckled as he glanced around him. "Seriously, anybody got a dry match?"

BA grabbed his shirt again. This time, his other fist was raised.