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WARNING WARNING WARNING CAUTION CAUTION READ THIS FIRST PLEASE!!
This story is really disturbing. It has graphic violence, and suicide. If this is offensive to you or squicks you please do not read it. I don't want to get flamed for this. Like I said, it's rather disturbing, and full of severe mental angst. It's not that long, but what there is, is quite strange. Do not go on if the material will offend you. Thanks...
Warning: m/m relationship / suicide.
Copyright: Sept. 2000 Liz Hill
Bullets ripped through the air just missing my helmet, forcing
me to bury my face in the damp soil of the current battlegrounds. After
a short while, the gunfire lets up, and I slowly raise my head to look
at my surroundings.
I'm in Vietnam. All around me lay bodies, bleeding, torn apart from the madness and the war that surrounds me. I turn my head to the right. Lying in a pool of blood is my teammate, my friend, Sgt. BA Baracus. He's been gunned down by enemy fire, and is just hanging on by a thread. I watch as his eyes flutter slightly. He's been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while now. I'm going to lose him. I just know it. I grab his large black hand and squeeze it tight. I wait for a response. None comes. I squeeze again. Nothing. I check for a pulse. None. He's dead now. One down. The unit is falling apart.
I tell BA that it's been real. Real nice to know him. Real nice to fight alongside him. Real good being his friend.
I can't spend much time though. There's a war going on.
I turn away from my friend, and look to the left. I see my C.O., John
"Hannibal" Smith. He's covered in mud, still barking out orders to what's
left of his men. He's got a stone cold look in his eyes as he
counts his fallen men.
Too many to count in my opinion.
He's a great leader. Always taking risks, but making sure we'll all
be ok before he does anything too
dangerous. I admire him. Look up to him.
Suddenly I hear him scream, "Incoming!"
I follow his lead as I bury my face in the dirt one more time. Just in time to hear a deafening explosion, not to far fromwhere I'm stationed.
The rock and dirt raining down and clattering off my helmet momentarily drowns out the sickening screams around me. We lost more people with that last explosion. I don't need to look to know that much.
Something's wrong though. I don't hear Hannibal's voice shouting to see who's left. I strain to hear him over the din, but his voice does not play in my ears.
I raise my head as soon as I'm sure it's safe. Well, as safe as it's
going to get around here. I turn my
head to the left to look for Hannibal. My breath catches in my throat as I choke back a scream.
He's on the ground. Well, most of him is. I crawl as fast as I can over
to him. Tears beginning
to stream down my face. I grab him by the front of his shirt and shake him, screaming his name over and over. He's in rough shape. He's not going to make it. I know it. Things have been going that way.
I look at my C.O., the man who took me in, trained me, and taught me all the things a young man should know. His helmet has been knocked off by the shock of the last explosion. His uniform is in tatters. He's bleeding. Profusely. From where his legs used to be. I'm still holding his shirt; my knuckles turning white with the sheer force that I'm gripping him with.
His eyes barely crack open, and I see his lips move slightly, but no sound comes out. At least nothing I can hear over the ruckus of the war in the background.
I lean in closer to him as he tries to speak again. "Get out..." Is
the last thing I hear him say, before
his eyes go blank, and his breathing stops.
My C.O. is gone now too. I've lost two of my closest friends.
My head is swimming. How can anyone be expected to go on after witnessing
this kind of horror
Everything is swimming before me.
I crawl back to my original position, to try to clear my head. I hear the sound of a chopper getting louder and louder. I look up. I see the pilot. Captain H.M. Murdock coming in to get us. Well what's left of us. He hovers above us, going through his final landing motions. He lands the chopper about 100 yards away from us. Men all around me scramble towards the chopper, the ones of us still left. The ones able to walk. Men dragging other men. Some men still alive,some just dead.
As I move towards the chopper, suddenly there's another deafening explosion.
Everything looks as if
it's in slow motion now. The chopper explodes, fire and metal going everywhere. The enemy has taken out our last hope of getting out of here.
They're gone. My team is gone.
The sounds of Hannibal screaming "Incoming!"... The look on BA's face...
chopper blow... They're all playing in my head... I can't escape them... Ever... Ever...
I sit bolt upright in my bed. Thankful to be awakened from my nightmare. I'm covered in a sheet of sweat; I'm shaking, panting. My chest feels tight. The ghostly images of my nightmare still dancing in my head, briefly... then they're gone.
I turn quickly to make sure my lover is still there. Is still ok. I
see the moonlight reflecting off his
silvery-gray hair, his chest rising and falling slowly as he sleeps. Thank god he's ok.
I can't take these dreams anymore.
It's been three years since we left 'Nam. Hannibal, BA and I have been on the run since then. Going place to place. Never staying anywhere too long. Never anywhere long enough to get help. Murdock's not on the run with us though. They locked him up. Not in jail, but in the psychiatric ward at the VA hospital.
At first it hurt to see him in there. All broken up, walking a fine
line between reality and insanity.
Plagued by the dreams. The nightmares. I felt bad he had to be in there.
But not anymore. The people in there help him. They make the nightmares go away. Mine haunt me every time I close my eyes. Every time.
I can't escape.
I feel Hannibal roll over and press his body against mine. He mumbles to see if I'm ok. He can feel me shaking. He tells me everything is going to be ok. He'll get me help. He'll make the nightmares go away. I tell him I'll be fine. I always tell him that. He just doesn't know how much I'm being ripped up by the dreams though.
He loves me. I love him. But I can't handle the dreams. I've tried.
I just can't. There's only one
solution left. It's going to rip the team up. It's going to push Murdock back to where he was. BA will
hide deep in himself. Hannibal. I don't know what he'll do. But it won't be easy for them.
But the scenes are there every time I close my eyes.
I tell Hannibal I'm getting up to get a snack. A drink. He mutters that
he loves me sleepily, and to
come back soon. I tell him I love him too. He rolls over and goes back to sleep. He's used to me waking up with the nightmares, but he doesn't know how much they hurt. I'm sorry. He doesn't know I won't be coming back to bed.
I slide out of bed, and make my way to the living room in the darkness. I quietly open the drawer of the desk, where I've been storing my handgun. I pull the gun out, and pull the clip out too. It's empty. That's ok. There's still a bullet in the chamber. I only need one anyway. Then the dreams can't get me anymore.
I put the note down on the table. It's one I wrote earlier. I can't
go on. I wrote it earlier. I can't
take it anymore.
Tears are streaming down my face as I raise the gun to my head. Images
of Hannibal, BA, and
Murdock are whizzing through my head. I love them all. They'll miss me. But my note tells of all the horrors I've seen.
I can't go on.
I feel the cold metal muzzle of the gun press against my temple. I tighten my finger on the trigger. Then it's over. No more dreams. No more pain. No more anything....
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