Chapter 2 - B.A. Baracus
It took a bullet to the leg to stop B.A. from running. He'd slipped up while running for the pickup point, and a bullet caught him in the leg. Five VC carried him back to the camp, and he was thrown into a cell, bullet and all.
He spent most of his days lying on his back, on the dirt, thinking of ways to extract the bullet from his leg, and somehow survive the infection that had already set in. There were three men in that hole with him - all three had been taken, and had not come back. B.A. had come to the horrifying realization that he was going to die alone in a VC prison.
"I'm sorry, Mama... I'm so sorry..." he said aloud, to the empty space around him.
Two weeks after he was locked away to his death, he heard a scuffle outside, and what sounded like an American, attempting to speak Vietnamese. The cell opened, and suddenly, he wasn't alone anymore.
"kẻ ngốc điên...ông là vô ích," he heard a VC say as the cage was closed.
The groan he heard made him laugh out loud.
"M-Murdock? That you?"
Murdock rolled over, holding his head.
"Good to see you, man..."
Murdock crawled over to where B.A. lay.
"Thanks for... stating the obvious... Fool..."
"We have to get that bullet out, and sterilize the wound somehow."
"With what? All we got... is dirt."
"Don't worry, buddy... I'll save you."
B.A. smiled for the first time in weeks. He wasn't going to die.
Murdock managed to get the bullet out of B.A.'s leg, and had begun the process of tending to the wound, when the VC returned. Two of them came into the cell. A gun was immediately at Murdock's head. There was silence as the VC made a decision.
"có những người đàn ông điên."
"No!" B.A. screamed. "No! Please! Don't take him!"
One of the VC turned and kicked B.A. swiftly in the ribs. B.A. shouted in pain, and rolled onto his back. He could hear Murdock singing "America the Beautiful" as he was dragged away.
B.A. was alone - again.
B.A. shot up in bed, throwing his covers completely off the bed. He tumbled onto the floor and came up holding his pistol. As his vision adjusted to the darkness, he realized that he wasn't in Hanoi.
I'm in L.A. - in a crappy hotel room. Alive.
He set down his gun on the night table, and sat down on the bed. He reached over to the night table and picked up a framed photograph, sitting by the phone. He looked longingly at the picture of his mother and father.
"I miss you, Mama... I'm comin' home someday, and we can be together."
He'd said the same thing in Vietnam. He remembered saying it while he was in that VC camp, when he thought he would die from his infected gunshot wound.
He set the picture down, and kept his eyes on it as he slipped under the covers.
"I love you, Mama."
It took B.A. an hour and a half to lull himself to sleep.
kẻ ngốc điên ... ông là vô ích = crazy fool... he is useless
có những người đàn ông điên = take the crazy man