Title: A Game Without Honor
    Author/s : L
    Fandom: Pitch Black / China Beach
    Special Forum: Lyric Wheel
    Disclaimer: COPYRIGHT 2001: Riddick nor any other characters from
    Pitch Black are my creation and I can not claim copyright on them. All
    other characters are my creation and I hold rights to
    them and on the plot of this story.
    Notes: Thanks, to Dallas of the lyrics. The fic is loosly based on them. I know it's been a while
    since China Beach has been on the air. It was one of my favorite shows and I hope there are
    some of you that still remember it.
     
     
    ************************************
     
    First impressions of this land were usually right on the money ... a land that was remote, harsh, and dangerous. Dangerous was right, especially during these times, a land divided ... a land that held ancient mysteries and fathomless beauty being ripped apart. But today there was a moment, just a heartbeat, when it all became static in the background of the collision of heaven and earth. The sky was transforming to subtle shades of mauve streaked with burnt orange, the sun a slowly sinking disk of gold near the horizon. That was just another sunset over the coast of Vietnam. A wonder to seldom enjoyed by the people that went about their lives under the starburst of color, went about the chaos of triage or patching together shattered men.
     
    Riddick kept track of the changing horizon through the convex windshield of the UH-34, med-evac chopper. He adjusted the aviator shades at his eyes as he ripped the air just above the jungle canopy, the radio chattering insensately, the instrumentation swinging in a constant flux. Riddick took it all in with an unnatural ease, filtering, digesting, and locking onto scraps of information that meant life and death. But this dustoff none of it mattered, he was full with dead or dying men, the stench heavy through the graceless bird. His thoughts were always the same for the ones that would be seeing the inside of a body bag, lucky bastards. His reasoning simple, Vietnam was hell and at least they couldn't be headed to any place worse. With a quick bark into the mic that hovered near his lips, he gave his heading and in minutes the gleaming metal of the base hospital came into view, China Beach loomed ahead of him. With a tight circle his sat the hewy down on the brightly marked pad, a bright red cross that was a becon to med-evacs that guided them home.
     
    "How many?" Colleen Murphy's familiar face appeared before his as he swung from the cockpit. Her short brown hair blowing across her face, shouting above the rotor wash.
     
    "Two dozen, maybe. Picked 'em up at a red LZ about 20 klicks, southwest," he shouted back as his booted feet pounded the cement back to the cargo area. Sliding the door open he stepped out of the way as gurney after gurney off loaded men, men that had once been whole, had been trained fighters, now some pulling in their last breaths. The last one Colleen held to the side of the gurney waving the others towards the triage unit of the hospital. But before she could move with her patient he reached up and grabbed the front of Riddick's flight suit.
     
    "Thank you. Thank you," the man gasped and gurgled repeating his appreciation over and over. Then Colleen was pulling him away but with his last contact the man pushed two small dog tag into Riddick's hand.
     
    "You can't......." Colleen was shouting again, extending her hand towards him. He knew it was the only way to identify the man and on impulse clutched them in his strong grip.
     
    "I'll stay with him," he shouted back, moving to the other side of the gurney. It was his last flight before a couple days of R & R, and he had no idea what he would do with the time except visit the Jet Set and drink until he couldn't stand. He gave the pilot that ran to replace him the briefest of glances as they wheeled the soldier into the chaos or the triage wing. He stepped away from the now unconscious man and let Colleen do what she did best. Moments later she lifted her head, shaking it negatively. He was dying, dying like ten more would in the next hour in that very hospital, like a thousand more in the jungles just beyond the base. Riddick had long since hardened to the fact of being in country, being among the dead and dying, being one that dealt death on a regular basis. He stood nearby and watched the man's chest rise and fall several more times and then there was nothing.
     
    Riddick's trip to the Jet Set was temporarily interrupted.  Instead, he stood in China Beach's morgue. He lifted the dog tags, bringing them to eye level, rereading the name again and dictating it to memory. William J. Johns. He was just another grunt, another name on a long list of faceless men.
     
    "Shit. Figures." Riddick shook his head, an ironic smile crossing his face.
     
    "What?" Beckett glanced up from the table at him.
     
    "Played a few a hands of poker with him in Danang a couple months back." He sighed, looking down to the gray features of Johns and lower to where Beckett was zipping up the black plastic, to the place where his abdomen should have been.. With a growl of frustration he dropped the tags into the bag. "Just a fucked up game."
     
    "Hey! If you're gonna loose it loose it somewhere else. There's enough negativity in here without you adding to it," Beckett told him, the words said without judgement, his demeanor patient.
     
    With that Riddick shoved away from the metal table and strode out the swinging doors. He took the path to the beach, hearing the crashing surf before he set foot on the white sands of the empty beach. With a quick bark of laughter he realized the pounding of water against the sand matched his mood perfectly, needing to expend energy in the same fashion. Striding out into the shifting granules he allowed his ass to take the punishment for his tiredness as he fell back on the sand watching the tide creep inward pulling the sand out with it.
     
    "Riddick, what'd you mean back there, man?" Beckett moved soundlessly up beside him, looking down at the other man.
     
    "Nothing. Hell, it's just this country. This Fuckin war." He ran and hand across his closely shorn head, a habit born of agitated restlessness. "You come here.You think you gotta chance. The odds are in your favor. Hell, you think there's more than enough grunts for the VC to kill and your ass is still gonna make it home. No, one mistake, one bad call and you're taking a bird back to the world all right. Takin it in a goddamn body bag like that John's back there." He laughed, cold and hard. "Yeah, he's lucky. There's no more playing the odds. Just dead. He's just fuckin dead."
     
    "I don't see it that way. I think those men in there lived every day in country knowing it might be their last. It wasn't a game to them, Riddick. Just fate, maybe." Beckett shrugged, cutting his eye to the waves falling silent, knowing he was the last person that should be trying to give insight into war, into life and death. He'd worked with the latter for more months, more days than he could even remember and still there was no understanding, no epiphany into its meaning or lack there of. "Only the dead have seen the end of war." Beckett fell silent again, lost in his own throughts . "Plato said that." Another lengthy pause. " So, who you really talking about, here? You?"
     
    "He's talkin about all of us. You. Me. Him."  Colleen McMurphy's voice tore through the tropical breeze to gain both men's attention. Beckett turned in her direction, but Riddick simply tuned his acute sense to her. Smelling the blood that always seemed to cling to her, no matter how hard she tried to wash it away or cover it. Tonight it was cheap scotch that mingled with the underlying sharper scent of her, his ears catching the uneven hitches in her breathing as she neared, dropping the bottle in the sand beside him.
     
    "Looks like I missed a interesting conversation," she commented absently, wrapping her arms around her swaying slightly.
     
    "No. Not really,"  Beckett leaned down slapping Riddick on his shoulder. "See ya later, man." His steps carried him away from the pair, hands stuffed into the green drab army fatigues, his destination the Jet Set and the light hearted humore that Boonie could provide.
     
    "Whatever the two of you were talking..." She paused a soft sigh purging from her lips. "Look, it was a good thing you did today. I know you didn't wanna be there but it helped...."
     
    Riddick shoved to his feet, dusting off his fatigues. "Whatever, McMurphy ." He started to turn and walk away.
     
    "It helped me," she said softly. "And not much does these days."
     
    He turned back to her just as she stumbled to one side.  His calloused hands were on her shoulders before he had to think about what he was doing. "Hell, Colleen, I'll walk you to your quarters. Ok?"
     
    She slowly nodded her head, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. "I'm suppose to tell you K.C. is looking for you."
     
    "Yeah, I figured," was his brief reply as he lead her across the sand towards where he knew she slept. It was almost laughable, thinking she had a bed somewhere. Hell, everyone knew that Colleen McMurphy hardly ever slept and when she did it was on her feet.
     
    Pushing the door open he dropped the arm he had lopped around her waist holding her tight, and eased her down to the bed. As he pulled away she reached up winding her arms around his thick neck. "You can stay, Riddick ."
     
    Impulsively he leaned down and gently sampled her more than willing lips. "You don't have any idea just how much I'd like to do that, but not tonight." He ducked out of her grasp a moment before she leaned over the edge of the bed and lost the scotch, she'd consumed, on the floor.
     
    "No. Not tonight," he repeated in a low growl as he turned and strode out the door and across the base of the heavy wooden door of what had once been a small chapel. He never over looked the irony of the situation everytime he visted K..C., a whore.
    A talented whore, but a whore none the less. He crossed his pillar like arms over his chest as he waited for her to open the door, she never failed to make him wait.
     
    "Well. Well." K.C. slowly opened the door looking him over from head to toe. "Look what the cat's dragged in. Thought you'd beat a quick trail here just as soon as you got in." She took a long drag from the cigarette she held.
     
    "Maybe, I had planned it that away. Maybe plans change." He pushed passed her into the single room, not waiting for an invitation, not needing one. "Since when are you my keeper?" He growled low and menacing, his head coming up to rub at his forehead in agitation .
     
    "Since I can give you something you want." Her smile was jaded and hard, filled with too many nights in nam, too many different faces above her. "And you want it bad."
     
    "So?" he barked, his patience stretched to the breaking point.
     
    "So, it was hard. Damn hard. You didn't tell me the whole story. Did ya, Riddick ?" She eased down on the side of her mussed bed.
     
    "What the hell are you talkin about, K.C.?"
     
    "You didn't mention that miss America was a General's secretary. You know, he was bangin her too." She laughed then, mockingly. "You of all people, I would have thought, would have been a little more careful." Shrugging she lay back on the bed staring at the vaulted ceiling.
     
    "Don't worry, Riddick, you'll be back to your precious gunship in two weeks. I wasn't easy talkin the general into new orders for you once he'd busted you down but I managed it." Sighing she tucked her arms behind her head and then there were the words that he was expecting. "You owe me."
     
    He nodded his head. "Yeah, I owe ya ." He turned towards the door his steps loud against the stone quarried floor.
     
    "So, it's back to killing ?" She sat up, her voice overly loud, meant to draw his attention.
     
    "Yes. Back to killing. It's what I'm best at," he called over his shoulder.
     
    K.C. was off the bed and across the room before he could step through the door and out of her grasp. "Stay." It was as much as command as a request, but he didn't seemed inclined to argue with her at the moment. Grabbing her, he slammed the door closed. In one fluid movement he lifted her pinning her against the wall beside the door ripping at the silken panties that covered her beneath the oversized T-shirt she wore. With a sharp tearing sound she was bare and his fingers were seeking her warm wet portal. Thrusting inside her he watched her features transform from confident and in control to submissive and needing. It did it for him and withdrawing from her body he ripped at the buttons of his fatigues. Freeing his full pulsing erection he gave one hard thrust upwards and was buried deep inside her. With her back arched he began to pound into her body in rough secession, her thick juices seeping down his thick rod and coating his balls.
    The smell of sex between them alone was enough to drive him to a hard frenzy of lust but with her tight tunnel pulling at him it wasn't long long before he was growling with the effort to prolong the moment.
     
    K.C. had long since given up trying to control her reaction to him, trying to remain detached and aloof. She loved the way he worked her body with unforgiving roughness, animalistic lust. That was Riddick, raw and real, more so than any other man she'd met here or any place else for that matter. She continued to arch her back feeling the sharp sting of over extended muscles. Then it didn't matter as her orgasm rolled hard and fast through her abdomen making her pant out his name over and over again.
     
    With his name filling the air he shoved into her body one last time as thick cum spewed from his cock filling K.C. with his sticky fluid. His sharp howl of relief echoed through the room.
     
    Her thighs eased from around his waist and he lowered her to the floor, their bodies fully separating. She leaned against his chest, panting, willing breath into her lungs. "Back to killing can wait. You owe me." The sensual smile turning up her lips struck an immediate cord in him and he knew how he'd be paying off his debt. It amazed him that K.C. had men paying from the pleasures of her bed and here he was paying off a debt in it.
     
    And so, with the exception of a visit to Colleen and a brief stop at the Jet Set the next two days were spent with K.C, spent in K.C., just what she wanted. He didn't mind really.  What better way to spend R & R than to fuck your way through it. Most guys dreamed about that kind of R & R, most but not Riddick . His dreams were filled with the cutting sound of rotor blades, the smell of chopper fuel, and a clear blue sky stretching to the horizon.
     
    The next day he was in the midst of a twisted version of that dream, a frustrating substitute. He was saddled with the a co-pilot that was fresh out of flight school and damn dangerous he guessed by the glint in his eyes. The other man tossed something at him as he jumped into the cock pit, tossed him the heavy chicken plate, a chest protector that most pilots opted to sit on instead of actually wear.  "Forgot this, man? Don't wanna catch one in the ass."
     
    He tossed the armor into his seat, that was unusual in itself. Riddick would have usually shoved the regulation gear back at his co-pilot and threatened to break his neck if he mentioned his lapse again. But there was something at the back of his mind telling him to let it go, that maybe the cherry was right. "Thanks."
     
    Half an hour later they were airborne and headed north. The day was bright and Riddick could feel the harsh rays penetrating his aviator shades and silently swore about the glare. And without warning a volley of shots ripped into the chopper. "We're hit! We're hit! SHIT!" the co-pilot was yelling into the mic, yelling directly into Riddick's ears. "Shut the fuck up!" he yelled in return.  The another shot pinged against metal and this time the lights lit up in the cock pit like a Christmas tree, the chopper was in a wild spin. There was a moment, just a moment, when it looked like Riddick had managed to pull it out of the hard spin, it seemed he had control. Then a blade from the tail rotor came apart sending the chopper into another spin, it was falling like a lead weight form the sky and Riddick barely managed to relay they were going down to the base.
     
    The pregnant silence was the first thing Riddick noted when he opened his eyes, there was no sound at all, always a bad omen. He wasn't fresh from the world, wasn't a cherry and knew they couldn't afford to waste time there, couldn't afford the time to really survery the damage. It was time to move and move fast. He flexed, fingers, hands, wrists, making sure nothing was broken. "Rogers!" he barked as he reached slowly into the pocket of his flight suit to withdraw the heavy survival knife kept there.
     
    "Goddamn it, Rogers!" he barked again, turning his head and looking at the other. From his vantage point he noticed there was a rivulet of blood sliding down the side of the co-pilot's face. With sure strong hands he cut his way through the harness that held him strapped to the seat, nearly tumbled onto the other man when the straps gave. Straddling the other man in the close confines of the cockpit he examined the gash in Rogers forehead, it wasn't serious. "Man, you better wake your ass up. I'm not carrying you through this goddamn jungle," he hissed, lightly shaking the other man. Rogers' eyes glided open and he released a low groan of pain.
     
    "My arm, man! My fuckin arm! It's broke! " Rogers started shouting, practically howling in pain.
     
    "Shut up!" Riddick hissed, covering the other man's mouth with his hand. "You're gonna bring every VC within 20 klicks down on us."  Cutting through his straps Riddick quickly rolled him to the side to get a better look at the arm. It was obviously broken and in moments he managed to roughly set the arm, splinting it between two broken gurney poles, and fashioned a sling from the seat harness. "Let's getting moving." He pushed Rogers groaning upwards through the only opening, the pilot's door, with the helicopter laying on its side, broken and strewn.
     
    Riddick stretched up and pulled himself out of the wreckage and jumped to the ground with a soft grunt. Long seconds of searing pain and he realized he had been hit, a deep gash ran across his left side, leaking thick congealing blood. "Fuck!" he hissed, wrapping his hand around the wound. He cast a last glance at the twisted, mangled metal of the chopper as both he and Rogers wove their way into the cover of the jungle foliage.
     
    Morning slipped into afternoon without any apparent passing of time, the sun obscured by the thick jungle canopy made it more than a little difficult to track ones position. Riddick slowly wove his way through the foliage, practically carrying his co-pilot. The filtered light at the thick floor created contrasting patterns, shadows that made the men wary and cautious. Suddenly they broke from the cover of the greenery and stood at the edge of a long rice paddy.  There were woman slumped over the brackish water working. Working until they noticed the two men standing there and one by one they turned to stare at the them. Then as if on cue they filed from the field talking quietly among themselves, occasionally cutting their eyes back to the intruders.
     
    "They think we'll bring more men to burn their village." Rogers moved up beside Riddick.
     
    "Tell 'em we're not gonna hurt 'em," Riddick ordered, glaring at Rogers. Quickly the other man called out, stringing together a long line of words in Vietnamese. A few of the woman turned startled eyes to the men and if anything Rogers' words seemed to make the group more nervous. Riddick watched them rush down a path opposite them and disappear around a bend, they all disappeared except one. She was young, very young, and she broke from the rest of the group with words exchanged back and forth . She made her way back through the murky water, slowly, cautiously. Closing in on them, words began pouring from her lips.
     
    "What's she saying?" Riddick kept his eyes pinned on her, her small round face animated, a smile reaching her almond shaped eyes.  He thought for a moment how beautiful she was in a untouched raw sort of way.
     
    "She says her name's Minlai. That she's not scared of us and that the other woman are just foolish and old."
     
    "G.I. Number one!" burst from her smiling lips, the words meant to gain their trust.
     
    Both men nodded glancing at one another and she moved closer. Reaching out to take Riddick's hand she smoothed small fingers against the back of his tanned hand before wrapping her hand around his and tugging, words again pouring from her lips.
     
    "She's saying we should come with her. She has food and water and can tend our injuries. And she seems to think you a very pretty man." Rodgers tried to hide the chuckle at the last of her words.
     
    "Fuck you!" Riddick growled, glaring at the co-pilot. His attention was quickly turned back to her giving her a brilliant smile and allowing her to tug him along. At the very least he was curious about the girl and they were in need of food and and fresh water.
     
    They waded though the swampy paddy, following her, trusting as they left the field and moved onto the path spying the small isolated village ahead. As they passed they were met with curious and wary stares, stares lacking the hostility that Riddick had expected.
     
    They were lead to one of the many small squat huts and the girl ushered them inside, pouring water in a crudely fashioned cup. Riddick lifted it to his lips hesitantly, taking a small sip and holding it in his mouth before he swallowed. To his surprise the water was fresh and cool. He hurriedly drank the cup down and extended it to the girl to be refilled, which she was quick to do with a happy smile on her face, her mouth spitting out more unfamiliar words.
     
    "Says we shouldn't drink to much that it's not good to drink to fast." Translating her words Rogers shrugged, both he and Riddick knew about field life and the dos and don'ts of it.
     
    "Tell her, thank you," Riddick instructed and Rogers quickly complied. The girl nodded and left them. He lay back on the reed sleeping mat below him and gingerly fingered the wound in his side, attempting to pull the crusted edges of his dirty tank away from it.
     
    At some point he must have fallen into a light sleep, his hand draped across his abdomen covering the gash. His eyes snapped open as he heard Rogers' voice spewing the girl's language.  Cracking one eye open, he was greeted with the sight of Minlai holding a bowl out to him.
     
    "Take it, man, it's good," his co-pilot urged, dipping fingers into his own bowl and filling his mouth.
     
    Taking the bowl he looked at the rice and roasted mean. Damn! It was then he realized the gnawing hunger clawing at his stomach, a loud growl from inside issued forward and the girl giggled.
     
    He smiled in return and began loading his mouth. It wasn't a four star meal but definitely edible he decided, quickly cleaning away his portion. Handing the bowl back to the girl he watched her place the dirty dishes outside the door of the hut, noting that it was dusk now.
     
    "The hootch tonight and we light out at dawn," Riddick told Rogers.  Getting an affirmative nod from the other man, he let the subject drop. The girl returned and moved to Rogers, gently probing his arms with small fingers tips, clucking and shaking her head. She stood and moved to Riddick pushing against his shoulders, encountering his resistance, she motioned for him to lay back.
     
    "Yeah, ok." He sighed, easing backwards again, laying perfectly still as poked and probed at the wound in his side, her touch much less patient and careful than it had been with Rogers.
     
    "Damn!" he hissed, cutting his eyes to her. "Think you keep from opening it up again?"
     
    She cut her eyes to Rogers and he repeated the words for her and she simply shrugged. Patience was quickly being lost as she stuck her fingers into the wound and pried the edges open.
     
    "What the fuck are you doin!" Riddick attempted to roll away from her but was trapped by the wall of the hut, her fingers still inside his side. Her voice came to him through the red haze of pain. Just when he grabbed her wrist and would have snapped it if she didn't move away from him, Rogers was explaining.
     
    "The cut was hot when she touched it, oozing. She said she's opening it and cleaning out the bad blood." With that she stood and retrieved a bigger bowl filled with clean water and a thin rag. Gently she began swabbing the area, cleaning away the dried blood and gore around the edge and then she held the wound open again and let the water run inside. Reaching up, her fingers were just touching down against his brow, appearing to sooth when the hut door flew inward, shouts were leveled at him from the man standing in the door way, undistinguishable shouts. And then he watched as the man, skin dark and smooth with the same almond eyes as Minlai, pulled the AK-47 upwards leveling at him. The girl backed slowly away tears coursing down her cheeks as she spoke.
     
    "She's fuckin VC, man. Fuckin lying bitch!" Roger's slammed his good fist against the dirt floor below. "Oh! Oh, yeah! That's just fuckin perfect. She says she's sorry but you have to go with her brother. You're his prisoner now!"
     
    Riddick slowly sat up, a deadly gleam in his eyes, his hand going to the knife still tucked safely away at the waist of his fatigues.
     
    "Don't do it man, you'll never get outta here alive. There's ten more out there for him. Just get use to the idea of being a POW," Rogers warned, his face paling knowing he would never make it through the experience.
     
    He wasn't intent on getting out, Rogers was wrong. He wasn't stupid and he knew there would be a time for that, a moment when freedom of one kind or another would open up in front of him. He wanted her, the one that had lured them in, and he wondered if he'd be quick enough to slit her throat before he was shot dead. But then he realized the truth of it, that his convictions about this land, its people, and the whole damn war were right. She was the proof, all rolled up into one small beautiful package. Weeping like she cared, like she cared about what happened to him. It was nothing but a game from beginning to end, from birth till death, nothing more and nothing less.
     
    "A game."
     
    *******************
     
    The Game / Disturbed

    Tell me exactly what am I supposed to do
    Now that I have allowed you to beat me
    Do you think that we could play another game
    Maybe I could win this time

    I kind of like the misery you put me through
    Darlin' you can trust me completely
    If you even try to look the other way
    I think that I could kill this time

    It doesn't really seem I'm getting through to you
    Though I see you weeping so sweetly
    I think that you might have to take another taste
    A little bit of hell this time

    Lie to me

    Is she not right?
    Is she insane?
    Will she now
    Run for her life in the battle that ends this day

    Is she not right?
    Is she insane?
    Will she now
    Run for her life now that she lied to me

    You always wanted people to remeber you
    To leave your little mark on society
    Don't you know your wish is coming true today
    Another victim dies tonight

    Is she really telling lies again
    Doesn't she realize she's in danger

    The little bitch she went and she told A LIE
    And now she will never tell another, A LIE
    NEVER FUCKING LIE TO ME!
     

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