"What do you dream about, Murdock?"
"Never ask a soldier about his dreams, kid."
"The good ones."
"You're too young and innocent to hear about those." Like he was
so old.
"The clean ones."
When did he last have a dream that was good and clean? Have to go
back a ways.
"Ice."
"Ice?" Face leans up looking at him, barely visible in the
moonlight. Colonel asleep just beyond. BA patrolling; silent in the
clicking, buzzing, dripping jungle.
"Always liked ice in my drink since I was a kid. Of course, where
I'm from the summer is about a thousand degrees in the shade."
"So you'd have to drink fast."
"Which is okay with Coke. Not so good with whisky."
"You really dream about ice?"
"I dream of lying face down on a huge block of ice." Blessed
relief from soul-sapping heat. When he leaves the Army, he's
definitely moving to the South Pole. Or maybe getting a job
demonstrating air conditioners.
"Wouldn't lying on ice just freeze your balls right off?" Ah, not
so innocent.
"Just deserts for a man who'd ruin whisky with ice." Hannibal's
muttered voice.
Don't bother asking about his dreams. The Colonel never sleeps.