Send Comment Card

Please Send This Author Comments!
This page last viewed: 2017-02-23 and has been viewed 689 times

Tightrope Walk

Tightrope Walk

By Junkfoodmonkey

 

Rated: PG13

 

 

Part 9

 

"What are you doing, Smith?"  Not 'Colonel Smith' Hannibal noted.  For once Senator Vaughan seemed a little ruffled.

 

"I'm getting my people out of there, Vaughan.  Since they walked into the middle of a battlefield, thanks to your so-called intelligence."

 

"I have no problem with that, Colonel.  But did you really need to pull every single agent and Able off their jobs to go down there?  That’s nearly two hundred people."

 

"I didn't pull all of them, there's a guy, Rogers I think his name is, still on his current assignment."

 

"He's in Alaska!"  Now Vaughan really did sound rattled.

 

"Oh yeah.  That was the reason."  Hannibal smiled grimly.  He paused as the jet hit a little turbulence.

 

"What was that?"  Vaughan asked suspiciously.

 

"The pilot says it’s the warm air from the ocean.  Causes turbulence."

 

"Turbulence… you're in flight?"  Vaughan paused.  "You're going to Columbia."

 

"Little tired of being an armchair warrior, Senator."  He heard Vaughan sigh.

 

"Smith, it really isn't necessary for you to go down there."  The senator paused, then said.  "You're not thinking of leading the assault yourself are you?"

 

"Er, sorry, Senator, I can't hear you, the connection is breaking up."

 

"You are aren’t you?  Dammit Smith, you’re too valuable to…"

 

"Sorry, Vaughan, can't hear you.  Thanks for your support, I'll tell the troops you wished them good luck."  He hung up, then sat back, lit a cigar and put his feet on the desk.  Barbara was looking at him disapprovingly. 

 

"Cheer up, Barb.  Did I ever tell you about something I like to call 'The Jazz'?"

 

 

"Do you think the others made contact with the backup yet?"  Murdock asked BA quietly.  BA shrugged.

 

"We'll know soon enough, if they attack."  BA said.

 

"That won't be till nightfall though, at the earliest."  Murdock said.  He looked over at Face, who still bent over Gonzales.  "I'm not sure he has that much time."  BA followed Murdock's gaze.  He agreed.

 

It was around noon, Murdock figured from the hellish heat of their cell.  The morning had seen more rain of course, plenty of it leaking through the roof.  He'd managed to catch a couple of hours sleep, while BA stood guard.  Then they had swapped over and BA had taken a little rest.  Face refused to leave Gonzales' side, even for an hour's rest.

 

Murdock went over to Face, handed him a cup of water.  Face drank it mechanically.

 

"How's he doing?"  Murdock asked.

 

"He's still lucid sometimes."  Face said.  "If he can just hang on until nightfall…"

 

"Yeah."  Murdock said.  He stroked Gonzales hair gently.  It was damp with sweat.  Heat radiated from him.  He's not going to make it, Murdock thought.  Even if he stays alive till nightfall he'll be too far gone.  He looked at Face, at the determined expression.  "Face…" Face looked at him.  The fear in his eyes broke Murdock's heart.  "He's strong.  He'll make it."  Murdock said, trying to make his voice as convincing as possible.  Face nodded, turned back to the unconscious agent, and bathed his forehead with water again.  Murdock went back over to sit beside BA.  BA looked at him, raising an eyebrow.  Murdock just shook his head.

 

 

Hannibal looked at the large group of agents and Ables in front of him.  Then he looked again at the message he'd been handed when his jet had touched down.

 

"They found this at the evacuation site?"  He asked an Able.

 

"Yes sir.  And the frequency given shows they are approaching the compound."

 

"Okay, well we can't wait for them."  He turned to the group.  "The choppers are on the way.  We go in at nightfall.  Everybody be ready.  Remember there's a wounded man, the priority is to get him out fast.  Assemble in two hours.  Dismiss."

 

They scattered to continue their preparations.  Hannibal watched in approval as they distributed and prepared the equipment.  It was a long time since he'd led a force of this size.  The prospect excited him.  For once he'd be going in with superior numbers.  Lamba's people wouldn't know what had hit them.

 

 

Gonzales opened his eyes, looking up at Face.  His eyes were unnaturally bright with fever.

 

"Hey, Jorge."  Face said gently. "Don't try to talk.  Save your strength."  Face held a cup to Gonzales' lips and he managed to sip a little water, before falling back, exhausted.

 

"P…priest," Gonzales gasped out.  Though his voice was very weak, barely a whisper Murdock and BA heard it too, in the grim silence.  "Mama said… shouldn't die without… priest."  Face almost groaned aloud.

 

"Jorge, I'm sorry. There isn't one."  He had already asked, a few hours ago.  Just in case.  They had laughed at him.

 

BA knelt down on the other side of the stretcher.  He had taken off one of his gold necklaces, a crucifix.  The gold caught the light and glinted as it spun.  Gonzales looked at it transfixed.

 

"Here ya go, little brother.  You can hang on ta this."  BA took Gonzales' hands and wrapped them around the cross, set them down again, so it was held against his chest.  BA looked at Face.  "You wanna pray?"  BA asked.  Face nodded unable to speak.  "Ah don’t know any of your Catholic prayers."  BA said.  "But ah guess the Lord's Prayer is okay."  He looked across the room at Murdock.  A thin beam of light from the grill on the door showed the Captain's face.  And the tears on his cheeks.  He turned his head, hiding his face in shadow.  BA looked back at Face, who reached out.  BA took his hand and they each put a hand on Gonzales' hands.  And they prayed.

 

 

After that Face sat with Gonzales' head on his knees, his arms around him, bending close to hear Gonzales whispering feverishly, just barely audibly.  Sometimes Face answered softly, mostly he listened.

 

Across the room Murdock and BA couldn’t hear, but they'd both comforted enough dying men to be able to guess what he was saying.  As they watched Face straightened up.  He put a hand against Gonzales' neck, held it there for a while.  Then he moved his hand over Gonzales face.  Closed his eyes.  Murdock put his head down.  BA put his arm around Murdock.  He sat holding Murdock, watching Face holding Gonzales' body.

 

 

After about fifteen minutes BA and Murdock gently took the body from an unresisting Face and laid it on the stretcher again.  BA took the crucifix from Gonzales' hands, put the chain around the dead man's neck and tucked it inside his shirt.  He made a silent vow to kill any of their captors who tried to steal it.  Finally they covered Gonzales' face with a jacket.  Face just sat, unresponsive.

 

He didn't even move when a commotion outside sent BA and Murdock hurrying over to the grill in the door to see what was happening.  They watched for a few minutes. 

 

"Er, Face."  Murdock said.  "You'd better see this."  Face didn't move for a moment, then, as if Murdock's words had only got through to him slowly he stood up, came over to join them.  Murdock and BA stood aside to allow him to see outside.

 

In the yard a patrol had apparently just returned.  There was a lot of excitement and yelling, because they had prisoners.  The moustachioed man in charge hurried out and the patrol threw the two prisoners at his feet.

 

It was Farrell and Collins.

 

 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  Face yelled at the two agents, who had been thrown into the cell with them.  "Why didn't you wait for the back up?"

 

"This wasn't my idea, sir."  Farrell snapped back.  Collins wasn't looking at Face.  He was staring down at the body on the stretcher.

 

"Then whose was it?"  Face demanded.

 

"Wallace and Hassan.  They wouldn't leave you behind, they said.  Sentimental fucking grunts."  He muttered.  Murdock grabbed Face's arm to stop Face killing Farrell on the spot.  "I wanted to wait for the backup, like you said, but they had a better idea," Farrell went on, sarcastically, not apparently noticing Face's murderous rage.  "We went to the pick up point and left a message for the backup, telling them you were captured and we were going to follow you back to the compound.  We gave them a homing frequency so they could track us with our walkie-talkies, see where we were."

 

"Is this how is was, Collins?"  Face asked.  Collins looked at him, nodded.  Of course he'd back up Farrell, Face thought.  "And then you two idiots got yourself caught."

 

"Sorry, sir."  Collins said.  We didn't realise just how many men they had here.  Any idea what's going on?"

 

"Well you’re the intelligence men, you tell me!"  Face snapped.

 

"We think they're going to fight someone called Cardenas."  Murdock said.

 

"Cardenas?"  Collins said, apparently recognising the name.  "Evie talked about him, he's a rival grower, got a similar processing plant to this one across the valley."

 

"So Lamba is presumably sending troops to take that plant over."  Murdock said.

 

"I don’t care."  Face snapped.  "I don’t care what these bastards are doing to each other, I hope they wipe each other out.  All I care about now is getting out of here."

 

"We'll have to wait till dark for that," Farrell said.  He looked down at the stretcher.  "Gonzales is dead?"

 

"Nice of you to finally notice."  Face snarled at him.

 

"Well that makes it easier."  Farrell said.  This time it took BA to stop Face going for him.  Collins dragged Farrell away into a corner as he protested he hadn't meant that the way it sounded.

 

"Shut up!"  Murdock yelled, from by the door, which he'd rushed over to as he heard a very familiar sound.  "Shut up all of you, there's a chopper approaching!"

 

They crowded around the door, all trying to see out of the grill, wondering if this was their rescue coming.  It wasn't.  The small helicopter landed in the yard and three men got out.  One of them they all recognised right away.  Lamba had arrived.

 

Moustache Boy, as Murdock had dubbed him hurried over to greet his boss.  He spoke urgently to Lamba and pointed towards the building the prisoners were in.  Lamba gave him some orders and he came towards the building, several guards with him.

 

"Move back."  Face told his people.  When the guards opened the door Face stood in the middle of the room, the others were spread out behind him.  Keeping the prisoners restrained at gunpoint the guards came in and dragged Face out into the yard, took him over to Lamba.  Lamba, looking ridiculous to Face, was wearing combat fatigues.  He thinks he's a soldier.  Face thought.  Thinks he's about to lead his army to a glorious victory.

 

"My man tells me he thinks you have more people out there."  Lamba said,  "That we captured two more of your people sneaking around after they brought the rest of you here."  He took out a handgun.  A SIG Face noted, almost unconsciously, as the gun was pressed against his chest.  He showed no reaction.  "Tell me, how many more are out there?"

 

"What makes you think there's more?"  Face said.

 

"How many?"  Lamba persisted.  Face took on a look of concentration, as if trying to work something out.

 

"Let's see.  Obviously excluding us, there's… I think that would be… yes, three hundred and seventy two."  Lamba hit him in the face with the gun, knocking him to the ground.

 

"You think this is a time for jokes, senor?"  He snarled, angrily.  "Tell me now how many more of your mercenaries there are.  And does Cardenas know we are coming?  Tell me now, or I kill you."  Face was vaguely aware of BA shouting from their cell, ignored it.  He wiped blood from his lip.

 

"We don't work for Cardenas."  Face said.  "And there's no-one else out there."

 

"You are a liar!"  Lamba yelled furiously.  His face was flushed with rage.  He turned suddenly and gave some orders to his men.  They ran over to the cell.  Oh no, Face thought.  He could stand up to Lamba threatening to kill him.  Right now he didn't much care if he actually did it.  But not one of the others, please.

 

They dragged out Collins.  He struggled against them, but was too heavily out-numbered.  Face could hear Farrell yelling from the cell now.  Collins was dragged over to Lamba and pushed to his knees.  His eyes, round and scared in his dark face, fixed on his commander.  Face stared back at him.

 

Lamba placed the muzzle of his gun against Collins' temple.

 

"Now, senor.  You will tell me now how many more people you have out there, or this man is dead."  He cocked the gun.  Collins gasped at the sound.

 

"Alright."  Face said, "Alright.  There's three more people.  But we don’t work for Cardenas; we work for a US covert ops unit.  As far as I know Cardenas doesn't know about your attack."

 

"Thank you, Senor."  Lamba turned and gave orders to his men.  They started moving out to look for the other three.  Face couldn't relax; the gun was still at Collins' head.  Lamba turned back.  He looked Face in the eyes.

 

And pulled the trigger.

 

 

Part 10

 

The guards threw the severely battered Face back into the cell.  Beating him senseless had been the only way to stop him from trying to attack Lamba.  Trying to kill Lamba.  Pointing guns at him had no effect; he didn’t even seem to see them.  Only repeated blows from fists, gun butts and boots had eventually managed to subdue him.

 

Murdock was at Face's side in an instant, helping him to sit up, checking how badly he was hurt.

 

"Face," Murdock said, gently, "Face can you hear me?"  Slowly Face turned his head to look at Murdock.  Murdock flinched.  He didn't know if it was down to shock or concussion, but whatever looked back at him from Face's eyes was something he hadn't seen since Vietnam.  Since the camps.

 

Face seemed to suddenly become aware of the noise that was coming from the corner of the room.  He turned to see BA pinning Farrell to the ground.  The younger man was screaming, swearing, kicking and biting to try to get free.

 

"What?"  Face asked, in a hoarse whisper.  The one word question seemed to be all he could manage.

 

"He went nuts when… when he saw… they were yelling at him to shut up.  We were scared they would kill him too."  Murdock shuddered at the memory of the animalistic screams of the hysterical Farrell.  He would never hear the name 'Dan' again without hearing Farrell shrieking it.  "He tried to tear the door off with his bare hands.  My god, couldn’t you hear him?"

 

Face shook his head.  All he'd heard was the shot, over and over, an infinite echo that he would never stop hearing.  And as the sound echoed around his head his mind had become an arrowhead of hate aimed at Lamba's throat.

 

Face sat listening to Farrell's cries and BA's attempts to quiet him while Murdock cleaned the blood from his face and hands.  They were all going to die.  He knew that now.  Rescue, Hannibal, wasn't going to get here in time. The others would be found and dragged in here.  Then they would all be killed.  He thought about Wallace, Hassan and Miller, out there somewhere.  Wondered if they'd been watching, if they'd seen...

 

Lamba had sent out several search parties.  The last of Face's squad didn’t stand a chance.

 

 

Murdock was watching the night shift workers going into the factory as the day shift streamed out.  Pale faces, down-turned eyes, too afraid to look at the men assembling to fight.  Too exhausted to care.  Murdock looked around the cell.  BA sat with his back to the wall.  He was watching Face, who hadn't moved for some time now.  Farrell was sitting in a corner alone, hugging his knees to his chest.  He'd calmed down eventually and now, like Face, was virtually catatonic.  Murdock turned his attention back to outside.  The light was fading.

 

"Search parties coming back!"  Murdock hissed suddenly.  Then BA heard a catch in his voice.  "They're… they're carrying bodies."  BA rose quickly and joined him by the door, Face got to his feet too, much more slowly.  Farrell didn't react at all.  Murdock, BA and Face watched the search parties put the bodies on the ground.

 

Lamba came out of a tent and stared down in shock at the corpses of five of his men.  Then he looked across at the prisoner's hut, narrowed his eyes at the sound he could hear from inside.

 

It was Face.  He was laughing.

 

 

Hannibal sat among the agents and Ables in the helicopter.  There were thirty of them.  They were carrying enough weapons to start a medium sized war.  Grenades hung on them like Christmas tree decorations.  Four more helicopters similarly laden followed them.

 

The estimates were that Lamba had about one hundred men at the compound.  They were most likely mercenaries and bandits.  No match for Hannibal's people.  Hannibal's army.  It would be over in minutes.  He checked his watch.  Getting close now.

 

Hannibal lit a cigar.

 

Lamba didn't have a chance.

 

 

"You lied to me!"  Lamba snarled at Face, carefully avoiding standing too near to him.  Face was in the middle of the yard, surrounded by at least a dozen gun-toting men.

 

"You have more than three men out there."  They both looked at the bodies of Lamba's men.  Two of them seemed to have broken necks, two had been stabbed, and one had had his throat cut.  Oh yes, Wallace, Hassan and Miller had seen Collins being murdered, Face was certain of that now.

 

"Actually," Face said, entirely truthfully, "there's only one man."  Lamba nodded at a guard who drove his rifle butt into Face's gut.

 

"One man, senor?  One man did all this?"  Lamba waved a hand at the corpses.  "What is he, some kind of… of Rambo?"  He laughed harshly.  Face straightened up as much as he could, holding his stomach.

 

"Yeah," Face said, "Rambo.  That's right.  Rambo is out there."  Lamba gave some orders and the rest of the prisoners were dragged out to join Face. 

 

"I am tired of your jokes," Lamba told Face, angrily.  He produced one of the walkie-talkies his men had taken from Farrell and Collins.  "You are going to call your men on this radio now and order them to surrender, or I will kill all of you."

 

"You’re going to kill us all anyway," Face said.  "You've demonstrated that."

 

"Ah, but it will not be so quick as it was for your other man."  At another word from Lamba the guards grabbed Farrell, forced him struggling to his knees.  One of them pulled a large hunting knife, held it to Farrell's throat.  "It will not be quick.  If he is cut in the right place it will take him thirty minutes to die.  Do you want to watch that?"

 

"Give me the radio."  Face said.  Lamba smiled triumphantly, he held out the walkie-talkie, thumbed the switch to transmit,

 

"Speak."  He ordered Face.

 

"If you can hear me," Face said, hoping they could,  "this is a direct order."  He looked Lamba in the eyes.  "Run.  Run now.  Whatever you hear, keep running…" Lamba howled with rage and tossed the walkie-talkie away.

 

"Kill them all, now!"

 

The guards raised their rifles, and then a shout went up from near the gate, automatic fire stuttered.  Face turned to see a dark figure running, disappearing back into the trees.  The guards were in confusion by the gates, some were running away, some were going to open the gates, while others tried to stop them.

 

"Get down."  Face snapped to his team.  They ducked to the ground at the same moment the explosions went off.  One very big one at the gates, several smaller ones around the perimeter wire.  The man holding the knife to Farrell's throat let his attention be distracted for a second by the explosions.  It was the last mistake he ever made.  A moment later he was dead on the ground and Farrell was kneeling over him, holding the knife.

 

"Sounds like Hassan went back to retrieve the explosives we dumped," Murdock said.  Face looked up at Lamba. He had drawn his handgun and was shouting orders at his men, who were rushing about frantically.  Then Face gasped as Lamba spun around, blood spurting from his shoulder, toppled backwards.

 

"Nice shot, marine."  Face said, to himself.

 

Something sailed over the fence, descending out of the darkness to land between Face's group and Lamba.

 

"Grenade!"  BA yelled.  He grabbed Farrell, who had started to move towards Lamba, pulled him back.  The grenade went off spewing thick white smoke.  Several more flew over the fence into the yard.  The compound descended into total chaos.  Continual and deadly accurate rifle fire from outside added to the panic.

 

"Move!"  Face ordered.  "Stay low.  Get to the gates."  To where the gates used to be.  The explosion had demolished them.  Escape, that was the aim.  Wallace, Miller and Hassan couldn't very well storm the compound, but they could create enough panic and confusion to let the prisoners escape.

 

The four men headed towards the gate, coughing on the smoke.  They were almost there when out of the smoke the big man with the moustache appeared.  He pointed his machine gun at them and went to squeeze the trigger.  Then the noise came, filling the world, he looked up and stared.

 

It began to rain commandos.   Black clad men slid down ropes.  Face looked up too, to see the dark shapes of helicopters hovering low above them, dozens of men abseiling out of them.

 

Rescue.  Hannibal.

 

"Farrell!"  Face heard BA yell, as the young agent took off like a rabbit, back into the compound.

 

"He's going after Lamba!"  Murdock yelled.  Face ran after him, but Farrell was swallowed up in the dark and smoke and the crowd.  Because suddenly the yard was a mass of people.  Rescuers and enemy were near indistinguishable in the confusion.  Face heard the rattle of automatic fire, and then explosions from fragmentation grenades.  He saw fires start up all around the compound.

 

He couldn't find Farrell.  A man rushed past Face, knocking into him and sending him spinning to the ground.  He was dazed for a moment, looked up only when he heard someone calling out to him.

 

"Lieutenant Peck!  Lieutenant Peck!"  Face looked up to see a tall, lean figure in combats emerging from the smoke.  Hassan.  Two Ables grabbed him as he moved towards Face, whether over-enthusiastically trying to rescue or arrest him Face couldn't tell.

 

"Get off me, you idiots!"  Hassan pulled away from them, ran to Face, who was getting to his feet.  Face wanted to hug Hassan just for being alive, but then saw the almost panicked look on his face.

 

"The factory!"  Hassan yelled, over the noise of the choppers and grenades and gunfire.  "The factory is on fire!"  Face looked past him, saw the flames crawling up the wall of the factory building, spreading to the roof.

 

"Oh, Christ.  We have to get the people out.  Start organising…"

 

"No, sir, you don't understand!"  Hassan grabbed his arm, pulling him back.  "The chemicals…"

 

He was cut off by an explosion that was quite simply the loudest noise Face had ever heard.

 

 

Part 11

 

Hannibal looked up at the sound of a chopper.  Not one of theirs.  Looked like Colombian army.  Now it was light they would be coming to investigate the explosion.  It would have been seen and heard for tens of miles.  The chopper circled the pall of smoke that hung over the compound then banked right and moved off fast.  They'd be back and when they were Hannibal's people needed to be gone.

 

He was exhausted, they all were, after a night he never wanted to see the like of again.  After the factory had exploded, scattering burning debris, pretty much everything in the compound had caught fire.  Hannibal's people and even some of Lamba's had fought the fires as best they could, helped the workers escape their living quarters, pulled injured from the wrecked factory.  The wooden buildings were consumed quickly and collapsed.  The rain dampened the last of the embers until only blackened ruins remained.

 

Hannibal surveyed the scene in the early morning light.  No buildings were standing.  All the tents Lamba's soldiers had been staying in were also destroyed.  By the ruins of the factory Ables laid out and covered up bodies.  At least fifty bodies had come out of the factory, another fourteen people were dead from being too near to the blast.  There were a similar number of injured, many of whom had already been lifted out of there in their choppers.  A few injured remained, prisoners mostly, with minor wounds.  Hannibal estimated about half of Lamba's men had escaped into the jungle in the chaos.  He didn't much care now.  Uninjured, but frightened workers sat around, in a state of shock and terror at what their future held.

 

Hannibal's eyes were drawn to a lone figure, sitting beside the ruins of a small building.  Face sat with his head down, looking utterly defeated.  Hannibal had had no chance to talk to him so far, beyond a few snapped out orders.  As he watched Face seemed to sense he was being looked at and lifted his head.  He stared blankly back at Hannibal, then looked away without acknowledging him.

 

 

Face looked back at Hannibal.  He didn't even give a sign of recognising who he was looking at.  All he wanted now was for the whole world to go away and leave him alone.  And he wanted to close his eyes and sleep… well forever.  He looked away from Hannibal, looked around the rest of the compound.

 

Wallace and Hassan were sitting on the ground, side by side, both looking beaten down.  Hassan's arm was in a sling.  The explosion had thrown him and Face nearly twenty feet, slamming them onto the ground.  When Face had turned to see Hassan lying still beside him, eyes closed, he had lost what semblance of control he was clinging on to. He'd knelt over the agent shaking him yelling, "You're not dead!  You're not dead!"  When Hassan had moaned, opened his eyes and started swearing about having a broken arm Face had been ready to break down and sob with relief.

 

Miller was still on her feet and being harried as she did translation duty.  Murdock and BA were helping the wounded that remained, getting them ready to transport.  Farrell was… what was he doing?  Face watched him, frowning.  Farrell looked like a wild man, with his smoke blackened face and hair, his clothes ripped, covered in soot and blood.  He was moving among the prisoners.  Didn't seem to find what he was looking for there, went over to the wounded.  Face noticed he was carrying a handgun.  And suddenly he knew exactly what Farrell was doing.

 

Hannibal was on his radio, giving orders to base, telling them to get the choppers back out here quickly to complete the evacuation.  He was watching the compound.  People were moving slowly, painfully, exhaustion and injury slowing them to a crawl.  But one person moved decisively through the huddled figures.  Agent Farrell.  Hannibal saw him go up to the wounded, to a group of wounded prisoners.  He pushed one of them aside, moved fast suddenly, very fast, to a man who was huddled in the centre of the group.  The man's face was as blackened with soot as everyone else but Hannibal recognised him when he turned his eyes up to Farrell standing over him.  Hannibal started to run, but knew he wasn't going to make it.

 

Farrell raised his gun and emptied it into Lamba.

 

The prisoners exploded into yells, scrambling away, fearing they would be next.  The workers started to scream and cry.  Hannibal reached Farrell, who was still pulling the trigger of the now empty gun he still pointed at Lamba's dead body.  He grabbed the gun and pushed Farrell away, knocking him to the ground.  Farrell quickly scrambled to his feet, unconsciously, ridiculously, brushing mud from his already ruined clothes.

 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  Hannibal yelled at him.

 

"Execution."  Farrell said, coldly.

 

"Don't you think enough people have died already?"  Hannibal asked him.

 

Farrell looked slowly around at the terrified prisoners, then back at Hannibal.  "No."

 

Hannibal would have punched him back to the ground, but BA and Murdock grabbed his arms to restrain him.  Farrell didn't even flinch back from the threat.

 

"Arrest him!"  Hannibal snapped at the Ables that had surrounded them.  They grabbed the unresisting Farrell and pulled him away.  Hannibal looked around.  Miller, Wallace and Hassan all stood together, looks of shock on their faces.  Murdock and BA had let Hannibal go and were looking at each other.  One person hadn't moved throughout the whole incident.  Hannibal stared at Face.  Face looked back at him with an utterly blank expression, and then put his head down.

 

 

Hannibal had been on the phone in his office since they boarded the jet.  The others were in the cabin.  They had been able to bathe and had fresh clothes, but were still bone weary.  Despite their tiredness Face, Murdock and BA were unable to rest.  They all waited for Hannibal to get off the phone.

 

Murdock looked around at the others in the cabin.  Wallace was curled up, in what looked like an uncomfortable position on a seat, but like most soldiers she was apparently able to sleep anywhere she had the opportunity and seemed be resting peacefully.  On two seats facing Wallace Hassan and Miller sat, Hassan's good arm around Miller's shoulder, hers around his waist, she leaned against him, sleeping.  Hassan had his eyes closed but they opened when he sensed Murdock looking at him.  Murdock nodded slightly.  Hassan nodded back and closed his eyes again.  Murdock realised he hadn't yet thanked the agents for coming back to help them.  Sentimental grunts indeed.  Murdock looked over at the remaining agent, watched Farrell for a while.  Farrell was awake but didn’t seem to notice Murdock's scrutiny.  An Able stood nearby, watching Farrell.

 

Needing to do something besides wait Murdock poured a cup of coffee and took it to Farrell.

 

"Charles," he said quietly, not wanting to disturb the others.  "You want some coffee?"  He gave Farrell a second as the agent turned away and scrubbed his eyes dry with a shirtsleeve.  He had to raise both hands to do so, as he was in handcuffs.

 

"Thanks."  Farrell said, turning to him, taking the cup in both hands.  Murdock sat down beside him.

 

"You okay?"   Murdock asked him.

 

"Fine."  Farrell said, shortly.  He took a sip of coffee, and then looked at Murdock.  "If you're here to tell me that what I did was wrong then I don’t want to hear it.  I don’t care what anyone thinks."

 

"Okay."  Murdock said.  But he didn’t leave.  Farrell looked at him narrowly.  "Do you want to talk about him?"  Murdock asked.

 

"Lamba?"  Farrell said, puzzled.

 

"Collins.  Dan."  Murdock said.  "You should talk about him."

 

"Thanks, Murdock, but that's not really my thing."  Farrell said.

 

"When did you meet him?"  Murdock asked, ignoring that.  Farrell sighed, but he answered.

 

"Our first week at Yale."

 

"And you became friends right away?"

 

"Yeah," Farrell got quite a far-away look in his eyes, an expression Murdock hadn't seen on him before, it softened his features.  "Have you ever… well, ever met someone and it's like you realised you'd been waiting your whole life to meet this person?"  He seemed to shake out of the nostalgia suddenly.  "God, that sounds so gay."  He muttered.

 

"No."  Murdock said, softly.  "I know exactly what you mean."  Farrell turned to look at him, gave a slight smile.  Then he looked away again.

 

"He was a better man than me, Murdock.  He was smarter, he was… he was just better."  He paused.  "And now he's gone."  He looked back at Murdock and his eyes had hardened again.  "That’s why I had to do it.  He'd have done it for me.  And you can’t tell me that Lamba didn't deserve to die.  I don’t care if they put me in jail.  I'd do it again in a second."

 

"I don't think you'll go to jail," Murdock said.  "I don't think you'll be able to go on working for the organisation though.  At least not while Hannibal is in charge."

 

Farrell shook his head.  "I don’t care about that either.  We were partners.  Without him I've not got the heart for it."

 

"What will you do?"

 

"Oh my father will find something to put me in charge of.  Perhaps I'll even do well.  He's always telling me that to do really well in business a man needs the killer instinct, so I'm ahead of the game there."  His voice went hard and grim at that last part and Murdock felt suddenly cold.

 

"Murdock."  BA called, softly to avoid disturbing those who were sleeping.  Murdock looked over, saw BA beckon him.  He nodded and turned back to Farrell briefly.

 

"Try to get some rest," he advised.  "Things may be pretty bumpy for a while when we get home."  Then Murdock went back to join BA and Face.

 

"He just got off the phone."  BA said.

 

"Let's go."  Murdock said.

 

The three of them walked into Hannibal's office.  He had his elbows resting on the desk, his head in his hands.  Barbara hovered, looking nervous.

 

"Hannibal."  Murdock said.  Hannibal looked up at them.  He was pale and had dark circles under his eyes.

 

"Miss March."  Face said, his voice preternaturally calm.   "Would you go and see the others have everything they need.  I think they could use some blankets, it’s rather cold."  Barbara flashed him a look of gratitude for giving her something to do and she hurried out.   Face closed the door after her.  The door and the dividing wall were thin, offered only a token amount of privacy, but it would have to do.  This wouldn’t wait.

 

"Hannibal, we have to talk."

 

 

Part 12

 

"I want Farrell out of those cuffs."  Face demanded.  Hannibal looked up at him surprised.

 

"You can't think what he did was right."  Hannibal said.

 

"You didn't have to see…" Collins head blown off.  "What they did to Collins."  The blood.  Face felt bile rise in his throat at the memory.

 

"I'm sorry about that, Face."  Hannibal said quietly.  "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

 

"Never mind about me, " Face snapped, "I'm talking about Farrell.  You will let him go."

 

"Alright."  Hannibal said, seeing the determination in Face's eyes.  "But he can’t work for me any more."

 

"He knows."  Murdock said.  "He doesn't want to."  He paused, looking for the right words.  "Neither do I."  He looked away from Hannibal's face.  "I'm sorry, Hannibal.  I can't… see things like that, not any more.  It's too much like… the camps."  His voice went very quiet.

 

"Ah'm resigning too."  BA said,  "This ain't what I signed up for.  Like the fool says, too much like Nam, Colonel.  I didn't have no choice then.  Now I got a choice."

 

"Guys, I know it was horrible."  Hannibal said.  "Losing Gonzales and Collins.  The fire, all those bodies.  But you know it wasn't meant to be that way.  Yes, this was a disaster and I hate that you all went through it.  But you know I wouldn't be doing this job if that's the way I expected things to happen all the time."  He looked at them.  "Face?"

 

"No."  Face said simply.  "It's over."  Hannibal didn't try to hide his anguished expression.

 

"I can't do this without you, guys."

 

"Then don't do it."  Face said.

 

"Look, I take full responsibility for the way things turned out…"

 

"No-one's saying it was your fault Hannibal," Murdock protested, "Bad intelligence and bad timing…"

 

"No, Murdock."  Hannibal said.  "I came in too heavy handed.  I had two hundred men at my command and I thought that meant I had to use them all.  If I'd come in with fifty, everything would have been fine, they wouldn't have been tripping over each other and things wouldn't have gotten out of control."

 

He hated to admit it but that's the way Stockwell would have done it.  He wouldn't have let emotions, cloud his judgement, he'd have sent in exactly the right number of men to rescue the prisoners.  And he wouldn’t have led them himself.  Wouldn’t have put on combat boots and gone strutting aroundlooking for glory.  Damn.  Hannibal tried to shake himself out of the self-disgust he was currently up to his neck in.

 

"We can still do good," he said quietly.  "Yes, people died, but people are dying every day from the poison those people were manufacturing."

 

"That doesn't make it okay!"  Murdock protested, shouting suddenly.  "Dammit, Hannibal, are you saying the lives of those Colombians are worth less than the lives of Americans?"

 

"That's not what I meant, Murdock," Hannibal said sharply.

 

"I know exactly what you meant."  Murdock answered, more quietly, but no less angry.  He turned and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind him.  It bounced and didn't catch, stayed half open.

 

"Ah'm sorry, Hannibal."  BA said.  "They were so young, you know.  The people in the factory I mean.  Just teenagers some of 'em.  And Gonzales and Collins, they weren't much more'n kids either.  Ah'm supposed to help kids.  That’s what I do.  I can't be involved in something that gets them killed.  Sorry."  He followed Murdock out of the room.  Pulled the door closed behind him, leaving Hannibal and Face alone.

 

"Face."  Hannibal said.  He felt terrible guilt for what Face had gone through.  And he felt responsible.  He'd known Face could handle command but he'd forgotten that he hadn't taught Face how to cope when you lost your men.

 

Hannibal had gone through it in Vietnam.  Held men as they died.  Watched men get their brains blown out.  Listened to wounded men calling for their mothers.  And Face had seen all that too, but it had been different.  Face hadn't been in command then.  And it was different.  It was different when they weren't your buddies, but instead were your men, whose lives you were responsible for.  When you were the one who was going to have to write the letters to their parents or their wives.  He'd put that so far out of his mind, not wanting to remember those emotions, that he'd forgotten to try and prepare Face to deal with them.

 

"Face."  He said again and Face finally looked up at him.  The haunted look in his eyes made Hannibal's soul shrivel inside him.  He knew it was pointless to argue with him, to ask him to stay.  "If you want to talk about it.  I know what you went through.  You know that.  You can talk to me."

 

"Hannibal."  Face paused, and then said, "Right now I don’t even want to see you.  Not for a very long time.  So no I don't want to talk to you about it."  His voice went cold and he didn’t react to the way Hannibal's expression seemed to freeze then collapse at his words.  "Where are the keys for the cuffs?"

 

"Cuffs?"  Hannibal said, his voice sounding far away.

 

"Farrell's handcuffs.  Where are the keys?"

 

"Oh.  The Able…"

 

"Right."  Face walked out without another word.  Hannibal sat down at his desk, stared off into space.  Had he done what Stockwell and the army had never managed to do?  Had his own actions finally destroyed the A-Team?

 

 

Face watched the Able free Farrell from the cuffs.  Farrell started to thank Face but Face turned away without acknowledging him and went to sit down.  The only free seat was beside Wallace.  She was awake now.  Miller and Hassan were still in the same positions as before, eyes closed.  Face knew the agents must have been able to hear some of what went on in the office, knew that Hannibal's men had resigned.

 

After a horribly awkward and silent ten minutes Wallace finally spoke to Face.

 

"I'm sorry you'll be leaving, sir."  Face didn't answer.  "It's been a privilege to work with you." 

 

Face turned his head to look at her.  "Surely you think I'm a jerk?"

 

She looked rather shocked.  "No, sir," she protested.

 

"What have I told you about the 'sir's?  Anyway, I'm not in command of you any more, so it's not…appropriate, is it?"  He hated the sarcastic tone he was using.  She looked down.

 

"Will Colonel Smith also be leaving?"

 

"I don't know."  Face said.  "Right now I don’t much care."

 

"It would be a shame.  I like him better than General Stockwell.  The way he works.  He's a real soldier."  Face looked at her, the admiration in her voice and on her face was sincere.  She looked away from his scrutiny.  Face watched her for a while.  Finally he spoke again.

 

"Becky, if you're smart you'll go back to the Marines.  You're a real soldier too and this isn’t the outfit for a real soldier."  She looked back at him.  "I know you think that you have more opportunities here, but believe me, the main opportunity this organisation gives you is to end up disgusted with yourself.  Go back to where you can serve with honour, even if they don't let you do the fighting you know you’re capable of.  And when those two finish pretending to be asleep…" he nodded at Hassan and Miller, "They should do the same.  You're better than this.  All of you."  Wallace looked at him for a while.

 

"Thanks for the advice.  I will be thinking about that."  Face moved to get up.  "Sir… Face, I did mean it, it has been a privilege to serve with you."  She stood up too and offered him her hand.  "Maybe we can stay in touch?"

 

"I'd like that."  He shook her hand, and then went to get himself some coffee.  When he came back she had curled up in the seat and was asleep again.

 

When the plane touched down Hannibal stayed in his office.  He listened to the others disembarking.  After a few minutes he heard the sound of the hydraulics of the cargo hold doors.  They were taking out the bodies of Gonzales and Collins. 

 

There was a knock at the office door.  Hannibal prayed it was one of the team, but it was only Barbara.  She looked pale and exhausted.

 

"Is there anything you need, Colonel?"

 

"No.  Go home and get some rest, Barbara."

 

"Yes sir.  I'll see you tomorrow."  She left.

 

Would she?  Hannibal wondered.  Would he still be here tomorrow?  He'd had a difficult phone conversation with Vaughan earlier, got the clear impression they were not happy with him.  Vaughan had talked a lot about "diplomatic ramifications" and "discretion".  Well Hannibal didn't care too much about that, they'd known he wasn't a discreet man.  He'd have preferred if they'd questioned his strategic competence, because right now that's what he was doing himself.  He knew he'd let his fear for the people he loved overwhelm his good sense.

 

So maybe it was better that his team wouldn't be working for him any more.  He wouldn't worry about other agents in the same way he worried about Face, Murdock and BA.  Yes, it was for the best.  It would be much easier to send people he didn't know well… 

 

Hannibal suddenly felt as if he were looking at himself from outside his body.  And he didn’t recognise himself.  He wasn't wearing a dark suit, or yellow tinted sunglasses, but that was just packaging.  What he had just been doing was thinking like Stockwell and that was so much worse.  Easier?  Easier to send in men and women he hardly knew, because it would be easier to accept their deaths?  He felt sick at the thought.  Knew what that sort of thinking led to.  Using people like pawns, like pieces on a board, which sometimes had to be sacrificed to win the game.  Not really thinking of them as human.  To becoming just exactly like Stockwell.

 

Had Stockwell started out with good intentions, like Hannibal himself?  Had he just lost his balance somewhere and fallen into the darkness?  Hannibal had never believed that he could be drawn into that same darkness, whatever the temptations.  Because he believed, he had to believe, that he was fundamentally a different type of man than Stockwell.  And Stockwell had been CIA of course, a man had to have a certain hardness, a certain coldness to do well in that game.  Hannibal was different, he was a soldier, he was… oh hell, he was Special Forces, and people might say you had to have that same hardness and coldness to do well in that game too.  And even if he was starting from a higher place than Stockwell that just meant he had further to fall.

 

But he'd believed he could resist, that he could stay true to himself if he had his team with him, because they wouldn’t let him change into… into that kind of person.  They'd kick his ass when he needed it.  And he'd been sitting here seriously contemplating doing this without them.   Madari's words came back to him.  "Don't do this without the rest of your team… you know what you could become."  He'd forgotten for a moment just exactly what he could become.  And forgetting had meant he'd very nearly taken the first step to becoming it. 

 

There was only one thing to do, to save himself from turning into the type of man he most despised.

 

"Barbara!"  He called, and then remembered he had sent her home.  He opened a drawer, found a pad and pen, sat for a few minutes, writing.  When he was done he ripped the sheet off the pad, put it in an envelope and left it on the desk.  Then he got off the jet and walked away.

 

 

Part 13

 

The large office was dark, table lamps beside chairs illuminated the people in the room, except for the man at the desk, whose chair was turned away from the others.

 

Senator Vaughan handed on Hannibal's letter of resignation to Congresswoman Stark.

 

"A pity."  Congressman Alverez said.  "He had such potential."

 

"But an inconvenient amount of conscience," Vaughan said.  "It seems we were wrong, he just didn't have the instinct for this work."

 

"What is this word?"  Stark asked, frowning at the letter.  Alverez bent over, looked at the word she was pointing to.  He blushed a little.

 

"Erm, I can't make it out.  His handwriting is terrible."

 

"He seems to have been somewhat upset when he wrote it."  Senator Webster said, dryly.  He glanced at the desk, at the turned away chair.

 

"If only it hadn't been for the regrettable incident in Colombia," Vaughan said.  "Obviously it unsettled his people."

 

"The word you want is 'disaster', Senator."  The voice from behind the desk was quiet.  "It was not a 'regrettable incident'."  Vaughan blushed.

 

"Yes of course."

 

They sat in silence for a few moments.

 

"So," Vaughan said, eventually.  "How do we proceed now?  Do we have any other likely candidates?"  No one answered.

 

"We could de-centralise."  Stark said eventually.  "Give executive decisions to department heads, have them report directly."

 

"Too inefficient."  Alverez said.  "They'll spend more time fighting each other for resources than doing any work."  More glum silence.

 

"I'm wondering if this whole thing hasn't perhaps run its course."  Webster said.  The other three looked at him.

 

"It is getting harder every year to get the money," Stark admitted.  "And avoid scrutiny."

 

"True."  Alverez said, looking thoughtful.

 

Vaughan looked disappointed.  "Perhaps we shouldn't make any hasty decisions.  Everyone is upset by the in… disaster in Colombia.  We need time for reflection."

 

"No.  Mr Webster is right," the man behind the desk said. "Fold it up.  Reassign the personnel."  Alvarez started scribbling notes on a pad.

 

"If there's any money left in the budgets after the expenses are covered?"  He asked.

 

"I think some appropriate compensation for Smith and his men..." Webster said.  Stark and Alvarez nodded their approval, Alvarez writing a note.

 

The man behind the desk turned his chair around and stood up.  The other four stood too.

 

"Congresswoman, gentlemen, thank you for your work.  Please send me your final reports as soon as possible."  He shook hands with each of them and they took their leave.  "Jack," he said as Webster was making his way to the door, the last one to leave.  "This has to stay out of the newspapers.  You'll see to that."

 

"Of course, sir."  The senator said.

 

 

"Maybe some good came out of it all somewhere."  Murdock said.  He traced a finger down the side of his beer glass.

 

"Maybe."  BA said, grudgingly.

 

"I mean we took out a few smugglers and pushers in that first month.  That’s a few less bloodsuckers pushing poison on kids."  He sighed and took a swig of beer.  Across the table from him BA drank some of his milk.

 

The two of them were sitting in a roadside bar outside Los Angeles that the team had found a few months ago on their way back from a weekend in the mountains.  Their first visit had been eventful and, in terms of broken furniture, expensive for the bar owner.  Their subsequent visits had been uniformly peaceful and the clientele, mostly bikers and truck drivers, left them alone; except for occasionally sending drinks their way.

 

The door opened and Face walked in.  He was wearing a very good suit and carrying a briefcase.  He joined Murdock and BA at their table and when the waitress came up he ordered a beer.

 

"Why are we out here?"  Face asked his friends.

 

Murdock shrugged.  "The beer's good."

 

"Ah like the ambience."  BA said.  Face looked around.  There were only a small number of people in there, most drinking themselves into a state of total oblivion.  Two leather-clad men with Hell's Angels symbols on their jackets were kicking and swearing at a Space Invaders game.  The waitress, who had fresh stitches in her eyebrow, brought Face his beer and left again.

 

"Yeah, it's a real classy place."  Face said.  He took a drink.  The beer was good though.

 

"How's work?"  Murdock asked.

 

"Fine."  Face said, shortly.   Murdock watched him steadily.  It had been a week now since they had all resigned from the organisation.  Face had gone straight back to his agency and thrown himself into his work.  Murdock and BA had both given themselves a few days off to process what they had been through.  None of them had seen Hannibal.

 

"Anybody heard anything?"  Murdock asked.  The other two shook their heads.

 

"I called Maggie."  Murdock said.  "And Frankie.  Even Faris, 'case Hannibal maybe went over there.  No joy."

 

"He didn't come to the funerals."  Face said, quietly.  They sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking about the funerals of Gonzales and Collins.  Face remembered shaking the hands of their families, thought about the contrast between Gonzales' father in his police officer's uniform and Collins' father in his dark, expensive suit.  And remembered the same pride and grief in both men's eyes.

 

The waitress brought them a fresh round of drinks, told them they were from the Hell's Angels by the video game.  They waved their thanks to the men.  Then they raised their glasses and touched them together. They didn't have to speak, they all knew who they were drinking to.

 

At five minutes to midnight Hannibal walked through the door.  He seemed taken aback to see the rest of the team sitting there.  He went to the bar and then came to their table with a beer in his hand.  He didn't sit straight away, looked at them questioningly for a moment.

 

"You gonna stand there all night?"  BA said.  Hannibal sat.  Then stood again for a moment, took off the leather jacket he was wearing, hung it on the back of the chair.

 

"Fellas," he said.  Murdock and BA nodded back at him, but it was Face he was watching.  Face looked at him, then looked away, suddenly absorbed in the TV that was playing silently above the bar.

 

"Big guy, you wanna play Pool?  Looks like they repaired the table," Murdock said to BA.

 

BA was terrible at Pool and Murdock was more interested in trick shots than in winning a game, but BA, looking for a moment at Face and Hannibal said.  "Okay.  But don’t be messing around none or ah'll take that eight ball and…"

 

"Now, BA," Murdock said, as they stood up.  "You know that's against the rules."  They went off still bickering good-naturedly.

 

Hannibal and Face sat in silence.  Face still watching the TV.  Hannibal watching Face.

 

"You back at work?"  Hannibal said, noticing the suit Face wore.  Face looked at him.

 

"Yes," he answered after a moment.

 

"You should take some time off, to… well, to think about it all."  Hannibal said.

 

"I can't live on fresh air."  Face said.  "And that damn Mercedes just drinks gas."

 

"I told you to buy American."  Hannibal said, smiling.  Face didn’t smile back, just looked at him impassively.

 

"Where did you go?"  Face asked after a long silence.

 

"You care?"  Hannibal said.

 

"Just curious.  You were out of touch.  That’s breaking your own rule."  Hannibal flinched a little inwardly at that.  He'd broken a lot of his own rules lately.

 

"Just went for a drive."  Hannibal said, took a sip of beer.

 

"For a week?"

 

Hannibal shrugged.  "Stuff to think about."

 

"Yeah."  Face said.  They were quiet again for a while, listening to BA and Murdock.

 

"Three ball in the side pocket and the cue ball into that big guy's beer."  Murdock announced, as he was about to take a shot.

 

"If you do ah ain't stopping him from killin' ya."  BA warned.   Hannibal and Face couldn't help smiling, though Face quickly changed the expression when Hannibal looked at him.

 

"You checked your bank account lately?"  Face asked.

 

"No," Hannibal frowned.  "Should I?"

 

"If you want to see how much blood money they've given you, yes you should."  Hannibal raised his eyebrows.

 

"Blood money?"

 

"Or hush money.  Whatever.  Some kind of pay-off.   I went to the ATM and found there was twenty thousand dollars in my checking account."

 

"That should pay for quite a lot of gas for the Merc."  Hannibal said.

 

"You don’t think I kept it?"  Face said, angrily.  "Gave it to BA for the centre."

 

"Oh, that's good.  Yeah, I'll do the same.  BA and Murdock got money too?"

 

"Yeah.  We all donated it to the youth centre.  BA doesn't much like the source, but the place needs the cash."

 

"Yeah."  They fell silent again.  Hannibal watched Face drink his beer.  He knew he had a lot of work to do with Face.  Bridges to build.  Face wasn't suddenly going to open up, here in this flea-bag road-house, and confide in Hannibal; but Hannibal could at least try to re-establish diplomatic relations.

 

"So anything come up for me?  Acting wise?"  Hannibal asked.  Face looked at him.

 

"Actually yes, could be.  A TV pilot, the show's about a cop from LA who takes over as sheriff in a small town after the old sheriff retires."

 

"And I'd be…?"  Hannibal prompted, a slightly teasing look in his eyes.

 

"Sorry, Hannibal," Face actually smiled a little.  "I wasn't thinking of you for the lead.  You'd be the old sheriff.  It's a good part.  The new sheriff keeps going to the… older guy for advice about the town.  The older guy is always trying to interfere and be back on the job, but of course their ideas of how to do things are pretty different."

 

"Sounds good."  Hannibal said.  "Lots of scenes with the lead?"

 

Face nodded at that.  "You could steal the show."  He said, with a sly smile.  Then he sobered a little.  "It's a pilot.  If you got the part and it went to a series you'd have to be available to sign on long term."  He looked at Hannibal, a question in his eyes, not just about signing on for a TV series.

 

"Yeah," Hannibal said, his answer also not just about the series.  "I'm going to be available for the long haul."  He looked up realising Murdock and BA had come back over and had heard them talking.

 

As they sat down Murdock smiled and said, "Welcome back, Hannibal."

 

 

~~ End ~~

 


Tightrope Walk by Junkfoodmonkey
Tightrope Walk 2 by Junkfoodmonkey
Tightrope Walk 3 by Junkfoodmonkey

 

 


Send Comment Card

Please Send This Author Comments!