Cold, wet and hurting. None of those helped him on his sprint through the forest. The thick body-warmer was not living up to its name, and the rest of his clothes done little to assist. It didn't help he was soaked to the bone, though how he came to be in this state eluded him. Strangely, he couldn't remember much else either. All he knew was that he was being chased and he had to get away. Away from who, was another question he didn't have an answer for, but the fear was enough to drive him. The smear of blood that had spilled down his plaid shirt was an indication of the danger he was in, and the pain emanating from the left side of his head was another. Clearly he had taken some kind of knock and the resulting confusion was a symptom of that injury.
He was so preoccupied he didn't realise his feet were starting to drag, fatigued from a cross country marathon he had no idea how long he'd been in. His left foot caught one of many protruding roots and down he went, tumbling into the ground beside a colossal evergreen. A yelp escaped his lips as another previously unrecognised injury came to light. His chest burned with the angry protests of a few bruised ribs and a protective hand proceeded to nurse them, dropping the gun he had been carrying.
Was that his gun? He thought to himself as he stared at the silver gleam of the metal, an appreciative eye, marvelling at the carving of the wooden grip. It must be if he had it, but, why would he need a gun? With a grunt he sat himself upright, back against the tree so he could check behind him as well as ahead. He was on the run from someone and hurt; maybe he had been expecting some kind of attack and had the gun on him as protection?
Now his chest had eased, the man picked up the weapon and felt a sense of relief he wasn't expecting. It was like having an old friend returned to him. He blinked at the gun and instinctively checked how many rounds he had, surprising himself further by handling the weapon so well. Who was he? Why was he here? And what sort of trouble had he stumbled into?
The confused man ran a hand through his hair; it was long but with short back and sides. Tidy and styled, or had been till he'd legged it. He was trying to right the doo when he felt it, a sharp pain at the left side of his head just above the ear. He winced as he used his fingertips to probe the injury, feeling them become sticky with dry blood. The wound wasn't fresh, he'd had this for about an hour and while it hurt like hell, he knew it wasn't life threatening.
He wished he could remember what he was running from and he wished he could remember more about who he was, but more than that, he wished he could get warm. The adrenaline was wearing off and now started to feel just how cold he was. His teeth clashed together as his shivers grew more violent and every bump and bruise ached as the vibrations shook his body. It was also getting dark and he knew if he didn't find shelter soon, he was going to die.
Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith stood before the desk of their current client, cigar past the halfway mark while steel-blue eyes bored into those of Luther Clydesdale.
Clydesdale had hired the A-Team a week ago to help protect his lumber business from a rival firm, who was logging illegally in the area and mounting attacks on workers and their families. Of course they'd done the usual checks to not only make sure that Decker hadn't set this whole meet up as a plot to capture the team, but also to make sure who they were working for, was being straight. As always, that latter task fell to Face, as apart from being an expert in deceiving others, he was incredibly difficult to deceive because of it. As it turned out though, Face hadn't reported in, making the colonel uneasy.
"So you're telling me," Hannibal began after listening to Clydesdale's answer. "Face didn't arrive?"
"That's right, colonel. We've been expecting him all morning. We've also been expecting a shipment of fuel for the saws, but had nothing all day, I was actually about to call you guys, I figured they'd been some delay." Clydesdale stood and crossed to the filling cabinet attending to what ever business he had been prior to their arrival. Hannibal looked to B.A who glared suspiciously back at their client and a large part of the colonel felt some-what the same.
"You said during you're interview, that this other company would hi-jack your fuel orders?" He continued the questioning, if Face had been some how caught up in the initial jacking of the fuel, it would explain his absence now.
"Yeah, McGregor's men don't exactly play fair. I sent some guys out to investigate along the route." The foreman paused, seeming to look out of the window. "They're back now." Clydesdale led the way out, Hannibal and B.A following eager to discover what had happened. The two men whom had just returned looked cold and dirty, largely down to the environment. Montana was probably one of the last great wildernesses, the work was hard and the days were long and cold and every man here was suited to it. These men were no different. Hannibal sized them up, both were at least two-hundred pounds and so tall they made B.A look tiny. "So did you find anything?" Clydesdale asked.
"Yeah, we spotted truck tracks leading off to the east right off the trail and some fancy looking car, all beat up wrapped around a tree in a ditch. We looked for the driver but we couldn't see anyone." Hannibal's heart fell into his stomach and he and B.A were moving towards the van before anyone could even question why.
"What's going on, colonel?" Murdock who had been waiting with the van as instructed seemed to sense there was a problem. They had been together a long time and knew each other well to know when something wasn't quite right.
"Trouble, according to Clydesdale Face didn't show up this morning." Hannibal explained as he hopped into the passenger side while Murdock and B.A took up their usual positions.
"Well that's just crazy talk, Face called me from his car, he said he was about to pull into the yard and that was four hours ago."
"Do you think he got lost?" B.A asked as he shifted the van into gear and started to reverse out into the main road.
"Not a chance," Hannibal put out his cigar, placing the rest in his breast pocket for later. "Face is too thorough and wouldn't make a rookie mistake like that. Something's happened and something bad if his car's ended up in a ditch."
"Face loves that car," Murdock stated, his tone full of concern, but his dark brown eyes quickly hardened their gaze. "If someone's hurt my muchacho, I won't be responsible for my actions, colonel."
"Easy, captain. Face can handle himself. I'd be more worried about the ones responsible for the damage to the Corvette; the lieutenant is likely to kill them." It wasn't easy for Hannibal to joke in a situation like this, when the safety of his men was in question like any leader he felt solely responsible to get them back home in one piece. It was a burden he carried in Vietnam and now, when they were on the run. They were his team, his boys, and his friends. But he kept those thoughts and feelings to himself because he also had a responsibility to keep the team functional in times of danger and the last thing he needed was for Murdock to loose it. It seemed to have done the trick as Murdock settled a little, making jokes of his own and going into great detail the lengths he would go, to help Face seek revenge for the damage done to his precious automobile.
By the time they reached the crash site, the weather had taken a turn for the worst. The rain was coming down in spades and dark grey clouds swirled about skies filled with the promise of thunder.
The three members of the team stood there, looking down at the white Corvette, knots in their stomachs. The car had left the road and continued at least eight foot into the ditch before colliding with tree. The front of the car was crumpled but it looked to be mostly cosmetic damage. It was definitely a crash Face could walk away from, but what had them seething, was the fact that what they were looking at, didn't tally with what they had been told.
For a start, the Corvette left the road while on its way back from Clydesdale's yard and all along the right side; the body work was dented and scrapped. Face had been run off the road.
"This is wrong." B.A growled as Murdock began to pace, trying to peer into the forest that stretched out below them.
"Easy B.A," Hannibal soothed as he surveyed the scene before taking the first careful steps into the ditch. "Let's get a closer look, see if we can figure out the facts and hopefully track down where Face might be now. He could be hurt."
"I don't see him anywhere." Murdock chimed in as he gracefully skidded through the wet mud to stand beside the drivers side of the battered car. "There's boot prints, lots of prints, more than one set." The pilot was twisting and turning, gazing down as he tracked the trails. "They're too big to be Faceman's…" Murdock continued to track the prints while B.A got into the drivers seat.
"The seat's too far back, man. No way could Face drive it like this Hannibal. This car's been dumped." Hannibal kept his cool as he got into the passenger side and started searching the glove box and the rest of the dash. The gun Face kept there was gone and while his wallet was there, it was empty of cash and all the credit cards he had under various names. To the untrained eye, it looked like a robbery but if that was the case, the most expensive booty from a car jacking was the car itself, especially a sports car.
"No way would car jackers deliberately wreck a prize like this." The colonel mused looking up as Murdock was now a few yards ahead, still tracking the many boot prints, trying to determine where they led.
"Could just be punks, out for a joy ride." B.A surmised but the colonel couldn't agree.
"I don't think so," he held up the empty wallet drawing B.A's attention to the missing cards. "Kids wouldn't take the cards. Without the pin, it's a pretty worthless find for teens. Not to mention the seats being all the way back and the size of the boot prints. I'll put good money on the fact that Face isn't anywhere near where we are now; the car's a false trail, which means who ever ambushed Face, wants to not only make the kid disappear, but throw us off the scent."
"So what are we waiting for, let's find those fools and pound them into the ground." The poetic flow of B.A's words made Hannibal smile, mainly because he wanted to do exactly that but as Murdock threw up his arms in defeat, he realised they were going to need more time to piece together Face's final steps. The colonel's smile faded and he mentally chastised himself for even thinking of that turn of phrase.
"Clydesdale said Face didn't turn up at his office this morning like he was supposed to." The colonel began as he exited the trashed Corvette.
"I say he's lying." B.A growled as Murdock came jogging back from where he'd be searching.
"I hear you B.A but until we've got evidence to prove that, we're gonna need to stay close to that guy because if he is lying, it's only a matter of time before he leads us to Face."
"What if Face doesn't have much time, colonel?" Murdock asked hands buried deep into jacket pockets. It wasn't often the pilot let this vulnerable side show, reserved only for those occasions when the eccentric man felt helpless to assist another on the team. Recognising that his man needed some reassurance, the colonel placed a steadying hand on Murdock's shoulder and gave a squeeze, being sure to meet those worry-filled brown eyes.
"I have every faith that Face will be ok, Murdock. No matter what kind of trouble the kids gotten himself into over the years, he's always managed to land on his feet." Hannibal offered a confident smile seeing Murdock nod a few times.
"You're right, colonel. You know that always landing on ones feet is a trait of the feline variety right?"
"Right…" Hannibal let his hand fall back to his side. The fact that Murdock had began to vocalise his often irrational train of thoughts meant he was feeling a little better about the situation at least.
"Well I think we should be looking into Face's pants for a tail or something because so far his hair does a wonderful job of hiding those ears and I know cos I've looked. And now I'm starting to realise why Billy gets so riled up anytime Face comes into my room…"
"What you talking about, fool? Face ain't no cat!"
"And I happen to think that B.A is some kind of dog, what with all the barking he tends to do." At that Murdock stood on his tip-toes and started to pat down B.A's head, much to the annoyance of the muscle man. "But credit to you big guy, you've done a fabulous job of hiding your ears!"
"Get away from me fool, before your crazy gets on me!"
"Let's go guys," Hannibal ordered leading the way back to the van. They would have to head into town and get a tow-truck out to pick up the Corvette as well as pick up the supplies. Something was telling Hannibal that they would be here a while yet and he was already running scenarios in his mind trying to come up with a plan for every possibility. No matter what he saw, each one ended with Face back on the team, fighting the bad guys along side them because the colonel refused to accept any other alternative.