Title: Ties That Bind
Author: Shara Ree
Rating: T
Summary: 1973 - The A-Team is building a reputation in LA. Col. Lynch, growing desperate to bring them to justice, forcibly enlists the help of a man he thinks ought to know them as well as anyone: Ray Brenner.
Warnings: Brief wartime violence at the beginning. Language.
CHAPTER 1
The first screams shattered the stillness in the village like glass thrown against a brick wall. The serenity splintered into a thousand pieces, echoing with the sound of AK fire and agonized cries. A woman's panicked plea for mercy turned to a scream of pain as her children were cut down by a steady line of bullets. A man's cry of surprised fell silent as he crumbled to the floor, landing face down in the blood of his wife.
Screams of surrender were met with bullets as the nameless faceless soldiers moved from hut to hut in the village, dragging man, woman, and child into the street. The fires started. The blood flowed in a river along the red dirt. As the smell of burning flesh and death permeated the air, those still alive lined up for execution. They sobbed, they screamed, they died. The women dragged into the brush never returned with the soldiers that carried them there.
Slowly, the cries faded, the cackling flames slowly died, and the soldiers regrouped to watch the last pillars burn. As the air grew still, a new group of soldiers appeared. The senior officer's eyes remained locked on the twitching, badly burned body of a young boy. A bullet ended whatever misery he still felt, and the soldier lit a cigarette before replacing his pistol on his belt. He had no proclivity for violence anymore, but no feeling of sadness or remorse either. Too many years of too much blood made it all feel so damned pointless in the end.
Ray Brenner woke up hugging the floor, with his eyes already wide open. His hands were shaking as he clawed the carpet - carpet? - and tried to gauge the distance of the gunfire echoing in his ears. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, coating the back of his neck. Carpet? He looked down at the beige carpet under his fingernails. Clearly, it was carpet, and not the cement floor of a barracks or the mud floor of a tent. Where was he?
"Ray, do you want breakfast, honey?"
A woman's voice echoing from somewhere else in the house jolted him with reality. The carpet was real. As he looked up, he saw the bed he'd tumbled out of and the sheets and the blankets he'd left behind. Sunlight was shining in through the open window, reflecting off of the clean white walls. The gunfire had stopped, and all he could hear now was the chirping of birds in the yard. Home. He was home.
"Ray?"
He looked up suddenly and saw the woman standing in the doorway. He recognized her instantly. She was his wife, concern written all over her face. "Honey, what are you doing on the floor?"
He pushed himself up, struggling to his feet. "Sorry, I –"
The rattling sound made him spin towards the window. Still half-asleep and disoriented, he couldn't quite reconcile the sound with the fact that he was home, far from the guns and rockets he'd left behind.
"It's road construction, honey." Her voice was quiet, concerned. "Remember? They're repaving the road."
He closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck as the world slowly began to make sense again. "Right." He shook his head. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry." She approached slowly, sliding her hands over his shoulders. "I made you breakfast. Are you going to come eat?"
"Yeah." He sighed, and rested a hand over hers. "Yeah, I'll be right there."
A splash of cool water, a change of clothes, and he could feel his world coming back into focus again. That war was over. His active duty had ended three years ago. The war itself had ended. So why did he still have these damned nightmares?
He was still buttoning his shirt as he started down the steps toward the kitchen. He could smell bacon, and it brought a smile to his face. He was home, and he was staying here. Though still on reserve for another ten months, the chances of being called back were slim. Where would they send him? The war was over. It had ended in defeat they had all known was coming, but that was no longer his problem. It was over, and that reality had become his constant thought in every waking hour. He was home. It was over.
By the time he reached the kitchen, the memories had faded and the ever-present feeling of fear that lurked just beneath his skin had faded. Trish was at the stove and his six-year-old son was at the table with a mouthful of food that he didn't bother to swallow before calling out an enthusiastic, "Good morning!"
"Don't talk with your mouth full."
Roger swallowed it all in one gulp and repeated his greeting. This time, Ray answered. "Good morning. You'd better hurry up or you're going to be late for school."
"I'm done!"
He shoved the last forkful of food into his mouth, took his plate to the sink, and darted past Ray towards the living room just as the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it!"
"Expecting company?" Ray asked as he reached into the cabinet for a cup of coffee.
"Sue and I are going shopping, but I didn't think she'd be over so early."
Ray nodded as he poured a cup of coffee and watched the breakfast preparation for a moment before Roger popped back into the room. "Dad, it's for you."
Ray blinked. "For me?"
The look on the child's face should have warned him. Nothing could make that kid frown in the morning, with the whole exciting day ahead of him. But he was clearly wearing a frown right now. "It's an Army guy, Dad."
Ray felt his heart skip a beat. Trish dropped the spatula in surprise as she looked up at him suddenly. There were no words as Ray set his coffee on the counter and walked to the front door to the young man standing on his porch in dark green Class As.
"Can I help you?"
"Sergeant Ray Brenner?"
"Yes, that's me."
The sealed envelope that the man handed him made his heart thud even louder in his ears. "You have orders to report to Fort Bragg, sir."
"Ray, honey? What is it?"
He stared at the paper in his hand for a long moment, reading it over and over until his eyes slipped out of focus. "I'm being recalled to active duty."
"Sergeant Ray Brenner reporting for duty as ordered, sir."
Ray couldn't ignore the way his chest tightened at the sound of those words coming from his own mouth, the invisible fist that gripped his lungs as every muscle in his body tensed all at once. He had hoped to never make that greeting again. Conditioned responses, executed without thought, brought his hand to his forehead, feet together in perfect posture. Disconnected and acutely aware of the three set of eyes in the room, he stood with eyes forward and back ramrod straight.
"Close the door behind you, Sergeant."
Orders were obeyed without question, in a haze of unfeeling conditioned responses. There were three men, chests covered in military ribbons and faces hardened by too many years of stress. Out of the corner of his eye, he scanned for the important things – like the rank on the Class A uniforms. He knew the man in front of him was a full colonel. The other two were lieutenants. They clearly wanted something from him, specifically. He couldn't begin to guess what.
The colonel was talking. Ray could barely hear the voice over the pounding of his heart in his ears. It took him several seconds to tune in to what was being said. "... recon with the 52nd Infantry in 1968 until you were recruited to MACV by Colonel John Smith. You served on his team for the remainder of your extended tour until returning home in January of 1970. Does that sound about right, Sergeant?"
"Yes, sir."
He could feel their eyes on him as the sweat broke out on the back of his neck. The hesitation to continue was uncharacteristic. He wondered if they were actually trying to make him sweat. "Have you had any contact with Colonel Smith or the members of your former team since your discharge from active duty?"
Good God, if they were calling him here to talk about his old unit, he couldn't even begin to prepare himself for where this conversation was going. "No, sir."
"Do you have any idea where they might be?"
Ray couldn't help the look of surprise that he knew crossed his face. "No, sir." Why in the world would he know that?
"Did any of them ever talk about family or friends that they might be particularly close to?"
Ray swallowed hard. "We made it a point not to talk about things like that, sir. I honestly couldn't tell you anything more than what's in their files. And even if they had talked about it, it's been three years. My memory is… fuzzy."
A long pause, and the colonel seated at the desk cleared his throat before sitting forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Sergeant Brenner, you spent three full years with this team. You extended your service twice to do so. I suspect that there is no one in the world who knows these men as well as you do, even if your memory is fuzzy."
There was nothing to say to that. Ray stared straight ahead. He didn't need anyone to tell him that he knew his team. Though they had all made efforts to keep their personal lives personal, he knew how they thought, how they functioned. That much was crystal clear in his mind, even years later.
"Three weeks after you returned from Southeast Asia, Colonel Smith's team robbed the Bank of Hanoi of fifty million piastres - money which they hid somewhere in North Vietnam before they were arrested and brought back to the States to face a court martial."
Ray hesitated as the pause signaled that they were waiting for a reaction. "Yes, I heard about it on the news."
"What are your thoughts, Sergeant?"
"Doesn't sound like my team, sir."
"Well, we were all very surprised."
The unemotional tone set Ray's teeth on edge. All very surprised, but they believed it nonetheless. Ray wasn't so sure what he believed about Hanoi. In any case, he hadn't given it much thought because it ultimately didn't concern him. Why was this coming up now? What did they want from him?
"Are you asking me to testify against them, sir?"
"No."
"Good. Because as I said, it doesn't sound like my team."
"Actually, as of right now, the trial is on hold. During the proceedings in January 71, the three of them escaped custody and have since been fugitives."
"Escaped custody," Ray repeated. It wasn't a surprise. He'd seen that news report, too. "And what you mean by that is that they were confined to base for a year awaiting trial, and when they finally saw the inside of a courtroom, they realized there was no chance that they wouldn't be convicted."
"They were not merely confined to base, they were in prison! My prison! Which they escaped and destroyed all chance of my ever making general!"
"So to be clear, this is very personal for you."
The colonel's eyes narrowed. "I don't think I like your tone, Sergeant."
"Apologies, Colonel," Ray answered in his best "innocent" voice. "Just trying to survey the playing field."
"This is not a game." The colonel stood, pacing a few steps around his desk. "These three fugitives have made a mockery of everything this army stands for. They deserve to be punished for what they did in Vietnam. And I intend to see to it that desertion is added to the list of charges they will be held accountable for."
"Well, it's nice to know that their trial was so fair and impartial."
"What do you mean by that?"
"They fled in the middle of the proceedings, you said. Which means they haven't been convicted of anything. And by the sound of it, you're already planning out their sentences."
The colonel stood straighter. "I ought to cite you with insubordination."
"Colonel, I mean no disrespect, but if you want me to help you catch the A-Team, there's two things you should know about me. The first is that I have the utmost pride at having served under a man like Colonel Smith. The second is that that's not going to change. The army has bought and paid for my services. I understand that I am the property of this government, and if this government wishes to see the A-Team behind bars, they can appoint me to make it happen. But I do not agree with your personal vendetta against them even if I will do everything within my power to fulfill my duty to this country."
For a long moment, the colonel stared at him. Then, dumbfounded, he exchanged glances with the men on either side of his desk. Muted smiles and tight nods, and the colonel finally looked back at Ray, stood up straighter, and nodded decisively.
"Very well. I respect that."