Bowling for Helicopters
by Invisible Ranger (HBF), 2011
Disclaimer: TAT belongs to SJC/Lupo and Universal; special guest flashback stars to Fox. Just for the jazz and strictly not for profit. Apologies to The Princess Bride…again.
Dedicated: To everyone looking for "the coming thing."
xxx
"Fool, I'm waitin' on that chicken sou…aaaahCHOOOO!"
Every time B.A. sneezed, it sounded like a minor volcanic eruption. He'd been sneezing a lot in the past few days. The trouble was, he was fighting the flu, and the A-Team was currently snowed in, high in the Sierras. The cabin's meager stocks of VaporRub and Kleenex had run out quickly. So, after the three healthy Team members had drawn straws, Face had set out, on snowshoes, for the village of Pine Branch to get more food and supplies. He hadn't come back yet.
With Hannibal out patrolling the perimeter and watching for any sign of Decker, that left Murdock to play the combined roles of nurse, cook, and entertainer. B.A. tried to think of what he had done recently to deserve such punishment. He couldn't think of anything.
"Voila…look what Chef Murdock cooked up ez-pecially for you." Murdock appeared from the kitchen holding a steaming soup bowl. "Exquisite, I must say."
"Shut up and bring it here, crazy man. I'm hungry."
Murdock obliged. The stuff did smell delicious, B.A. had to admit, just like the soup Momma had always made for him, back when still went by "Scooter." The only problem was, well…
"This don't look like no chicken soup, Murdock. You better not be poisoning my food, 'cause if I die…"
He didn't get a chance to finish the threat, as he sneezed yet again, Murdock barely had time to pull the soup bowl away before the explosion.
"Better out than in, big guy. You just tell those little mucus molecules who's boss," Murdock encouraged him. "They gotta obey the power of the Baracan One."
B.A. was too tired to argue. He had spent the last 48 hours cooped up in the cabin with only soup and crackers to eat, and Murdock as his sole source of entertainment. There had been a record, something called "Eat It" by a guy called Weird Al Yankovic; it was now a shattered pile of plastic next to the fireplace. Nothing to do but listen to a crazy man babble.
The soup, as it turned out, wasn't half bad. Much better than the canned stuff from the pantry. B.A. sipped at it, and as he did, couldn't help but notice that Murdock was grinning broadly.
"Stop starin' at me, fool. I'm tryin' to eat."
"I can't believe you like it. It was a kinda culinary experiment."
B.A., had he been healthy, might have taken the chance to grab Murdock by the throat. As it was, he was simply too weak. "I ain't in the mood, man. What's in that soup?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
Murdock was delighted. "That there's an old family recipe. Soupe d'Ecureuil a la Murdock."
"Speak English, fool!"
"If I must," said the pilot in a British accent, "that would be squirrel soup with a dash of dried peppercorns, wot? I was unfortunately out of bangers and mash, so I improvised."
Again, there was little B.A. could do except groan. He didn't want to spit the stuff right back out and make a mess. So he swallowed his pride along with the last of the savory stew. It did taste good…a little like spicy chicken.
"Thanks," he muttered under his breath. Murdock had been taking care of him for the better part of two days, and B.A. hadn't managed to thank him yet.
"Any time for you, big guy. Y'know, since you're sick…I know… how about another Murdock family tradition? Since we ain't goin' anywhere and all…" Murdock's eyes gleamed the way he always did when his mind was spinning out of control.
"Oh, man, do I have to?" complained B.A. He'd been thinking of drifting off and trying to regain some of his strength. He was useless to his team flat on his back. And Decker wouldn't stay lost out there forever. Sooner or later he'd be drawn to the little plume of smoke coming from the cabin. Or worse, he'd fly a squad by chopper up here. The prospect of being dragged away in a helicopter, to B.A., was only slightly less scary than Murdock telling him fairy tales for a few hours. Either way, terrifying.
But Murdock was the one in charge, since B.A. had all the strength of a kitten. "You'll like this one. Every time when I got sick, when I was just a little cowpoke, Granny or Grampa would tell me an old family story. Tall tales, ya know? Some of 'em were true, though. Every one was taller than the last one."
"No wonder you're crazy. Believin' in all them crazy made-up stories." B.A. finished the sentence with another monstrous sneeze.
"No, no, no," said Murdock. "These were all true. Honestly. Even the one about my great-great grandpa, 'Tornado' Thaddeus Murdock, who was the first man in Texas to tame a wild giant Jackalope and ride it in the barrel races…"
B.A. almost wished he hadn't thrown the Weird Al record across the room. It would be better than having to listen to Murdock spin crazy fairy tales. Then again, he was a captive audience, and the fool had been mostly behaving himself. Maybe he'd just pretend to fall asleep. Yeah, that's it. Fifteen minutes, and he'll leave me be.
"Look, man," he said, softer now, "I didn't mean no disrespect. I'll hear one of your stories. But nothin' too crazy, all right?"
Murdock looked as happy as if he'd just won the Mega Millions jackpot. Grinning like a loon, he sat facing forward on the wooden chair next to the bed. "We gonna get you speedin' down the road to recovery, B.A. Now, I just gotta think of the right story."
"I want somethin' with action. Gunfights, cowboys and Indians. Nothin' with invisible animals or talkin' bugs, all right?"
"Oh, I think I know just the one. I hadn't thought of this story in years, big guy. You'll love it. No invisibles, but there was one really smart horse, a pretty clever bounty hunter, some crazy-angry Apaches, and one very angry mudsucker…"
Arroyo de Malasuerte, New Mexico Territory, 1893
A lone chestnut horse thundered along. The hoofbeats echoed off the walls of the canyon; unnaturally loud. The Indians said this place was haunted. Maybe they were right. Its name meant "Bad Luck," and that's what the bounty hunter had found today.
The horse's rider reined in, gasping for air. The broken shaft of an arrow protruded from the meat of his left shoulder. He was lucky he'd gotten away with only a minor wound.
"Easy, Comet. Gotta catch my breath."
The big horse nickered in agreement…
"I thought you said there weren't no talkin' animals in this one, fool!"
"Would ya keep your gold on? He wasn't talking, it was a kinda simpatico…lemme start again…"
Comet neighed again. The neigh that always meant that unfriendlies weren't far behind.
"I know. Let's get you some water. We may have a ways yet to go."
Only with a great deal of pain did he manage to dismount. The arrow hadn't gone all the way through, but it smarted. Part of the shaft was still buried deep within his muscle. That would have to wait until they could find a doctor. Who knew how long that would be?
They'd spent the better part of the day tracking Gonzalo Rojas, the infamous Apache Assassin. This endless maze of canyons was known to be their hideout. And a maze it was. Only with Comet's help had he managed to find them at all. The Indians were like smoke in the wind, and just as impossible to catch. But this one was personal. Rojas was one of John Bly's gang of twelve. One of the men who had shot his father in cold blood.
And he had two thousand dollars on his head.
"Brisco County, you're getting too old for this line of work."
"And this is an old Murdock family story? What gives? Why's the guy called Country?"
"Shush. 'County.' Granny's great-uncle. He was a bounty hunter; a pretty famous one. I picked this story just for you, so listen up."
"Aw'right…"
Not much water left in the canteen. No telling where the closest doctor might be, and at least thirty angry Apaches, led by Rojas, not far behind. His options were few. One was to just keep riding and hope to lose them. Comet could do that But he was wounded, and getting tired fast. The other…
"Comet, I hope you're in for the long haul. I'm gonna need you on this one. You remember Professor Wickwire saying something about testing a new top-secret government device out here? Some place called Alamitos, Alameda, something like that?"
A soft nicker, then a snort.
"Sorry. Los Alamos. How far do you figure that is? My maps are all in that one saddlebag, and I lost it when I was right in the middle of trying not to scream like a girl after that brave shot me…"
The cabin door opened wide, admitting a fresh blast of snow along with Hannibal Smith. He was holding his Ruger tightly and looked concerned.
"Hey, man, you made it back," B.A. said, acknowledging his commander.
"Aw, Colonel, you wanna hear this story? I just started it," Murdock put in. "I can even start over if you want me to."
Their commander shook his head. "No time, Murdock. We have to find a way out of this place. There's at least two squads of MPs down in that valley, and the false trail I made won't keep them out of here very long. Face come back yet?"
"Nope. No sign of him. I thought maybe you'd have met up with him," said B.A., fighting off another sneeze.
"We just have to hope we find him somewhere along the way. Murdock, we gotta make a travois. Give me a hand and let's cut up some of these blankets, why don't you?"
B.A. wished he were stronger. Nothing in the world made him quite so frustrated as being helpless, unable to do his share of the work. And now he was dead weight to his team. Not that he'd ever admit being helpless. He tried to get up from the bed, and felt a rush of nausea doing so. Murdock came over and pushed him back down.
"Not yet, big guy. You're not quite there yet," the pilot said gently. "You just hang tight. We'll get you outta here, and you and I will be back to makin' threats of bodily harm to one another in no time."
He nodded. He also hated it whenever Murdock made a valid point.
"So what happened to that bounty hunter?"
Murdock grinned. "Thought you didn't like this story."
The hoofbeats were getting louder. But there were no war whoops. Who, besides the Apaches, could possibly be on his trail?
He really was getting delirious…or else the approaching figure on the big black horse, clad in black, was one of two possible choices. Either the Angel of Death had finally come for him, or else it was…
"No, can't be…"
There was no mistaking him. The longcoat, the cavalry trousers, the hat that was his signature. And that permanent scowl.
"Hey, Bowler. Long time." Brisco gave a curt nod.
"Brisco County." The tall man's tone was neither friendly nor hostile. It almost seemed amused. "Don't you know this place ain't safe for bounty hunters? Them Apaches feed you to the buzzards out here, if the heat or the rattlesnakes don't get you first."
"If that's the case, what brings you out here?"
Lord Bowler dismounted from his horse. "Two thousand dollars. Why the hell else I'd be riskin' my life in this forty acres of hell?" He passed Brisco a full canteen.
The water was cool, and he drank deeply. Behind them, somewhere deep in the arroyo, the distant sounds of thirty mounted men were close, and getting closer.
"Decker's closer than I thought," Hannibal said, trying to keep his voice down. "I figure we've got a shot to head down the other side of the mountain on that hunters' trail. He'll never know we were here."
"I ain't goin' outta here on no plane," B.A. warned. "Or a chopper. Decker or no Decker. That's final."
Murdock had begun cutting up blankets for the travois with a hunting knife. "Don't worry, B.A. Maybe we can get a team of huskies to mush you right on outta here to Eureka General? Or track down Yukon Cornelius and borrow his snowmobile…"
"Shut up, fool, and finish your story. I don't like to be left hangin'."
"Okay. Let's see…crazed Apaches on the warpath…"
"You got a plan, Brisco? I don't see no way outta this," Bowler said.
The bounty hunter inwardly smiled, though his shoulder was on fire. Bowler was such a puzzle. Sometimes he'd throw all the rules, including his established friendships, right out the window just to collect a lousy hundred-dollar prize on some third-rate outlaw. Other times, like now, he could be as loyal as Comet. This seemed to be one of the latter. Brisco was a gambling man, and he put all his cards on the table now.
"Bowler, if you wanna stick around, I'll cut you in 50-50 on the Rojas bounty."
The big man raised an eyebrow, then crossed his arms. He was interested.
"Make it 70-30, and you got yourself a deal."
They quickly shook hands; Brisco had to use his off-hand, the right. Now that they were allies, at least for now, he had to think. He drank some more of the water. Los Alamos was maybe five or six miles from the maze of canyons. Comet could make it in a matter of minutes, and Bowler's horse, Spinner, was almost as fast.
"We ride for Los Alamos. Full gallop. I know a way out," he said, dabbing at his shoulder wound with the edge of his neckerchief.
"You do? Man, there ain't nothin' around here almost till Taos," protested Bowler.
"Trust me, okay?"
"So how did they escape, Murdock? Think we could take a page from history?"
Hannibal had been listening to the story as he cut blankets and took apart the cabin's other bed, puffing all the while on a fresh cigar. B.A. realized he hadn't interrupted Murdock this time. He'd been too caught up in the story.
His teammates moved him from his bed to the soft flannel of the stretcher, and he began to cough again.
"Yeah, man," said B.A. after a full minute of spasms. "This one better have a happy ending."
"Come on, B.A., we have to get you outta here. Hopefully Face found us an exit." Hannibal picked up one end of the stretcher and Murdock took the other.
Though B.A. couldn't see Murdock's face, he sensed that the pilot really was worried about him. Just like he'd been worried sick when Murdock had gotten shot and waited at death's door. Fate had a weird sense of humor sometimes.
"I'm waitin', Murdock!"
"Oh, right."
Comet and Spinner raced along the New Mexico plains, stride for stride. Behind them, maybe a mile or so back, a dust cloud was gathering. It was Rojas and his men, and they didn't sound happy. They didn't have much of a head start.
Brisco reined in, and so did Bowler. Their horses' sides heaved like bellows.
"Where do you think Wickwire put this top-secret thingy?" asked Bowler. "I don't see nothin' but sagebrush out here."
Brisco had been asking himself that same question. It wouldn't be in plain sight if it were some kind of covert experiment. He just had to put himself in the eccentric Professor's shoes. If I were him, he thought, where would I stash it?
"I got it. Follow me, and stay close."
They kicked their tired horses into a gallop yet again.
"Looks like Decker isn't as clueless as he looks," said Hannibal. "I think they finally found our humble home."
The other side of the mountain was steep, snowbound, and treacherous. And cold…so cold. Every breath came out as a blast of frozen vapor, and even though B.A. was swaddled like an overgrown papoose, he felt it all the way to his bones. He already missed the little cabin despite having to share it with Murdock.
"Don't worry, big guy, think of this as another adventure," Murdock agreed. "We're gonna have you drinkin' hot chocolate and sittin' by the fire before you can say 'bronchitis.'"
"Speaking of which," Hannibal said, keeping his voice low, "we can't be out here too much longer. I'm more worried about you getting even sicker than I am Decker finding out we've split. You feeling all right, B.A.?"
Through the thick blankets, B.A. nodded. "Yeah, man. Just tired is all." He'd been almost about to nod off, but a strange sound was making its way toward the three of them. He couldn't tell what it was. Then Hannibal reacted to it, and Murdock, and he realized he wasn't dreaming after all.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"I hear that too, Colonel…y'think Decker found that Sno-Cat in the garage?"
"I hope not. Get B.A. behind that cluster of trees…I'm gonna find out."
Murdock pulled at the stretcher, which slid easily over the snow. They were out of sight, which left Hannibal to deal with whatever, or whoever, was fast approaching.
"Hurry up and tell me more of that story, fool. I don't like being left hanging."
"Okay. Where was I…oh yeah, certain death approaching fast…"
The two men looked at the strange contraption. They'd seen a lot of strange things: golden orbs, a rocket mounted on a boxcar, but this thing really took the cake.
They'd found it just where Brisco thought it would be. Next to a clump of sagebrush draped in an oilcloth that read DO NOT TOUCH, PROPERTY OF U.S. GOVERNMENT. THIS MEANS YOU! The odds of anyone being able to find it all the way out here, much less read it, were so small that Wickwire and his collaborator really had been able to hide it in plain sight.
It appeared to be a vehicle capable of carrying two men. Its light metal body was connected to a sled runner, but what was strangest of all was the two rotor blades attached to the top. Brisco thought he knew what the thing was supposed to do…but it was impossible. Even for Wickwire. Or was it?
"I don't believe it," Bowler breathed, running a hand up and down the strangely light metal skin. "That crazy old man went and made him a flying machine, didn't he?"
There was no other explanation for the strange machine. An elaborate system of pulleys and levers connected the throttle to the two rotors overhead.
"Who'd you say was helping him with this thing?" Bowler had moved on to testing the butt end of his pistol against the metal. It didn't clang the way iron would, but instead made a kind of 'ping' sound.
"Same guy who patented the electric light. That guy from back east."
The pain in Brisco's shoulder was getting worse. The Apaches' war-cries were getting louder. If they couldn't find some way to make this thing work, they were going to wind up as two very large pieces of jerky.
Comet nickered.
"Yeah, boy, I'm thinking," Brisco said.
"Think faster, man!"
"It's all right, guys. Come on out."
Hannibal called to them both. The engine noise had stopped, and was now a gentle idling. It couldn't have been a more beautiful sight: a big snowmobile with Ski Patrol on its side towing an ambulance trailer.
"I missed you guys," said Face, sitting astride the snowmobile. "So I thought I'd bring you a little present."
"Where ya been, kid?" Hannibal grinned and replaced his .45 in its holster.
B.A.'s eyes were watering with the cold as Murdock dragged the stretcher out again. "You a sight for sore eyes, man," he managed in between coughs.
"Well," said Face, "let's just say I ran into a certain lovely Canadian girl in the village who always wanted to date an Olympic skier, and after a few cups of fine espresso, I was able to convince her to let me borrow her ex-boyfriend's snowmobile so I could bring down my skier pal from the mountain so he could meet her…"
"Enough talk…get me outta here, Face! I'm freezin'!"
Murdock looked to Hannibal. "Mind if I ride with him in back, Colonel? I got a story to finish."
"Captain, that's a great idea."
"How does this work? Do you push a button, or does it have a key?"
The war ponies were maybe three hundred yards off and closing fast. Their riders were shooting as they went, and one round even cracked the glass in front of the pilot's seat.
Brisco and Bowler were crammed together in front. Maybe the machine had been designed for two men, but both of them were well over six feet, and the fit was tight.
"This was your plan!" roared Bowler over the sound of the hoofbeats and shots. "You figure it out!"
"What does this one do?"
It turned out to be the right one. The strange flying machine roared to life, its belts moving and the rotors turning. As Brisco pulled up on what he guessed to be the control stick, they began to hover, first five feet or so, then ten.
"We're off the ground!"
"That's the idea." Brisco couldn't believe it. They were actually flying. He had no idea what to do next, so he pushed the control stick to the left. The machine lurched like a drunken bronco.
"I don't like this!" Bowler howled. His voice was half an octave higher than normal.
"Hang on…lemme try something…"
"I mean I'm SCARED, Brisco!"
"No, he didn't."
"Yeah, he surely did. Scout's honor."
"They didn't have no helicopters back in them cowboy days! You're just pullin' my leg, Murdock."
Looking up at him, B.A. couldn't tell. Murdock's face was a mask, like he really was trying to be serious. After a moment, B.A. understood he really wasn't kidding.
"Honestly? What happened to 'em, man?"
"Better luck next time, Rojas!" Brisco waved to the furious Apache leader. He'd gotten the hang of the flying machine. He and Bowler were soaring at least thirty feet in the air now. Must be what birds felt like. Wickwire would be thrilled…if they lived to tell the tale. They still had to get back to civilization first.
"Bowler, isn't this incredible? This really is the coming…hey, you awake?"
As he looked to his right, he saw that the big man had gone rigid with fear, his eyes wide and staring straight ahead. Only time Brisco had seen him like that before was when he'd been face to face with a mountain lion.
"Bowler?"
"I didn't get my bounty, and you've gone and scared me silly. I'm taking this one out on you, Brisco."
"Think on the bright side. You might go down as the first man in history to fly in a machine. Schoolkids will be talking about you a hundred years from now, Bowler."
"I don't care. If God had wanted me to fly, I'd have been born with wings."
There was some sort of settlement just ahead, a low, dusty row of buildings in the desert.
"I see it…you see it?"
Bowler swallowed hard and nodded. "I just don't see no bounty."
"There's better things in life than money, my friend."
The snowmobile had come to a halt. Somewhere outside, Face and Hannibal were talking. Through the little window in the trailer, Murdock saw why they had stopped, and his eyes twinkled.
"What's up, crazy man? Why we stop? And what happened to those two bounty hunters?"B.A. muttered. His strength, already almost gone fighting the virus, was fading fast with their flight from the cabin and the hour or so he'd been out in the cold.
"Look, big guy, I'm glad you liked the story. I always did. Glad I got to tell it again. I just gotta say sorry first," said Murdock.
"Sorry for what, fool?"
He felt the little pinprick in his neck a split second later. That only ever meant one thing…
Before the snowmobile was a beautiful, fully loaded Bell 212 helicopter also marked Ski Patrol. How had he missed that one?
"You guys…you tricked me again…I'm gonna get you…"
As his vision clouded over and sleep took him, the last thing B.A. remembered before sleep took him was Murdock softly whispering in his ear and smiling.
"And they all lived happily ever after…"
Fini
(Author's notes: The characters from the story Murdock tells are obviously Brisco County Jr. and Lord Bowler from the equally fun The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. Check it out sometime! Sorry if this one got a bit long.)