NO FLY ZONE
Featuring the entire A-Team
Oneshot. No sequel, epilogue, etc (though it does reference another fic's plot, so you might could say this was an epilogue, but…not really) The idea came to me while I was pretending to work today. I just hope it works. Meanwhile, I'm working on another story idea, while I work on the next installment of 'Season of the Witch'. I torture myself this way. It's like a disease or something. If I'm not writing something, I have to be reading, or I'd lose my mind entirely.
"They're shooting at us…can you believe they're shooting at us?" Face yelled over the din of bullets clanking against metal.
"Why does that always surprise you so much?" Murdock yelled as he struggled to get the plane's hatch door open. No dice. He looked around for a screwdriver, a knife…anything. "Ever'body shoots at us! I think our own mamas'd shoot at us, all things considered!"
"I ain't gettin' on this damn plane!" B.A. yelled from behind what had, in a previous life, been a septic tank. He was returning fire with gusto, as was Hannibal, who was hiding behind the shovel of a Caterpillar and giving the drug cartel henchmen hell. Agostino Salazar was not, from what the men had seen so far, a very congenial host and he had sent his men to kill the four of them, no matter what the cost. The running gun battle had left all four of them battered, bruised and high on adrenaline, and now, they were pinned down in a Mexican boneyard.
"Geez, Bosco, you missed your cue!" Murdock cackled triumphantly when he found a flathead screwdriver in a pile of junk near the plane. He began applying manful thwacks to the hatch, and would have made excellent progress had a bullet not dinged right against the lock and shattered it into a thousand pieces, one piece of metal nicking Murdock's cheek. "Thank you, cranky Mexican drug lord!" he yelled, and pulled the door open, dropping the ladder down, barely avoiding getting bonked in the head by it, and grabbed Face. "Get in!"
Face, never one to procrastinate in situations like this, scrambled up the steps, or would have, had the ladder not suddenly come crashing down, clattering on the ruined tarmac and depositing Face on his face. "Ow! Jesus, that hurt!" A bullet popped dirt up into his eyes and he yelped again before scrambling for cover.
"Get back in there!" Murdock screamed at him. He hid behind the plane's wheel, prayed the drug dealers were only lucky, rather than expert, shots and looked across at Bosco, who was firing back at the gunmen, capping one and sending the man sprawling into the dirt.
"How?" Face yelled back, another bullet shooting up dirt around him.
"Fly, dammit!" Murdock yelled back. "Just get in!"
"I said I ain't gettin' on that damn plane!" B.A. yelled. "An' I mean it!"
Hannibal capped another henchman, and B.A.'s loud shouts rang off the ruined planes, trucks and automobiles of the boneyard they had run to ground in. Murdock's gleeful declaration that the whole place reminded him of Con Air hadn't exactly cheered the other three men, but at least all the trash and piles of metal had provided excellent cover, and Murdock had managed to track down a beat-up old Cessna that might—if cajoled, babied and stuck back together with spit and Band-Aids—get them out of Mexico alive.
"Wait…" Hannibal raised his hand. Face, having managed to get to his feet to hide behind the mangled door of a car, peered up through the cracked window and frowned.
"Hey, they're all gone!" Face crowed.
"Six guys chased us in here, right?" Hannibal asked.
"Yep!" Murdock yelled back. He was doing his best to reattach the ladder to the plane, but he was not having a lot of success. He was physically strong, and pigheadedly determined, but the hinges were rusted right through. He took cover again and waited, eyeing the plane and muttering to himself about thrust and trajectory and how the hell were they supposed to get in there…via pole vault?
"I see six bodies."
"You mean they're all dead?" Face called from his position.
"I think so."
"Good. Let's go spit on 'em!" Murdock yelled, temporarily putting aside mathematical equations and the plane's obvious defects. He hated drug dealers and the hopelessness they sold. Hated the limp-wristed government that wouldn't let border patrol stop them, for fear of offending anybody (you can't offend a dead terrorist, he had often pointed out). If he hadn't already taken a leak before they had fled the cartel compound, he would have gone over and started pissing all over them. Hannibal rose cautiously to his full height.
"Huh. All dead. Amazing."
The men were still cautious, even after Face and B.A. moved quietly to the enemy position and began checking. All six men were, indeed, dead. They had seen worse, but there was still something pitiable about it all. Face made a sign of the Cross and shook his head. "Wasted lives, man—a total waste. God'll sort 'em out."
"Yeah." B.A. shook his head and followed the con man back to the plane. Murdock, free from the constraints of being shot at, was back at work at putting the ladder back up, but he had to admit defeat when he was able to see that that hinges were totally rusted through. It was wonder it hadn't fallen off when he'd opened it. He finally gave up, and went in search of some other means of getting aboard. Meanwhile, B.A. planted his feet in the dirt and looked Hannibal right in the eye. "I ain't flyin', man."
"B.A., there's no other way out of here!" Hannibal said, aggravated. "And what, you think Salazar won't send more men? I'm sure they called for reinforcements before they checked out!"
"I aint flyin'," B.A. said firmly. He dug his heels into the dust and narrowed his eyes.
Murdock returned then, dragging a rusty old stepladder behind him. "Found a ladder!" he yelled happily. "We'll be on our way right soonly, boys!"
"B.A. here ain't flyin'," Face said, rolling his eyes and gesturing angrily at Baracus.
"Oh, great, the drama," Murdock said, puffing a little as he propped the ladder up against the open hatch and whistled with relief to see that it reached. He looked back at Bosco, whose arms were crossed, his eyes boring right into Hannibal's. Uh-oh—trouble. When he got that look, it meant neither heaven nor hell would move him. It instead took subterfuge and a carefully mixed cocktail of drugs to do the trick.
He looked back at the ladder. He and Face and Hannibal were strong men, but he knew the old ladder wouldn't hold more than one of them at a time, and if B.A. was unconscious, somebody was going to have to do the carrying. Frankly, he wasn't entirely sure the ladder would endure B.A. too well anyway, even if he climbed up there on his own power.
Murdock took his cap off and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't bathed in a week. He smelled like something that had passed through the digestive tract of a sick old horse. His knees hurt, he had at least two cracked ribs, and was already sporting a shiner from this morning's tussle with those drug runners. His left arm had been nicked by a stray bullet and was still bleeding. He wanted to go home, to a shower, a warm bed and his soft, warm wife.
He was tired. He was hungry…and now, he was mad.
For a moment, he bounced on the balls of his feet, thinking seriously about just leaving Baracus right here, if that's what the bastard wanted. But that wasn't possible—he had never left a man behind, and never would, even if the man was getting on his nerves and was being a pain in the ass. And besides, this was B.A.—his brother. He blew out his cheeks, pushed his anger away and gestured briefly to Face and Hannibal. They both went over to him, Hannibal raising an eyebrow.
"Y'all just keep your fat mouths shut, okay?" Murdock told them, giving them both a cold green glare.
Hannibal and Face looked at each other, and Murdock walked over to B.A. "You know what, Bosco? I gotta admit…this plane…I'm scared to death of it. Scared shitless."
"What?" B.A. looked startled, then nodded in agreement. "Right. That's the sanest thing you've said all month. It's a deathtrap!"
"Amen, brother! Preach on…seriously…I mean, look at it. It looks worse'n that rustbucket I flew us outta Mexico in, remember?" He turned to Hannibal. "I ain't gettin' on this damned plane, sir!" he stated firmly, nodding.
Hannibal flinched, staring at Murdock, his brow knitting in confusion. "You're—…wait, what? Wait a minute!" This wasn't right. It was Bosco who did all the railing against flight. But Murdock?
Murdock's widened eyes and scowl meant for him to shut his yap, and so Hannibal did, though he made a mental note to give the captain a sound ticking off later for insubordination and also for scaring him half to death. The captain had a plan, apparently. All Hannibal could do now was sit back and watch the show.
"That's right. I mean, if Bosco here is afraid of this thing, then I am too. I am NOT getting on this plane. No sir! I don't care if we're all cut to pieces and fed to Salazar's toy poodle – what was her name again? Peaches? No…no, Pinkie…whatever... No way!" He then dropped into the dust and sat, digging his fingers into the dirt, hunching his shoulders, closing his eyes briefly and preparing himself for a fight. B.A. stared down at him, aghast. Face, wide-eyed, looked helplessly at Hannibal, who made a confused 'I don't know' gesture back.
B.A.'s arms unfolded. He put his hands on his hips and glared down at Murdock. "Get up, fool, an' get on that damn' plane!" he yelled.
"No. No. You can't make me, neither. I won't! I won't I won't I won't I WON'T!"
Face whispered to Hannibal, "Is he high?"
"I have no idea…" Hannibal whispered back. "Just watch—consider it outdoor theater."
Murdock began kicking at the dust and screaming loudly, causing a look of real consternation to cross Baracus' face—he had never seen Murdock actually throw a full-blown conniption fit before. "I refuse to fly this thing. I mean, really, it's as air-worthy as a can of peanuts. I ain't flyin' it! No way."
"Listen to me, you crazy fool!" B.A. barked. "You're just bullshittin'. You know you can fly this thing! You wanna go home! Just like all of us!"
Hannibal and Face looked at each other, then at the spectacle before them, eyes widening in astonishment at what they were seeing. B.A. reached down and tried to haul Murdock up by his shoulders, but the Captain had years of practice at foiling attempts by hospital orderlies to get him under their control. He went limp, like a cat, and made himself dead weight, visibly stretching every time Bosco got hold of him and attained any kind of lift. Try as Baracus might, he couldn't seem to make the captain so much as move an inch. Finally, growling in frustration, he grabbed Murdock's torn T-shirt and began dragging him to the plane.
Murdock howled and whined and chattered angrily as B.A. dragged him, and got even angrier when B.A. let go of his shirt and grabbed him by a foot, turned him around, and hauled him to the ladder, dragging him facefirst in the dirt and scrub, all as the captain screamed, kicked and yowled in pain and outrage.
"Get up that ladder, fool!" B.A. yelled, in a full-blown fury himself.
"No!" Murdock sat up on his elbows and glared up at B.A., ignoring his aching ribs. "I won't! You can't make me! Nyah!" He rolled over and started crawling away, almost knocking the ladder over, but Baracus grabbed him the collar this time. Murdock went limp again, but found that to be an unsatisfactory tactic, as B.A.'s grip was tight and he started choking. Black dots started bouncing around in front of his eyes, but he heard Bosco's angry shouting as he was dragging him toward the ladder again.
"You're gettin' in that plane, fool, and flyin' us home!"
"No!" Murdock screamed, and decided to take his chances with unconsciousness and dropped again. B.A. turned around, hauled Murdock up by his armpits and practically threw him up into the plane. Murdock tried to scramble back out, but B.A. was coming up the ladder doublespeed, and shoved him back inside.
"Get up to that cockpit!"
"No!" Murdock screamed. "No, I won't!" He tore his cap off and started to belabor B.A. with it, but he was thwarted by the larger man, who snatched the cap away and threw it into the cockpit, where it landed on the yoke.
"Get in there!"
"No!"
Face and Hannibal were scrambling up the ladder now, eager to get aboard. Hannibal considered offering assistance, but wasn't sure who he ought to help. He finally gave up on trying to take charge and instead strapped himself into the copilot's seat and looked back at Murdock, who was showing remarkable courage against B.A.'s shouting and terrible threats. Hannibal suspected that if it had been any other man, Bosco would have simply dispatched him and been done with it.
Hannibal listened as Murdock put his hands over his ears and began singing John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt at the top of his lungs, to drown out B.A. All that time, however, he was backing gingerly toward the cockpit, and Face was standing up, digging in his coat pockets, patting himself frantically until he finally found what he was looking for.
"I won't fly this plane! It's not fit for flight! I'm not fit for flight! You know I'm clinically insane! I once tried to fly off a roof on a mattress, and I s'pect it'd've been safer'n this thing" Murdock yelled, having given up on John Jacob Jingelheimer Schmidt. He started singing Dixie, instead, still backing away from B.A. He was into 'Way down yonder in the land of cotton…' when Face moved with the syringe, jabbing quickly into the back of the sergeant's neck. B.A. exclaimed loudly, raised his fist to punch Murdock, but he was already getting woozy and Murdock had stopped yelling and had strapped himself into the pilot's seat, flipping switches, yelping when alarms began blaring and shutting them off before anyone could freak out. He had pulled his cap on before Baracus' knees hit the floor and the large Sergeant fell on his face, snoring.
"Close the hatch, dammit!" Murdock yelled at Face. "We got visitors!"
Several Jeeps, filled with enraged drug dealers, were rattling across the cracked tarmac, firing wildly. Murdock said a quick prayer to St Joseph of Cupertino—even though he was a staunch Protestant—and fired up the engines, watching with bated breath as the propeller started turning, sputtered briefly and then began turning at an acceptable rate.
"Can you get this thing off the ground?" Hannibal yelled, as surprised as Murdock when the engine roared to life.
"I'll do it even if it hare-lips ever' mule in Texas, Colonel!" Murdock yelled back, giving him a jaunty thumbs-up. The engine didn't sound happy, but he wasn't expecting it purr like a kitten, and besides, who'd want to fly a kitten?
He hit the gas, felt the Cessna wobble—never a good sign, on the ground—and floored it. The Cessna lurched forward, fairly bouncing over the grass-grown cracks on the tarmac as it gained speed. "This ain't gonna be pretty. Get your heads down…with our luck, a T-Rex is gonna burst outta them woods right about…now!" He pulled back and gave a loud Tarzan yell when the plane defied gravity and took to the sky, missing the Jeep and the terrified men below by a mere six feet, climbing slowly but steadily into the blue. Murdock started singing Dixie again, and was soon joined by Face, who checked Baracus to make sure he hadn't hurt himself in the fall. The sergeant was still sleeping soundly, and Peck grinned at Murdock.
"That, Captain, was sheer genius," he said.
"Hey, man, you ain't the only conman in these here parts," Murdock grinned back.
"What'll be sheer genius will be explaining this to B.A.," Hannibal said, shaking his head and lighting a cigar.
"Or these cracked ribs and this shiner to Alexandra," Murdock said, shaking his head. "She'll have a fit."
"Ah, well, you can just get her pregnant again," Face grinned.
"Are you kiddin'? She's already pregnant again!" Murdock crowed and breathed a sigh of relief before banking toward California. In a few hours, they would be safely across the border, and B.A. would be waking up. Murdock figured he'd have to fire up the oven and make some coconut curry tapenade, to calm him down.
"Good God…" Hannibal shook his head, but he was pleased. He had been touched when he'd been asked to be godfather to Murdock's first son, and Face was godfather to the second. He knew James and Alexandra were hoping for a little girl now, and Hannibal figured B.A. would get godfather honors this time, regardless of the baby's sex. Even Nick seemed to consider it fairly inoffensive to have a baby sister, as he now had two baby brothers to play with.
"He is good, ain't He?" Murdock laughed. "I'm getting' rich—no amount of money can buy a good woman and pesky little kids! Hey, Facey, strap Bosco in, will ya? I wanna see if this ol' rustbucket can do some flips!"
Face and Hannibal looked at each other, then at Murdock, and shouted in unison.
"NO!"
THE END.