Chapter One
Vietnam June 1969
"Down!"
The hissed command registered about the same moment as the screaming whistle of the mortar. Face hugged the nearest treeline and hit the ground. BA did the same in front of him, M16 held ready. Always. Face ducked his head against the debris pelting down around him, taking it on his back, on the top of his helmet, something trickling past the neck of his BDU.
He hit the dirt as the earth rumbled beneath him again and struggled to keep his helmet on as another grenade went off. More debris rained down like a monsoon, heavy as a thick blanket dropped over him, too thick and fast to see through. Beside him, Hannibal fired off a short burst through the trees. Squinting and wiping mud from his eyes, Face got his elbows under him and shuffled into a better position to return fire.
"North twelve degrees, forty minutes, twelve seconds! East one hundred eighty degrees, three minutes zero seconds! Sandy's coming behind him." BA was yelling, briefly audible over the explosion that went off almost fifty yards too far to the left.
"Landing zone hot!"
Even over the constant exchange of fire, Face heard the dry click of Cruiser's rifle and the staff sergeant growling. "Fuck, Colonel. What happened to this exit strategy of yours?"
"Keep your shorts on, Cruiser." Hannibal exchanged nods with BA as the corporal slammed the radio phone down before looking back at Cruiser. Even covered in mud and dirt clods in the pouring down rain, Hannibal had the audacity to smile all bright eyed and suicide cocky. "Have a little faith."
"Faith?" Cruiser shouted back, hand wrapped around a grenade. "I'm a goddamned devotee!" He hurled the grenade up, over the wall of dirt and mud into the field where those bastard gooks were, not even bothering to see if he managed to take any of them out.
"How about you guys have faith." Face snarked, taking a second to aim at the spot where he'd seen a hint of a flash. Sniper. And one clip left; not the time to be sloppy. Now was the time to breath. To force the chaos raining down around him out until he couldn't hear it, couldn't see it, couldn't smell it. And just breath. Timing the shot in the lull between breaths, Face pulled the trigger. Allowing himself a second to gloat when the bullet hit home and limp body fell from the trees like a busted pinata. It was Face's turn to smile at Hannibal. "I'd rather have a chopper"
Right on cue BA slid to his knees next to Hannibal. "He three minutes out and he's comin' in looking for smoke!"
Three minutes. For a moment Face remembered when three minutes seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. When he'd been feeling up Martha Stecken in the coat closet, the hours he'd spent on the sand dunes overlooking the Pacific. Even the unending sermons on uncomfortable pews made three minutes seem like a tick of the second hand.
Now, in the middle of a noname rice paddy, in nowhere fucking Vietnam with the VC army trying to shoot their heads off, just minutes away from being overrun by Charlie, you could live and die several lifetimes in a whole hundred and eighty of those simple second hand ticks. And it left him with nothing but a far off sense of calm seeping into his core.
No regrets.
"That's a great fucking plan!" Cruiser snapped. "Everyone and their goddamned mother is looking for smoke out here."
"That's why I have a plan."
BA, and Cruiser groaned in unison. Was it wrong that he was more worried about the sudden shit eating grin that split Hannibal's face then he was about the VC?
Hannibal checked his ammo belt, only two clips. "Hey kid, remember the latrine scam you pulled on Lieutenant O'Rourke in Bravo company?"
"With the bubbles and the stink bomb?" Of course he did. The divide, divert, and attack was a classic. But the hell of a lot of good that did them way out here in the paddy's up to their nipples in gooks.
"Good." Hannibal didn't elaborate like Face would have wanted. No. His grin just extended from cocky to extreme as he tossed one of the clips to Face. "Dig in and hold them back for sixty seconds. Then sit tight 'til Murdock gets here." The smile was gone and stone cold command was in its place. "I've gotta go pop some smoke."
"Ah-" Face started to protest, to push himself up off the dirt and demand clarification. But before he had time to argue Hannibal was gone and Charlie was raining down his wrath with another mortar round.
"Great." Face slammed the fresh clip into his rifle, index finger sliding home next to the trigger, right where it belonged. Already beginning an internal count to sixty. Then Murdock. Then they were home free.
XXXXX
Sweat and rain running down his neck and back, BA didn't move. Hannibal said dig in and wait. So that's what they were doing. Kneeling in mud that went up to his thighs, bugs that thought he was a lunch buffet, snakes, bombs, and to top it all off, he was waiting for a flying metal death trap; even the damn weather was trying to kill them.
Better than Chicago. One step in the wrong place there and you end up dead. Least here he wasn't alone. Even if he didn't know where Hannibal was or have a clue what the colonel was off doing or what his plan was, it didn't matter. Simple fact was he didn't need to know. He knew the end game. The rest didn't matter. Hannibal would come up with something. They would do it.
Simple.
He wasn't expecting the sudden cutting explosion of an M16 from the other end of the LZ. Hannibal. No question about it. And it made sense in a crazy kind of backwards way. Charlie was gonna go running for him, swarm the position. Before his thoughts finished and with barely a pause in the shooting, red smoke billowed up from where Hannibal had to be.
Every gook in the area would have that spot in their sites. Hannibal and his one man army was a sitting duck. His jive plan better be real good.
"BA!" Face's yell had BA ducking and twisting towards him. BA didn't get a chance to ask what. Face was looking at him with one of those rare, real looks.
"Tell Murdock to land on the south end of the LZ." BA stared at Face. South end? That's where they was at. Cliffs on one side, a steep drop on the other, and the rest surrounded by grass, trees, and VC. Ain't no sane pilot gonna make that landing. And it was dead opposite of where Hannibal popped smoke. Didn't make no sense.
"Trust. Me."
Maybe it was the look, or the way he was almost begging, more likely it was the fact Face had earned that trust, either way BA nodded and made the call.
Murdock's voice crackled and snapped over the line. "Roger that."
BA shook his head, dropping the radio back in the pack. Murdock didn't ask any questions. It didn't matter if he had told the fool to land in a lava pit. What the team asked, Murdock did. No questions. Now, all BA had to do was trust that he could get them out of here without killing them all in a fiery crash. Truth was, Murdock was the only fool pilot BA did trust to get them out alive.
Good thing too, 'cause once he got out of Vietnam, BA Baracus was never flying again.
Like Murdock could read BA's thoughts, the steady thump thump of a Huey sounded over the battlefield snap, crackle, pop, and kabooms. It was the sweetest music any grunt could ever hear. Like a hawk dropping in for the kill, Murdock's chopper swept in over the tree line. Wouldn't have much time. Less than a minute. If they were lucky, and this mission they'd been anything but. Charlie knew they'd been tricked.
"Move out!" Face yelled above the din, not waiting for Murdock to bring the wobbly chopper to the ground. Huey still buffering in the wind, they were moving, in an order more basic to the unit than their heartbeat; Ray and Cruiser on point, BA and Face brought up the rear at a six second count. BA was running towards chopper in a low hunch, Face behind him, rifle at the ready, surveying the treeline for any threats. It was just a second before BA stopped to turn, taking over rear guard so Face could leap from him that BA saw it. That thing those flying beasts always did that he hated so much. As Ray and Cruiser jumped onto the skids - it bounced and swayed under their weight for one terrifying second before Murdock steadied it out.
Swallowing the fear before it could bubble up and take more of a stronghold than the entire VC army that was going to be knocking on their doorstep with parting gifts of shrapnel and bullet holes, BA let his training take over. Face leap frogged, and then it was nothing but BA running and the gunner keeping a watchful eye on that haunted treeline and he was in. Safe and sound, heart pounding in his ears louder than the thumping of the rotors, with the rest of them in a flying coffin.
Hannibal.
Murdock was already gaining altitude, trying to get the chopper out of danger. The ground was clear and it was time to go. But they were a man light. Face was scrambling over to a crewman, grabbing at the spare headset.
The big 50 cal was roaring, trying to keep the VC from getting the rockets and mortars aimed at the chopper. Combined with the engine and rotor noise there was no way to hear what was going on. Cruiser and Ray sent him hard questioning frowns, but he had no answers. Instead he was relegated to watching a quick, franticly animated conversation that he couldn't hear, with them. It wasn't until Face tossed the head set aside and scrambled to the storage box where the McGuire rigs were that he knew what was going on.
Shit.
BA had the most time and experience in the rigs. That was part of the reason why he hated flying. Spend some time as a sitting duck dangling from a wire, while snipers take aim and pilots smacked you into trees and it didn't take you too long to learn to hate the things.
But if someone needed to go in a rig to get Hannibal, BA was the logical choice. Dropping his hand on Face's shoulder, he got the younger man's attention. For a second it was just the two of them looking at each other. Face's eyes burning with a cold, hard, edge that was shocking to see, if you didn't know him. It was a look that let you know where Face's true loyalties lie.
Finally, Face nodded and handed him a rig. BA was hooking it on, stance wide to keep his balance as Murdock threw the chopper around in sharp zigs and zags, keeping them from being shot out of the sky. They were coming back around to the tree line to the East of where Hannibal had popped smoke. If he had gone this way, there was only one place he could be. The trees.
Between the rain and the wind alone there was no way anyone would survive a trip on the rig into the chopper, not to mention when under this much heavy fire.
Unless.
Just as he was adjusting the last strap, Face put a hand on his chest, giving him the 'in a minute sign'. Murdock was struggling to hold position as Face dropped an empty rig over the side, into the trees. Someone had it and was strapping in, just as all hell broke loose on either side of them.
Flames and a fireball of heat and light shook the ground and came rushing up towards the chopper. The entire world within a few miles shaking under the rapport.
The Sandy's - air support on a bombing run. Hannibal had to have called it in, Murdock must have known it was close. And the chaos it left was going to be their only chance to get Hannibal in.
It would have worked too. But Hannibal caught something - a bullet, shrapnel - something that had him twisting in on the wire and flipping back, twisting, and ending up upside down with the harness half dangling off.
BA was never quite sure how he got there, but seconds later, he was dangling outside the chopper, dropping as fast as he could, ignoring that sickening feeling of freefalling.
He could see Hannibal. Letting his weight shift like a child pumping their legs on a playground swing, BA created torsion. Enough to have him swinging with the chopper close to Hannibal. One, two, no - three tries and he finally managed to snag Hannibal's shirt. Using it to pull the colonel upright. Please, God, don't let their lines tangle. With every ounce of strength he had, BA managed - painstakingly slow - to get his hands on the final piece of Hannibal's rig. Over the roar of the chopper blades twenty feet above, the wind, the adrenaline, the shots whizzing past his ears, over it all, he heard that small, glorious click of Hannibal's rig snapping securely on the line.
They were swinging and dragging over top of the jungle, faster, but smoother than a few seconds ago and gaining altitude. Murdock was hauling them away from the heat of the fight. Reaching up, BA tugged Hannibal's line, signalling the crew inside the safety of the chopper to pull him up. Suddenly Hannibal's muddy and bloodied hand snagged BA's wrist.
No you don't, man. There was no way BA was going up before Hannibal this time around. But instead of an arguing look, BA was met with hard blue eyes that he could all but feel even if he couldn't define it. It was gratitude and reassurance, something close to pride, but so much more. Something that BA couldn't quantify but he also couldn't argue.
Way too slow they began to move upwards. Hannibal first. It took an eternity for Face's and Ray's hands to pull him into the chopper. BA kept his eyes on the spot where Hannibal had disappeared. Not at the ground far below him or the landscape rushing past so fast that it blurred, or at just what falling from this height, at this rate of speed would do to him.
He was just a few feet from the wide door of the chopper, home sweet home that was so much better than dangling in the air on glorified yarn, when the line stopped. Gears grinding and the line not moving. It was stuck, he was stuck. Shit.
Before that fear of falling, being shot and dangling at twelve thousand feet, or plummeting to his death far beneath him could grow from seedling thoughts in the back of his mind to full blown irrational terror that paralyzed him, Face appeared over the edge. Thank God. Thank you, sweet Jesus. Face had his shirt wrapped around his hand, grabbing at the line and pulling.
But nothing happened. The gears didn't start moving, the line didn't get pulled up. Nothing. Nothing. And that fear was growing, from seedling to sapling, to full grown redwood.
Then Ray and Cruiser were there, hauling and dragging, their entire bodies straining and pulling themselves and him back into the chopper, and not stopping until that wonderful, dirty, hard metal deck of the chopper was under him.
Rolling onto his back, BA's eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling of the chopper, not even trying to catch his breath. His hands were shaking with adrenaline. So much so that he couldn't even help with Ray and Face grabbed him under the arms and moved him to the wall of the chopper. Getting him out of the way so Cruiser could work. Face made quick work of unclipping the harness and getting that piece of devil's work far, far away from BA.
Cruiser was checking Hannibal over. Ray pulled Cruiser's med kit over to him, opening it up as Cruiser was ripping Hannibal's fatigues open. Surveying the damage. There was no talking. There never was. Cruiser knew his role, knew exactly what he had to do and the focus it took to make it happen in these settings. Moving on autopilot from his kit to Hannibal and back again and again.
BA pulled himself up as Hannibal yelled something in Cruiser's ear. Something that had Cruiser frowning and looking like he wanted to hit something as he retorted a very clear "fuck off" back at Hannibal who was grinning like a bastard.
Closing his eyes and breathing through his nose, BA let everything wash over him. Almost dying, killing, bullets, blood, dropping, falling, flying. It was all over, all done.
No regrets.
"Hey, Cruiser." Ray said, breaking the silence that had fallen under the steady thump of the rotors. "What did he say?"
"What the fuck do you think he said?"
For a moment, a fraction of a second that seemed to hang in time beyond its length, they all looked at each other. Then they answered in a unison normally reserved for barber shop quartets.
"He loves it when a plan comes together."