Chapter Ten

January 6, 1970

Eyes closed, Hannibal ran through his mental checklist again. Peck, Callaghan and Baracus were in their cell. Frustrating as hell, but little surprise, Murdock, now housed by himself, had been taken again. Brenner, who'd miraculously been moved to Hannibal's cell, was back from his last interrogation. The man was stiff, sore and bruised but still full of piss and vinegar. Hell, Ray was holding up better than the rest of them, but the colonel didn't have any doubt his current 0-2 could manage. Face, on the other hand...

He tilted his head back, resting it against the stone wall and let a long sigh roll out.

This was a harsh break-in period for the cocky lieutenant. Yeah, Hannibal had planned on testing the kid out by sending him up shit creek a few times after Brenner left, but he'd never planned on sending him this far. If Peck made it out of this alive with any of the men currently under his command, he'd have more than proved himself to Hannibal.

Shit, if Face managed that, he'd be doing a hell of a lot better than Hannibal.

He opened his eyes and glanced over at Dom. Curled up, arms tucked up against his stomach, the man gave a soft, fevered groan as he slept. The swelling in his hand had worsened. The purple, glossy skin was pulled too tight. His fingertips were dark, pooling with the uncirculated blood trapped in his hand. For Dom, time was running out.

And then there was Murdock...

There probably wasn't a single person in the whole damned place who Hannibal had failed more. Sure, he'd never promised the kid anything, but he sure as hell still felt he owed him so much more than he could or did give.

Not even the distraction of revealing his rank of colonel had saved the pilot. Hell, he thought Chow would've gone for that. Instead, Hannibal's interrogations were mere child's play compared to whatever they served up to Murdock. The thing was though that Hannibal hadn't a clue exactly what they were putting his captain through. No one did. All they knew were the screams they heard and the few glimpses of the crazed pilot they managed to catch as they guards hauled him away from or to his cell.

On top of everything else, Hannibal had lost track of Murdock's crew chief, Olsen. The best case scenario was that the man was in the freshly dug prisoner pits outside. The guards had been shifting men around, taking a lot of guys out to the pits, making it hard to keep track of who was still alive, who'd been shipped to another camp and who'd just died off. Apparently, Chow finally figured out that separating up the larger groups of POWs was to his benefit. Well, the man wasn't swift, but he eventually caught on.

Henderson and his two men had been moved as well. Hannibal had gotten word that they'd been moved to a cell across the hall. So far, they were fine. Henderson was still managing to run the roost through his coded taps. For Hannibal, that was all well and good. There was no point in taking over when his main plan lay in escape. His only regret being that he wouldn't be able to take every prisoner with him. That possibility he'd had to rule out early on, but he could give detailed blueprints of the camp to the brass when he got back. A rescue operation could be mounted.

"Is this a solitary pity party, or can anyone join in?"

Hannibal blinked, looking over at Ray. He hadn't realized the man had been awake let alone watching him.

"And what makes you think this is a pity party?" It was, sort of, but he'd be damned if he was willing to admit it. Ray's ability to sense these things was annoying as hell, and yet it made him a damn fine 0-2.

"Well...I doubt it's a birthday party," Ray replied, a sad smile in place.

"Christ, don't tell me it's your birthday." Wouldn't that have been the icing on the cake? Especially if Brenner had actually expected Hannibal to remember it, but the man usually wasn't that sentimental about these things, so the colonel doubted it.

"Nope." Ray scooted closer. "It's Trish's. Well, at least I think it is...if I kept track of the days right."

Shit...

For a long while, neither man said anything.

"When we get back..." Ray shifted his stare, peering at the far wall, lips turned upward in a faint smile. "...you're going to have to tell her I remembered her birthday. Seems like I forget it every year. Must be the first time I didn't." Tilting his head, he looked back at Hannibal. "She won't believe me unless I get you to back me up on this one."

In another time, another place, Hannibal would've chuckled over that, but not here, not now. It was another weight placed on his back, another person depending on him, and he couldn't think of one goddamned plan to get them out of this hellhole—not one that would work anyway.

"I'm getting home." There was no doubt in Ray's tone, no question and absolutely no room for misunderstanding. "Whether it's a plan you make, or we have to wing it, I'm getting back to Trish, and that's not all on you. We're a team...one of the best damn teams I have ever had the privilege of serving on. So, are we going to figure this out, or are we going to continue moping?"

Hannibal did give a chuckle this time, but it was a dry, unamused thing. "If you've got a plan, I'd love to hear it."

He looked back at Ray but the wrinkled brow hinted that he, too, had nothing. It was then that the sound of a scuffle and a cascade of screams and sobs filled the silence.

Both Hannibal and Ray tensed, easing into crouches, ready to move if needed. Dom's eyes opened, his head lifting for a few seconds before he lowered it again, but he kept his fearful, glossy gaze directed at the door.

The movement coming down the hall was slow, as the grunts and wails drew closer at a snail's pace. Hannibal finally dared to get to his feet, to approach the door and use the small hole in the wood to look out. It might've earned him a jab to the face, but he'd chance it this time.

As soon as he looked out though, he regretted doing so.

Four guards—it took four guards to escort the weakened man back to his cell. There was no strength in his fight, Hannibal could see that. The strikes were sloppy, the kicks weren't aimed properly, but it was the pure unending fury of the scuffle that had them needing so many men to contain Murdock.

Eyes wild, wide and unfocused, the man snapped and growled between his sobs and soul-shattering screams. A froth of saliva coated his chin and sides of his mouth as his long limbs twitched and jerked with each attempt he made to attack his captors.

Hannibal watched the procession go by before he slunk back to his previous perch within the cell. Ray did the same, slowing slinking down beside the colonel, remaining silent.

There was no denying what they both had to be thinking at that point. Murdock was a lost cause. The thought made Hannibal sick, but he couldn't keep ignoring it.

"We could gag him, haul him..." Ray offered, but even that was a halfhearted suggestion.

If they did manage to escape, they'd be slow enough without having to carry along a man who would be fighting them every step of the way. Plus, if the gag came loose, he'd have every NVA soldier in a five mile radius on them.

"No."

That one word silenced Ray again. They both knew. It was Hannibal's decision, and it was the right one, but, hell, that didn't make it any easier. So much for 'leave no man behind.'

There'd be no easy way out of this one.

A few faint taps had Ray scrambling toward their designated communication area on the wall. Head pressed to the stone, he closed his eyes as he listened.

"It's a message from..." His pause had Hannibal fidgeting. Whoever it was, Ray hadn't been expecting them in the least—that much was for sure by the wide-eyed way he deciphered the message and by the way he seemed to be replaying it in his head before relaying it to Hannibal. "...Murdock."

Hannibal raised a brow. "You sure?"

Head still pressed to the wall, Ray offered a nod as he continued to listen.

"He overheard some guards during his last interrogation. On the morning of the eighteenth..." Ray paused again, waiting for the rest of the message to be tapped out. It was a long process, one hindered by the abbreviations the men used. It took time to puzzle out some of the information. "...our team will be moved to..."

God-damn the delay! It took everything Hannibal had not to crawl forward and push Ray aside to take his place. Not that doing so would've made the message come any faster, but his impatience at finally almost having information that could help them was mounting at an exponential rate.

"Pho Ly Nam De?" Ray glanced back at Hannibal.

"Alcatraz." He answered simply, watching Ray's shoulders slump a bit at the reply. Only an idiot would've taken a move to Alcatraz as a good thing. Hannibal grinned. It didn't sound so bad to him, but maybe he was an idiot. "Tell Murdock he did good, and ask him..." Hannibal hesitated, not sure how to word this next part. "Ask him how he'd holding up."

Ray was quick to send the message out, but the response was slow in coming and not what Hannibal had hoped for.

"The guys in the cell next to Murdock's say he won't respond. He just went dead silent. You want them to keep trying?"

"No. Give it a rest. Maybe he'll try and contact us again later." Though Hannibal doubted that, but Murdock had already given them just what they needed—an opportunity. "Today is the sixth, right?"

Mouth pursed, Ray sat up. "Yeah, I think so. Trish's birthday."

"So, we've got about twelve days to plan..." And twelve days to try staying alive, but Hannibal didn't add that part. Cogs already turning, he leaned back as the plan started to form. It might not be pretty, and he'd have his ass chewed if they did make it back, but it would work.

"Ray, send a message to the boys. Tell them I've got something cooking and I really enjoyed their first stockade scam at Phan Rang. That had to be one of Face's."

"The one where they all feigned food poisoning? I don't think we have to fake that here."

"Nope," Hannibal grinned, "but we do have to make the guards think that we're weaker than we are."

Ray nodded, but he looked far from convinced. "And after that?"

"One step at a time. After all, we have twelve days still. Leave the rest to me." Hannibal's grin tightened. "This will work."

But there was still a questioning look in Ray's eyes, something he needed to know but couldn't bring himself to ask, and Hannibal had a good idea what that was.

"...for all of us. Murdock included," Hannibal added.

Ray tilted his head, a slight smile on his face. "Good." And with that he settled down to relay Hannibal's message to the others as the colonel started fine tuning the details of his plan.