Chapter Twenty-One
Meanwhile, in the alley, just outside the van, the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral was in full swing.
Sporadic bursts of automatic rifle fire were being met with a single, steady blast of submachine gun fire.
The A-Team's Commander had taken cover behind a sturdy, steel trash bin. He chanced a glance in the GMC's direction. 'Go, B.A.! Go-o!' he silently willed. But the vehicle remained stationary. Why wasn't the van moving? Had its driver been hit? There was only one way to find out.
The Colonel left his protective cover and began jogging over to the stalled vehicle, dodging bullets and firing his submachine gun off from the hip, along the way.
He banged twice on the GMC's roof. Then he slid its side door open and quickly backed aboard. "Get us out of this alley, Sergeant!" he shouted, between machine gun bursts.
The sharp order snapped the still-stunned B.A. back to his senses. "Murdock's been hit, Hannibal!"
Colonel Smith squeezed off another steady stream of bullets and then repeated his command. "Get us out of this alley, Sergeant! Before we all get hit!"
B.A. gently eased H.M. the rest of the way to the floor. Then he straightened back up behind the wheel of his idling van and threw its standard transmission into gear. He showed his rod no mercy, as he pushed the pedal to the metal and popped the clutch.
Tires squealed and the rapidly revved up vehicle went fishtailing off down the alley...and out of range.
The Colonel fired off a final burst and even managed—somehow—to get the still-open side door slid shut, before collapsing onto the floor of the speeding van himself. He had survived the O.K. Corral…but, just barely. "Circle the block, B.A.," he breathlessly requested. "We have to pick up Amy."
And, what about Murdock?
Hannibal got a sudden surge of adrenaline and propped himself up to check out the Captain's condition.
Murdock had propped himself up to check on the Colonel's condition.
They lay there, silently staring at each other. Neither man liked the way the other looked. Both their faces were ghostly pale. Both their foreheads were beaded with sweat and both of them were gasping between rapid, shallow breaths.
"You okay, Captain/Colonel?" they both asked at once, and then exchanged just the slightest of smiles.
Hannibal heaved himself up onto his hands and knees and then went crawling up to their fallen comrade, to administer whatever first aid he could.
"It's just a flesh wound, Colonel," Murdock assured his deeply concerned Commander.
"Right," Hannibal sarcastically replied, "and I've got a bad cold." He un-strapped the first aid kit from the back of B.A.'s bucket seat and immediately went to work.
By the time Baracus had circled halfway around the block, Hannibal had H.M.'s flight jacket off and was successfully stemming the steady stream of blood that was oozing from his ghastly 'flesh wound'.
By the time B.A. had driven completely back around, Miss Allen had arrived and found her car.
"Amy's here, Hannibal," the Sergeant announced and pulled up along side the little lady's little white LeCar.
"Good. Tell her to follow us."
"Follow us where?" the van's driver wondered.
"To the nearest Emergency Room."
Murdock stiffened and then groaned. "No, Colonel! Plea-ease? Don't leave me all alone in a hospital full of strangers!"
"You've lived all alone in a hospital full of strangers for the past decade. Why the sudden paranoia?"
"I wanna stay with you, Colonel! I wanna stay with the team. This is a team. Remember? 'United we stand, divided we fall'. 'All for one and one for all'. Go A-Team! Go!"
"This isn't Nam. Remember? We can't just radio for an EVAC chopper and have them fly in a medic. We have to take you to the medics. It is just a flesh wound. But, it's a nasty one and it's gonna take more than a few stitches to close it up. And I'm not about to ask Amy if she's got a sewing kit in her purse. Get us to a hospital—ASAP, Sergeant!"
B.A. drove off at a rather rapid rate and Miss Allen obediently followed.
Murdock groaned again. This time, in mental anguish. "Paleeee-eeeeze, Colonel? Palee-eeze let me stay with you?" he pleaded, desperately, and gave his Commander the most pitiful, pathetic look he could possibly muster.
The Colonel considered the Captain's plea over carefully, if not clearly. It took a considerable amount of time to sort through his jumbled thoughts. But Hannibal's oxygen-deprived brain did finally manage to concoct a plan. "Okay, B.A., find a phone booth."
The Sergeant's eyes obediently began searching the sidewalks on both sides of the street they were racing down.
The Captain looked hopeful. "Does this mean I kin stay with you guys?"
"Wait 'til we call for the medics," the Colonel advised. "The paramedics, that is." He finished binding up their gunshot victim's wound. "I'll give you my decision after I hear what they have to say."
Murdock remained hopeful…and increasingly concerned about his Colonel's health. He noticed that the Aquamaniac was beginning to look a little blue around the gills. "When was the last time you cough—?"
"—Here's a phone booth, Hannibal!" the Sergeant suddenly interrupted and brought his gradually slowing van to a complete stop.
'Saved by Ma Bell,' the Colonel thought to himself and quickly slipped back out the vehicle's side door.