Chapter Thirty-Seven
The prisoners reached the edge of the other side of the roof, the side facing the main gate.
Lieutenant Peck perched precariously on the precipice for a few moments, staring down into the total darkness that awaited them below. 'Nothing ventured nothing gained,' he silently reminded himself. Then he got down on all fours and began backing off the roof. His fingers clawed the soggy shingles, in a desperate attempt to establish a handhold. But it was useless. His nails just scraped along the slick surface and he went sliding over the edge.
Face dropped into the darkness and landed with a loud, metallic 'thud'…on the hood of the General's car.
Several anxious seconds passed. But there were no shouts—or shots. So the sound of his arrival had apparently gone unnoticed.
'Well…that was easy enough,' Peck silently assessed, and smiled at his good fortune. "Pass me the Colonel!" he called up, in a whisper.
Baracus obediently lowered the 'dead man' down from the roof.
The Lieutenant propped the Colonel's limp body up against the windshield and then helped his fellow prisoners down onto the hood, as well.
The thin metal groaned under their combined weight and threatened to buckle. So the trio quickly redistributed it, and themselves, to the ground.
Their unconscious companion was crammed into the car's back seat.
"We'll push it halfway to the gate and then try to start it," Face informed his cohorts, and ushered the one-armed pilot over to the driver's side door. "You get in and steer."
The Captain did as he was told.
His brawn pushed the medium-sized, four-door, foreign—probably French-made sedan across the muddy expanse that existed between the General's quarters and the camp's main gate.
The pair stopped at the halfway point and then piled quickly and quietly into the car with the Captain and the Colonel.
Murdock clambered into the back seat, to give the 'machinery magician' room to work his magic.
But no sorcery was required. B.A. fumbled around in the dark for the vehicle's ignition and discovered that the General's driver had conveniently left the keys in it. "They lef' us the keys, so's we wouldn' hafta hotwire this thing in the dark!" he announced, sounding almost cheerful…well, cheerful for him, anyways. The Sergeant even smiled, a slight unseen smile, at his good fortune.
"How nice," Peck stated sincerely. "Now, let's all pray that this baby's got a brand new, extremely quiet muffler."
Baracus was just about to turn the key—when the kid in the back suddenly gasped and groaned. The big guy's fingers froze. "What no-ow, man?"
"I just thought of something," Murdock answered, sounding utterly devastated again. "The only thing I know how to say is: The General's girlfriend has a headache tonight. And, that's not gonna make any sense no-ow!"
"Man! I knew it!" B.A. grumbled disgustedly. "Fers' we dancin' on the General's roof…an' then we goin' joy ridin' in the General's car! I jes' knew—" he stopped his tee'ed off tirade in mid-grumble and turned to his friend. "You know the lingo!"
"I understand a little Vietnamese," Face confessed. "But I can't speak it. I can't pronounce the words properly. For sure not well enough to get us past the guards. They'd spot me for a phony in one poly-syllable!"
The Sergeant groaned disgustedly. "A migraine!" he glumly grumbled and then stiffened, as another groan suddenly came from the back of the car, this one from the Colonel, who seemed to be coming around.
Face leaned over the front seat and prepared to administer another dose of the Colonel's cough medicine.
"No! Wait!" Murdock exclaimed and latched onto the Lieutenant's wrist. "Maybe he can help us?"
Peck pulled his punch back.
The kid gave the guy propped up in the seat beside him a few shakes. "Colonel Smith? Colonel, wake up! We need you!"
A few more, slightly rougher, shakes and the Colonel coughed and groaned and came completely around. "Wha—Where…are we?"
"We're still at the Hanoi Hilton, Colonel," the Captain informed him. "But, we're just about to check out. Only we had to change the plan a little. We had to steal the General's car. So, now, we need you to convince the guards at the gate that you're the General. Can you do that for us, Colonel?"
Colonel Smith just sat there, breathing hard and moaning softly. "Where…did you say…we were?" he wondered in a whisper, acknowledging the Captain at last.
"We're heading for the main gate, Colonel. And, when we stop the car, you gotta tell the guard that you're General Chou and then ask him to open the gate. You got that, Colonel?"
"I'm the General...Open the gate...I'm the General...Open the gate...I'm the Gen—"
"—One more thing, Colonel," Murdock interrupted the mumbling man. "You gotta say it in Vietnamese."
"Dao khali-nam...Don-chung ngai...Dao khali-nam...Don-chung ngai...Dao khali-nam...Don-chung ngai…"
"Okay. Let's go!" the Captain encouraged.
Face's eyebrows shot up into the middle of his forehead. "You can't be serious! He's delirious!"
"Don't worry. Colonel Smith makes more sense when he's delirious than most guys make when they're stone sober," the kid calmly announced. "Besides, you got another way outta here?"
Peck considered the Captain's question over for a few moments and then turned to his buddy. "Let's go, B.A.," he glumly conceded.
The Sergeant grunted, to show his disgust with the whole affair, and reluctantly turned the key in the ignition. The car's engine caught and then purred quietly, like a kitten. He fought with the unfamiliar shifting lever and finally got the vehicle moving toward the main gate.
The Captain rolled the Colonel/General's window down—but just a crack. It wouldn't do for the guard to get a good look at the officer's non-oriental features.
B.A. rolled the car to a stop in front of the gate.
One of the guards left the dryness of the little building that served as his post and came stepping up to the Colonel/General's side of the car.
While his fellow prisoners held their collective breath, Colonel Smith tried to regulate his. He put a great deal of effort into emphasizing his requested request to the guard.
The soldier stiffened and came to attention. Then he bowed respectfully and motioned for his fellow guard to open the gate.
Sergeant Baracus pressed on the accelerator and drove the car through the opening that had just been so graciously provided for them.
It was a good thing that a steady, freezing drizzle was still falling, and that they had fogged up the windows with their breath, or the soldiers would have seen the looks of disbelief and then relief on the faces of the three escaping prisoners.
The fourth POW had lapsed back into unconsciousness, as they had passed through the gate.
The trio waited until they'd traveled a few more yards outside the camp before daring to exhale—three very audible sighs of relief.
They reached an intersection.
"Hang a left, here," Murdock advised the driver.
B.A. did. Then he glanced in his unseen amigo's direction and got in a sarcastic dig. "Did you understan' any a' that, man?"
Face was forced to smile. "Some," he shyly confessed. "He muttered something about having too much to drink…and then I think he told the guard that he would pluck out his eyeballs, if he didn't open the gate and then forget that he ever saw him tonight."
"That soun's like General Chou, all right!" Baracus dryly admitted. His next question was directed to the kid in the back. "Where do we go from here?"
"There's a railroad crossing about two miles up ahead," the man with the plan readily replied. "We have to stop there and drive the car up onto the tracks."
A long silence followed.
With the plan back in action, the 'brawn' went back to remembering the 'Grunts Motto'…almost gladly!