CHAPTER NINE

Fort Bragg

January 15, 1972

"Would the accused please rise?"

Hannibal stood slowly, offering only a quick glance at the two men who stood beside him. Beyond them, in the small crowd made up mostly of soldiers he'd met in SOG, his eyes locked with one of them. Ray "Boston" Brenner offered a tight smile - an attempt at encouragement - before looking at the long table of judges.

"What does the panel find?"

With a slow, steady breath out, shoulders back and ready for anything, Hannibal turned to face the man on the end who held the verdict in his hand. "Colonel Smith, Lieutenant Peck, Sergeant Baracus..."

He could have heard a pin drop in the room. Another slow, steady breath, and he stood perfectly still, the picture of calm. His thoughts were racing. He knew the verdict before he heard it. There was no one to validate their orders to rob the Bank of Hanoi. With Colonel Morrison dead, Murdock's mind injured beyond his ability to even testify, and no copy of their orders or anyone to verify them, they had only character witnesses in support of their claim.

"It is my duty as the president of this court to inform you that in closed session on secret ballot, all of the members present concur in finding you guilty of robbery and treason."

It was like a blow to the chest, but he'd been ready for it. His expression remained calm.

"You are hereby sentenced to twenty years in maximum security at -"

"Hannibal!"

Eyes snapping open, Hannibal found himself staring at a cement ceiling. Confused and disoriented, he blinked a few times, glancing around him. He was alone in the damp, cold cell. A criminal. In prison. And now he was awake.

"Hannibal, you okay?"

He sat up, swinging his legs down to the floor, and leaned forward, holding his head in his hands. "I'm fine, BA," he reassured quietly. "Go back to sleep."

They'd moved them again after only two days in the same cell and placed them in three adjoining cells. There they'd stayed - mostly without contact with the outside world - for over a month. The interrogations had stopped very abruptly after Downing had thrown up his hands - a move Hannibal suspected was more indignation on his part than anything else. Either that, or it was a tactic of some sort, combined with his long absence since. But without the interrogators to talk to, it was hard to get information. The MPs who brought their tasteless meals knew nothing, and it had been weeks since they'd been updated on the status of the investigation. Where the hell were those damned orders?

BA was snoring again long before Hannibal could even consider drifting back to sleep. The courtroom scene played over and over in his mind. Was it possible that they might actually be convicted? Could his stunning career end in robbery and treason? It was a disgraceful prospect and, more importantly, it made absolutely no sense. He really hadn't committed any crime - at least, not one that surpassed a hundred others he had committed before it. Where was the safety net that was supposed to be in place? They couldn't give details of their classified assignments to a court - even a military court. What the hell were they supposed to do? Sit here and rot?

His thoughts were racing again, as they had been pretty much nonstop lately. Their trial started in two days and they'd not even seen a lawyer. He needed a plan, as much for his own peace of mind as for Face and BA, who were counting on him to maneuver a way out of this. But for the first time in his life, he felt out of his depth.

The cell was dark, but not pitch black. It was still light enough to see the cracks in the ceiling, the shadows of the bars on the wall. Hannibal closed his eyes, lying on his back. He wondered what time it was. It had to be nearing dawn by now. For several long, quiet minutes, he lay still, feigning sleep, trying to trick his mind into quieting down for the night. It wasn't going to happen, and he knew it. But it was worth a shot.

A creak from the cell next to him. Was Face awake? He opened his eyes, but didn't move. He might have just been turning over on the cot. But several seconds later, he heard a deep sigh, and footsteps. The bars rattled just slightly; Face was leaning on them. Hannibal didn't have to see him to know what the scene looked like.

"What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

A sigh. "What isn't on my mind, Colonel?" He kept his voice low to not wake BA again or draw attention from the guards at the end of the row of cells. "You know, of all the crap I've done, the last thing I'd expect is to get locked up for something that was completely legit."

A small smile crept across Hannibal's face. "It is ironic, isn't it?"

The bars rattled again as Face pushed himself away from them. "How do we play this, Hannibal?"

"We wait. They'll find the orders."

That did not satisfy Face any more now than it had in the past several weeks. Hannibal knew it, but he had nothing better right now. "If they could find them, they would've done it already," Face reminded him, not for the first time. "Our arrest wasn't some covert op; everyone knows about it. If someone had those orders, they would have turned them over. Westman would've turned them over. Where the hell is he anyways?"

Hannibal didn't reply.

"Jesus, Hannibal, what happens if they don't find the orders?"

"If they never turn up the orders, Westman can still testify."

"Yeah, so why hasn't he?"

Hannibal laughed, without humor. What the hell was he supposed to say? "Well, then I guess we're fucked. What do you want me to do about it, Lieutenant? You want to go over the wall? The hell with the trial altogether?"

Hannibal knew that his sarcastic tone was not lost on Face; they'd had this conversation before. But Face answered with complete seriousness. "We could."

"Yeah, and we couldget thrown back in here with even more charges against us," Hannibal shot back. "And even if we don't, living the rest of my life as a military fugitive doesn't appeal."

"And you think that's what I want?" Face hissed. "But, Jesus, it's better than the alternative!"

"They'll clear us, Lieutenant," Hannibal said firmly, as if he could speak that outcome into existence by sheer force of will.

"And what if they don't?" Face replied, struggling to bring his frustration back under control. "You keep saying it'll all be okay but nobody's heard a word from Westmanor Morrison. We don't even know if either one of them are still alive and if those orders were on record, they would've been found by now!"

Hannibal hesitated. He'd considered the possibility that the witnesses to their orders were, somehow, killed between then and now. But he wasn't about to admit it.

"I'm not worried," Face lied, trying again to calm his hushed panic. "But you know, even if this all turns into a big misunderstanding we laugh about in twenty years, I'm still stuck in here because of everything else. I mean, exactly how clean did you guys manage to make my record? Because I was under the direct impression that all of that shit could come back and if it does... Hell, they might as well just prep the firing squad."

"None of that was a capital offense."

"Hell, Hannibal, if I've gotta spend the rest of my life in here? I'd rather face a firing squad."

Hannibal frowned. "If they were going to charge you with any of that, they would've done it when they arrested you. Besides, Westman didn't try to cover it up. He got it pardoned. They'd have to come up with something new."

"He got it pardoned conditionally."

"Well, conditional upon this being a big misunderstanding, you should be free to go."

Face growled. "Since when did you have such undying faith in the government to go out of their way to make sure they had the whole story?"

Hannibal's eyes narrowed at the ceiling. "Since when did running become your solution to the problem?" he demanded, pointedly.

"Fuck you!" Face hissed. "At least I'm willing to accept the possibility that we might need a plan! Why can't you?"

Hannibal shut his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. He could ask again what Face expected him to do, but he'd get the same non-answer. Clearly, Face was not expecting a solution. He was right - Hannibal did not feel that the situation was completely out of his hands. Going over the wall was, in fact, an option - a last resort. Hannibal knew this camp well; they all did. For Face and BA, most of their training was done here. And Hannibal had been called here on more than one occasion. He already had several ideas for how they could escape. The problem was... he didn't want to escape. There was absolutely no reason why they shouldn't be able to work it out, to find the orders, to clear their records. But he could say that over and over again until he ran out of breath, and Face still wasn't going to hear it.

"It just doesn't make any sense," Face sighed. "And that's what the foundation of the legal system is based on: logic. If I can't make sense out of it, how is a jury supposed to?"

"You keep staring at the problem, you're just going to make it seem bigger and bigger."

"And this cell smaller and smaller," Face countered, quickly. He sighed again. "I just hope you have a plan for when this whole 'the truth shall set you free' locks us up instead."

Hannibal chuckled. "Like what? Escape? We're back to square one, kid."

"Damn it!"

Hannibal understood his confusion. He understood the frustration. There was nothing to do here but think, and the more he thought, the more his mind wound a path around and around, creating a rut. They were fucked. Face believed that; Hannibal wouldn't let himself believe it yet. Not until he knew for sure. But one way or another, there was no easy solution. There was no viable solution. The ruts wore deeper and deeper.

"Sorry, kid."

"You know, if I had known this was going to happen, I would have spent my last few hours in the free world fucking the hottest thing I could find."

Hannibal chuckled. "Your priorities never cease to amuse me."

"Yeah." Face smiled bitterly; Hannibal could hear it in his voice. "I'm glad my afflictions amuse you." A long pause. Hannibal turned onto his stomach, tucking his arms underneath his head. "What would you have done?" Face finally asked. "And don't say you would've found the papers, either."

Hannibal smiled. But gradually, his smile fell as he considered his response. "I don't know," he finally admitted, quiet and serious. "But I would've rather been anywhere else when they came to arrest us."

Face was quiet. It was several long, silent moments before he spoke again. "Sorry Hannibal," he said quietly, "I wasn't thinking."

Hannibal sighed deeply. "It's alright." It wasn't alright. "They'll get him the help that he needs, whether we're there or not."

No answer. Hannibal didn't expect one. Face didn't want to talk about Murdock any more than Hannibal did. With a deep sigh, Hannibal closed his eyes, letting the thoughts fade away into the darkness. "Go to sleep, Face." He sighed again, and turned to face the wall, hugging himself. "We're supposed to meet that lawyer tomorrow morning. I need you on your game."

"For what?" Face asked hesitantly.

Hannibal stared at the dark wall, well aware of the fact that neither one of them would be sleeping tonight. "Just in case he doesn't think he's up to the challenge."

Vietnam

August 27, 1968

The exhaustion was expected. It was just a standard recon sweep, four nights, never more than a few miles from the base at Lai Khe. A warm up. One that Hannibal had made rather exciting, but still a warm up. That didn't mean Face wasn't ready to drop down dead when he walked back through the gate in the early morning hours of... whatever day it was. He barely made it to the team room before falling facedown, dead asleep on the wooden bunk.

He awoke to someone shaking him. Instantly alert, he reached for the pistol under his pillow. It wasn't there. The moment of panic subsided when he checked the second most logical place – his belt – and found it neatly tucked right where it belonged, jabbing into his side. Confused and disoriented, he realized he didn't need it before accidentally shooting the bastard who'd interrupted his beauty sleep.

Cipher chuckled at his snarl of disapproval before taunting, "Hey guess what this is."

Wondering on what planet a man would appreciate guessing games without being fully awake, he reluctantly rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. Cipher was crouched down beside the bunk, eye to eye with him and holding up a slip of paper for his inspection.

"Looks like a pass," Face muttered, not sure yet whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. He was getting closer and closer to full consciousness, but that hardly meant he was anxious to go booze it up. Another ten hours of sleep would've been preferable by a mile.

"To Da Nang," Cipher said enticingly.

"Nice." Face yawned. "How the fuck are we gonna get to Da Nang?"

"Supply run is coming in thirty minutes," Cipher explained. Face groaned internally. Clearly, this plan had been formulated and was in the execution stage, regardless of his own sleep deprivation. "They just called in."

His brain slowly coming back online, Face sat up and put his boots – still tied to his feet – on the floor. "What time is it?"

"Almost six."

That would be six in the evening, he was pretty sure. It definitely didn't feel like he'd been asleep for 18 hours. It didn't even feel like six. With another yawn, he rubbed his eyes again. "Anyone else going?"

Cipher shrugged. "Who the fuck cares? C'mon, get up."

He stood, and Face tried to roll some of the soreness out of his shoulders. He hadn't moved in hours and the muscles were seized. His head swam as the blood rushed down, and an exaggerated yawn failed to render him more awake. Coffee. He needed coffee.

As Cipher headed for the door, Face ran a hand through his hair and slowly dragged his feet forward, one in front of the other. Looking himself over quickly, he determined there was no need to change - no blood on his fatigues and the others weren't any cleaner. It was enough just to wash his face, shave, and brush his teeth and hair.

By that time, he was more awake. Still, it took him a little longer to conceal his weapons than to accomplish basic hygiene. They weren't supposed to carry weapons in the cities, but Face couldn't have gone ten minutes in this country unarmed if he'd wanted to. It made him paranoid and jumpy about every little thing that moved. He'd risk the court martial before he'd risk being caught unprepared if some VC terrorist opened fire in a crowded marketplace.

Stepping out into the evening haze, he could smell the humidity in the air. Monsoon season was some weeks away from being finished, and it permeated everything in the camp from the muddy paths to the scent of damp, sweaty bodies that hung in the thick, still air. Struggling not to gag on it, Face took in a breath and headed for the mess tent, where he knew he'd find coffee no matter the hour. Several minutes later, to his great relief, he was gulping down a lukewarm cup before pouring another.

"Hey, check it out," a voice behind him said low, and he glanced briefly back at Cipher before following the man's gaze and nod towards a shapely blonde nurse. In an instant, she was assessed, graded, and stamped with approval by Face's raking eyes. Thin but not too thin, tall but not too tall, and with a curious mix of delicate and determined features that made her intriguing.

"Best scenery I've seen in a while," Cipher noted with a grin.

"Hmm," Face acknowledged, sipping his coffee again. Then he added, hopefully, "Almost makes you want to have a night in."

Cipher's smile broadened. "You think you've got a chance with that?"

The challenge in his tone was unmistakable. Curious, he glanced at Cipher and raised a brow in silent answer. Face had no doubt about his chances.

"Fifty bucks goes to the man who lays her before we ship out," Cipher finished, stating the terms.

Face considered it for a moment, then studied her again. That only gave him a few days to work, but he was confident enough. "Alright," he agreed, finishing his coffee with a grin of his own. "Challenge accepted."

Fort Bragg

January 16, 1972

Hannibal's concern over whether or not their young attorney, a Lieutenant Mark Bensen, was ready to cut his teeth on a case like theirs was growing by the minute.

"You say you were under orders?" Bensen asked, feigning interest that didn't quite reach the space behind his eyes. The man couldn't have had more than a year of experience with law, and hadn't even bothered to meet with them until the night before the trial. He was fumbling through a case that had already been decided as far as he was concerned. His disenchantment with this assignment painted the picture of the next twenty years of their lives at least, and it was a mural Hannibal didn't like. This whole scenario was all shades of questionable justice.

Luckily, he didn't have to count too much on this guy. It was easy to prove innocence when one was actually innocent. And maybe he could tell them where the damn paperwork was.

"Yes," he answered firmly. "We were under orders."

"Do you have anyone who could substantiate that?"

"There should be a copy of the orders in Washington," Hannibal shot, slightly annoyed by the disinterested tone the man used. "Go find them."

"We're looking. But so far, there's nothing."

Face frowned deeply. "What do you mean, there's nothing?"

Bensen glanced up, but only briefly. "Just what I said," he replied dismissively. "We haven't been able to find a copy of your orders in Washington."

Face exchanged glances with BA, but Hannibal's eyes remained steady on Bensen. "What about the copy that was sent to General Westman?" he demanded.

"Do you know for sure that it was sent?"

"Of course it was," Hannibal shot back, eyes narrowing slightly. "Why wouldn't it have been?"

Bensen looked away. "Well, because General Westman says he never received an official copy of the orders. And the mission that Morrison detailed to him when he requested your team had nothing to do with the Bank of Hanoi."

Face's eyes widened. "What?"

"Actually, he's being called as a witness for the prosecution."

"What!" BA's response was a bit louder than Face's. He was out of his seat, fists pounding on the table with such force that even the placid attorney jumped.

"I'm sorry," Bensen said without much sympathy. "I thought you knew."

Hannibal lowered his head, studying the table as he repeated those words a few times in his head. No copy of their orders existed. Westman was a witness for the prosecution. Suddenly, what had appeared to be complete incompetence took a new shape: a brilliantly executed plan. They were taking the fall – but for what and at whose order, he couldn't even begin to guess.

"Can they...?" Face was stammering as he glanced back and forth between Hannibal and the attorney, reclining comfortably in his chair. "They can force him to testify against us?"

"They didn't have to force him," Bensen informed. "He volunteered. His testimony was what got them the warrant for your arrest in the first place."

BA was up again with a louder and even more alarmed, "What!" It was difficult even for Hannibal to mask his surprise at that.

Face stared across the table, jaw dropped. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm afraid not."

Quickly regaining his composure, and his control of the situation, Hannibal cast a quick glance at BA to make sure the anger hadn't settled in place of the surprise yet. Face caught his eye, still in full-blown shock. "He wouldn't really testify against us, would he? No, there's got to be some kind of mistake!"

As BA breathed deep, he clenched his fists tighter, seething. With enforced calm, Hannibal folded his arms on the table and leaned forward on them.

"What is Westman going to say?" he asked quietly, looking the attorney in the eye.

"Well, he says he doesn't remember receiving an official copy of the orders," Benseninformed. "But when he spoke to Colonel Morrison - when Morrison requested your team - he'd told him that the mission was to capture an NVA Colonel from his estate near Hanoi."

"That's a lie!" BA yelled. Bensen looked at him as he bounced up out of his chair again.

"Why would Westman lie about that?" Face echoed, confused.

He wouldn't. Hannibal knew that. Westman wasn't the problem here. He had no reason to burn them and if he did, he had better ways of doing it than lying to a military court. That just wasn't something he would do.

"Those arenot the orders we got from Morrison," Hannibal said firmly. "And it's not what Westman told us, either."

"What did he tell you?"Bensen asked with mild interest.

"The general wasn't clear on what the assignment was," Hannibal explained. "But that wasn't unusual. We typically got our specific orders from the camp we were assigned to. General Westman assigned us a camp, then we went there to find out what they needed."

Bensen nodded his head, eyeing them skeptically. "So did you often venture that far into enemy territory without specific orders from your commanding officer?"

The sarcasm in the young man's voice made Hannibal's eyes narrow into slits. "We had orders from our commanding officer to take orders from Colonel Morrison. I don't think he'd have any problem testifying to that."

Bensen held up his hands. "Hey, I'm just trying to figure out where the ball was dropped," he defended. "Because if you guys really didn't do anything wrong, we've got hell of facts standing against you that need some kind of explanation."

"Hannibal," Face's tone was full of worry, "if Westman's going to testify that our orders were to snatch an NVA colonel..."

He didn't finish. He didn't need to. The moment of silence that followed gave Hannibal a chance to work through the theory that he hadn't even wanted to admit having. "It's starting to sound more and more like we were set up, guys," he admitted, sure that Face had already arrived at that conclusion.

"That's right!" BA snapped. "Somebody framed us!"

"If that's the case," Face hesitated, "there's only two people..."

"There's only Morrison," Hannibal corrected. He was absolutely certain Westman would not have been the one responsible for all this.

"Either way, there's not going to be any papers in Washington. At least not the real ones."

Bensen nodded. "I suppose it's a small consolation, but they haven't been able to find any orders to validate Westman's version, either. Though I think his testimony will hold substantially more weight than your own. So unless we can get a copy of those orders you say you got, all we've got is your word against the general's."

Hannibal leaned back. "Alright Bensen. You have sufficiently brightened my day. So what's your suggestion on how to deal with all of this?"

"Well..." Clearly, it was no suggestion he was proud to offer. "We can try to deal."

"You mean plead guilty," Face clarified.

"Which we're not," Hannibal added.

"But can you prove it?" Bensen shook his head. "Because without those papers, nobody else knows anything about those orders."

"Except Murdock," Face mumbled under his breath.

"Who?"

Hannibal sighed deeply, eyes lowered. "Our pilot. Captain HM Murdock."

"Where is he?"

They all exchanged glances. It was BA who spoke first. "He in the psych ward at the VA," he answered. "The man's crazy."

"Do you think he'd be well enough to testify?"

"I doubt it," Hannibal said. His chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back, rising to his feet. "Even if he was - his word won't stand against General Westman's."

"Was he aware of the details of the mission?" Bensen asked. "I would've thought they indicted everyone involved."

Hannibal paced a few steps. "He was just a pilot. Most pilots don't know much about what happens on the ground."

"But you say he did?"

"That's what we said, fool!" BA snapped. "You got a problem with that?"

Face sat up a little straighter, eyes on BA just in case he lost it. They were all on edge, but BA was like a ticking time bomb - in and out of his seat with fists pounding on the table.

"Murdock won't be much help to us," Face explained glancing briefly at the well-dressed man across the table. "He had a crash and was stuck on the ground for a few days with Charlie. He's... pretty messed up from it."

"He's crazy," BA clarified. "You can't put him on the stand to testify!"

Hannibal wandered back from the barred window and toward the door. Two armed guards stood outside. The hallway was empty. He suspected the door was locked, but he didn't check it. "I won't put him through that," he said firmly. "Besides, without those orders it's still his word against Westman's."

"Well, then, we'll need another witness," Bensen concluded. "Who else is there?"

"Well, we've got character witnesses," Face offered.

"That won't count for much when your commanding officer is brought to testify against you."

"He's lyin'!" BA yelled, he pounded the table again as he rose to his feet. "We didn't do nothin'! We had orders, man!" From a few feet behind Bensen, Hannibal glared daggers at him. He caught the look, and sat back down reluctantly.

Face was studying Bensen carefully. "None of us have talked to General Westman since before all of this happened," he said. "But we all considered him a friend. In Hannibal's case, a close personal friend." He paused. "He may be the prosecution's witness, but you can still talk to him, right? Because... he's the best character witness you're going to find."

"Not if he believes that you robbed the Bank of Hanoi while you were supposed to be snatching an NVA colonel,"Bensen pointed out.

"Look." Hannibal turned and locked stares with Benson. "If you have any desire at all to win this case, I would suggest you find a copy of those orders. And if you can't, then you need to find someone else - someone not implicated in all this - who handled them. I don't care who that is. But you'd better find someone."

Bensen stared back. It was clear from the look in his eye that he had very little expectation of finding those orders or, for that matter, winning this case.

"You are our lawyer," Hannibal said flatly. "Figure out what the hell went wrong."