CHAPTER TEN

Vietnam

August 27, 1968

Face dozed lightly - one might even guess comfortably - on the ride to Da Nang, barely acknowledging the stops along the way to finish the supply run. He was thinking about his new challenge and planning his move. Even more interesting to consider, he was wondering if Cipher would be doing the same thing. Face had always liked a good bet, and he could see that Cipher would be a worthy opponent. He didn't know if the guy had any real interest in the blonde. But one thing was for damn sure: Cipher had an interest in winning. That suited Face just fine. He was just as motivated.

The ride was uneventful. Face led the way once they parted with the chopper and headed to the motor pool. They arrived only a few minutes later at a large, unremarkable building that had once been a hotel and had since been turned into something entirely other. He smiled as he looked over the new additions that had been haphazardly constructed in his absence. The place was American born and bred, and continued to exist on the basis of the fact that any Vietnamese who came within a hundred yards was either escorted, lived and worked there, or was shot after a single warning.

It wasn't entirely legal - what the hell was? - but so far, the brass had made the corporate decision to look the other way. It existed now with swimming pools, tennis courts, and a bar that was well stocked with American beer and top shelf liquor. The place could afford it. It was really its own little self-sustaining community. And it was impressive. There was no place like it anywhere else in Vietnam.

"Drinks are on me," he offered with a grin.

He grinned at Cipher's expression - clearly impressed - and flashed a smile at the two men who eyed them up and down as they got out of the jeep. The scrutinizing looks of both men quickly turned to answering smiles, and Face stopped for just a few seconds to shake hands on the way inside. He knew them. They knew him. This place was probably the closest thing Face had ever had to a "home."

"Where the hell have I been all this time?" Cipher muttered to himself as he followed Face into the air conditioning. "You come here often?"

"Anytime I'm within range of Da Nang, yeah." He walked to the bar, and waved to the young Vietnamese bartender. "It beats the whorehouses and shitty beer in town."

He exchanged greetings with the man at the bar in fluent French, and a moment later, there was a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, and two beers in front of them. "Shit, man, that's real beer."

Face smiled as he poured the first shot. "And real Patron." He set the bottle down and glanced at Cipher, raising his glass. He decided against mentioning that actually, this place was part of what had obliterated his clean military record. Frankly, he was surprised no one had made any real effort to shut it down.

Cipher raised his glass, threw the drink back, and reached over to pour another. "God damn. It's been a while since I had a real drink."

Face swallowed the shot, chased it with cold Budweiser, and smiled as he leaned on his elbows on the bar.

"So let me guess," Cipher started, eyeing him suspiciously. "There's a reason why you're known around here."

After only a brief hesitation - no point in denying it - Face shrugged. "It's a good setup," he explained, watching his glass as he traced an index finger around the rim. "The whores here are clean and paid to stay that way, over and above what the guys drop on them. But that gets to be a problem when their payroll can get traced back to the source and even more of a problem when that source has to explain where the money came from. And a lot of people wanted to know."

"So they got a fall guy for the paperwork and look the other way," Cipher assumed.

"If they wanted to shut this place down, they could do it in a heartbeat," Face admitted. "They don't need a fall guy. The fact that they had one and chose not to use the opportunity says they probably appreciate this place as much as the next guy."

Cipher tossed the second shot back and cracked open the beer. "So where'd the drugs come into play?" he prodded.

Face shrugged. "Money's got to come from somewhere," he admitted freely. "And it's all part of recreation."

"You still making money off of it?" Cipher pressed. "Or did the court martial pretty much take care of the profit margin?"

Face laughed, and glanced over at him. "You think I was lining my pockets with it?"

Cipher raised a brow. "Weren't you?"

Face was amused by the thought. With a grin, he grabbed the bottle of tequila off the bar and held it up by the neck. "You know how much this bottle costs?" he challenged. "After basic transport fees to get it from here to there, paying someone for the risk to slip it through customs, bribes for customs to make sure that happens, paying someone else to get it off the plane and out to this club, more bribes on hand for anyone who might think to check what's being transported..."

He set the bottle down again as he trailed off, then continued on a different note. "And that's not including what it costs just for the basics to keep this place running. That bartender," he pointed, "is paid almost as well as I am, and housed here, and never has a fucking care in the world for who's paying his rent. Because money talks, and as long as they stay well supplied with it, we don't have problems with the VC here. So all in all, that bottle of tequila right there is worth about a month's worth of active duty pay, at least. You couldn't afford it if I - or anyone else here - was lining my pockets."

Cipher nodded slowly as he considered that. "So why do it?"

Face shrugged, pouring another shot of tequila. "Because it's the only fucking thing worth living for."

"Fuck, are you serious?" Cipher finished the beer before looking at Face again, unaffected by the cool dismissal. "You put your ass on the line for what? Thrills of pulling one over? Knowing you're good enough to do it and get away with it?"

Face didn't answer and Cipher's stare hardened. "Or is it more about providing an oasis for everyone you can't save in-country?"

"It wasn't about anyone else," Face corrected with a brief glare. "I wanted this. If other people benefit from it, that's just fine by me. But I didn't do it for anyone but me."

Cipher scrutinized him for a moment, as if unsure whether to believe the lie. Then, finally, he grinned, starting to show the effects of the alcohol as he threw back another shot. "Good," he declared, giving his entirely unnecessary stamp of approval. "'Cause that's the only thing worth doin' it for."

Fort Bragg

January 21, 1972

Hannibal's night had been as sleepless as it was endless. The morning took ages to dawn. Staring up at the dark ceiling with only his troubled thoughts, he wasn't sure he'd had such a long night since his childhood or, at least, his teenage years. Though he hated to admit it, even to himself in the dark where nobody could see, the reality of the situation was becoming increasingly obvious. He didn't know all the details of why they hadn't been cleared yet. The simple fact was, they hadn't. And if they hadn't yet, he had little hope that things might change in the days to come, when he was faced with a new reality of helplessness. When was the point at which it was acceptable to give up hope and take matters into his own hands? Calculating that moment kept his eyes open throughout the long hours between dusk and dawn.

The lack of enthusiasm - to say nothing of confidence - that met him in the morning's meeting with the lawyer had only added to his growing concern. The man spent the better part of two hours running through reasons why it would be in their best interest to take a deal. And they spent that entire time reiterating that it would be in their best interest to have a lawyer who was more focused on finding their orders than getting them a good deal. But Hannibal was already realizing the inevitable. The moment had come when hope had to be relinquished, like it or not.

The conclusion for the lawyer was as simple as it would be for the jury. This was an open and shut case. He was going to lose this case and as unfortunate as that was for him - not to mention his clients - he had already resigned himself to it. It was time for Hannibal to do the same. They didn't have a chance in hell of winning this. It was time to help themselves instead of waiting for help to come through the proper channels.

Realizing that fact and accepting it were two different things entirely. In the jungle, faced with guns and grenades and death on every side, he'd never given much thought to his military career. But the reality of what he was about to do, taking matters into his own hands against the military he had devoted his entire adult life to, sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. He just couldn't relinquish the hope. Not until the very last minute, with the trial beginning in only a few hours, with no change in the attorney's attitude.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider?" Bensen pleaded hopefully. "I can ask for leniency, possibly get your sentence reduced…"

The time had come. And Hannibal knew it.

"You know," he started reflectively, "as thrilling as this trial will be and as confident as you are that you can get us off the hook..." He could feel his team's eyes following him, watching for any move, any sound, any signal that he needed something from them. He didn't. Yet. But he would. They knew that much by his change in tone, and they both sat up straighter in response. As the naïve lawyer turned, studying him curiously, he smiled. "I think I'll pass on the idea of twenty to life in a military prison."

He moved suddenly. Instantly, Face was up and over the table and BA was around it. As Hannibal held one hand over the man's mouth, he put his other arm across his neck. Flailing arms and legs were subdued by BA and Face on either side, and after several long, tense moments, he finally went limp. Hannibal released his grip immediately, not wanting to kill him, and guided the unconscious man to the floor.

"Work fast," he whispered as Face picked up the pen on the table and broke the metal clip off of it, immediately going to work on his handcuffs. "Remember, there's guards right outside the door. BA, help me get his jacket off."

BA didn't ask why they needed the jacket. He just turned the man as Hannibal guided his arms out of the sleeves. By the time he was finished, Face had one of the cuffs undone. With full use of his hands, he reached for Hannibal's. "No, get BA," Hannibal directed. "And then get by the door. Those guards could look in here any second."

They moved to either side of the door. BA and Hannibal stood ready as Face worked on the cuffs until finally, they unclasped from around BA's right wrist. Ducking under the small window in the door, Face moved to Hannibal. Holding his wrists in front of him, Hannibal kept his hands perfectly steady as Face twisted the tiny clip in the lock. Finally, he felt it click. At almost the same instant, the door opened, and two armed guards immediately rushed in.

Stupid. They didn't look first.

Hannibal and BA had a hold of their automatic weapons before they could even think to fire them. Face closed the door, leaving it open only a crack, then walked to the unconscious lawyer, checking his pockets. He found his wallet, and his ID badge, and set both aside as he began stripping the man's shirt.

Both guards were on the floor. Hannibal and BA were armed. None of them spoke as they checked pockets, then began quickly removing the uniforms from the guards. It took only seconds; this trick had been performed on dozens of NVA soldiers in the field, and hundreds of times in drills. Shoving his feet back into his own boots - hopefully no one would look at his feet - Face grabbed the wallet, badge, and clip, and rose to his feet, crossing to Hannibal and BA. A second later, head down, he followed them both into the hall.

Three steps to the left, and Hannibal reached up to pull the fire alarm. The race was on, and they would need as many distractions as they could get.

Moments later, Hannibal stood at the window in the front office, watching as the Jeep pulled up out front. "There's Lynch," he declared, glancing over his shoulder to see how the fire was coming along in the filing cabinet.

"You know, I'm not so sure we should be burning all this," Face said hesitantly, watching as the flames spread from one open cabinet to the next. It had been more difficult than expected to get them to catch, but now the smoke was pouring out the open window as fast as the cold, January air was pouring in. For such a small fire, it was an awful lot of smoke. A perfect distraction.

"These papers could be important, you know."

"Save it, Lieutenant," Hannibal ordered. "We've got bigger problems right now."

"Yeah," BA agreed. "Like gettin' outta here!"

Hannibal put his hand into the cooled ashes of the first papers to burn and smeared his face with the black soot. "Let's go. Heads down, out the back."

Covered in ash and smelling like smoke, the three of them kept their heads down as they stumbled out the door and down the hall, into the waiting arms of three MPs. Coughing hard, all three appeared unable to speak as they clung to the arms of one of the men.

"Get them out of here!"

The lone man rushed them to the steps. Once he was away from the others, safely out of range of the reinforcements, Hannibal suddenly straightened and put him up against the wall with the barrel of an M-16 under his chin. "Make a sound and you're dead."

BA grabbed the weapon off of the MP's shoulder, and then the pistol from his belt. Face took the pistol. If he had to play the part of the lawyer again - and he suspected he might - he couldn't very well do it with an assault rifle. Hannibal turned the MP and shoved him forward, down the stairs. "Move!" he ordered, pressing the barrel of the gun between the man's shoulder blades.

Out the back door, there was no one waiting. They'd all gathered at the front of the building, where the smoke was. "BA, Face, head for the wall," Hannibal ordered. "Stay on the path that's been plowed so they can't follow your footprints in the snow."

"Right," they answered in unison.

"As for you," he shoved the man. "Give Colonel Lynch our regards."

Once he was sure he was disarmed, Hannibal backed away to a safe distance, then turned to run after Face and BA. Only a few yards into his retreat, he turned to look back over his shoulder just as the man disappeared around the side of the building, running as fast as his legs would carry him. A quick, shrill whistle stopped BA and Face in their tracks, and they looked back. With a wave, Hannibal called them back.

They doubled back - on the same path - into the building and back up the first flight of stairs, following Hannibal's lead. At the top of the stairs, they heard the shouts from the men in the burned front room. Immediately and without thought, Hannibal turned into the first door he saw. It was a supply closet - a space that three grown men should not have been able to fit into. Locked in the dark with only the sound of their breathing and the heat of their bodies to take their minds off of the overpowering smell of ammonia and smoke, all three of them remained calm and silent, gripping their weapons tightly against them.

Seconds later, they heard the running footsteps of the MPs heading down to join the search.

"You know, for a minute there," Face whispered, "I really thought you were going to have us run that path all the way to the wall."

Hannibal smirked. "Now that would be silly. That path runs right through the center of the camp."

"Yeah. I know."

"What do we do now, Hannibal?" BA hissed. "They gonna call out the dogs. The dogs will find us."

"I know," Hannibal answered quietly. "But they'll be looking for us out there, not in here."

"Well, they'll come in here when they figure out we're not out there," Face hissed back. "So I sure as hell hope there's still more to this plan."

"There is. Come on."

They opened the door carefully, slowly. Face checked the hall before stepping out and holding out a hand towards BA. "I'll take that M-16 now," he offered, using his other hand to tuck his pistol into the back of his pants, under his jacket.

The entire camp was in chaos. Between the fire, the alarms, the escaped prisoners, the unconscious guards, and the confusion over what the hell had happened, nobody even seemed to notice as Hannibal led BA and Face right out the front door of the building. Most of the crowd was in the rear looking for the men who'd supposedly run to the wall. The others were all inside with the fire, and only a few men were even present to notice as BA jumped into the driver's seat of Colonel Lynch's Jeep and started it up. Face vaulted over the passenger seat and into the back, and Hannibal moved into the passenger seat just as those few men suddenly realized what they were witnessing.

As they reached for weapons, Hannibal hung out the open door as he fired a spray of bullets into the snow just a few feet in front of them. "I wouldn't, if I were you." He smirked at the startled look on their faces. BA pulled away.

Hannibal ducked back inside and unfastened the clips that hooked in above the windshield. "Face, get those windows out and unhook the back," he ordered quickly. "I want this top off."

Face didn't ask why. He reached into the front seat and grabbed the knife off BA's side - on the belt he'd taken from the MP. "Do you mind?" he smiled politely as BA caught his eye in the rearview mirror. He didn't wait for an answer.

A moment later, he'd slit the fabric on both sides enough to pull it from the canvas top. He used the knife to pry the canvas from where it hooked into the back - it was surprisingly difficult to do from the inside - and the top finally loosened. From the front seat, Hannibal was able to finish unlatching it and throw it back, just in time to see that they were being followed.

Face saw it too. "We got company."

"I can't go no faster, man!" BA cried. "It's too slick!"

The glassy, icy surface of the road they'd taken off down, was dangerous - four wheel drive or no. Luckily, it was also dangerous for the vehicles following them. They had a good head start - but there was no way they'd make it to the gate without getting cut off. And the guards at the gate wouldn't let them pass without a firefight.

"Get off the road," Hannibal ordered calmly as he sat down and set the M-16 in his lap.

"Which way?" BA yelled back. He was not as calm.

Just a quick glance up, and Hannibal pointed in the general direction of north. "That way."

He held the bar overhead as they swerved off the road and into four inches of snow. Then, as they bumped and bounced over the uneven terrain - under the snow was an open field if Hannibal remembered correctly - he opened the glove box. The tires had more to grip here, and only the Jeeps behind them would dare to follow, not the patrol cars that the MPs drove.

BA flickered a few nervous glances in his direction as he unfolded a small map of the base. "Okay, so we should be right about..." He reached up and held tightly to the bar again as one particularly impressive rise nearly threw all three of them from the Jeep. "Right about here," he finished, as if the interruption hardly fazed him. "Lieutenant?" The calm in his voice was uncanny, especially against the background of sirens and alarms.

"Yeah?" Face called back from behind him.

"How far behind us are they?"

"Uh... ah... they're... a ways?"

"A ways?" Hannibal asked.

"A hundred yards or so."

"BA slow down a little."

"Slow down?" BA cried. "What for?"

"In the best interest of our tires," Hannibal answered simply. "And wheel axle. Plus you're about to run us right into a ravine if you don't change course ninety degrees."

BA slowed enough to turn the Jeep without rolling it. Heading west now, it wasn't long before they could see the wall. But before they reached it, they would have to get past the three Jeeps full of armed MPs that were heading right for them.

"What do we do, Hannibal?" BA yelled. But he wasn't panicking. Hannibal was glad for that.

"Go around them. Face!"

"Colonel!"

"Up and at 'em!"

Hannibal tucked the map into his pocket - a souvenir from his brief stay at Ft. Bragg - and used the bar to pull himself up. The wind hit his face hard - bitter cold and blinding. "Tires!" he yelled, a simple order at the lieutenant who was already standing beside him. Face had moved to the front of the vehicle, under the bar of the roll cage that separated the two sections. His only balance was from the foot he had hooked under the driver's seat as he braced the M-16 on the windshield beside Hannibal's.

They both sprayed the ground in front of them with practiced, three second bursts. The bullets hit the snow, they hit the grills, and they finally hit the tires of two of the Jeeps at almost the same time. One of them lurched, hit a rock, and careened out of control, smashing into the one they hadn't hit and knocking it off course. The other hit a ditch, and without the tires to buffer the impact, it lurched forward and rolled end over end.

"Hang on!" BA yelled.

Hannibal held the roll cage as BA swerved, going around the mess of vehicles, skidding and throwing up a cloud of snow in front of them. Face held onto him. They made it all the way around.

"What now?" Face asked as he looked back at the soldiers stumbling out of the wreckage.

"The wall's right there," Hannibal gestured, sitting back down.

Face crouched. "Yeah. And unless you're thinking that this Jeep is going to plow through six inches of cement, we need a gate."

"Or we go over the top."

Face stared at him.

Seconds later, BA pulled up alongside the wall. Without conversation, they all stripped their shirts - and Face's jacket - and threw them up over the razor wire before climbing up onto the bar of the jeep and grabbing on. The fabric helped, but the blades still cut into Hannibal's hands as he went first - up and over. He ignored the pain, and the blood, as he dropped into the snow on the other side and looked up. He gave a short whistle - the signal for all clear - and seconds later, BA dropped beside him, followed by Face.

"They're right behind us," Face informed them as he regained his balance. "Fuck! It's cold!" He looked up at the shirts that were hung up on the razor wire.

"They'll be coming around from the gate, too," Hannibal said quickly. "Let's go!"