Evenmoor: You'd actually be surprised with what Sam can remember at times! He can remember some info from previous Leaps without a problem, in spite of his swiss-cheesed memory, and other times he needs some prompting.

Sophia Hawkins: Face's memory is pretty swiss-cheesed right now, although some of the holes will fill with time. He doesn't know what happened in the original history because, in his timeline, it would have happened a few days from the point where Sam took his place - so technically, he hasn't gone through it yet. Dr. Beeks would have to do a lot of work with Face to prepare him so he could handle the news if Al were to share it with him.


Well, why don't you make up your mind? First, I'm crazy, then I'm not. Then I'm crazy, then I'm not. She loves me, she loves me not.

- Murdock, "The Beast From the Belly of a Boeing"


This is great, I'm tuned in to little kids, I'm tuned in to animals, and now the mentally absent. Why not blondes?

- Al, "Shock Theater"

Chapter 3: Shared History

MONDAY, MAY 12, 1986

WESTWOOD

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

5:30PM PACIFIC TIME

"Man, Decker almost had us back there," BA said grimly. Although there was clearly a tone of relief within his voice, there was also a hint of frustration, if not anger as well. It seemed as if he certainly didn't like being chased by this guy . . . this Decker . . . than Sam felt right now.

"Relax, BA. We got away from them," Hannibal said confidently, their recent brush with the MPs not even phasing him in the slightest. "Right now, we need to take Murdock back to the VA. Face, do you still have that lab coat?"

Murdock looked almost like he was beside himself. "C'mon guys, this ain't Facey," he stressed again, hoping that someone would believe him . . . even Hannibal. The Colonel usually could tell the difference between when he was goofing around and when he was being serious, which added to the pilot's frustration with how they didn't seem to believe him.

Sam looked around, totally stumped, but silently praying that they didn't give too much credence to Murdock's claims . . . at least not yet. Out of the corner of his eye, in the back of the van, he spotted the white fabric of the coat most doctors wore while on duty. It was something he had worn himself at one time, although he wondered why such a coat would be doing in a van with these guys. "Uh, yeah. It's right back here."

"Slip it on . . . you're going to have to bust Murdock back in there," the white-haired gentleman ordered.

"Me?" Sam questioned, totally stunned by that directive from what seemed to be the leader among the men that were assembled within the van, and completely unsure of what was required of him.

"Since you were the one who sprung Murdock, they won't ask too many questions if you use that same line you pulled on them to get him back in. If Murdock just walks in by himself one too many times, they'll get suspicious and increase security, making it harder for us to bust him out the next time we need him," Hannibal reasoned.

Instead of replying, Sam obediently slipped on the coat. This Murdock guy in the bomber jacket seemed to see Sam for himself based on how he kept insisting that he wasn't this Face guy, and he was afraid that he would blow it or Murdock would persist if he had said any more. His thoughts raced as he tried to think of some way to deal with this situation . . . on how to get out of this mess if he had to, but one thing kept coming to the forefront. Where was Al?

"But Hannibal . . ." Murdock started to say, his tone reminding Sam of when he was a kid and he continued to try and ask about something even after his parents had told him no.

"Sorry, Captain," Hannibal began to say, looking out the passenger side window as he spotted the front doors to the building that housed the psychiatric ward. "You know as well as I do that if you're gone from the VA for too long, they'll tighten up security and it'll be harder to get you out when we need you."

The quantum physicist felt the van come to a halt. Instinctively, Sam slid the door open and viewed the massive building with a grass on either side of the sidewalk that served as the entrance. He got out of the van and watched as the guy in the bomber jacket did the same, although somewhat somberly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. If he was pouting before, now it seemed like he was really sulking. Seeing that, he got the impression that this Murdock didn't like being institutionalized within a VA hospital, away from his friends until there was the need to bust him out for another mission.

As soon as they both disappeared through the main doors to the VA, Sam heard the familiar echo of the Imaging Chamber door open. He knew that meant that his holographic friend had arrived, although he wished that he had appeared much sooner. He glanced over at Murdock to see if he had heard or seen Al's arrival, and based on the shocked look on his face, he had.

"Albert?" Murdock questioned, rubbing his eyes for a moment, somewhat unsure if the apparition in the white Naval uniform he was seeing was real or another part of his crazy mentality. "Bingo, is that really you?"

Al immediately looked up from the Handlink with his eyes bugged out, just as shocked as the person who just called his name. "Howie? You can see me?"

Even the quantum physicist was clearly stunned by the exchange, looking from Al to Murdock and then back again. "Al, he can see you . . . and you know him?"

"Hey, the big guy doesn't call me a crazy fool for nothing," Murdock said with an innocent smile, shrugging his shoulders almost as if he wasn't thinking much about the presumed insanity.

Sam's original question was not lost on the Observer's mind as he turned to him and answered, his smile brightening as he began to relate, "Yeah, of course I know him. I flew in the Navy, and Howlin' Mad Murdock here was the best pilot in the Army. He and I met in the DOOM Club in Da Nang, which is where we became pretty good buds. Since he was Special Forces, we ran a few aerial missions together."

Murdock knew exactly what Al had meant by that and grinned. "Yeah. I'd have to do a bug out from a hot LZ since I was the only one that could keep my bird in the air, even when she was shot full of holes, and then I'd vector you in for a napalm strike as soon as we lifted off."

"And sometimes you barely got off the ground before I had to light up the place," Al added, the conversation flowing freely with Murdock almost as if the years that separated them hadn't happened at all. "Those were the days, weren't they, Howie?"

"They sure were, Al," Murdock affirmed with a quirky grin of his own. But, there was another question that nagged at him, "Where did you come from? I know it's been more than 10 years, but you look so much older from the last time that I saw you. And what's with the uniform? I hadn't heard much about what's been going on with you since you got repatriated."

"Promotion. I'm a two-star Admiral now . . . me, a guy who thought everyone above the rank of Lieutenant was a horse's ass. Kick in the butt, ain't it?" Al said somewhat jovially, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, almost as if he was in the middle of a reunion with a long-lost brother.

Murdock suddenly had a guilty expression on his face. He and Al had become really good friends and they had promised to keep in touch with each other. His confinement within the VA mental ward made outside contact nearly impossible since his phone line was constantly monitored. Then there were those rare occasions when his unit broke him out for a mission. Unfortunately, once the mission was completed, he had to be returned to the VA . . .

Sam had observed the whole conversation between Al and Murdock, taking it in with interest. Al never really liked to talk much about his time in Vietnam, especially with being a POW, but just listening to him and Murdock talk gave a whole new insight about not only his best friend, but also his flying buddy . . . or as Al liked to call them, his tailpipe buddy. Chances were, with the way they were both talking, they'd continue to go on and on unless he could somehow change the topic of discussion. Sam discretely put a hand up to his face to cover his mouth and muttered under his breath, "Al, he can see the real me."

"Howie, who do you see standing next to you?" Al asked the Army pilot to try and confirm Sam's observation.

"A strange guy wearing the Faceman's clothes. He's got green eyes, brown hair with a little lock of white right here," he noted, demonstrating where it was above the rim of his cap, "and he definitely doesn't have the good looks that Face does."

"Thanks a lot," the Nobel Prize winner remarked sarcastically, trying hard not to roll his eyes.

"Oh boy . . ." Al murmured to himself. He knew that, since he saw Sam for who he was, he had to tell the pilot the truth. With his friend in a mental hospital, he wasn't quite sure how to explain it without sending him off the deep end. "Howie, the person here is Dr. Samuel Beckett. He created an experiment that went, well . . . a little ca-ca. He bounced into the shoes of the Faceman for a little while, and when Sam's done, Face will come back."

"BA and Hannibal saw him as Face," Murdock tried to protest, very certain of what he saw compared to how the others had reacted.

"Bi-polar disorder . . ." Sam blurted out instinctively.

"What?" the Rear Admiral questioned, trying to get his friend to expound.

"He has bi-polar disorder. It's a non-hereditary problem caused when the chemicals within the brain are off, resulting in mood swings and making seemingly sane individuals see and hear things that aren't really there. It never surfaces or is correctly diagnosed with most people, but can be set off in full force by a traumatic experience . . . like a war," the time traveler explained, pacing a bit within the entry of the VA. He then turned to Al and pointed out, "With the right prescriptions combined with psycho-therapy, it's very treatable. In the van, Hannibal had mentioned something about an invisible dog, Billy, but I didn't make the connection until just now."

"What are you, some kind of doctor?" Murdock asked in disbelief, looking at Sam almost like he was the one who was crazy and clearly surprised at that analysis that he had just delivered. The pilot had always been the one with the intellect of a genius on the Team, even though he hid it very well behind the illusion of insanity, so to hear that coming from a complete stranger caught him by complete surprise.

"Sam has seven doctorates. Medicine is just one of them," Al pointed out, trying to get his buddy from Vietnam to relax around his friend. There was a squeal from the Handlink, drawing the attention of the Observer. "Uh oh, Sam, Ziggy says that the two guys that you left in the van are coming inside."

"They're going to be wondering what's taking you so long. Face is normally in and out of the VA pretty fast when he busts me out, so dropping me off shouldn't have been any different," Murdock mentioned.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and paced the hallway again. Not only did he have to deal with someone who could see him for himself, but also the other two from the van as well. "Great . . . if they find both of us here just talking . . ." he started to say.

"Go on. I can sneak back into my room okay. Al, wanna come with and catch up on old times?" the crazed pilot wondered.

Sam looked at Al with an expression on his face that begged his partner not to leave. He needed to get the details about his host, as well as why he Leaped into this situation. Punching a few buttons on the Handlink, Al read the display and told his friend, "Go ahead Sam. I'll catch up with you in a while when you're alone and fill you in on things."

Without even having an opportunity to say a word, Sam Beckett saw his best friend walk down the hallway with the strange pilot in the bomber jacket. Just seeing the two of them talk so casually, almost as if no time had passed between the two, made him wish that he was home . . . back with Al, his friends at the Project, and most importantly his brother Tom. Maybe one day he might make it, but for right now he was stuck in time . . . and often stuck in situations that left a lot to be desired.

Dr. Beckett turned and exited the building just in time. His holographic friend was right . . . the other two were almost at the entrance, and probably would have thought that this Face that he had Leaped into was just as crazy as Murdock if they had seen both he and the Army pilot talking to thin air.

"Man, what took you so long?" BA demanded grumpily, clearly not happy that it had taken this long for Sam to emerge from the building.

"Both Fulbright and Decker suspect that Murdock is still part of the Team and helping us out when we are hired by clients, even though they haven't been able to prove it. If they caught us here, we'd all be in trouble, especially Murdock," Hannibal pointed out, gesturing in the direction of the patient rooms.

"Sorry guys. It took a bit longer than I expected to sneak him back in. There were a few questions," Sam said, even though he wasn't talking about the VA staff. Sam had a lot of unanswered questions himself, but those would need to wait until Al could catch up with him and fill him in with the details of this mission. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to wait too long . . .

"Must be losin' your touch, Faceman," the big black guy with all the gold chains hanging from around his neck remarked. Seeing him face to face made Sam that much more thankful that they were supposedly on the same side. Although he was half-way tempted to call him a walking jewelry store, since that's exactly what he looked like, Sam thought the better of it. With that menacing scowl, the two tons of gold around his neck, and his muscular build, he was downright scary.

"Leave it rest, BA. Let's just get in the van and take off, just in case Decker does show up," Hannibal suggested. "He'll probably get replacement cars faster than we know it, and be hot on our tails again."

All three men complied with the suggestion, although in silence. The intimidating driver fired up the van and sped away as the physicist looked on. He slipped off the lab coat and stashed it in the spot where he had found it, and then decided to take a moment to straighten his tie.

Murdock had accused Face of being a different person, and not the Templeton Peck that Hannibal had saved from a prison sentence in Vietnam when he was first made part of the Team. Not just that, but he had been pretty insistent on it, and tried hard to convince the others of what he was seeing. Sam wondered if they were beginning to become suspicious as well . . .


MARINA DEL REY, CALIFORNIA

The sound of a bell clanged in the distance, and the call of seagulls filled the air. Waves gently lapped up against the hulls of boats anchored in the harbor, and a motor could be heard as a sailboat slowly maneuvered toward its slip where it would dock.

The blonde haired man who had been at the airport stood at a pay phone next to a warehouse by the docks. He picked up the phone and dialed the number, huddling close to the public phone as to not allow himself to be overheard. After a few rings, he heard a click which clearly indicated that the line had been answered.

"Kruger," the voice said over the phone with a thick German accent.

"Heir Kruger, this is Schutz," the male at the phone booth spoke into the handset. His accent wasn't quite as heavy as Kruger's, but still there were notable similarities.

"Report," Helmut Kruger ordered simply.

"The American reporter got away. It seems that we may have underestimated her, Commissar," Schutz told him, trying to keep his voice strong and confident and not betray the concern that he had. He knew that Kruger did not tolerate failure.

"She may have eluded you at the airport, Karl, but we have not underestimated her. Americans can be so predictable, especially females," Kruger noted over the phone with measured tones. "I know exactly where she will go."

"Sir?" Schutz questioned, trying to get some more clarification. Based on his response, he knew that his employer clearly wasn't happy with what he had just heard. In a way, he was thankful that there was an ocean that separated them, otherwise he may not have liked the punishment that he would have been given.

"It is obvious. She claimed to work for the Los Angeles Courier Express, so she will return there to contact her colleagues," Kruger reasoned.

"What are my orders?" Schutz asked, trying to get some clarification so he wouldn't upset his employer again.

"There is no doubt that she returned to her home country to seek protection. By now, she has already taken measures to ensure that. Hire men that you would consider trustworthy. I shall wire you the money to pay their fees. Capture her and return her to our country for interrogation within six days. Any longer than that, and her government will begin investigating her claims. Once she is placed in their protection, we lose our opportunity to take her to our country," Kruger explained.

"What shall I do, Commissar, if they prove to be untrustworthy, or if I encounter any individuals who wish to prevent me from . . . escorting the reporter back to our country?" Schutz wondered. He didn't anticipate being double crossed by any of those that he was going to hire, but he needed to know how far he could take things in case they did.

"Eliminate them. We cannot have anything threaten our plans. Our oppressors must be crushed," Kruger stressed firmly.

"Understood, Commissar," Schutz replied.

"Contact me once you have hired the individuals to assist you in capturing the reporter, and then I will wire you the money. After that, there shall be no further contact until you return to the country . . . successfully. Fail, and you shall not live," Kruger warned, his voice sounding very cold and calculated further emphasizing the seriousness of his threat.

"Yes, Commissar," Schutz acknowledged, unphased by what was just said. He was prepared to sacrifice his life for the cause, something that Kruger was well aware of and likely attributed as to why he was sent to the United States to pursue the reporter.

"Good luck, and goodbye."

Schutz hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment. He knew what he had to do and what was at stake. Time was moving quickly, growing shorter with every passing moment. Having received his charge, he took a deep breath and walked away, disappearing into the shadows to attend to his assignment.


WADSWORTH VETERANS ADMINISTRATION HOSPITAL

WESTWOOD

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

Murdock walked through the hallways of the VA hospital as he headed back for his room. The excitement he was feeling was beyond reason, now that Bingo was there with him. In a way, he felt like a kid at his first Christmas, with a ton of presents underneath the tree to open.

"Albert, I can't believe that it's you, and that you're here," Murdock exclaimed joyfully.

"It's great to see you too, Howie! I never thought I'd see you again! You still got the jacket too. It looks good on you . . . a lot better than it ever did on me. I was swimming in it," Al commented just as excitedly, walking right next to his best friend. Since the Army pilot was in a psychiatric ward, nobody would think that it'd be unusual for him to be seen talking to himself.

"Yeah, I remember when you gave me this jacket. It's been kinda like a good luck charm, never leave home without it," Howling Mad quipped, using the American Express credit card slogan to help emphasize just how much he came to rely on the A-2 bomber jacket that he had gotten from his best friend. "But, how'd you get here, though? I remember being in the hallway with Sam, and then there was this door of light that suddenly opened up and you walked right through it."

"Well," Al began to say, hemming and hawing a bit knowing that there was no easy way to explain this. "That's because I'm not really here."

Somewhat confused by Al's statement, Murdock countered, "What do you mean? You're walkin' right next to me."

"I look like I'm right next to you, Howie. I'm a hologram," Al corrected.

"What's that?" Murdock asked.

"It's a 3D projection of light and color that looks real, but really isn't there," the Naval Admiral mentioned. Seeing the confusion on Murdock's face, Al couldn't help to mutter under his breath, "I keep forgetting that holograms were practically unheard of in 1986 . . . at least until that Time Traveler arcade game in the '90s."

Right at that moment, a nurse appeared from around the corner, pushing a patient in a wheelchair. She was quickly approaching where they were standing, although Murdock was on the left side of the hallway so he was out of the way, but Al looked like he was about to be run over if he didn't move soon. Either that, or there would have been a monumentous collision if she wasn't paying attention to where she was going.

"Here, Howie, watch this," Al encouraged with a bit of a grin, making sure that he was square in the path of the nurse. She continued to walk right through Al as she pushed the wheelchair, totally oblivious as to the presence of the Observer. The close encounter was enough to allow Al to admire the nurse close up. "Are all nurses around here like her? She has a nice pair of bazongas."

The A-Team pilot was totally stunned, fully expecting the nurse to see Al and walk around him, or for a major collision to happen between them. "You're like a ghost!" Murdock exclaimed.

"Kind of," Al conceded, chuckling a bit. "Although some little kids may like to argue with you on that one. They confuse me for an angel."

Reaching the door to his room, Murdock opened it and stepped inside. Al simply walked through the wall, which only added more to Howie's curiosity. "Whoa, cool!" he said, watching Al emerge though the wall as if it wasn't even there. "How come nobody else can see you? That nurse walked right through you like you weren't even there."

Al sighed a bit, wishing that he had the foresight to bring a cigar with him into the Imaging Chamber. "This is going to go against all the rules," he started to say, only to be interrupted from a wild squeal on the Handlink. He hit the side of it roughly to shut the device up, and then put it into his uniform pants pocket. The last thing he needed was to hear the Handlink to squeal it's head off, much less Ziggy blow a microchip, at what he was about to tell his best friend from Vietnam.

"Howie, the reason why nobody can see me is because I'm 13 years in your future. To me, the year is 1999," Al noted, hoping that his war buddy could handle what he was about to divulge, especially considering how he was in a mental ward.

"If you're in the future, how can you be here?" Murdock asked out of curiosity as he sat down on his bed. He was still kind of confused, but he knew and trusted Al. Besides, after what he had just seen, nothing that his friend could tell him seemed too far fetched at this point.

"It's because of a top secret project called Quantum Leap. It deals with time travel," Al began to mention.

"Time travel? You mean like with Captain Galaxy and Future Boy?" Murdock asked, his eyes lighting up at the possibility of what was going on as he recalled the old black and white TV series.

"You know that show?" Al asked, somewhat stunned. If Murdock liked that show, then maybe explaining things to him wouldn't be as hard as he originally thought it was going to be.

"Yeah, it comes on as re-run at night," Murdock grinned, laying back on his bed as he continued to watch Al.

"Time Patrol was Sam's favorite show as a kid. It got him wanting to travel in time, although what he's doing now doesn't take a space ship," Al noted as he started to walk around to the other side of the room, walking straight through Murdock's bed in the process. "I guess it's kind of hard to explain."

Howlin' Mad sat up within his bed and leaned forward, looking at his friend. Murdock had a brilliant mind in his own right, and if he hadn't ended up in the VA, it was very possible that he could have been working at a science lab, part of the astronaut corps, or even as part of a CIA think tank. Although he tried to hide it behind his insanity, there was the occasional flash of brilliance that he shared with others that often surprised them. "Try me," he challenged.

Al brought his hand up to his head for a moment in order to compose himself, and then conceded. "Okay. Imagine your life is a string. One end represents your birth, and the other your death. If you tie the ends together, your life becomes a loop. Ball up the loop, and all the days of your life touch each other, allowing you to conceivably travel back and forth through time, visiting any day within your lifetime."

"That's the string theory. I saw the episode where Captain Galaxy explains that to a kid that wrote in . . . a little Sammy Beckett from Elk Ridge, Indiana," Murdock noted as he thought things through for a moment, before a realization hit him. The guy who he had taken Face's place was the same one who wrote that letter! A wild grin appeared upon his face as he lay back on his bed again. "I can see where the four fundamental interactions in quantum physics would make that possible, especially if quantum particles exist along the same string and you start movin' 'em fast enough."

"Yes!" Al affirmed, nodding to Murdock. Truthfully, he was amazed by the knowledge that his friend possessed, not expecting him to have understood something like advanced quantum physics. "That's our theory. Move them fast enough, and you can break the boundaries of time itself, and travel to any point in time along the same string."

The Texan unbuttoned the bottom of his bomber jacket and removed his dark blue baseball cap, putting it on the cabinet next to the bed, before returning his gaze to Bingo. "So how come your friend is actually traveling in time?"

Al paused for a moment, and then continued with his explanation, "Sam was under a lot of pressure to prove his theories were right, or lose funding. We all told him no, not to get into the Accelerator Chamber, but he did it anyways while I was off one night so I couldn't stop him. But, it didn't work like he had planned. Instead of Leaping into his own life, he wound up Leaping into the lives of others. The retrievalprogram wasn't finished. We tried to bring him back, but it didn't work."

Murdock could see how pained Al was just with what he had shared. "I'm sure he'll get back someday, Albert," the A-Team pilot tried to cheer up his friend. "What happens when he Leaps into others?"

"Well, he usually has to fix something that's gone wrong in history, and once he's done that he Leaps out. It kind of helps that, to everyone else, he looks and sounds like the person that he Leaped into. It makes it easier for Sam to do what he needs to do," Al detailed.

"How does he know what he needs to fix?" Murdock asked.

"Well, that's where I come in. See, I'm tuned into Sam's neurons and masons, which is why I can appear here, in this time, as a hologram. I can see and hear Sam, although the first few times it was hard when he Leaped into a woman," Al noted with a goofy grin on his face. "I kind of lusted after the women that he Leaped into until they fixed that. But, Sam, he can see me and hear me, but so can little kids, animals, those who are dying, and the mentally absent. No offense, Howie."

Murdock grinned, taking in all of the details as it really fascinated him. He was really soaking up every single ounce of information that Al was giving him, totally thrilled and intrigued by the concept. "If Sam bounced into Faceman's shoes, then where's the Faceman?"

Al waved his hand around slightly as he talked, like most Italians, "Oh, he's safe. He's in the future with me . . . although he hasn't recognized me yet. It'll knock his socks off once he does."

"Yeah, I bet it will. Face doesn't really like surprises," Murdock grinned. "Do you know what Sam is here to do, and why he ended up in Faceman's shoes?"

Al looked down, knowing the seriousness of the situation. "Yeah, Howie, I do. He's here to save Hannibal from being killed."

"Wha . . ." Hearing that statement was enough to cause Murdock to bolt up from his bed in total shock. He faced his friend to see if maybe there was anything on his face that could indicate what he just said was a prank, but found nothing but stoic sincerity. "Killed? When?" Howlin' Mad demanded, his voice taking on a much darker tone that was almost deathly.

Murdock ran a hand through his receding hairline, clearly stunned by what he had just heard. The thought of Hannibal being killed was nearly impossible to fathom. In spite of the suicidal missions, and even the Colonel's plans that went awry . . . which was often more often than not . . . he always seemed like a Superman. Strong, confident, always invincible, always escaping death, and always with a bright outlook for the future no matter how bleak the situation seemed to be. It is what made the others often look to Hannibal as their source of leadership, guidance, and inspiration. He kept them all alive, and in more ways than one.

"Five days from now. We don't have a lot of details, but that's what Ziggy . . . the computer that runs the project . . . says that he's here to do," Al reiterated.

"Are . . . are you sure?" the institutionalized pilot asked. "I mean, could . . . could it be a mistake?"

Al let out a sigh, knowing how hard this must be for his friend to hear. "Ziggy gives it a 95% probability, so we're pretty certain. I'm sorry, Howie."

Murdock paced the room almost like a caged tiger as thoughts raced through his mind. This news clearly troubled him. "Hannibal's like a dad to me. He kind of watches out for and protects all of us, but Hannibal and I . . . we're kind of cut from the same cloth, ya know? Sometimes, with some of his plans that he comes up with, he almost seems like he's crazier than me, if that's even possible. I wouldn't know what I'd do without him around," Murdock expressed.

His thoughts dwelled on the Colonel and his unique relationship with him. Hannibal had insisted to make Murdock a part of his unit, and it paid off in many ways. Although some of the other commanding officers tried to give the Texan trouble, John Smith always stepped in to defend his pilot . . . and Murdock's loyalty to the team was unfathomable and unquestioned, even during a brief stint when he got pulled from the unit in Vietnam for a CIA mission. Even today, Murdock and Hannibal understood each other in ways that the other members of the A-Team couldn't, even though Face often came pretty close.

"I know what you mean," Al stated solemnly. He was going through the same thing on almost a daily basis with Sam out there Leaping around in time. Although he could still contact Sam and help him out, somewhat, it wasn't quite the same.

"Albert, what can I do to help? To help Sam save Hannibal?" the A-Team pilot questioned.

"Well, you are going to have to be my back up on this one, Howie. You know Face, even better than I do, so you'll need to coach Sam from time to time on what Face would and wouldn't do. You'll need to help cover for Sam, and convince the others that he really is Face so he can fix history and Leap out," the Observer requested.

"Um . . . just one problem with that, Albert," Murdock began, not quite knowing how to tell his friend. "I . . . uh . . . already told BA and Hannibal that I saw someone else sitting in the van where Face was."

"Oh, boy," Al muttered under his breath, trying hard not to roll his eyes. Somehow, with how Sam's luck was at times, it kind of figured that things wouldn't be easy for him with certain Leaps like this one.

"Sorry, Albert. I didn't know," Howie apologized, looking down at the floor for a moment as he sat down on his bed, an expression crossing his face that made it seem like he was sulking . . . not because he had to lay off his antics, but this time because of his own actions. "It's kind of a shock to see one of your best friends sitting next to you one second, and then the next thing you know it's someone else wearing his clothes, and sitting in his spot."

"It's okay, Howie," the Observer mentioned, trying to make it clear that he wasn't angry. "What's important is that we both help Sam so Face can return."

"You can count on me, Bingo. I'll do anything I can to help," Murdock emphasized, looking up at the Observer.

Al smiled at Murdock, wishing he could just sweep his friend up in a great bear hug. Unfortunately, being a hologram, that was impossible right now. "I need to go check on Sam, and start filling him in," Al mentioned.

"Will you be back soon, Albert?" Howlin' Mad inquired.

"You can count on it!" Al said with a grin. Pulling out the Handlink, he tapped at a few buttons before calling out to the air, "Gooshie, center me on Sam!" And, in an instant, he disappeared from Murdock's sight, leaving the A-Team's pilot that much more fascinated by what was going on.


FORT IRWIN, CALIFORNIA

For Colonel Decker, the drive back to Fort Irwin following the multi-car accident earlier, at the hands of the A-Team, was one filled with silence. Roderick wasn't a happy man, and the other members of the Military Police could practically cut the tension with a knife. Their usual banter, when riding together in a canopy troop mover, was notably absent out of fear of risking any further ire from the Colonel which could cost them their military careers.

Even Captain Crane was notably silent, and did not ask some of the probing questions that he normally would have in order to gain insight from the man that had tangled with the A-Team a few times while in Vietnam.

The wheels on the truck emitted a low, long squeal as it slowly came to a stop within the army base. The tailgate was flipped down, and the men inside slowly climbed out. Decker was the last one out, pausing for a moment after he hopped out of the truck before heading over to a set of buildings.

Marcus Crane noticed this and fell into step along side his commanding officer. Even though he caught up with the seasoned officer, silence still clung to the air like a wet blanket, as they knew that their upcoming encounter with General Fulbright was not going to be pleasant.

Roderick realized that Marcus was walking next to him and pointed out, "Captain, you don't need to come with me."

"Perhaps not, sir, but I figured that you could use the support." Marcus countered.

"Thank you, Captain. I appreciate the sentiment," Decker responded in a softer tone. It was almost as if, just for a moment, the tough guy, hard-line soldier persona was cracking a bit just because he knew that he had a trusted officer who was willing to stand by him . . . even if it was just for a brief moment. Being in command was never easy, especially when things went wrong and you had to answer to someone higher up, but having this kind of support often could make a difference.

"No problem, sir," Crane said with a nod as they continued to walk toward the base offices. "Do you think that General Fulbright will allow you to continue your pursuit of the A-Team?"

"I'm not sure, Captain. I hope so. I do have a few new leads to follow up with, which could put the A-Team right in the palm of our hands," Decker noted, an air of confidence filling his words as he shared them.

"What kind of leads, sir?" Marcus wondered, trying to get some more insight as to what the Colonel was thinking.

Decker paused for a moment before reaching the door to the offices. He didn't want to tip his hat too early, and reveal too much about the leads that he could utilize to help in the capture of the A-Team. "All in good time, Captain. All in good time."

Captain Crane nodded, and stood outside of the door as he watched Decker proceed inside. Inwardly, he hoped that the man's military career wasn't going to be cut short, or the Army would lose a very intelligent and capable officer who had served his country with distinction.

Roderick Decker drew in a breath as he steeled himself against the onslaught that he was anticipating from General Harlan "Bull" Fulbright. The General's temper was very well known, hence why he had gotten the nickname Bull. Get him enraged enough, and he would often charge at anyone in his path like a raging bull would. He was well known for stripping officers of their rank and even their commands if they crossed him on a bad day . . . of which there were many.

Although Fulbright had some small amount of respect for Decker, due to the length of time that Decker had chased the A-Team in the past, Roderick knew that he was skating on very thin ice this time around. There was a very real possibility that his military career could be permanently over, right then and there, if Fulbright was upset enough.

Arriving at the door to the office, he knocked. Each sound bore through him like a searing hot bullet, almost as if sealing his fate as a condemned man before the trial could even begin.

"Come in," the voice of Harlan Fulbright could be heard through the door.

Drawing in one final deep breath to steel himself, Roderick Decker opened the door and stepped inside. "Colonel Decker reporting, sir," he announced crisply, snapping to attention and offering a salute.

"Have a seat, Colonel," Fulbright told him, not even bothering to get up or return the salute.

Decker did so obediently, although found it a bit hard to read the tone of Fulbright's voice to know just how this meeting was going to go. He removed his cap, and placed it firmly within his lap as he awaited his fate.

Fulbright leaned forward and interlaced his hands together. A very stern look appeared upon his face as he began, "Colonel, for many years you pursued the A-Team and you came close to catching them on a number of occasions. But, they always seemed to escape. I can't begin to even count how many vehicles were destroyed while you were assigned to capture the A-Team. The lack of results, the massive destruction of Army vehicles and equipment would be enough to warrant a court martial for neglect and incompetence."

Decker gave a slight nod, continuing to watch Fulbright as he spoke, noting that the anger that had been in Fulbright's tone of voice earlier over the radio was completely absent. That, in itself, could be a positive sign.

"But, I have experienced the same difficulties as yourself in trying to apprehend these men. And, for that reason alone, you not only get to keep your rank, you are going to remain on this assignment," Harlan informed him.

Roderick's face remained stoic, even though inwardly he was breathing a much deserved sigh of relief. "Thank you, General," he responded.

"Don't thank me just yet. This is just a temporary reprieve. My superiors are demanding results, which is why you were given another chance. But, if we were to combine our resources and work more closely together, I believe we will be able to successfully apprehend the A-Team, once and for all," Fulbright proposed.

"Yes, sir, " Decker responded affirmatively.

Harlan stood from behind his desk and walked around to the other side of it, while Decker stood up as well out of respect for his fellow superior officer. "Roderick, you and I are a lot a like, but what I really admire about you is your tenacity. You never give up, no matter how many times that you've failed to capture the A-Team. You just brush yourself off and try again, and I want to see you make the most of this chance you've been given. If we share our intel, and coordinate more, then the two of us together will likely be able to apprehend them, where one of us alone could not."

Roderick nodded, seeing the wisdom of the General's words. When Decker had worked by himself in the past to try and capture the A-Team, he never had the support like what Fulbright was offering now to him. If he had that kind of assistance a couple of years ago, which would have included intelligence, better equipment and supplies, better vehicles, he wouldn't have failed so often. "Sounds like a logical plan, sir," he mused.

"I've already approved a requisition for more vehicles and men. I'm doubling the compliment you just had, and I'll also be joining you out in the field myself. We'll start first at the VA hospital in Westwood, where Captain Murdock is located. There is strong evidence that he is still involved with the A-Team, so questioning him could lead to a significant breakthrough. I'm also approving additional gear and equipment for you and the men. Between our combined knowledge and experience, plus the additional equipment and manpower, we should have no trouble apprehending the A-Team," Fulbright informed him.

Decker nodded again, thankful that this meeting wasn't as bad as he had anticipated originally. "I appreciate the assistance that you are providing, General, as well as being given another chance," Roderick expressed.

"There is one condition to all of this, Colonel . . . one you may not like. We are on a timetable now. You must apprehend the A-Team in 5 days, dead or alive . . . although preferably alive . . . or you will be sent back to Bangor, Maine. I don't care what you have to do or what it takes, and I will pour all available resources into this to help you, so don't screw this up," Harlan told him sternly.

"Understood, General," Decker responded, offering a crisp salute. Fulbright responded by offering a salute in kind, an indication that Decker was dismissed. He stepped out of the office area and encountered Captain Crane again, who had an expectant look on his face.

"So, how'd it go with the General?" Marcus wondered, expecting Decker to be absolutely fuming himself by the time he got out of that meeting.

"Better than expected. The Bull calmed down enough to not take a run at us this time around, so we have another chance, and we're getting additional help and resources," Decker began to note.

"Once we're all squared away, where do we start?" Captain Crane wondered.

"We start at the Westwood VA, where Captain Murdock is located. It's long been suspected that the A-Team has helped him to leave his confinement from the mental ward, and he assists them when they help a bleeding heart in need. General Fulbright shares the same suspicions and will be joining us as we ramp up pressure on the A-Team. It won't be long before they slip . . . right into our hands," Decker noted confidently.

"I'll assemble the men, sir. If we're getting new vehicles, we should have everything lined up and ready to roll by sunset," Marcus pointed out.

"See to it, Captain," Decker affirmed with a salute. It was returned by one from Captain Crane, who then ran off to start getting things together.

Decker watched the younger officer run off to attend to the preparations, and then turned to look out over the California countryside. His eyes traced upward and downward along the nearby mountains, which reminded him of the ups and downs of his military career. After the events in Vietnam it almost felt like he was going down the side of the mountain, unable to stop, until a General had offered him a chance to do what Colonel Lynch had failed . . . to successfully apprehend the A-Team.

As much as he tried, he came closer than anyone had ever done up until that point . . . yet somehow, even when they were in custody, handcuffed, and secured, they always managed to escape. If they had managed to do it on their own, they could have taught the famed escape-artist Harry Houdini a lot of new tricks. No, but these escapes were never on their own. Each time, there had been someone else who seemed to show up and free them before they could be shipped off and locked up in the federal slammer for a long, long time.

When he had been pulled from the assignment, his career went downhill again and rather quickly. He had been relegated to some flea bitten, rinky dink office in a mailroom in Bangor. He had gotten used to the summers in California over the years while he pursued the A-Team. It was much like summers in the jungle of 'Nam . . . warm, sometimes a bit rainy and humid, but never bitterly cold. Bangor was like his worst nightmare during the winter, and he didn't know if he could stand another season there with snow up to his eyeballs and wind chills so cold that it seemed like he was going to freeze instantly on the spot.

Now, he had another chance, and his career seemed to be inching uphill again. He just hoped that the peak wouldn't come too soon, and too unexpectedly to where he'd stumble back down again. Drawing in a deep breath, he made his way over to another set of offices so he could get himself a somewhat decent cup of coffee and get some paperwork out of the way before continuing his pursuit of the A-Team. This time, he was more determined than ever not to fail . . .