Title: One for All…

Authors: Stanzi and Sockie

Rating: PG-13

Summary: After receiving some devastating news, the team decides to break out of Fort Bragg and begin their lives on the run.

Warnings: none

Disclaimers: We don't own the guys or make any money off this

Chapter 1

"What am I doing?"

The man in the mirror did not answer back.

Behind, up, over. Tuck in, and adjust up. There. The tie was knotted to military perfection. Even if the mission he was about to embark on was not military approved. In fact, if caught, it would get him court-martialed.

He took the jacket off the hanger and slipped it on. He slowly fastened the four brass buttons, tugged at the jacket, and then smoothed it down. His eyes lingered over the ribbons that now adorned his chest. The silver star, purple heart, and presidential unit citations, among others. An impressive collection of medals for such a young officer. Was he really willing to throw his career away?

"Do I really have a choice?"

The man in the mirror remained silent.

But he already knew the answer. Of course he had a choice. There was always a choice. But they were his unit. Maybe not on paper, but in his head. And in his heart. And you've got to stick with your unit.

He placed his captain's hat on his head and took one final look in the mirror. Determination reflected in his eyes.

The time for introspection was over. It was showtime.

How could it have come to this?

Hannibal lay on the top bunk, listening to the sounds of his men. B. A. slept fitfully; he could hear the occasional growl from his Sergeant and feel the shaking of the bunk when he rolled around uneasily. Face was snuggled into his pillow on the top bunk across the cell from Hannibal, a sleepy smile on his features. He was probably dreaming of the last pretty little thing he'd spent time with before the mission.

The mission. How could it have gone so wrong? His eyes narrowed in the dark. The plan had been fine, he reminded himself as he went back over the particulars of the bank job. It was not his fault that the orders authorizing the robbery were now in the rubble of what had been the HQ.

And where the hell was Morrison—the only person who could clear them of the robbery charges? He needed a cigar to work on this one. Face had theorized that Morrison must be a prisoner—during the attack, it would have been SOP for Charlie to capture any high ranking officers and take them for interrogation. Hannibal supposed it was true. Now that the war was over, they had pinned their hopes on the fact that Morrison would be found as soldiers were released from the P. O. W. camps. He didn't want to consider the alternative and hadn't mentioned it to either of his men. If Morrison wasn't alive, they were screwed—big time.

He heard B.A. below, muttering in his sleep. Two months of prison life was beginning to take its toll. It took all of Hannibal's skills as a leader to keep B. A. from trying to kill the guards on a daily basis. After all, B.A. hadn't earned his nickname for being polite and laid-back. Hannibal knew how important it was for them to remain model prisoners. If things did go to court-martial before they found Morrison, anything they did while in custody could be seen as a guilty mark against them.

Face seemed to be handling everything well, but emotions were easy for him to hide. There was a tension building in the young man's eyes that belied his easygoing manner. At least Murdock had been able to keep out of this. He'd simply dropped them off and headed back to base to fly other missions. No taint of blame would be on him.

But the others…Hannibal sighed in frustration, unable to keep from feeling this was his fault somehow. He should be able to get his men out of this. They had performed their duty just as it had been expected of them, and this was their reward? He shook his head, determined. He wasn't going to let it happen. He didn't know what he was going to do, but they weren't going down like this. Court-martialed and disgraced? Not on his watch.

Not on his watch.

He slowed to car to a stop as he approached the guard station. A young corporal emerged from a small booth at the entrance. Upon seeing the rank insignia on the captain's lapel, he saluted.

"Welcome to Fort Bragg, Captain. May I have your name?"

"Williams." He offered a tentative smile as well, hoping that would help deflect his lie.

The corporal gave a cursory glance at Williams name tag and nodded.

"Are you here on official business, Captain Williams?"

"No -- just visiting some old friends." He was thankful his fake nametag had passed muster. He just hoped the corporal would not see how white his knuckles were as he clutched the steering wheel.

"Very well. Have a good day, sir." He quickly saluted again, then raised the striped wooden barrier.

The captain briefly smiled again, then drove through the entrance. He exhaled a large sigh of relief. First test passed. He might not be as good at scams as Face, but he had learned a few things from the conman.

He drove down the lane through the base until he reached Womack Medical Center. He then drove around the side of the building until he saw the medical vehicle motor pool. On the second row were several vans used to transport medical equipment and non-critical patients. He pulled into the parking lot, parked his car, and got out. After casually surveying the area to ensure nobody was watching, he took a large box out of the trunk of the car and began walking towards the vans. Upon reaching the second van, he stopped.

Placing a hand on the side of the van, he bowed his head, gathering his courage. This was the point of no return. He could just walk away, if he wanted to: no harm, no foul. Once he "borrowed" the van, he couldn't change his mind. The captain looked up, searching for a sign, and caught sight of a hawk, sailing over the roof of the motor pool. The silent communion they shared lasted only a moment before the bird disappeared. He couldn't help but feel it was a good omen.

With one final glance around, he opened the driver's door and climbed in, placing the box in the back. Within minutes, the hotwired van purred to life. Second test passed. The captain could not help but grin, genuinely this time, as he put the van in gear and drove away.

"May I help you, captain?" the sergeant asked.

"Yes. I am here to transport 3 of the prisoners over to Womack for their pre-trial psych evaluation. Let's see…" he made a show of looking at the paperwork on his clipboard. "Ah, yes -- their names are Smith, Peck, and Baracus."

"I don't see that on the schedule for today." The sergeant frowned, while looking through the papers on the desk. "I'll need to see the orders."

"Of course", the captain said, and handing over his paperwork. The paper the orders were on was legit, even if the actual orders themselves were not. He had swiped blank forms off an empty desk at Womack earlier in the week.

After an agonizing few minutes, the sergeant handed back the papers. He then looked out the window at the van, which clearly had "Womack Medical Center" marked on the door. He still did not look comfortable, but knew better than to question a superior officer further.

"Alright, I'll bring them to you. But you'll need to wait for them in a holding cell. I'll show you the way."

"Thank you." the captain replied, before following the sergeant down the hall. Third test passed. Only one left. And it was the big one.

To be continued…