Chapter 3
Consciousness was like a dim spotlight that slowly widened and brightened until Murdock opened his eyes, looking up at the face above him. The man looked vaguely familiar. He tried to remember, but it was all a blur. Yelling, heat rays and poison gas…. It made him groan with the effort. Something was terribly wrong. Where was he? Had he crashed? He certainly felt like he had.
He glanced away from the man and tried to orient himself. This didn't look like a field hospital. He had come back from 'Nam . . . so had his unit. A bank robbery. . . prison. . . he began to put the pieces together to form a very fragmented and confusing picture.
"Captain H. M. Murdock," Lynch interrupted his thoughts. Murdock realized the man was intently studying his reactions. "I'm Colonel Lynch. I have a few questions for you."
The Colonel's gruff manner unsettled Murdock, but no inkling of it showed through his expression, which he held carefully in check. Being watched like this set off all kinds of alarm bells in his head. While trying to move around in the bed, his hand clinked against the metal side supports, and he saw he was handcuffed. More bits and pieces began to return.
"The aliens," He murmured. "They shot me, Colonel." His head spun with whatever cocktail of drugs they had given him, but he tried to remain conscious and focused. He was as weak as water, though; he realized it when reached out and tried to grasp the Colonel's arm. "Did you get the one that shot me? We have to get the team up to Grover's Mill. They are the only ones who can save us."
Lynch appeared slightly unnerved by Murdock's rambling, but continued on with his rehearsed lines anyway. "You were caught helping three prisoners escape, Captain Murdock. Don't try to fool us with this story about aliens. This was carefully orchestrated. You're going to jail for a long time.
"Yes, sir. I don't care about me. We just have to save the world. The president told me to get the team up there. I'm just following orders. That's what we're here for, right?"
Frustrated, Lynch leaned forward and grasped hold of Murdock's hospital gown. He yanked on it, pulling the wounded Captain up to meet his eyes and ignoring the painful cry that escaped him. "You listen to me. I know all about your little charade." His eyes attempted to bore into Murdock's own, searching for the sanity he presumed was there. "I'm going to make sure you spend the maximum time in the stockade, Captain. Neither you, nor Smith or the rest of his men are going to get out of this."
The room was cold. Too cold. To Hannibal, it was almost humorous. If Lynch thought he was going to give up Murdock -- tell him he was sane -- just because the room was a bit nippy, then he truly was deluded. To a man who had endured torturous interrogations in a POW camp, petty mind games were nothing.
It was the end of the day before Lynch finally came into the holding cell. Wasting no time, he said, "So, tell me about Captain Murdock."
"What's there to tell?"
"Well, despite his little performance outside, he seems pretty sane to me. He had a plan -- fake nametag, fake paperwork, stolen van with a box full of uniforms… hard to believe a crazy guy could come up with all of that. And he didn't seem that crazy to me when I talked to him a few hours ago."
"You what?" Hannibal's voice shook as he tried to contain his rage. "You ordered the poor man shot and you immediately interrogated him?"
"I needed to know if he is really crazy. And I have to say, I don't think he is. I think he concocted this routine after you were caught, to avoid jail time."
"Well," Hannibal replied, seething, "you can think what you want. But Captain Murdock is not right. Just like I told you outside. And you can leave me in an icebox for a week and that will still be my answer. Because it's the truth."
"So, what'd they ask you?" Face asked when Hannibal finally returned to the room. He and B.A. were sitting on their bunks, shoulders slumped, looking up at Hannibal.
"If Murdock was crazy." Hannibal walked over to B.A.'s bunk and slowly sat down. He bowed his head and ran his hands through his hair. It had been a long day. "I told them he was."
"Yeah, us too." B.A. sighed. "And after today, might actually believe it."
"So Hannibal," Face asked "what do we do now? We're still screwed and now Murdock's in trouble too."
"Well, first, we need to find out how Murdock is doing. Face, I'm sure you can scam that info over the phone by calling over to Womack. Once he's better, we'll break out, taking him with us. And then, we'll find out what this goes to." Hannibal pulled a small brass key engraved with number 347 on it out of his hip pocket.
"Where'd you get that?" Face asked, incredulously.
Hannibal smiled, his first smile all day. "You know how Murdock grabbed my arm when he pulled the gun on me? Well, he slipped this into my pocket at the same time."
The team was locked in their prison cells over the weekend. Apparently, the guards weren't taking any chances. They tried not to worry about Murdock too much, but his status, both physical and mental, weighed heavily on all of their minds. On Monday morning, they were allowed out for their work details, accompanied by additional guards.
"I never thought I'd be glad to go back to laundry detail." Face said, as he ironed yet another officer's shirt.
"Just be glad you're not on my end, picking up the prisoners' laundry." Hannibal dumped another load of dirty socks onto the floor in front of the washing machines.
Around noon, they both set out on another laundry run -- Face delivering, Hannibal picking up. As their paths crossed, Hannibal gave Face an inconspicuous nod. Face went into an office to deliver several pressed shirts, just seconds before Hannibal spilled a cart full of dirty underwear in front of the office door.
Face hung up the shirts, rushed over to the phone, and dialed the '0' for the switchboard. He could hear Hannibal's loud voice from the hallway. "Darn it! Look at this mess! Stupid wheel came off and now I have to pick all of this disgusting stuff up!" Hannibal continued to complain loudly as he slowly began picking up the underwear.
On the phone, Face heard "Operator -- how may I direct your call?"
"Womack Medical Center, please." He answered quietly. The guards were outside in the hallway, but thankfully, the mountain of dirty underwear made them keep their distance. He prayed it would be distance enough. He held his breath until another voice picked up the line.
"Womack Medical Center, Nurse Jenkins speaking."
"Yes, this is Corporal Jefferson. Colonel Lynch wanted me to call and see how Captain Murdock was doing." Face's voice sounded charming, belying his concern both for Murdock and for the ticking clock. Years of running scams had its advantages.
"Let me see…"
'Come on, come on…' Face thought, knowing that Hannibal must be close to picking up all the spilled laundry.
"Yes -- Captain Murdock is much better today." Nurse Jenkins replied. "He's stable and should be ready for discharge at the end of the week."
"Great." Face replied, breathing a sigh of relief. "Colonel Lynch will be pleased. He'll want to have a cell ready for the captain's arrival." He silently hung up the phone and stepped back into the doorway, just in time to see Hannibal place the last of the dirty underwear into the cart.
"Not sorry I missed that!" Face said with a smile to the guards.
Five days. They had five days, at most, if they were going to break out before Murdock was transferred. Thankfully, Hannibal had already thought of a plan, even though Face and B.A. were a little doubtful it would work.
"You want me to do what?" B.A. asked, disbelieving.
"Turn a vacuum into a drill." Hannibal replied simply. "Or use a motor from something else -- whatever you have access to in the repair shop. Just make it work so we can drill out of here."
"And just where are we drilling to?" Face asked. "The walls are thick. And it's going to make a ton of noise. How as we going to cover that up?"
"Easy." Hannibal said with a smile. "We'll drill into the heat ducts. They come up through the floor-- the ducts can't be more than a few feet down. And moisture over the years has softened the concrete, so drilling through it shouldn't be too much of a problem. As to how we cover up the noise -- we'll sing."
"Singing ain't gonna be enough to drown out a drill." B.A. grumbled. "'Sides. I don't sing."
"You can just drill, B.A.. Face and I will sing. So loudly, in face, that the guards have to close the doors into the brig to shut us out."
"I don't know, Hannibal. It'll have to be a really annoying song to make the guards shut the doors…" Face's words tapered off as realization dawned on his face. "Surely we're not going to sing…"
Hannibal smiled even larger and nodded. Face rolled his eyes and groaned.
"Ain't never gonna work, Hannibal." B.A. said, shaking his head.
"Sure it is." Hannibal said cheerfully. "Haven't you ever read Escape From Alcatraz?"
"No. Never even heard of it." B.A. groused.
Even Hannibal's eyes were smiling now. "I'm betting Lynch hasn't either."
B.A. continued to believe that there was no way the plan would work until he finally saw it in action. He began to drill the following night, as Face and Hannibal sang all the verses of "You Are My Sunshine" as loudly as possible. Luckily the heating duct was to the side, behind B.A.'s bed, so the bunk was a ready -- made shield from the prying eyes of the guards that occasionally had to make rounds.
After the first hour, the guards did shut the doors, instead of coming down to make them quit the interminable rounds of the song. At first, they had tried to appeal to the group to stop it, but B.A. gave them a growling "I like the song," complete with a scowl, and they left it alone. As in most things, the guards didn't like the idea of tangling with B.A.
The work took two more nights. Face and Hannibal were nearly hoarse when it was done. They had spent their time the past few days stealing sheets and towels from the laundry to make body sized lumps under the covers for when they left the cell.
They had to wait until the fourth night to escape. The day was tedious; they all tried not to think about the risk they were taking later that night. Lynch hadn't called any of them to his office, nor had they been questioned again. It made Face nervous, but Hannibal reminded him how slowly the wheels of the military moved. Any additional charges would be accompanied by mounds of paperwork. They were both sure that Lynch was working on pushing the charges through, but Hannibal knew it would be a while before he got everything going. In the meantime, Lynch had chosen to watch and wait before saying anything more. It would be his mistake because they would soon be long gone.
"Yes!" Face hissed as they crept out of the giant heating duct that led into the locker room. They were still in the prison, but they had come out exactly where he'd planned it. "I told you it was two lefts and five rights.
"I ain't even gonna ask how you know that," B.A. whispered, the last to climb out of the hole in the wall. He moved to replace the screen quickly to cover the opening without screwing it closed as Hannibal and Face scouted the room, making sure they were alone.
"Face doesn't like to give up his secrets," Hannibal reminded B.A. as he peered around a corner. They were fairly certain that no one was around. First they had listened a long while before coming into the open. Secondly, they knew the shift change didn't happen for another hour.
"How else would I maintain my reputation as a miracle worker?" Face had already cracked open two lockers. One of them contained a uniform that would just about fit Hannibal. He handed it over. The other one contained a female officer's uniform. He sighed and went to the next locker. Grinning, he yanked out a pair of maintenance coveralls.
"Bingo," he tossed the coveralls to BA, who began to change quickly. Face continued to open lockers, looking for an appropriate uniform for himself. Their banter melted away as their anxiety increased.
"Face…" Hannibal said warningly. "Time… it doesn't have to be perfectly tailored and pressed."
Face scowled, then popped open one last locker. "This'll work," he said. He slid into the clothes while BA took their pile of prison fatigues back to the vent. He threw them in, then secured the screen.
They checked each other's uniforms for anything out of place and saw that everything was in order.
Hannibal gave them the grin that his men had already gotten to know so well. They saw it when things were at their worst—it usually meant that they were taking the biggest risks, with little chance of success. That had always been what being a part of Hannibal's team was all about. The jazz. They kidded Hannibal about it, but really, they all felt it, used it, let it move them to the right place at the right time. The hidden tempo couldn't be seen or felt, but it was there like a heartbeat, keeping them in synch together. Being in tune with the jazz had saved their lives more times than they could count. Hannibal hoped it would save them this time as well.
"It's showtime," he said. "Let's go get Murdock and get out of here."
Hannibal, Face, and B.A. sneaked quietly through the base towards the medical center. It had been a while since they were stationed at Fort Bragg, but they still remembered their way around. When they were approximately 50 feet away from the entrance to Womack, they stopped.
"B.A.," Hannibal whispered. "Get us a car from the parking lot and wait for us by the back entrance. This shouldn't take too long."
B.A. nodded and disappeared into the sea of cars. Hannibal and Face crept a few more feet, then with a quick glance around, stood upright and walked into the front entrance.
"May I help you?" asked the corporal who staffed the welcome table.
"Yes. We're here to escort Captain Murdock to the stockade. Could you tell us what room he is in?"
The corporal, noticing their guard uniforms, nodded and looked at the register. "Captain Murdock is in room 128."
"Thank you." Hannibal replied. He and Face followed the signs down the hall, carefully surveying the area as they went. Thankfully, there were no MPs in the hallway. And oddly, no MPs outside of room 128.
While Face stood guard outside the door, Hannibal cautiously slipped into the room. He was surprised at what he saw.
Murdock wasn't there.
To be continued…