"Nice, B.A." Hannibal looked the hay cart, which had been gradually turning into something far more deadly over the last two hours, up and down with satisfaction.

From underneath, the other man flashed a thumbs-up. "Few more adjustments, and we're ready to roll," he said.

Face leaned against a stack of hay bales. "And I didn't even have to lie to some sweet little country girl to get us an outboard motor, or some armor plating, or any of our usual accessories. These rubes were kind enough to provide us with everything we needed," he said, smirking.

"Didn't see you helpin' out much, Faceman," B.A. chided, shaking an Allen wrench at him.

"Well, B.A., someone needed to offer moral support, and assist in the, uh, planning stages of the construction," Face offered.

B.A. growled and went back to work. "Hannibal, how we doin' on time?"

"Depends on what you're talking about. I figure Redthorn should be coming back with reinforcements before dawn, which should be around oh-six hundred this time of year. Our present there is just about done, right?"

"Right, man." B.A. tightened one last socket under the left wheel and pulled himself out from underneath.

"Then we have plenty of time." Hannibal grinned.

Face shifted position, itching at the sensation of the hay against his still-damp clothes. "What if he gets here sooner? Are we going to hope Murdock gets us out of a jam? On all fours, more than likely?"

"That's only a safety valve, Lieutenant. And when he does get here, Redthorn won't be expecting him. Either way, we have the element of surprise," said Hannibal, a fresh El Capitan having appeared in his fingers like magic. "Got a light?"

Face's jaw was slack. "I thought you smoked your last reserve back at the Hawkinses'?"

"The difference between a merely average strategist and a great one: having reserves of reserves for the most precarious situation."

"How'd you manage to keep it dry all this time?"

There was a familiar twinkle in Hannibal's eye. "You never told me how you got that Caddy in the jungles of Nam, so I'm claiming 'trade secret' too."

B.A. offered a lit match. "We been pretty damn lucky already with all these 'reserves' and 'safety valves' for one night, Hannibal," he grumbled. "What makes you think our luck gonna continue?"

"If you keep flipping a coin, and it keeps coming up tails, it's got to land on heads sooner or later." Hannibal pulled deeply on his cigar, a blissful expression on his features. "We're due for a break."

Face and B.A. exchanged a quick, worried look.

"Not if you're in Vegas, sucka," B.A. reminded him. "House always wins."

"We're a long way from Vegas, Sergeant." He blew a smoke ring, barely visible in the dim light.

"What I can't understand," Face said, giving up on the hay bales in favor of a rusty milk bucket, "is why those guys would want to kill us just for dropping in on a dogfight. Redthorn didn't even seem like he wanted to be there. And what's the deal with this whole Brotherhood of the Black Fox? Is that some kind of Cherokee version of the Lions Club?"

Hannibal took a seat opposite him on the toolbox B.A. had been using. "No telling. Mrs. Hawkins did say they were dealing drugs, and that was pretty obvious. But since when have sleazebags like Prescott or Redthorn ever played by the rules anyway? It wouldn't be as much fun if they were the Vienna Boys' Choir, now, would it?" His voice was that of an eager schoolboy.

"If they were, you might not have gotten shot," Face said, pointing to the blood-stained rag tied around Hannibal's thigh. "How are you holding up, anyway?"

With a heave, B.A. lifted a last piece of corrugated metal from its place by the wall. "He's on the jazz, man. Don't matter if he's wounded or not. Remember that time we tailed those Cong snipers down into that ravine?"

Face's mouth quirked at the corners. "Don't remind me."

"He's right, Face. This isn't half as bad as that operation was, and besides, I didn't have a cigar to smoke then. That's why I was in such low spirits."

"Oh. And all this time I thought it was because of the flak grenade. That's why the reserves of reserves now, right?"

"Exactly." Another smoke ring.

"You wanna give me a hand with this, Faceman?" B.A. called, lifting the metal plate into position.

Face sighed. "Well, if I must."

Hannibal gave his most sad-eyed, pathetic look. "Go on, Lieutenant. Bad leg and all, you know." A wry smile followed.

As Face held up the plate, B.A. soldered it into place with the portable welding torch he'd found earlier in a jumble of tools. When he'd finished, he raised the goggles from his eyes and looked over his creation with pride. "Bet that sucka General Mowery never imagined somethin' like this."

What had been a simple wooden hay cart was now an Industrial Age version of a horse-drawn caisson, its sides plated with spare sheet metal and wheels rimmed with more of the same. A wicked-looking tubular weapon stood in the bed on a swivel stand. All that was missing was a pair of armored chargers between the shafts, which B.A. immediately seemed to notice.

"Gotta get them horses from outside, Hannibal."

"Face? How about it?"

One finger stroked at his chin in thought. "I don't think they'd respond well to the old 'asking nicely with a cherry on top' trick, so how about I just wait until Lenny and Squiggy out there decide to bring us some bread crusts and water?"

Hannibal frowned, pulling the cigar from his mouth for a moment. "Come on, Face, a couple of civvie guards with peashooters? You don't even have to break a sweat for that."

"Yeah, man, we need somethin' to pull this thing." B.A. added his own, more intense scowl. "Otherwise I just made us a real fancy paperweight."

"Okay, okay. I didn't say I wouldn't do it, guys. I just need to think of, well, the right approach for this particular situation. As for breaking a sweat, I don't think that's going to be a problem," he said, shivering slightly as he had been practically all night.

Before he could take action, there was the unmistakeable sound of the bolt being slid from its position at the door. B.A. quickly threw a canvas cover over the caisson as Hannibal muttered a few words in Face's ear.

"Just get his weapon. I'll handle the rest."

But it was neither Reed nor Stansfield, or even Redthorn, who appeared at the doorway.

"What the hell took you so long, fool?" B.A. stood with hands on hips.

Murdock sidled in, wolflike even on two legs, a guilty smile on his face. "Colonel, those two guys are gonna be dreamin' of a white Christmas for at least an hour or so." He handed Hannibal the two deer rifles and cheap sidearm he'd taken from the sentries.

"Nice, Captain. Good work. Any sign of more?"

B.A., still furious, grabbed Murdock by the collar before he could answer. "You better not have led more of them Black Foxes here."

With a patient hand, Hannibal separated the two. "B.A., let him go. They already know we're here, remember?"

Eyebrows arched, Murdock made a face that was as close to serious as he ever attempted. "But little did they know that a full-blown lycanthrope, on the night of a full moon, no less, awaited to thwart their sinister plans," he intoned, sounding like the deadpan narrator from the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons he loved so much.

"But Murdock, you didn't, you know, change. And you're wearing clothes. Are you feeling all right?" asked Face only half-jokingly.

"The curse holds no sway when the moon is veiled by clouds, O Facial One. And behold," he continued, pulling a crumpled paper bag from his pocket, "mistletoe and wolfbane, provided by a fair enchantress to alleviate my pain and suffering…"

"You ran into Moira?" interrupted Face. "After that whole 'Rambina' act of hers, she actually came back?"

B.A. stamped one booted foot. "We don't need her, so quit your crazy talk and go get them horses, fool!"

Murdock snapped to attention. "I'm on it, big guy."

"Man, they better not have done somethin' to my ride," B.A. murmured, stroking the sides of the caisson like a beloved pet. "Or that tremor machine. Took me forever to build that baby."

"It's still in the van?" Face asked nervously.

"Yes, Dr. Colston. Don't you remember putting it back this morning?" Hannibal joked.

Face blinked. "You mean yesterday morning, Hannibal. We're going on almost twenty-four hours here, and I for one could use a cup of coffee."

"All in good time, Lieutenant."

"What about my van?"

Hannibal spoke soothingly. "We'll get it back, B.A. And our weapons."

Murdock led the team in from outside, pulling on their reins gently. He spoke softly to them as they walked along. "Don't you fellas worry for a minute. I'm under control, and besides, only if I were in the deepest throes of hunger would I even think about eating such magnificent beasts as yourselves…"

"You better stop yo' Dr. Doolittle act real quick, 'cause I sure ain't under control!" snarled B.A.

"Don't mind him. He's just one insensitive angry mudsucker, and he lacks empathy and compassion." Murdock scratched between the ears of the larger horse, who whinnied. "Good thing he's not the cursed one, right?"

"Murdock, would you just hitch them up? I think I've seen enough blood for one night," Face said, "and the sooner we finish off Redthorn and Prescott, the sooner we all get dry clothes, and something hot to eat, and…"

"Espresso?" Hannibal interjected with a sly smile.

A groan. "That too."

There was the sound of footsteps at the door. "I thought you said those guys were out cold," Hannibal said to Murdock.

"Like Minneapolis in January, Colonel."

"Who's there?" Face and Hannibal raised the confiscated deer rifles. "Show yourself." They lowered them when they saw the visitor's floppy hat and duster through the darkness.

"Well, if it isn't Glinda, the Good Witch," shot Face. "You bring the Lollipop Guild here with you?"

Ignoring the sarcasm, Moira shook her head. "I feel like I owe yer a full explanation. Didna ye say ye wanted one?" She tossed the vial with the green liquid to Hannibal, who caught it in midair. "Forgot to give ye that earlier for the pain, lad."

B.A. fixed her with a frosty stare. "Lady, we don't need nothin' right now but dry clothes and some more firepower, and I ain't in the mood for some crazy fairy tale. If I wanted that, I'd jus' let this fool here do the talkin'," he said wearily, gesturing to Murdock, who was tightening harness straps.

Hannibal gulped down the liquid in one swallow, then spoke. "There is some missing piece in all this. Why would a guy like Redthorn, who's obviously no dummy, be in cahoots with a redneck slimeball like Prescott? Like you said, Face, it doesn't add up." To Moira, he added, "Go ahead. We're all ears, at least until that psychotic Boy Scout troop shows back up."

She sat down across from Face on the hay bales. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes seemed somehow more prominent in the dim light. "Where shall I begin? Redthorn's a monster; that much ye know already. If 'e were only a man, well, maybe I'd have been able to destroy 'im by now, take the vengeance for Dad's murder. But 'e's not just a man; but a shaman, and a powerful 'un."

"A shaman?" Face's eyes widened in spite of himself. "What exactly does that mean?"

"No, man. Shaman's an Indian medicine man." It was B.A. who spoke. "Travels between worlds, speaks to the dead, walks in dreams. Nothin' to mess around with."

Moira nodded. "Yer friend's right. Redthorn's a dark shaman, the kind whose travels can only be accomplished through continual blood sacrifice."

Hannibal puffed at the last of his cigar. "Let me guess. Redthorn needed more and more sacrifices, so he allied himself with the one guy in this county who could get him what he wanted without question, and profit from it at the same time."

"Trey Prescott and Redthorn trust each other about as much as deer and wildcats, but one couldna exist without the other," Moira said, her voice husky with exhaustion. "Trey 'as those dogfights, and gives Redthorn a cut of those poor animals 'e takes from the families 'round here. Both enjoy blood sport, but in different ways." She shuddered.

"So how'd you and your father get mixed up in all this?" asked Face.

For the first time, emotion washed over her. She dabbled at her eyes with one sleeve. "I once loved Ike so much. 'E was intelligent, handsome, and most of all, 'e accepted me for what I was."

Face's lips curled in a half-smile. "What, after you came out of the broom closet?"

"Face…"

"Sorry." He stopped smiling. "Go on."

Moira seemed to find his joke funny, and smiled weakly through her tears. "No, 'e always knew. About me, and Dad. Ike and I took the oath of anamchara, soul-mates, and promised we'd never leave each other. We were tae be married, and then…" She trailed off. "Then 'e started changin'. Gatherin' followers, some of 'em Cherokee or half-bloods, some just ignorant hill folk with a longin' fer power. The Black Foxes. 'E wanted me to join 'im, told me our combined powers would make us invincible."

"You were gonna marry some crackpot like that?" B.A. said, incredulous. "You may be weird, lady, but you ain't stupid."

"Sounds like somebody I know well," Murdock muttered, shooting an annoyed glance at B.A.

"Shut up, fool!" barked B.A.

Hannibal held his hands up. "Would you guys just let her finish already?"

"Ike offered me one last chance tae join 'im and 'is cult. I refused, told 'im I wouldn't kill innocent creatures in the name o' magick. 'E was furious, in a blood rage. He broke our oath, and killed me father in cold blood." She held up her left hand. The pinkie was missing. "A warning, then 'e told me never tae cross 'im again, or else I'd join Dad. I'm lucky 'e didn't kill me right then an' there."

"Do you have any direct evidence to link him to your father's murder? Most of what you've said would be your word against his, and even if he's a slimebag, he's the deputy around here." Hannibal flicked the cigar stub aside.

She took off her hat. There were streaks of grey mixed in with the sable brown. "Not as such. I know Prescott 'elped Ike hide Dad's body somewhere. But that could be anywhere."

Face and Murdock glanced at each other. "There's a workshed outside the constable station; pretty heavily padlocked for just a bunch of garden tools and old coffee cans," Face offered. "Damn, there's that word again…"

Hannibal cupped a hand underneath his chin. "That was the one you couldn't get into earlier, right, Face?"

"Okay, enough with 'Torment Templeton Peck Night' already, Hannibal…"

B.A. looked over the caisson, which was now fully complete with the team between the shafts. "What you got in mind, Hannibal? I know you ain't gonna sit here and wait for 'em."

"What I've got in mind," said the colonel, sparks of ingenuity dancing in his eyes, "is taking the offensive position, not to mention using the element of surprise. If we find what I think we're gonna find in that shed, we'll have enough evidence to bring down Prescott and Redthorn in one fell swoop. Somehow I don't think there'll be anyone at a small-town constable's office at," he glanced at his watch, "quarter to five in the morning. And if there is, well, we get to unwrap the present early." He looked to his men, grinning.

"Moon's still out, Colonel. Do I dare disturb the universe, the whims of fate?" Murdock, with his pale face, mismatched clothes and hair standing on end, looked like an extra in a poorly made zombie movie.

B.A. waved a heavy fist in his direction. "You ain't nothin' but a crazy man who thinks he's turnin' into a wolf. If you don't stop yo' jibba-jabba, I'm gonna disturb your universe real bad!"

Face turned to Moira, who had gone quiet. "What about you? Are you coming or staying?"

"I'm stayin'." Her voice, a hoarse whisper, was resolute. "Done more than I reckoned I would already."

"These scumbags killed your father, honey, and all you want to do is stay behind every time?" Hannibal said, using a broken broom handle as leverage to rise to his feet. "You seem awfully indecisive for someone who wants revenge so badly."

She seemed to have aged in just a few hours; her face was that of a haggard, middle-aged woman. "I like the four o' you; ye really have good hearts. But…it's complicated."

"Complicated enough for you to stand by and watch Redthorn overrun this valley? You said it was your calling to be a protector," said Face, "and we could use an extra hand if you want to help."

"Momma, Redthorn ain't gonna be satisfied wit' just killin' animals forever. He and them Black Foxes will come back for you one of these days," B.A. added, echoing Murdock's earlier warning.

She looked to the A-Team and their armored caisson, to each of their faces, then finally to her moccasins. "I've made my choice. Tyr and Epona go with ye," she whispered finally, looking more ashamed than before.

"Let's go, guys," Hannibal urged his men. "Thanks for that green stuff, whatever it was. And don't bother following us if you're not going to help this time," he called over his shoulder to Moira, who was still staring at the dirt floor.

Outside, the pre-dawn air was crisp and cold, and the wind had died down. "Hannibal, did you really have to talk to her that way?" asked Face with sympathy.

"Yeah, I did, Face." Hannibal didn't look back. "We're on hostile territory, and I don't have the time to babysit some woman who never can make up her mind, and is probably a little stir-crazy from living out here in the woods by herself." His blue eyes turned to the younger man. "Besides, we're not working for Moira, or her dear departed father. The Hawkinses were the ones who hired us, and we're trying to nail Prescott and Redthorn for them, not her."

"She's one weird girl, man," concurred B.A., holding the team's reins. "Jus' like Murdock. We gonna head back into Possum Lodge?"

Hannibal nodded. "Right. Since we're fresh out of bread crumbs, we're gonna have to leave Redthorn another kind of easy trail to follow. Murdock, did you see those spray cans outside the door?"

"Yep. I got 'em, Colonel." He cocked his head, then smiled. "I think I know what ya got in mind."

"Step lively, then."

Face checked the prone forms of Reed and Stansfield, who were indeed unconscious and bound. He frowned. "Are we really going to attack these guys on their own turf, then knock over their hidey-hole? Haven't we upset them already for one evening?"

Hannibal's expression was pure mischief. "As you said yourself, Face, we're into tomorrow already, so that makes the slate clean. Besides, in my experience, you can never annoy slimeballs like these guys too much. I've barely scratched the surface." Whatever was in the green potion seemed to have only increased his level of good cheer.

"Now, here's what we're gonna do…"