A/N: Hello friends! Two things: Firstly, I am so sorry for the ridiculous uploading delay. I know its cliche, but my laptop had a near-fatal heart attack that has left him in long-term ICU. The doctor seems to think he'll make a full recovery, but it will take time. I was right in the middle of this chapter when it happened...thankfully I was able to get a copy of the harddrive a couple days ago.

Secondly, I've decided to turn Hannibal's chapter into three as it grew in length and instensity rather rapidly. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait!

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Hannibal: Pt 1
Responsibility
StriderX

He could feel himself fading a little bit with each step. Over and over he turned the plan about his mind; there was no reason for it to have gone wrong. Where on earth did a bunch of illiterate miners in the back desert of Utah get AK-47's anyway?

Furious, he shook his head as if trying to dizzy the frustration into submission. Alas, when his eyes caught focus again, the blatant failure of his plan was still there, still hovering just behind view.

Of course none of the boys mentioned it. Rifling through the wilderness, still ten miles from the nearest town (or chopper), they all had enough time to realize the screw-up wasn't Hannibal's fault. There was no way they could've expected men who, just yesterday were throwing rocks at them, to now possess weapons enough for a small war. Murdock figured it was because they were in cahoots with the Space Hamsters; when he said so B.A. nearly rung his throat. Face shook his head. Hannibal found himself ignoring them all.

They'd managed to complete the mission in the end, barely. The job was to destroy the illegal mine so it could never be used again and rescue the husband/wife team held captive inside.

Amidst the surprise bullets and well-tossed grenades, Hannibal had thrown the captives into the only jeep and told them to high-tail it back to town and never look back. Truthfully, he wasn't then sure he and the Team would make it out. The burning throb deep in his right shoulder made him realize just how close they'd come.

A mile into their dusty hike back to town, Hannibal hovered at the rear of the team under the rouse of "rear guard". It wasn't normal for him to keep behind, but the boys nodded anyway; they were beat, who cared about the order? Hannibal focused on each boy, fighting desperately to keep his vision clear.

B.A. was just ahead of him, a rifle slung over his big shoulder and dust and grim coating his cargo pants and tank. A few minor scraps bled against his dark skin, but Hannibal imaged the big guy didn't even feel them.

Murdock was next; he always stayed near B.A. when possible. Hannibal could've grinned…under different circumstances. Murdock idolized B.A. like a boy to his favorite star. In Murdock's eyes, B.A. could do no wrong. As for the Captain's health, he was fine: all arms and legs bouncing in the wind just like always. He had a rifle in his hand and two pistols shoved into the back-waistband of his pants. Hannibal could tell from his walk that the Captain was on alert, ready for any attack.

Face took the front guard, steady rifle waiting at the ready in his strong hands. There was a mildly impressive gash dripping red down the kid's left arm, but nothing to worry about. Hannibal wasn't sure how it happened, but he imagined it was going to need a good clean and stitch. Maybe—

Hannibal's thoughts caught in his throat as his ankle gave out atop the odd angle of a misplaced step. Rapidly, he caught himself and stood as tall as possible, attempting to play off the noise by kicking a mound of small pebbles.

"You al'ight, Hannibal?" came B.A.'s quiet voice in front of him. Of course the man hadn't been fooled…Hannibal cursed inside.

"Yeah. Fine," his reply was terse and tight as he tried to fight the wave of agony coursing through him. B.A. seemed appeased; he shrugged and turned back around to keep walking. For this, Hannibal was grateful. Taking a few deep breaths, the Colonel attempted to regain control of his fading limbs. A part of his mind screamed out for rest, to stop…even if for just a minute. But then the boys would know something was wrong. He wouldn't be able to keep it from them then.

And he had to keep it from them. He was their leader, their commander; he was their strength…not the other way around.

But they were not blind, either.

It was B.A. who noticed it first, being the closest. At the three-mile mark, he heard Hannibal's breathing thicken but shrugged it off; they were hiking through a wasteland: hot, dry; miserable. They were all breathing a little hard at that point. It wasn't until thirty-minutes later that B.A. realized something was wrong. Somewhere around four-miles, Hannibal's breathing had weakened from working pant to a wet, painful wheeze. The Sergeant stopped immediately and spun; Hannibal was lagging behind the group, trying desperately to keep up, but finding agony painted on his face instead. B.A. could see the gears working in the Colonel; he could see the fight he was putting up.

"Hannibal? You okay man?" the hitched concern in B.A.'s tone caught Murdock and Face's attention instantly. As they rushed to him, Hannibal put up a hand to wave them off.

"I'm fi—" the lie died on his lips as one last burst of pain rippled over his nerves and sent his brain into overdrive. Like clockwork, it shut down—protecting itself—leaving Hannibal to pitch forward expecting nothing but the dusty crash of rock and sand.

B.A. was so close, he could almost touch the Colonel; when he went down, B.A. caught him far before Hannibal could hit the ground.

"Hannibal!" B.A. yelped when the Colonel began a slow-motion collapse. Despite his size, B.A. moved like a flash to catch the man before he hit the ground. Positioning his bent legs under Hannibal's head, B.A. took quick notice of the sweat and fever hanging on his C.O.'s brow. Panicking, B.A.'s eyes shot for help. "Face! Murdock! Some'in's wrong wit' Hannibal!"

All Hannibal could hear was a blur as he felt familiar hands rummage over his bruised old body, searching for the hidden ail he couldn't come to describe. His eyes were open and blinking sluggishly, but all he saw was shapes and shadows.

As B.A. was pleading, Face and Murdock were already rushing to his side. They moved fluidly, instantly switching back to the war training of old. There was protocol for things like this. Find a pulse. Find, clean, bandage the wound. Keep moving. Above all else, never think. Thinking breeds emotion and an emotional soldier was a liability, not a help.

With trembling hands, Face fought the urge to look into Hannibal's clouding eyes as he grappled at Colonel's black shirt and ripped. He couldn't control the gasp that came…none of them could. There, just below Hannibal's collarbone, just inside his right shoulder, was a bleeding mass of a round bullet hole eating through his skin. From the quick survey, it looked like Hannibal had tried to patch it himself when no one was looking; a wad of cloth was stuffed around the wound, dripping with crimson.

Face frowned deeply. Why didn't he say anything sooner? "Uh…Al-alright…" he stumbled, finding difficulty in detaching the closest thing any of them had to a father from the bullet hole spurting red like a paint can. Frantically he looked to B.A. and Murdock for help. "We got'ta...um…we got'ta get this bandaged and g-get him to a hospital, fast."

Murdock was somewhere between anger and tears. "Aw, Hannibal…he's not gon'na make it the other six miles to town, Face," the team's face's fell as the truth of Murdock's words sunk in. As far as they were concerned, Hannibal shouldn't have been able to make it four miles…let alone ten.

"We got'ta do somethin' fool…this is Hannibal! He needs help now!"

Murdock's glare hit B.A. like a ton of bricks. "You don't think I know that, B.A.? Look. You and Face stay with him, do what you can to keep him stable, I'll run ahead to town and grab that chopper we saw this morning."

The moment, for Murdock, was the closest thing to proven sanity as the world would ever see. Hardly waiting for a reply, the pilot took one last, desperate glace at Hannibal's fading eyes and took off in a twirl of dust as fast as his legs could take him.

"Okay…" Face nodded, sweat bouncing on his trembling nerves. "Right…Hannibal?" he leaned close to the older man. "Can you hear me? I need your help here."

With an agonizing slowness that B.A. tried to black out of his mind, Hannibal pulled his glassy blue eyes open, searching for the calling voice.

"That's it, Colonel," Face encouraged, feeling himself daring a smile.

Slowly, Hannibal seemed to regain the lucidity that had briefly left him. It infuriated B.A. when the man actually grinned. "Nnnm…guess this would be a bad time to tell you that plan didn't exactly come together, huh?"

"You was shot, fool! Why didn't you say somethin'?" B.A. roared; Hannibal felt it even through the man's legs bent up under the Colonel's head.

"Cuz' I was fine until about five minutes ago," Hannibal smirked in his lie. He knew B.A. didn't buy it; he didn't have to. The point was diversion, not persuasion. If B.A. was angry with him, that wouldn't leave him much time to panic with worry.

"When were you shot, Hannibal?"

When Hannibal looked to Face, he saw his Lieutenant stepping into command like he belonged there. Despite his pain, Hannibal's heart swelled with pride.

"Hannibal?" the Colonel realized he must've forgotten to answer Face's question…everything was so hazy…

"Em…"he delayed until the inquiry popped back into his head. "One of the last miner's got me with a lucky shot…not more than…how long have we been walking?"

"About an hour," Face sighed.

"Right. No longer than an hour and a half. B.A.," Hannibal looked up at the Sergeant's anxious, scowling face (which from his position meant looking right up the man's nose). "Help me up. We've got'ta make it to town," then, looking around past face, frowned. "Where's Murdock?"

Face placed a firm hand on Hannibal's unharmed shoulder and held it there. It felt strange…this was usually Hannibal's job; Face wasn't entirely sure how to handle it. "Murdock went ahead to town for a chopper. We're waiting here," when Hannibal opened his mouth to protest, Face shooed him with a pointed finger. "No arguments, Hannibal."

An awkward silence hung around them as Hannibal glared at Face, trying to wrap his mind around the surreal role-reversal of his Lieutenant.

Sensing it, B.A. attempted to change the subject. "We got'ta get that wound clean man. You're gon'na get an infection."

Face broke away from Hannibal's piercing stare with difficulty but did succeed with a slight shake. "B.A.'s right, Hannibal," reaching to the small canteen secured to his belt, Face removed the lid carefully. "Water's gon'na have to do for now…"

Sharing a brief glance, Face and B.A. silently prayed Murdock would run faster than he ever had. Water was a better cleaner than nothing, but it certainly wasn't peroxide either. The minute cleaning would stave off infection, not prevent it. If they couldn't get Hannibal to a hospital soon…Face cringed as his mind clawed away at the fear rapidly sinking into his heart.

TBC

A/N: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! I'll try to have the next posted soon...you know how it is...exam week ;P