Chapter Eleven

Limbs leaded with exhaustion, Face leaned back in his seat, eyeing Baracus.

Had he really done that shitty of a job dressing the Sergeant's wounds? Frowning at the bloodied, tangled mess of gauze encasing BA's thigh and shoulder, Face slowly let his drooping eyelids slide shut.

Screw it— perfection was overrated. He smiled at the thought. Well, at least he'd managed to stop the bleeding, and as for the bullets still lodged in Baracus…yeah…well…he was going to let someone else worry about that—someone far more qualified.

With that, he sat up, forced open his eyes and peered over at Callaghan. Instantly, his smile faded.

Steeled in concentration, the medic was hard at work on Dom—who, with pallid skin, was deathly still; his sunken eyes were closed, body limp.

Even though his patient was clearly unconscious, Callaghan held his strained smile in place, offering up comforting words—which Face was barely able to hear over the noise of the Huey.

"You're gonna be ok…" Callaghan said, leaning down, his voice flawlessly smooth, sure. "This is nothing…You're gonna get some down time with a cute nurse or two and be right back on your feet in no time—beating me at cards and giving Ray shit."

The performance was good; hell, Face almost believed it himself, but the growing pools of crimson staining the chopper floor beneath Dom betrayed any sense of reassurance Callaghan tried to convey. Face gave a deep, long sigh, wanting to look away but incapable of doing so.

Without thought, Face focused on Dom's chest, trying to gauge whether the man still drew in breath, but with the constant jostle and vibration of the chopper, he couldn't tell. The only clue he had that Dom still lived was the fact that Callaghan hadn't yet stopped tending to him.

Callaghan was holding his shit together better than Face would have expected. After all, that was his best friend he was watching die. Face felt a stab of guilt for labeling Dom as dying—wasn't there still hope, no matter how frail? He doubted it…

Behind Callaghan, Ray and Hannibal stood—their expressions somber as they spoke in hushed tones and watched the medic work. Their hands and fatigues were smeared with Dom's blood from their attempts to aid Callaghan in his work, but there was no more they could.

Face caught a brief snippet of Hannibal and Ray's conversation, as their tones suddenly turned heated.

"Damn it, Hannibal…" Ray snapped. "You can't just…"

"RAY." Hannibal's voice, sharp and commanding, silenced Ray.

The Colonel gave Brenner a hard stare before glancing over at Face and then Dom. Ray followed suit, and seeing the two men raptly watching him, he shrugged and turned his attention back to Hannibal before speaking in a far more sedate voice.

Hannibal responded, too quietly for Face to hear, but his expression made it clear that Ray had overstepped his position and that the matter would be taken care of how Hannibal saw fit.

Ray nodded dully, giving no further argument.

The whole incident, though, gave Face cause for concern. He may not have been with the team long, but he was fully aware that Ray was Hannibal's voice of reason when it came to his unorthodox, risky plans. So, if Ray was on edge and quarrelling with the Colonel, which he rarely ever was, Hannibal must have had something very questionable in the works.

Face frowned. None of this was sitting well with him, and Murdock's disappearing act earlier out the side door had been rather unnerving, but Face hadn't had a lot of time to ponder it much. He'd been too busy trying to plug holes in BA.

He narrowed his gaze on Hannibal, watching carefully as the Colonel's hand drifted to the shirt pocket housing his cigar. A hazy memory from his first op with the team surfaced in Face's thoughts. It had been during a firefight, one that they seemed destined to lose. The LZ was too hot for extraction and they were running low on ammo. Face was sure it was the end, but Ray only laughed and offered some rather confusing words of encouragement.

'Kid, this is nothing. The only time you ever need to really worry is when Hannibal lights up his cigar before we've been debriefed on an op. If he does that, then we know we're screwed.'

Face let the memory fade as he stared across the chopper. Fortunately, the cigar never came out, as the Colonel would suddenly seem to remember himself, and, drawing his hand away, he would start to study Dom again or return to his quiet conversation with Ray.

Slowly, hesitantly, Face turned his attention back to BA.

Sweat sheening his dark skin, BA's head lolled heavily to one side. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face wrinkled and pinched in pain. Weak from blood loss, BA fought to remain conscious. The struggle was uncomfortable to witness though as the big guy slipped in and out of lucidity, muttering either threats or fearful pleas.

Face sighed. Befriending the toughest guy around had been a calculated move, something that he had done countless times before; it was meant to provide additional protection in case any of his scams went sour, and, for the most part, it worked. People would back down at the sight of the large sergeant.

However, Face found that winning Baracus over had been more difficult than most others. He didn't drink, he didn't smoke and he merely shrugged off any offers Face made of finding him dates.

The guy was one of the biggest enigmas Face had encountered, and, for a while, he started to think the man's loyalty couldn't be bought. But then, mainly through pure persistence, Face won him over with nothing more than charm. There was one problem with this new found friendship though, Face had never meant for it to be genuine—which, he suddenly, startlingly realized, as BA sat injured beside him, it was.

Face frowned. Shit. How had that happened?

He liked the guy, though he wasn't always sure why. Partially, perhaps, it was his honesty. BA told the truth—the blatant, honest, sometimes hurtful truth. If he didn't like you, he said so, and if he really didn't like you, he punched you in the face. Judging by his path of destruction, there were a lot of people BA really didn't like. Many of which just happened to be officers.

There was something refreshing about that level of honesty—something Face admired. He didn't exactly envy it, but it did grant him a certain amount of respect for BA, and, somehow, that respect had led to trust and finally to friendship.

Damn. Face gave a half-hearted grin as he looked at Baracus. So now he had two friends in country.

"Tell…Mama…sorry…." BA mumbled softly. "…don't leave me…not here."

"Hey buddy, no one is going to leave you anywhere, ok? We're going back to base right now." Face watched the Sergeant carefully, trying to gauge whether the man understood.

Gradually, BA gave a deep scowl. "I'm…I'm gonna kill…." He paused, wetting his lips. "…the pilot…I...don't wanna fly…."

Face grinned. "Well, killing the pilot is going to have to wait until after we land, and I'll be kind enough to give him a warning before you find him." He waited for a reaction, but, judging by the deep, rhythmic sound of his breathing, BA must've drifted off again.

With a sigh, Face leaned back and closed his eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he was this tired. He could feel the surges of adrenaline from the battle fading, leaving him with nothing but the gnawing need for sleep. Maybe the date with Cheryl had been pushing the envelope a bit too far? After all, had she really been worth that sacrifice? Now Cindy on the other hand…he was sure she would have made life more interesting…

"You ok, kid?"

Startled, Face flinched upright, staring at Hannibal—who suddenly stood beside him. He tried to hide his surprise, but sensing it was a useless endeavor, he merely shrugged. "Geez, did you have to scare the crap out of me like that?"

Hannibal chuckled. "Well, it's not like I was trying." He glanced down at Face's boot. "How's the foot?"

Face frowned; he really didn't want to think about that. "Well, I don't think the stakes were poisoned, if that's what you're asking. They were just smeared in good ol' fashioned shit." He forced a smile. "Lucky me!" He was not looking forward to the prodding his foot was going to get when they got back to base, but he really didn't like the idea of an infection setting in either.

Hannibal nodded and then sat down next to Face. They were both silent a moment, listening to the churn of the chopper's blades. Face was bone tired, but, knowing Hannibal was there for a reason, he resisted the urge to lean back and doze.

"How's BA?" Hannibal asked at last, his gaze drifting to the Sergeant.

"Good. I mean, he'll pull through." Hell, Face wasn't sure, but it sounded like the right thing to say; he was too exhausted to come up with anything better than that.

"Yeah, I'm sure he will…" Hannibal trailed off, his brow furrowing as he tenderly rubbed the patch of bloodied hair on his head. "We might have an issue with…"

His words came to a sudden halt as Murdock's voice bellowed out over the steady hum of the Huey.

"HANNIBAL! HEY, COLONEL, GET UP HERE! HANN-I-BAL! HELLO?"

Face was barely able to catch the quick curse that Hannibal muttered before he sprang to his feet and disappeared into the cockpit.

With a deep groan, Face leaned back, hoping this wasn't Murdock simply messing with Hannibal. He'd ask the pilot to be on his best behavior. Of course, he'd forgotten to ask him to leave his patented howl behind this mission— at least until Hannibal got to know him a little better. With the way things were going, Face was really starting to doubt whether Hannibal was going to ask Murdock to fly for them again.

"We gonna crash…"

Surprised to hear BA semi-coherent again, Face glanced over at the man. "No, we're not going to crash. Murdock is…"

"A crazy fool…" BA muttered. "We gonna crash and we gonna die." His eyelids lifted, revealing his glossy, unfocused eyes. "Crazy pilot is probably telling that to Hannibal right now."

Face was going to answer, but, as BA's eyes fluttered shut again, he knew it would do no good. The man would neither hear him nor believe him at this point.

He waited a few more tense minutes before Hannibal reappeared. After exiting the cockpit, the Colonel stood stock still as he surveyed his men— his eyes filled with cold calculation. As the icy gaze finally fell on him, Face felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He wasn't sure what Murdock had said to the Colonel, but it obviously hadn't been good news.

Glancing away, Hannibal slowly reached into his pocket and fished out his cigar and lighter. Face could feel his breath catch as he watched. This didn't really mean anything, right? Slowly, the Colonel raised the cigar to his mouth, gingerly clamping it between his pearly white teeth. Face's heart began to race; he wanted to call out, to make Hannibal stop, but this new fear seemed so silly, so pointless.

Hannibal flicked the lighter on, quickly holding the tiny flame to the end of his cigar as he drew in the first few puffs of sweet tobacco smoke. Snapping the lighter shut, he pocketed it and stared blankly out the side door at the dark rice paddies below.

Stunned, Face glanced over at Ray, but the shock in the man's expression told him everything he needed to know. They were screwed.