I'm not a native English-speaker, and unfortunately, I'm also without a beta-reader. I have a feeling that I messed up quite a few sentences in this chapter. Please try to overlook the mistakes and enjoy the story. Hopefully I managed to beat this chater into an enjoyable form.

"I'm ok, Hannibal," Face repeated impatiently. This time Hannibal kept asking him if he really was fine with the plan, like every other minute or so. At least that's what it felt like, and it was becoming rather irritating very quickly. "Now stop worrying 'bout me and get on with it."

"I'm not worrying about you, Face. It's just, if there's anything you can't do, and you don't tell me, the whole plan is worth a rat's fart. And that may endanger us all. So, tell me."

For some reason, put like that, it sounded even worse. "Hannibal, I'm fine", Face reassured. "Not particularly thrilled, I'll admit, but fine. I can and will do my part." He looked Hannibal squarely in the eyes. "Now can we get on with it?"

Hannibal nodded.

Mudock had the engine of the small Russian chopper fired up, and all that was left for him to do was pull the collective* and lift off. But before he did, he threw a glance into the back. BA sat there, held inside by pure sense of duty. Hannibal and Face each kept a watchful eye on him anyway. With BA, one never knew, he might just jump off at the last second. Wouldn't be the first time, either.

"Eyes on the road, Captain," Hannibal said evenly.

Murdock took a firm hold of his controls, pulled the collective, steadied the rising bird with the pedals until he was a comfortable ten feet in the air, then he pushed the cyclic forward, and they were off. Deep into enemy territory - hence the foreign chopper, spoils of war be praised. Murdock only hoped that every AAFC along their route was informed about this, lest they started firing at them.

He grinned against his nerves. He just loved missions like this. In an US army helicopter they would be safe from AAFC, but in danger once they crossed the front line. In a Vietcong helicopter it would be the other way around.

And that still didn't say anything about the mission itself: meeting Tran Li Qui, a Vietnamese spy, who, for all Murdock knew, was a double-agent. He had helped them on a number of occasions, yes, but also, his information had been faulty every now and then. Tran Li Qui was by no means a safe bet.

Twenty-three minutes later Murdock landed in a clearing.

Everything was calm, which was good, seeing as how they were an hour early. Nevertheless, they wasted no time and got ready, Face climbed out of the chopper to find himself a good sniper-spot on one side of the clearing. BA, slowly coming out of his catatonia, did the same on the other side. Hannibal climbed out but stayed with the chopper. Murdock also stayed with the chopper, in his seat, ready to start and take off at a moment's notice.

As it turned out, they were not the only ones to arrive early. Tran showed up with eighteen minutes to spare and his own back-up team, no doubt. He cast a pointed look at Murdock. "Don't you trust me, Colonel?" he asked.

"Should I?" Hannibal asked back.

"Where is the rest of your unit? There are usually at least three of you - four with the pilot."

"Oh, they are around," Hannibal answered lightly, "don't your worry about them, they're fine."

Tran shrugged. "Well, let's get down to business then."

Business was over quickly. Tran Li Qui was, if nothing else, a first class capitalist. He'd sell everyone and everything to just anyone, as long as the price was right. So Hannibal handed Tran a box filled with money and in return received a box worth 122 lives, hopefully. Information on a POW-camp.

Tran and his men disappeared into the jungle, Hannibal handed the box to Murdock, who quickly stored it under his seat. The message was clear: No matter what, take this information back. He hated Hannibal for that decision, but understood it at the same time. Which made him hate the whole situation just that much more.

"Face, all clear with you?" Hannibal asked into his walkie-talkie.

"Seems to be."

"BA?"

"Yellow," BA answered in code.

"Can you handle it?"

Murdock's stomach cramped up.

"Nothing to handle yet, just don't feel right."

Face's hushed voice followed suit: "Yellow. Brownies eighty to my nine." - Vietcong approximately eighty feet to the south of Face's position, wherever that was exactly.

Like a walkie-talkie game of ping-pong, BA's voice came in right after Face finished. "Brownies from noon and six, moving three." - Vietcong approaching BA's position from the north and south, with BA moving west to escape them.

Their code was a very simple one, using a clock-face for the cardinal directions. The only twist was, that they each had a different point of reference. Face's north lay on three, BA's on six, Hannibal's on nine. Murdock's lay on twelve, just because somebody had to have it the traditional way, and he had pulled the short straw.

"Damn," Hannibal cursed.

"Damn, damn, damn," Murdock seconded, thirded and fourthed the sentiment, as he started the engine.

"Face, BA, if at all possible..."

"On my way," came BA's answer, no response from Face.

Murdock's stomach cramped up some more.

"Orange."

Face, thank God! Orange was not a particularly good status, but still better than red. And Face transmitting meant that he was still alive and free. For the moment. The relief was short lived, however.

"Red clockwise," Face hissed.

Murdock's body itched all over with the need to do something to help, but his part of this mission was quite clear. All he could do was delaying take-off for a little bit longer. Thankfully, so far, Hannibal had not given him the direct order.

"Bird in cage," Face went on, and for a moment Murdock honestly couldn't process the message, because "bird in cage" meant a soldier in a VC-bunker. How had Face detected... Face was good, sure, but...

"I'm the bird, by the way."

Oh. Well that was something else. Murdock found he could breathe again. But, again, it didn't keep, because a moment after that gun-fire ripped through the jungle.

"Hannibal, statue?" BA sounded tense. He must feel just like Murdock did, desperate to help his buddy who was likely torn to shreds that very moment.

"Statue," Hannibal confirmed, then he glanced over at Murdock.

"Statue", Murdock said into his mike. It was not a question, it was a demand.

Hannibal nodded.

"Noon clear," Face quickly informed before the gun-fire resumed.

"BA, move!" Hannibal ordered and started to move himself. "Murdock, top!"

"Copy." Murdock bit it out between gritted teeth. At least, Hannibal hadn't sent him back to base, just up into the air, out of the immediate hot-zone. The sounds of the battle fell away as he rose, the radio being silent as well, leaving him in the dark, until two long hours later Hannibal radioed in.

"Captain, still nearby?"

"Two clearings over."

"Come and get us." Hannibal sounded calm enough.

"My pleasure."

Ten minutes later Murdock had his team back in his chopper. Face and Hannibal had come out of the fight unscathed, BA had taken a graze to his left temple, but didn't seem too bad off. He was oriented, not dizzy, and even complaining a little about having to fly.

"Gotta believe that skull," Hannibal commented with a head-shake and a wide grin.

* Helicopters have three steering-devices:
The collective makes it rise and sink
The cyclic moves it backwards, forwards, left and right
The pedals control the tail-rotor and or steady the entire helicopter in the air (respectively makes the helicopter rotate around its own vertical axis)

TBC