I hate to be an alarmist, but getting caught between Attila the Hun and Jaws is not my idea of how to live to a ripe old age.

- Face, "Double Heat"

Chapter 17: Close Confines

"I'm sure he came this way. Start checking the doors that aren't locked. He's got to be around here somewhere . . ."

Even from where he was crouched inside the theater, Hannibal could clearly hear the echo of the voice outside. He looked around the theater quickly for anything that could help them get these guards off their backs, but found nothing . . . nothing except for the movie and the gentle sounds of the player piano that accompanied it in perfect timing.

Timing . . .

If they could time it just right, then maybe there was a way that they could deal with these guards that were about to discover them, and achieve freedom. He glanced over to Face, who was busy taking pictures of the site map and blueprints in the close confines, and also at Murdock who seemed to spot something else interesting on the blueprints and pointed at the spot on the paper so the Lieutenant could take a snapshot of that section.

"Murdock," Hannibal whispered in a low tone as he moved back to where his men were. He gathered up the blueprint and map after the con artist had taken the last picture and stuffed it back into the pocket of the parka. "Get them in here. Face, take the right. I'll take the left."

The lanky Texan grinned, understanding instantly what his Commanding Officer had in mind. He was going to act as bait. He watched both the Colonel and his best friend move closer to the door and take up a position on either side of the doorway, just inside of it but definitely out of sight. Once they were set, he moved as close as he could to the door and lay down on the floor. He stretched out his tall, wry figure in such a way to where it'd look like he was either injured or sick. With a slight, almost imperceptible nod of his head, he watched Hannibal start to open the door to the theater. As his Commanding Officer did so, the pilot let out a pathetic moan.

The guard that was closest to the door moved even closer to investigate what he had just heard. He paused at the doorway as he spotted the figure on the floor, and then turned to call back to his partner, "I think I found one of them. Come on." Returning his attention to the prostrate form, he shoved his gun into the holster attached to his belt and started to move closer to the person on the floor, who let out another almost sickly moan. Thanks to the darkened theater, the guard didn't see the two A-Team members laying in wait . . .

Once the second guard stepped inside to join his partner, the A-Team attacked!

Hannibal was the first one to act, grabbing the second guard from behind and turning him around. He was immediately stunned by the fact that there was someone else in the silent theater besides the man lying on the floor. He didn't have time to react, much less let out a shout of surprise, before the Colonel's fist connected solidly with his jaw. The force of the punch was so strong that he was spun around again . . . this time into the waiting arms of Templeton Peck.

Face delivered a well-placed punch of his own, and then used the guard's momentum to his advantage. He grabbed the man by his shoulders and pivoted, flinging him head first into a large metal trash can that stood just inside the door. The guard was stuck inside, his feet sticking out and kicking wildly in a futile attempt to dislodge himself. The con artist brushed his hands against his pants and gave a satisfied grin as he cracked, "Now that's taking out the trash."

While they dealt with the one guard, the other that went to check on Murdock was totally taken by surprise. He hadn't expected for two others to be in the theater, much less attack his partner. The shock of that caused him to freeze, rendering him unable to react when the long arms of the pilot grabbed onto him and pulled him to the floor. They wrestled around a bit, with neither one really gaining an advantage, until Murdock drew back and delivered a strong punch to the guard's face. That was all he needed to daze the man, but he followed up with another couple of punches until he was rendered unconscious.

Lieutenant Peck looked over to his best friend, noting how the second guard was already out cold on the floor. He shook his head as he watched the Colonel reach forward with his hand to help him back to his feet. Face was always amazed by how well Murdock's wounded puppy routine went . . . and he did it so well, too. Make the bad guys think you're helpless, and then strike when they least expect it.

"C'mon," Hannibal said brusquely, as he cast a worried glance toward the garbage can. "That guard in the trash won't stay lodged in there very long, and his partner could wake up any second now. Let's get out of here." His words were punctuated by the muffled cries that echoed from the round metal container. Moving swiftly, the cunning strategist turned and raced out the door of the silent movie theater, his two officers close behind him.

Sergeant Bosco Baracus quietly emerged from the Energy Lab, shaking his head in frustration. He hadn't seen any sign of Kramer since the guards had literally run into him and Murdock, nor had he figured out where the crazy fool went off to. In fact, his search pattern had turned up a few more of the guards, sweeping the Museum in an attempt to flush the A-Team out. Thankfully, he had managed to find places to hide . . . or in the cases where he couldn't, he made sure that they weren't going to wake up anytime soon and alert the others where they had seen him.

What amazed the master mechanic was how quickly Spencer had recovered from the attack in the basement and organized his men to find them. He was also surprised at the large number of security guards present in the Museum. Could it have had something to do with the transaction that had taken place in the basement? Granted, every Museum had their own security guards, but the sheer number that he had observed . . . it was a lot more than usual.

He had been forced to change direction several times in his attempt to find some way to meet up with the other members of the unit. As he looked around in the darkened area, he recognized the sight of the Paul Bunyan log cabin . . . the same spot where he and Murdock had split up. He wondered how the pilot was faring, and if he managed to elude the guards as well.

From what he remembered, Murdock had his hands full with a couple of guards at the time they had separated. He knew that the Captain as very capable of taking care of himself, in his own unique way, but he felt it his responsibility to look out for the members of the unit . . . to provide the muscle to beat down those that threatened the men that had not only earned his friendship, but had stood by his side since the jungles of Vietnam. If Murdock or any of the others had been caught or hurt in any way, on top of what he was doing with his mother, Spencer Jackson was going to find himself in a world of hurt. Not even his Commanding Officer would be able to stop him from making sure the man knew the real meaning of the word pain.

But, there was also something else to consider as well. Would Murdock try to make it back here to meet up with him once he lost the guards? Or was he going to have to scour the Museum not only for the crazy fool, but also Hannibal and Face? Even though he recalled Colonel ordering the con artist to get out of there with the evidence if things started going south, there was an incredibly strong sense of loyalty along all of them. He knew that the Lieutenant wouldn't leave the rest of them behind if he could help it. None of them would. But, with how big the Museum was, if they ended up having to search for each other, they'd be lucky if they'd meet up.

That's when it dawned on him . . . the entrance where they had first entered the Museum for this late night escapade. It was right near Yesterday's Main Street, which was already a dimly lit exhibit, which made it a virtually perfect rendezvous spot. They could just hide out there, or even behind the Coal Mine elevator, while Face picked the lock for the large copper doors and they could make their escape.

He started to take a few steps toward the yellow staircase when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps emanating from the stairwell. He froze for a moment as he realized what was going on.

Someone was coming . . .

He quickly looked around to try and see if he could find a hiding spot. He wasn't sure who was coming down the stairs, although he hoped it was Spencer. After what he saw in the basement, and just thinking about everything that his Mama had gone through, he seriously wanted to introduce the man to his fist!

Wait . . . the Energy Lab! Moving swiftly and silently, he rushed back into the exhibit and crouched down behind two angled panels. This particular display that he chose as a hiding spot detailed the energy that was contained within a bolt of lightning, the electrical manifestation of nature's fury. He listened as the footsteps grew louder, which meant that they were getting closer . . . and from the way it sounded, there were at least two or three of them. He balled up his hand into a fist and prepared to strike like lightning at those that were drawing closer to the hiding spot he had nabbed.

Right now, the muscular mechanic knew that he had the advantage . . . the element of surprise. And he was determined to use it. Controlling his breathing, he mentally timed it based on how loud the sound of the footsteps were as they approached. Just a few more seconds . . . a bit closer . . . a little more . . .

Now!

He jumped out from behind the display with a yell, his mind consumed by anger hat was directed at his mother's beau . . . a rage that blinded him. His only thoughts were to act now, and worry about the rest after the fact. He grabbed the man nearest to him and drew his massive fist back as he prepared to deliver a punch . . .

"No, BA!" Hannibal shouted as he saw the Sergeant start to bring his fist around to deliver the blow. Thankfully, the Sergeant reacted just in time to his warning and stopped the forward momentum of his fist just in time . . . just a mere inch shy of connecting with Murdock's nose. The Colonel could see that the Captain's eyes were wide with surprise and fight, and reminded him of a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car.

The muscular mechanic lowered his fist and let out a huge sigh of relief upon seeing his friends. He had it well within his right mind to try and scold all of them about sneaking up on him like that, since he had come very close to giving Murdock a bloody, broken nose and knocking him out for the next several hours. There was no time to say anything, as their yells had attracted the attention of the guards that BA had just avoided near the Fairy Castle. Shouts from the Museum's security staff indicated that the men were drawing nearer, causing the four members of the A-Team to exchange quick glances. Things were definitely not going well on this mission . . .

"This way," Hannibal told his men as he darted around a corner toward the far end of the Energy Lab. He hadn't been in this section in the Museum before, but he thought he remembered something on the map for a group entrance. If they could get to that, then maybe they could get out of there . . . provided Spencer wasn't smart enough to have his men cover that door.

BA spotted Hannibal take off running, with Murdock and Face close behind him. He observed the direction they were heading as an ominous feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. If they ended up where he believed they would, then they'd be trapped for sure! "No, Hannibal! That's the way to the submarine!" he tried to call out in warning, although it was too late. Frustration gnawed at him as he realized that the other members of the A-Team were too far ahead and hadn't heard him.

As the Ordinance Officer began to race after them, he could hear the faint shouts from the guards behind him, "They're going to the U-505. Get over to the other tunnel and head them off!"

"Dang it, Colonel," BA muttered dismally. He knew that Hannibal wasn't familiar with the Museum like he was. There was only one way into the only American-captured German submarine from World War II and one way out. If he had known about the configuration, he likely wouldn't have gone in that direction . . . but there was no way to stop him at this point. All he could do, as he caught up with the others, was hope that his Commanding Officer had a plan to get them out from between a literal rock and a hard place.

The members of the A-Team were starting to enter the submarine, with Hannibal leading the way. He was weaving his way through the cramped space, deeper into the metal bowels of the once sea-borne vessel . . . although Face and Murdock stopped to look around. "Impressive," the Lieutenant muttered with an appraising eye. "This would make a great location if we ever did film Boots and Bikinis for real."

"I'd hate to have to live here," the Captain observed, having to duck down a bit as he passed by one of the metal bulkheads to avoid hitting his head. He shook his head as he noticed what looked like nets, suspended from the ceiling, holding crates marked for food. And this was in addition to the ones that crowded the walkway in this section. He didn't remember this particular area from the first time they had visited the Museum. "What is this place?"

BA followed closely behind Face and Murdock, trying to hold his frustration in check. He couldn't be too upset at them since they hadn't had time to see the sub the last time they were here. But, now wasn't the time for a private tour . . . not if they wanted to get out of there. "It's a German submarine, fool. Now get movin' or we gonna be trapped in here."

He pushed past the two men and stormed after Hannibal, past the electric motor room and into the diesel engine room. He finally caught his Commanding Officer in the tight corridor in between the two huge diesel engines. Normally, he would have stopped to admire or even study these massive machines and worked through in his mind how to take them apart and put them back together again, but he had no time for that right now. He could see that the Colonel had his gun drawn, and was creeping slowly into the control room.

The sound of a gunshot could be heard behind them, causing the muscular Sergeant to freeze. He turned around, and thankfully saw Face and Murdock quickly scurry after them, both with their guns drawn. Face fired a shot through the electric control room into the aft crew quarters and torpedo room. That was answered by a volley of shots from the guards, the bullets ricocheting off the metal surfaces around them with a distinctive metallic pinging.

"What we gonna do, Hannibal?" BA asked, inwardly praying that the Colonel had some type of a plan . . . a good one that wouldn't involve destroying the inside of the submarine. Since his Commanding Officer hadn't seen the exhibit before, or overheard the guards, he likely didn't even realize that they were effectively trapped.

Looking further into the bowels of the ship, Hannibal started moving to the opposite side of the room they were in. Pausing near the hatch, he turned back to his Sergeant and decided to pull upon his knowledge of the submarine. "Where does this room lead?" he questioned.

"That's the control room. Leads into the officer's quarters, galley, and forward crew quarters," BA revealed. With each added gunshot, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through is veins. He was trying hard to maintain some amount of control . . . a level headedness, especially since he knew this place and the Colonel would need that knowledge to develop their escape plan. But, that's if they could escape. "There's a tunnel from the forward crew quarters that leads back into the Museum, but I heard the guards yellin' at each other to go cut us off. We're trapped, Hannibal," he observed dismally, not sure how they were going to be able to get out of this one.

Face poked his head out from behind one of the diesel engines and fired another couple of shots down the long corridor. The guards immediately ducked behind the bulkhead for cover, still not able to make any more forward progress to capture the intruders due to the exchange of gunfire.

Still holding his gun at the ready, Murdock moved closer to where BA and Hannibal stood. He looked at the silver-white haired leader expectantly, his voice etched with worry and seriously sane as he inquired, "What's the plan, Colonel?" Just based on what he was seeing, with these cramped quarters, he wryly made a mental observation that the A-Team had been in some tight spots before . . . figuratively speaking . . . but never in the literal sense of the term.

"I'm working on that, Captain," Hannibal responded, slowly looking around the room, praying for inspiration. They couldn't get creative . . . not like they could under other normal circumstances when they could just use what was around them to build something that would secure their freedom. He'd just have to think of another way. But, what would really help him do that right now was a cigar. Moving back toward the engine room, he fired off a couple of shots at the guards. "Face," he said, holding out his hand to the con man as an obvious sign of what he wanted.

"Not in here, Hannibal," the Lieutenant protested. "It's close enough in here without you smoking a cigar." Although he was well aware how cigars helped the Colonel when it came to thinking, this was one time that he didn't want to have to deal with the smell . . . not in a place like this.

"C'mon, Face. You know I think better with a cigar in my mouth." He watched as his second in command let out a sigh, and then pulled out a cigar. The Colonel accepted it and brought it up to his mouth, chewing off the end and then spat it out. He wedged the fine Cuban stogie between his teeth and looked around. Before the Lieutenant could offer him a light, his ice blue eyes fell upon what looked like a periscope. "BA," he started to say thoughtfully, "shouldn't there be a hatch of some kind around here that leads topside?"

The Sergeant had been gloomily considering the latest mess that one of Hannibal's plans had gotten them into. It took a moment to catch the question from his Commanding Officer, but then his face slowly brightened with hope. Maybe there was a way out of this after all! "Yeah, man. There's a couple of ladders . . . one in the control room that goes up to the conning tower, the other in the galley that goes up to the deck. I remember 'cause I always wanted to climb 'em, but the tour guides would never let me."

"Which one will get us out of here faster?" Colonel Smith wondered. If what his Ordinance Officer said was true, then he realized that time was running short and they'd have only one chance to escape. It would only be a matter of time before the guards started trying to come at them from the front of the sub . . .

"We can protect the one to the conning tower better. Galley's going to be faster," the muscular mechanic admitted. To someone like himself, it was really a toss up as to which one would be better. The ladder in the control room that led up to the conning tower was more centralized, so they could hold off the guards longer. It was also a longer climb to get out, so they could start coming up the ladder after them. The galley hatch was a much shorter climb, but it was closer to the front of the sub, which meant that they didn't have much leeway with protecting it. He'd just have to trust the decision that the Colonel would make, no matter what it might be.

Hannibal grinned, his eyes lighting up so bright with the Jazz that he could have almost lit the end of his cigar without having to use a lighter. "Well, where's the galley?" he questioned, again relying on the Sergeant to guide them.

"Up ahead. I'll show you," BA started to say as he pulled out his own gun, just in case there was going to be trouble.

Hannibal noticed that Face started to move as if to follow them. If he did, then the guards were going to advance from the aft of the sub and it'd make very short work of their escape. "Lieutenant, I want you to stay here and hold them off," he ordered. Immediately, he could see his second in command open his mouth to protest. The Colonel never gave him that chance as he cut him off and continued, "This is a good position. They can't get near you down that corridor between the engines if you keep firing at them. Just keep them from coming any further. Murdock and I'll keep them from advancing from the other direction. When BA has the hatch open, we'll come back to get you."

The con artist let out a sigh. He hated taking positions like this, but he clearly understood why. He didn't have the strength that BA did, and he was needed to open the hatch . . . a hatch that had been exposed to the elements and likely hadn't been opened in over 40 years. And, if the forward crew compartment and torpedo room was anything like what it was on the aft of the sub, Hannibal and Murdock were both going to have their hands full with trying to hold off the guards that came from that end of the sub. If anything, he knew that his Commanding Officer was leaving him with the better position to defend.

The Sergeant noticed the con man shrug in resignation and saw him take up position next to the hatch leading into the engine room, with the two large diesel engines. He took a few steps toward him and handed the blonde-haired man his gun and ammo. "Here, Faceman. You'll probably need it," the Ordinance Officer told him gruffly.

"Thanks, BA," Face nodded, giving him a slight appreciative smile. He had a feeling that he was going to need all of the ammo he could get to hold off those guards. He looked back and saw the others head in the direction of the control room.

Returning his focus to the aft of the sub, he leaned out and fired another couple of shots toward the rear of the vessel before ducking back for the safety of the metal bulkhead around the doorway. He put the gun and ammo that BA had given him into the pocket of the parka, and then stuffed his right hand into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out the last handful of bullets for his .45 Smith and Wesson revolver. Flipping the chamber open, he quickly slid them into the empty slots and then slid the chamber back into position.

He glanced back toward the front of the sub and inwardly prayed that the rest of the A-Team would hurry. They were effectively trapped, with the guards pulling one of Hannibal's classic pincer movements against them. Even with what BA had given him, his ammo supply wasn't going to hold off the guards for long . . .