Ceilings, nothing more than ceilings, I'm heading into ceilings, up above the floor.

Shut up, fool, or I'll come up there after you!

Boy, it's d-d-dark up here!

- Murdock and BA, "The White Ballot"

Chapter 18: Escape Hatch

BA led Hannibal and Murdock past a small alcove on the left side of the narrow hallway. A tiny bed was crammed into the wood trimmed space, which was lined with various cabinets, along with a small porcelain sink. On the other side were a couple of metal cabinets surrounded by wood trim, along with what looked like a radio and a telegraph. "This is the Captain's quarters," the mechanical genius explained, as if giving his own tour to the other two men.

As they continued to move toward the front of the sub, they entered into another section with four bunks, two on each side with one right on top of the other. A metal railing was built into the side of the bed, which were barely 30 inches wide, and helped to keep the occupants from falling out. They honestly looked hardly big enough for a child, much less a grown man. And like the Captain's quarters, these beds were also nestled into the wood paneling and trim that adorned the bulkheads in this area . . . something that gave the area a polished look, but one wouldn't normally expect to find on a submarine designed for war. "This is the senior officer's quarters," BA noted. "Galley's just past this."

Hannibal regarded both the Captain's quarters and senior officer's area with an appreciative eye, although he assumed that the Captain's quarters would have been bigger. Still, for a submarine, he wouldn't have expected an area adorned with wood paneling, trim, and cabinets. He would have thought that all areas of the vessel would have been like it was toward the aft . . . cold and metallic, without any comforts to help engrain the harsh reality of their duty to the men that served on board.

Moving through the senior officer's quarters, he joined Murdock and BA who were crammed into the tiny galley. There wasn't a lot of room, but he could see what looked like an old black and white metal stove which in and of itself could have been a stand alone museum piece due to its appearance. The white refrigerator was very small and reminded him of the one that had been in Mrs. B's apartment until Alvarez and his goons put a hole in the door. How a kitchen of this size could feed the crew of an entire submarine, which had to have at least 40 men on board, was beyond him. Then again, they probably didn't have anyone with an appetite like BA.

On the right side of the room, he could see the ladder that BA had said was here. He moved over to it and looked up, and sure enough the hatch was almost practically right there. The short climb would definitely be to their advantage with escaping. The Colonel moved over to the next hatch and peered through it. Along the left side of the room, he could see four bunks mounted to the bulkhead. As he looked to the right, it was obvious that the bunks that normally would have been on that side had been removed, likely to accommodate the tours the Museum provided through the confined space.

BA saw a slight nod from his Commanding Officer and took that as his cue. He grabbed the rungs and began to climb to the top of the ladder. Once he had gotten up there, which only took a few steps up, he carefully studied the steel hatch. His brown eyes clearly saw a ring of rust that formed on the connecting point where the hatch met the metal shaft that led into the vessel itself. If it was sealed shut with rust, then it was going to take all of his strength to open what hadn't been used since the sub had been captured by American Naval forces during World War II.

He reached up to the wheel on the inside of the hatch, which was often used by the crews to secure it and create a water-tight seal for when the sub was about to dive, and wrapped his fingers around the metal object. He tried to turn it, only to find out that it was just as he suspected . . . it didn't want to turn. The Sergeant readjusted his grip on the wheel and tried again, straining with all of his might. If he hadn't been wearing a parka, the others would have seen the muscles in his arm bulging . . . even quaking due to the amount of force that he was applying to try and get the hatch opened. He grunted with exertion, and his efforts finally were rewarded with a squeal as the wheel turned half an inch.

"At this rate, we'll die of old age before we get that thing open," Hannibal muttered, finding it a bit hard to believe that it was taking so long. He turned his head sharply toward the front of the sub as he heard some shouts and the echo of approaching footsteps come from the tunnel that led up into the crew quarters. He exchanged a quick glance with Murdock, his ice blue eyes saying it all.

The guards were coming . . .

Colonel Smith didn't hesitate for a second. Still with his gun at the ready, he ordered, "BA, get that hatch open. Murdock, we've got to hold those guards off." He slid the chamber of his silver plated Smith and Wesson 639 to load it and then flicked the safety off. He then wrapped his finger around the trigger and moved into the next section that contained the bunks.

Murdock nodded and pulled the clip of ammunition out from the handle of his Browning Hi-Power. He frowned once he saw how many bullets remained . . . only four. That likely wasn't going to be nearly enough to do much good with holding the guards off. He was going to have to tell his Commanding Officer, since that obviously was going to affect his plans.

As the silver-white haired leader took up a position on one side of the doorway leading down the tunnel to the rest of the Museum, he watched as his pilot took a spot on the other side of that doorway. The concern that was etched on his face was enough to prompt him to ask, "How's your ammo, Captain?"

"Got four bullets left," the Texan revealed grimly. "Used up most of it evadin' the guards before I ran into you guys." Once he had gotten to the last clip of ammo, he had tried to conserve it as much as possible. He glanced at Hannibal expectantly, not sure how he was going to react to that revelation. He hated the fact that he would have to abandon his position to fend off the guards once he used up his final bullet, but he knew that he wouldn't have any other choice.

"Do what you can. Once you run out, then check on BA's progress," Hannibal advised him. Leaning around the opening that led from the forward crew quarters into the tunnel, he quickly squeezed off a couple of shots into the semi-darkness beyond. Hearing a yelp of surprise echo down the passageway, the A-Team's Commanding Officer grinned around the cigar that was firmly clenched between his teeth. There was no way that they were going to get past him . . .

Another screech could be heard within the galley, marking the progress made by BA Baracus. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, not from how warm he was with still wearing his parka, but due to the strain of trying to open the hatch that had not been used in over 40 years. Although it was still a struggle, it was a bit easier after he had gotten it to turn that first quarter inch. Just a little bit more . . .

There . . . finally!

The wheel wouldn't turn any further, which meant that the hatch was unlocked . . . but the problem now was the rust that he could see caked up around the edges where the hatch met the metal shaft that led into the bowels of the sub. The presence of that rust was going to be a challenge, which meant that it was still going to take a lot of effort to open it.

He took another couple of steps up the ladder and braced his back against the wheel. By doing it that way, he could use his whole body to push against the hatch to try and get it to open. It boiled down to simple physics. The hatch may have been an immovable object, but the muscular Sergeant was an unstoppable force and definitely would not be deterred.

With his bullets spent, Murdock made his way back into the galley and saw BA's red Chuck Taylor tennis shoes planted firmly on one of the rungs of the ladder. He moved underneath the ladder and heard the grunts coming from the Ordinance Officer as he tried to get the hatch open. He could even see BA's face, which was contorted and showed how much strain he was trying to put on the circular metal door.

"How's it going, BA?" the lanky Texan innocently asked, although it was fairly easy to guess based on what he just observed.

BA opened his eyes and growled at the pilot. He knew that he had gone to help Hannibal hold off the guards from getting into the front of the sub, but he hadn't expected him to have returned to the galley so quickly. The sound of his smooth baritone voice literally caught him by surprise, and almost caused him to shift his position to where he could have fallen off the ladder. "Don't go sneakin' up on me like that, foo'," he chided.

"Sorry, BA," Murdock apologized. He certainly hadn't expected to scare the big guy, although if they hadn't been in the middle of this situation he would have thoroughly enjoyed it. It wasn't often that he managed to put a fight into the master mechanic. "I ran out of ammo and Hannibal wanted me to check on ya."

Although he expected some kind of a retort from the burly Sergeant, it never came. Instead, all the Texan heard was more grunts from the native Chicagoan as he strained to try and get the hatch open. And, in fact, he didn't blame BA for ignoring him and refocusing on the task at hand. Even as the Ordinance Officer did so, Murdock bounced nervously on the balls of his feet as he listened to the volley of gunfire increase in Hannibal's direction.

The increase in the exchange of bullets meant that the guards were likely getting closer. Concerned about the Colonel, Murdock moved closer to the doorway that separated the galley from the crew quarters and peeked around the corner. The sound of a loud pinging drew his focus, and he leapt back just in time. A bullet that had been fired from the guards was ricocheting among the bunks and nearly took off his nose!

Although the fighting was getting fierce on Hannibal's end, what also concerned the pilot was how the gunfire on Face's end was beginning to die down. That caused him to worry about how his best friend was faring. Based on how things were going, he knew at this point that neither the Colonel nor the Lieutenant had a lot of ammo left . . . that's if either one of them weren't already out.

Just then, he felt a gush of cold air come from above. It seeped through the fabric of his dark blue baseball cap and chilled the top of his thinning hairline. As he started to look toward the ladder, he could see the muscular form of BA Baracus quickly descend the few rungs to the floor. Between that burst of cold air that started to permeate through the sub, as well as the Sergeant climbing down, that could only mean one thing . . .

Their escape hatch was now open!

"Way to go, Big Guy!" Murdock congratulated him with a huge grin on his face. They were just moments from all of them getting out of there. He could literally just taste the cool night air that lay beyond that hatch, and their ticket to freedom.

BA gave a grunt of satisfaction. He didn't have a lot of time for pleasantries, not if they were going to have any chance of getting out of there alive. "I'm gonna get Face. You get Hannibal," the mechanic told him gruffly.

The Captain watched as the Sergeant headed back toward the aft of the sub in order to retrieve the con man. Once he did so, Murdock then moved back into the petty officer's quarters and approached the doorway that led to the tunnel. He watched Hannibal lean out again and fire another shot into the darkness beyond, still trying to hold off the guards from their approach.

"BA got the hatch open, Colonel," he informed his Commanding Officer. Hopefully, in the time that he went to check on BA, Hannibal had managed to come up with a fool proof plan that would get all of them out of there, especially with the enemy . . . so to speak . . . advancing from both fronts.

The silver-white haired leader fired another shot down the tunnel and then quickly crossed over to the other side of the opening by where the Texan was. "Get back there and start climbing out, Captain. I'll be right behind you," he instructed. Although it wasn't a direct order, the use of the rank meant that the situation was very serious . . . and he knew that Murdock would recognize that tone and know what he'd need to be prepared to do.

"You got it, Colonel," the smooth baritone of the pilot's voice responded. He peeled himself away from the hull by the tunnel and headed back into the galley. Once there, he firmly grabbed onto the ladder and started to quickly climb out into the cold night air.

The blizzard winds from earlier in the day still howled strongly, intensifying the cold. The snow was still falling steadily, blown around by the winter winds into large drifts . . . even on the deck of the submarine. Murdock pulled himself out onto the snow-covered deck, and then lay down beside the open hatch in order to peer into the sub. His legs of his khaki pants immediately became wet, which further chilled him to the bone, but his mind was focused on one thing. He was watching for the other members of his unit, hoping and inwardly praying that they could all escape along with him . . .

As he continued to look into the galley, he saw Hannibal back into sight and fire off a few more shots behind him. And then came the unmistakable click . . . one that reached his ears, even from his current position, and sent a feeling of dread through the pilot's wry form. The Colonel was out of ammo . . .

He watched his Commanding Officer turn and grab onto the ladder. A split second later, the A-Team leader froze and slowly pulled his hands away from the rungs. Murdock stuck his head into the hatch and was about to say something when he noticed Hannibal glance quickly in his direction and shook his head as if to ward him off. The Colonel's face was deadly serious, and his body language practically screamed that something was wrong. And then, the familiar black gloved hands raised partially in surrender . . .

Damn it! Things were definitely not going as planned. The guards captured Hannibal, and he could see his leader glance in the direction where Face and BA should have been coming from. A split second later, a deep male voice threatened, "Move an inch and I will shoot them both!"

The Captain paled. Clearly, that threat was directed at Hannibal, and made against BA and Face. It was bad enough that Hannibal got caught, but now BA and Face as well . . .

His heart practically caught in his throat as fear gnawed at him . . . fear of the safety of his unit. Ever since he had become a member of the Team, one of the things that had been engrained into him was the need to stick with his unit. As such, his first instinct was to try and pull off a daring rescue. He couldn't leave the guys like that, surrounded like General Custer as he made his brave last stand during the Battle of Little Big Horn.

He got to his knees and moved back to the ladder, fully intent on climbing back down to come to the aid of his friends when he saw something that caused him to stop in his tracks. It was unmistakable and impossible to miss, even though it was extremely discrete. Unless one was trained to watch for it, they would have no idea what they were seeing.

The hand signal for retreat . . .

Hannibal was making that signal with his right hand, and it clearly was directed at him. The Colonel wanted him to leave and not get caught like the rest of them. Chances were, if his Commanding Officer could talk to him right now, he'd likely make it a direct order . . . although he clearly understood why. He couldn't do anything for the guys by climbing back down there. If he even tried, he'd be caught with the rest of them. But, if he was on the outside, he could help them escape.

That was if Spencer's goons didn't kill the other members of the A-Team first . . .

It only took a moment for Murdock to make his decision as he pushed that horrifying thought into the deep recesses in the back of his mind. He continued to watch through the hatch as his friends were led away, and then jumped to his feet. His parka soaked due to laying in the snow, he made a mad dash for the shelter of the conning tower. Somehow, he had to find a way off the submarine and back inside the Museum so he could help his friends.