CHAPTER TWELVE

August 28, 1978

It had been a long time since Face set up a tent. He didn't miss it. Setting up camp in a small park a few hours outside of LA had taken longer than he'd expected and he was glad to finally sit down on a large, flat rock overlooking the inland lake. Through the trees and out of sight, but still well within earshot of the small campsite, he wasn't worried about Jessica or her family as he watched the tiny waves ripple over the water's surface. Maybe they weren't really all that tiny; the tips of the caps were white. But compared to the ocean surf a hundred miles to the west, they seemed unworthy to even be called waves.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deep, feeling the warm sun bleach his hair and sting his skin, already scorched from the explosion. His shoulders and back hurt from sleeping on the horribly uncomfortable sofa the night before and the sleeping bags on offer tonight wouldn't be much more comfortable. But he'd found a shower in the bathrooms by the beach, and he was at least clean. It wasn't much, but he was grateful for the small things right now.

Although he felt the approach behind him long before she announced herself, he didn't turn until Jessica had come close. In the black two-piece bathing suit she'd bought along with the camping gear, she had a towel draped around her shoulders and a few streaks of sunscreen on her cheeks that hadn't been completely rubbed in. His eyes lingered, as subtly as possible, as he confirmed once again she most definitely did not look like a woman who'd given birth to twins, let alone a third child.

"Going swimming?" he asked, turning back to the water.

"I figured I might as well." She came closer and set her towel down on the rock beside him. But instead of heading for the water, she turned and set her hands on her hips, towering over him and casting a long shadow across his lap.

"Look, I really appreciate all your help in setting up camp," she said curtly, "but if you'd like to go home, I think we can handle it from here."

Face raised a brow, amused by the tone that sounded more like an order than an offer. "It's not a problem," he answered congenially, doing his best not to sound too patronizing.

"I'll call you if there's anything else we need," she tried again, staring hard at him. Clearly, she'd had plenty of practice being the stern authoritarian with her children.

"You won't have to," he answered with an equally practiced smile. "I'm not going anywhere until I know you're safe. Or at least until I get the whole story."

For just an instant, she was caught off guard. Undoubtedly, her children didn't come back with lines like that, and her confidence wavered with the uncertainty of what to do next. Finally, jaw tight, she nodded.

"You like camping, do you?" she challenged.

Though the implied threat did not go unnoticed, he smiled in return. "And I love to hear stories around the campfire," he answered. "Especially the real-life ones about men who blow up houses with people inside."

"Right," she answered tersely, turning away.

She probably would've stomped down the bank if not for the risk of falling in head over heels. Better to lose the emphasis than all sense of dignity. He tried not to laugh, sure it wouldn't be appreciated.

"Well, make yourself at home, Face," she called over her shoulder. "We're probably going to be here a while."

His smile remained in place as he took a drink from the warm, flat Pepsi in his hands. He'd faced bigger threats than a near-empty campground - dirtier and more unpleasant ones, as well - and was more than confident in his ability to outlast her stubbornness. Watching her step carefully over the rocks at the water's edge, he took another long look now that her back was turned. As the water rose to her ankles, then to her knees, then to her waist, so did his eyes. All the way to the smooth curve of her back and the outline of her clothes from the night before where the exposed skin was burned.

The water must have been warm, because she didn't hesitate. A couple steps further, she dove down. As she emerged, she pushed her hair back, face tipped up to the sun. Face ran his tongue along his teeth as his eyes remained glued. She could've easily been a model. Why she'd ever chosen to go into medicine was beyond him.

"Mr. Peck! Mr. Peck!" The single voice of two children skipping and skidding down the path made him turn.

"Are you gonna go swimming with us?" James asked.

"Please?" Heather continued excitedly. "Will you?"

"Alright, two things," he started as they came closer and dropped their towels next to him, beside their mother's. "First, no. I am not going swimming. And second, how about you guys call me Face."

Heather raised a brow. "Face?" she asked, confused. Then she giggled. "That's a funny name."

"Heather!" James immediately corrected. "That's not nice!"

He took a drink, letting the two of them argue it out for themselves. But instead, James immediately directed a new question at him. "Are you and Mom gonna get married?"

Choking on the mouthful of soda he hadn't quite managed to swallow, he set the can down and tried like hell to remain somewhat dignified as he gasped and coughed and struggled to breathe.

"Hey guys!" Jessica attracted the twins' attention before he had a chance to catch his breath. "Are you coming in or what?"

"We want Face to come with us!" Heather answered.

"What?" Jessica looked confused. Whether because she was too far away to hear or because she'd heard perfectly, Face wasn't sure. He was still trying to get the last of the Pepsi out of his lungs.

"Tell him to come swimming with us, Mom!" James called.

"Yeah," Heather agreed, "he needs to come!"

"Leave him alone, kids," Jessica instructed, then continued in a lighter voice, "Come on! The water's perfect."

They didn't need any more encouragement. They hopped and skipped and jumped down the bank, plunging into the water at full speed and running until it was faster to swim. Finally clearing his throat for the last time, he shook his head to disband the last fragments of the waking nightmare their naive words had elicited and watched the three of them silently.

Over the sound of the frolicking, he heard the snap of the twig behind him and turned to look back quickly. But it was only Momma, with Sarah in her usual position on the woman's hip. He relaxed again.

"She needs a man," Momma said seriously. Face was just about to correct her when she continued. "To fix this, I mean. She thinks she can do it on her own, but she can't."

Glancing at the elderly woman with a raised brow, he suddenly considered the very good possibility that it would be much easier to get the story out of her than out of Jessica.

"Fix what, exactly?" he asked.

"She hasn't told you?" Momma seemed surprised, and quickly turned her eyes away. "Well, I suppose it's not my place to say."

Face frowned. "Well, it was your house that whoever-it-was targeted."

"My house?" she repeated, sounding startled. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Suddenly realizing he had no proof of the assumption, he considered his statements more carefully as he continued. "You live in it," he reminded her. "It was your home."

"Oh," she replied. "Well, yes, I suppose it was."

Face studied her for a moment, then looked away. A long, uneasy silence was in order now; it would give her plenty of time to think. Watching the innocent children and the over-guarded woman enjoy themselves in spite of the pressures of life, Momma caved much more quickly than Face had expected, and began to explain.

"My daughter is not the best judge of character," she said, easing herself carefully down to the rock beside Face and sitting Sarah on her knee. The baby's eyes moved over everything, taking in the ambiance as she contentedly sucked on a pacifier.

"I noticed," Face answered simply.

Momma chuckled. "I suppose your meaning is best left to the imagination," she said lightly. "Mine, on the other hand, is quite obvious."

"This is an old boyfriend?" Face inferred, a bit surprised. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but that wasn't it. Momma was right; between him, Cipher, and whoever was responsible for this mess, she didn't seem to have a very good track record when it came to the men in her life.

"Sarah's father," Momma corrected, rubbing the baby's back lovingly. "A bit more than a boyfriend."

He frowned as he shook his head, processing slowly. He had no reason to suspect Momma would lie, but still... "Seems a bit extreme."

"My daughter does gravitate towards the extreme," Momma sighed. "But to be clear, it's not him we have trouble with. He's long gone. It's only unfortunate he left his gambling debts behind."

"Gambling debts," Face repeated with a frown. "Blowing up somebody's house seems like pretty high stakes."

"The higher the better, as far as Paulie was concerned," Momma answered with deep regret.

Grateful to finally know the problem's name, he frowned as he watched Jessica dunk her son before falling backwards as Heather tackled her from behind.

"How long will it take her to talk to me about this Paulie?" Face asked hopefully. If anyone would know the answer to that, he suspected it would be her mother.

"If she hasn't done it already," Momma said, "I think she would sooner die."

Face nodded. He'd figured as much. Unfortunately, those could very well be the stakes if the situation was as serious as it appeared. Of course, if it was a debt, they probably didn't want her dead; they wanted her to pay. More pieces fell into place. Even with a decent salary, she lived on hand-me-downs, putting the majority of her paycheck towards getting out from under her past. And apparently, it still wasn't enough.

"I know who you are," the woman continued as Face contemplated the unlikely possibility that there would be no further debt collections.

It took the words a moment to sink in. Then, turning slowly, Face fixed her in a hard stare. But he said nothing.

"You're with that escaped commando unit from Vietnam," she said. "The A-Team, isn't it? Unconventional problem solving is your bread and butter."

He hesitated. The publicity of his team and their problem solving skills was still in early stages here in LA. They were well-known, but the general population regarded them more as criminals than heroes. He wondered how much she knew. Regardless, her expectant look made it obvious there would be no convincing her that she had the wrong guy.

"Why not try the conventional means first?" he answered carefully. "If you know who's responsible for what happened last night, why didn't you tell the police?"

"Oh, what would that accomplish?" Momma challenged with a sigh and a dismissive wave. "Besides making them angry, that is. The police can't protect us. Our word isn't enough to make a legal case against them."

"No," Face agreed, "but arson and attempted murder might be."

Momma shrugged. "No jury would ever convict."

Face raised a brow, startled by the certainty in her statement. "Why not?"

"Who would testify?" Momma asked, as if the answer were perfectly obvious. "Certainly not me! Not with three grandchildren to think of."

"Mr. Pe- er... Face!" He turned to look at Heather, who was pushing her wet hair back from her eyes. She shook her head to flick the water away, then gave him a toothy grin. "Come on! You've gotta come swimming!"

"I don't have a bathing suit," he answered simply.

Momma turned her attention to Heather, then to Face, calling out more loudly than she needed to, "He's too chicken."

"That's me," Face answered, matching her smile. "Terrified of water."

The kids swam closer to the shore, and he suddenly realized they intended to persuade him more forcefully.

"Will you help?" Momma asked, interrupting his thoughts of escape.

Looking back up at her, he briefly considered his response before answering. "I can't make any promises until I know the whole story," he said. "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm not just going to walk away."

"I wouldn't expect a promise," she answered with a tight smile. "Frankly, I'd settle for a bit of hope."

Two dripping wet children emerged from the lake like carbon copies of the Loch Ness monster and grabbed hold of either of his arms. "Come on!" Heather cried. "Come swimming with us!"

"Yeah!" James added. "Come on!"

This was all very new to Face. He found himself sincerely wishing that BA was here. He'd always had a way with children. Maybe he would be able to convince them that swimming was not on Face's list of things to do after he'd just showered. But they were insistent, and he didn't really know how to charm kids. They followed a set of rules about which he hadn't the foggiest idea. That left him two options: give in or get angry, because they weren't going to give up.

First, he gave the pleading one last ditch effort: logic. "Guys, I just took a shower," he tried. "I don't want to go in the muddy water."

"It's not muddy," Heather informed.

"Look," James demonstrated, holding up his arms. "I swam in it and I'm all clean."

"Doesn't look that clean to me," Face protested, casting a look out over the murky silt they'd stirred up by trudging through. "Would you want to drink it?"

"Well, you're not going to drink it, silly," Heather laughed, "just swim in it!"

"If I drink some," James bargained, "will you go in?"

With a deep, relenting sigh at the logic that outbid his own, he pulled his legs in a little and used them to push himself up. Whether the kids thought they had succeeded in pulling him to his feet against his will, he wasn't sure. In any case, they erupted into applause as he stripped off his shirt.

November 19, 1968

Between Captain Locke and the entourage that followed him, it was one of the warmest welcomes Face had ever encountered. As the blades wound down, the team filed out of the back of the UH-1. "You really just want me to leave this right here?" the AC called down to the camp commander from the left side of the cockpit, sounding skeptical.

"Yeah, right there's fine," Locke yelled up to him.

Face opened the door for him, but he waited until the blades came to a stop before he crawled down to the ground. The camp commander of A-325 and the American soldiers behind him were looking them all over with interest.

"So you're Westman's infamous A-Team." Locke grinned.

Hannibal reached out a hand and shook with him. "I'm Hannibal Smith," he introduced. "This is Sergeant Templeton Peck, weapons, Sergeant Ray Brenner, radio, and Sergeant Jack Harring, medic."

Locke shook hands with each of them, and introduced himself, the camp's XO, and the senior radio operator. "When we heard you were coming, we couldn't believe it," Locke chuckled. "They just took away fifty of my best men like it was no big deal. Now all of a sudden we make it back to the top of the priority list."

Hannibal frowned. "Why did they do that?"

"Oh, some political bullshit," Locke explained, waving a hand dismissively. "They leave me with 75 CIDG and a Vietnamese commander who doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Never mind that there's a fucking VC camp not five klicks away with enough men and ammo to massacre us in their sleep if we can't get this camp built up before they hit us."

Face glanced around as they walked, surveying the tents and half-finished buildings without roofs. It was a square fort, with sandbagged mud walls studded with machine guns and topped with barbed wire. But if they hadn't even had a chance to put roofs on the buildings, chances were that their perimeter was no more secure than what he saw with the naked eye. It wasn't much.

"Are you anticipating an attack anytime soon?" Cipher asked.

"They've been building ladders and coffins in the village for almost two weeks now," Locke answered.

"Which means you might have another two or three days at the most," Boston interpreted. Once they had enough ladders to go over the fences - ladders that doubled as stretchers to carry back the dead and wounded - they would attack. It was a sure sign that they were mounting an attack when they started constructing them.

"Sounds like you've got bigger problems than these Cambodian bandits," Face said. He had a sneaking suspicion that they were going to get caught in the middle of a battle for control of this camp.

"The bandits were our biggest problem up until we saw how big the camp we're up against is." Locke glanced at Hannibal. "We had to get the okay to fly into Cambodian airspace to see it. The thing is massive. Two battalions, maybe even three."

If Hannibal was intimidated by those figures, he didn't show it. Cipher was the one to answer. "And you intend to defend this place against three battalions?" he asked in disbelief. "What do you think this is, Thermopylae?"

"How many of these bandits are there?" Hannibal asked ignoring the goading question.

"A few dozen, maybe," Locke replied. "It's hard to tell."

"Fine," Hannibal said, nodding to Cipher. "Take an interpreter and some strikers and go with Face. Sergeant?"

Face raised a brow in silent expectation of his orders.

"Go make us some friends," Hannibal commanded.

"Right," Face answered with a smirk.

"It's not quite that simple," Locke protested, stunned by the directive. "They won't hesitate to overtake you if they think they've got any chance. Even if you're willing to do business with them."

"They're savages," the radio operator added.

"Get going," Hannibal ordered, ignoring the warnings. "I want a report by 2200 hours."

"Can I see your weapons cache?" Face requested as he tapped the arm of one of the soldiers. Without another word, he and Cipher split off from the rest of the team.