CHAPTER FOURTEEN

November 19, 1968

"So what is it like?" Captain Locke asked, pressed down in the dirt beside Face. The lingering silence wasn't uncomfortable; in the field it was necessary and they were both used to it. But there was no particular need for stealth right now. They were just waiting.

"What?" Face replied, peering through his night vision scope. The weapon was ready, but he'd have plenty of warning before needing to use it.

"We all hear rumors about Hannibal Smith's team," Locke clarified. "This is just the kind of out-of-the-box thinking he's known for. At least from the people who approve."

"And the people who don't?" Face asked.

"Well, nobody really speaks out against him," Locke chuckled. "They just don't want to be in a room with him, let alone on a recon drop with him."

Face didn't reply. He really had nothing to say. If the goal was to stay alive, then Hannibal's team was definitely not the place to be. He knew that and yet, here he was.

"I heard he lost his entire team," Locke continued when Face didn't speak. "The one before you, I mean."

Face's jaw ticked. With impeccable control, he nodded slightly. "Yep," he replied simply.

Locke could tell he was treading on thin ice. He let the conversation go – wisely – just as the rattling sound of semi-automatic weapons began to echo over the ridge. Face couldn't help the gut reaction - the tension and tightening in his shoulders, the adrenaline that rushed into his veins.

"You sure this is gonna work?" Captain Locke asked, obviously searching for a change of topic.

"Which part?" Face asked, watching the fires light up in the village, perfectly on cue. "I'm pretty sure Hannibal and the others will be able to flush them out of that village, if that's what you're asking."

Locke chuckled. "No, that's not quite what I was asking."

Face didn't answer, just watched in the darkness for any signs of movement, gun ready. Charlie was running - in either direction. They were both escaping the village and running towards it from the camp with weapons ready. From the ridge, Face had a clear line of sight on the whole field of play, obstructed only by the darkness.

He took in a breath and let it out slow, then pulled his weapon tight against his shoulder. "Alright, boys," he muttered under his breath. "Let's light it up."

His first shot was followed by a thousand more, seemingly from every direction.

August 29, 1978

Face was awake with the sun, sore and cramped from another night of uncomfortable sleeping arrangements but quickly reminded that he was the one who'd chosen to be here. The kids had woken up not much later and huddled around the fire with their beach towels wrapped around them as they ate Cheerios from a red plastic cup. Jessica took much longer to crawl out of her sleeping bag with an extra-special-fussy Sarah. According to Momma, who'd stayed behind while Face left to find a pay phone, it was nearly noon by the time her hangover subsided enough to allow for unimpeded conversation. Fortunately for her, it took Face a few hours longer to get a hold of Hannibal, spring Murdock, and drive back up the coastline to the campsite.

"You remember Hannibal," Face introduced, slipping a hand to the small of Jessica's back quite naturally as he guided her forward.

She smiled politely, extending a hand. "Colonel," she greeted, with obvious confusion. "It's good to see you well."

"Miss Summers," Hannibal answered with a nod before turning to complete the introductions. "This is BA Baracus and HM Murdock."

"Baracus," she repeated. Suddenly her eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, I remember you."

BA gave her a suspicious look. "We met?"

"Not directly," she said with a knowing smile. "But you made quite an impression on my entire unit when you cold-cocked the doctor who was trying to set your broken arm."

"Oh yeah..." BA nodded thoughtfully. "I remember that."

Murdock extended a hand as BA reminisced, and shook with her. "I don't believe our paths ever crossed," he grinned. Thankfully, Murdock was on his best behavior.

Heading towards the campfire and the logs and chairs positioned all around it, Face wondered how long it would take Momma to appear and begin playing hostess. He could hear her cooing and playing with the baby in the tent, trying to lift the child's mood before introducing her to more strangers.

"I hear you have some trouble," Hannibal started.

Jessica glanced at Face, then back at Hannibal, as if not entirely sure what to say. It suddenly occurred to Face that with no knowledge of the team's reputation, she probably didn't have the slightest idea why Face was introducing her to all of his old war buddies. It was oddly satisfying to be the one who knew something she didn't after all the surprises of the last few days.

"I... yes," she finally replied. "You might say that."

Hannibal exchanged brief glances with Face, who only shrugged in response. Clearly, he'd thought the way would be paved. Must have slipped Face's mind...

"We wanna help," BA interjected. "Wanna keep you and your kids safe."

Jessica looked confused as she led them to the fire pit - the only place with enough seating for them all to gather. "I'm not sure what -"

"Mom!" James sprinted toward them, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Heather has a spider and she's trying to put it on me!"

Heather followed a few steps behind, watching the Daddy Long Legs crawling up her arm. James screamed as she came closer. "Mom! Tell her to put it down!"

Jessica sighed. "Heather, will you please stop terrorizing your brother. Leave the spiders alone." She brushed the spider off the girl's arm. "And the lizards. And the snakes. And anything else you might find that creeps or crawls."

"But Mom!" Heather cried indignantly.

"Children, this is Mr. Smith and Mr. Murdock," she introduced.

"Hi!" Heather greeted cheerfully, extending a hand like a real grown-up. Murdock smiled as he shook with her. Hannibal did the same. James was too busy studying BA with a look of amazement to bother shaking hands.

"And this is Mr. Baracus," Jessica continued.

"BA is fine," he corrected with that soft, almost bashful tone he always seemed to use around kids.

"Why do you wear so many necklaces?" Heather asked. "I thought necklaces were for girls."

"Heather!" James cried. "That's not nice!"

"Children," Jessica was clearly embarrassed, "why don't you go see if Momma has a snack for you?"

As they scampered toward the tent, Jessica ran her fingers through her hair and invited them all to sit as she perched on the end of the large log. "Sorry about that," she apologized with a nervous smile.

"It's okay." BA grinned back. "They just kids."

"You know," Murdock said thoughtfully, his gaze following the retreating children. "That little boy bears a striking resemblance to -"

"So Jessica just started working at the VA hospital." Face cut him off with a glare. It was an effective distraction, but a quick glance around at the faces of his team made it clear Murdock wasn't the only one who'd noticed the similarities. Hannibal was staring at him steadily, as if waiting for an explanation he must have known he wouldn't get.

"We could be seein' a lot of each other then," Murdock replied enthusiastically.

Feeling the weight of Hannibal's curiosity, just slightly irritated at being unprepared on yet another front, Face passed him a dismissive smile and a shrug as if to say, "I didn't think it was all that important."

"Do you work at the hospital too?" Jessica asked, confused.

"No, ma'am," Murdock announced proudly, "I live there."

"As I was saying," Hannibal tried again, ignoring the startled look on Jessica's face as he directed his attention back to her, "I hear you have some trouble."

"Trouble is our specialty," Murdock added with a toothy grin.

Looking back and forth between them, Jessica ran a hand through her hair nervously. "I uh..."

"It seems Face neglected to tell you why we're here," Hannibal offered, his tone carrying a sharp dart intended for Face. It wasn't exactly the first time Face neglected to tell someone that he was a fugitive from military justice, but usually there was some kind of elaborate lie to cover it up. He'd neither lied to her, nor explained himself. She'd just never asked.

"When were you planning on filling her in?" Hannibal demanded, fixing Face in his stare with a curious tone.

"Filling me in on what?" she asked innocently, noting the smile Murdock was hiding behind his hand.

"Ah, well," Face started, ignoring the way Hannibal folded his arms and sat back to watch the show. "See... it's kind of a long story. But the basic gist of it..."

Jessica was glaring at him now, and BA's normal scowl was focused in his direction as well. Murdock looked thoroughly amused. None of them offered an easy way out of this explanation. Shifting uncomfortably under the scrutiny, Face made his explanation as succinct and delicate as possible.

"Well, see, we got into some trouble with the military because of an assignment in Vietnam," he started, carefully measuring his words. "We ended up with a court martial and actually, we sort of... escaped from prison."

Jessica's eyes went wide as she sprang to her feet. "You what!"

"Like I said," Face said quickly, hands up in surrender. "It's a long story."

"One we'll save for another time," Hannibal cut in, mercifully rescuing them all from further explanation. At least, he tried to.

"You escaped from prison!" Jessica yelled. "Are you out of your mind! What the hell were you -"

"Ms. Summers," Hannibal interrupted, "right now, the important thing to know is that we make a living by helping people with unconventional problems in unconventional ways. And your problem, from what I've heard, fits the bill."

She was gaping at him. "Wha...? I..."

"This gambling ring your ex got into," BA said. "They blew up your house. Face told us about it."

Staring in stunned silence, she shook her head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry, this is just a little bit overwhelming." She paused, and turned her attention fully to Face. "You're telling me that in addition to the problems I already have, I'm aiding and abetting fugitives?"

"No..." Murdock corrected. "Fugitives are aiding and abetting you. Not quite the same thing."

"How do you figure?" she asked, stunned.

"Well, because if we weren't, your moral obligation would be to turn us in," Face explained. "But since we're actually sticking our own necks out to help you, the right thing to do sort of swings the other way."

"I..." It took her a few seconds to figure out her next words. "Okay, I haven't exactly asked you for help. And besides, you guys said you did this for a living? I can't pay you. The situation I'm in right now is -"

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," Hannibal assured her with a smile. "Gambling rings tend to pay for themselves."

"We here to help," BA agreed. "You sound like you need it."

Murdock shrugged. "What've you got to lose?"

She looked back and forth at the men standing around her, then finally shut her eyes and breathed deep. "I... I don't understand what you think you could do to help."

"And right now," Hannibal offered, "it's too early to even try to explain it. You're just going to have to trust us, Ms. Summers. And let us do our job."

"Yes," said Momma's unexpected voice from nearby. Face turned to see her approaching with a child on either side, each munching happily on a plastic bag full of crackers. "I think that's a very good idea."

Jessica frowned as she studied her mother. "You knew about this?" she asked, confused.

Momma sighed and came close, setting a reassuring hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Love, we need help," she said softly. "Who cares where it comes from?"

The silence lingered for a long moment, interrupted only by the quiet crunching and then chattering of the kids before they turned and headed off into the woods again. Finally, Jessica sighed, and looked around at all of them. "I don't know what to say," she finally admitted, resigned. "But I... yes." Drawing in a shaky breath, she put her shoulders back and set her resolve firmly in place. "Yes, I do need help."

November 20, 1968

The KKK leader was in the same black pajamas that the VC wore, ammunition strung across his shoulders and his fist tight around his weapon. His features - just slightly different - distinguished him from the Vietnamese. But like them, at the moment, he looked seriously pissed off.

Guns were pointed all around, and Face was careful not to step between any of the rifles and their target. Of course, he realized that he was the target for the opposite side. As he reached into his pocket, producing a wad of folded bills, he smiled politely. "Here it is. Oh, and feel free to count it," he said cheerfully, tossing the stack to the man as the interpreter translated.

The bandit leader caught the money and handed to it the man standing beside him to count. There was hatred written in his eyes as he glared at Face and angrily shot something indistinguishable at him. Face glanced to the interpreter. "He want to know who he get shoot at over there."

"Why, it must have been the VC," Face answered innocently and with a shrug. He looked over at the man, though he knew he only understood every fifth word, if even that. "Gee, I am real sorry about that, too. But we Americans know how to do business. We certainly don't shoot at our business partners the way the VC do."

The chief scowled, not taking his eyes off of Face as he spat a long string of venomous accusations. "He say you no do good business," the interpreter relayed. "You not tell him about attack on village. His men get shot from two sides. They lose fifteen men. Not find all bodies."

"We sure are sorry about that," Face answered, expressing his deepest condolences. "Tell him we'll give him a thousand piastres for each of his KIA as a gesture of sympathy and token of our good will."

More indistinguishable chatter, and the translator reported back. "He say he want 500 piastres bounty for 100 VC killed. He say they kill at least that many when VC run toward camp."

Face considered that carefully. Technically, if they couldn't produce proof of their kills - hands or ears - there was no rule of any kind that they should be paid. Face decided not to antagonize them. The man looked furious enough as it was. "Tell him we'll pay for 25 VC," he negotiated. "And tell him that we'll need a receipt."

More gibberish. Sensing the growing tension, the CIDG shifted their weapons nervously. But Boston and Cipher, on either side of where Face stood facing the bandit, both had their guns trained on the enemy. Face felt secure.

"He say he want weapons to replace the ones he lose shooting VC."

"Tell him we're real sorry," Face answered. "But if he can't hold onto his weapons, that's his problem. Not ours."

The bandit leader realized he'd gotten all he could out of the deal and reluctantly accepted. Face exchanged money for a signature, shook hands with the man while Cipher's camera snapped pictures, and backed away as the men turned to leave, dragging their wounded off with them.

"Why we take pictures?" the interpreter asked once the bandits were out of earshot.

"Because," Face answered. "If anyone asks, we paid off the KKK to shoot it out with the VC." He grinned as he cast a glance at Cipher. "And we were never in Cambodia."