CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

December 10, 1968

Face was waiting with baited breath for the explosion. The rest of the team was waiting uncomfortably for an explanation. Only Hannibal was settled, if deathly silent and absolutely cold. The rescue had been one of the most beautifully executed in history, and two Americans owed their lives to the success of it. No payoff would have been enough to erase the fact that Face had disobeyed Hannibal's orders in the presence of the three NVA. Still, everyone recognized the need to extend the calm before the storm until the grateful POWs had been safely deposited in the dispensary. Only then did Hannibal lock eyes on Face. Streaked with blood and camo paint, guns and bags in tow, the two of them headed silently for the team room ahead of Cipher and Boston. As the door finally closed, Hannibal threw his pack on the floor with little regard for where it landed.

"I want you gone," he informed Face flatly. "I'll file the paperwork tomorrow. You're done."

"Woah, wait a minute," Boston interjected, eyes wide. He must have known that Face's actions were absolutely out of line, but the severity of the consequences seemed to catch him off guard. Hannibal could understand that. People on this team didn't just get fired. Of course, people on this team didn't generally do anything stupid enough to get themselves fired.

"What the hell is even going on here?" he asked in confusion. "Did our mission change and nobody was informed?"

The question was directed squarely at Face, but Cipher didn't give the kid a chance to reply. "I want to know where the fucking hell you get off, Face," Cipher demanded, both less confused and more openly furious than either Boston or Hannibal. "And what in God's name has it got to do with Devon Young?"

Face's back was turned as he slid his pack off of his shoulders and set it - and his weapon - on the bed. "Know what gets me off?" Face challenged, unwinding the tape from around his hand, still facing the wall. "Pulling two Americans out of a fucking POW camp gets me off." He looked over his shoulder, shooting a murderous glare in Cipher's direction. "You got a problem with that?"

Cipher had crossed the room before Face had finished shedding his equipment. "That is bullshit," he fumed, well aware that he was invading Face's personal space. Face recognized it, too, and spun, squaring his shoulders. Hannibal said nothing as he vaguely wondered who would throw the first punch. "You rolled the dice with our mission - which we failed, by the way - and every one of our lives pulling that little stunt," Cipher growled. "And for what? 'Cause it sure as hell wasn't about saving lives."

Face's eyes narrowed, and something that was almost like a smirk crossed his lips. "Now there's a switch. I rolled the dice with our lives? Damn. What is this world coming to?"

Hannibal was unbuttoning the top few buttons of his sweat-soaked fatigues, calm and emotionless as he watched the young sergeants size each other up. But he didn't speak. Cipher was full of energy, and doing a fine job of pushing Face's buttons. If they did come to blows, Hannibal had no doubt Cipher could hold his own.

"You didn't know there was a camp around there," Cipher continued. "That was pure dumb luck."

"Well, good for those two men that I was feeling really lucky," Face snapped back.

"And if your luck had failed?" Boston joined in. "You'd taken a prisoner and left two bodies."

"If my luck had failed, it would've been three bodies and no prisoner," Face retorted, taking his eyes off of Cipher to glance at Boston.

Jaw dropped, Boston stared back. "You're not quite delusional enough to think we would've just looked the other way while you executed a prisoner."

"Maybe we could all use some lessons on when to look the other way," Face snapped, turning his attention back to Cipher, who hadn't retreated in the least. "And when not to."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Cipher demanded. "Quit being so goddamn cryptic and say what you've gotta say, right here, right now."
Face stepped back, but it was certainly not a gesture that he was actually backing down. His posture reeked of passive aggression. "I think I've said just about all I have to say," he said dismissively.

Boston and Cipher stared at each other in confused silence, finally turning to Hannibal as if to ask him for the explanation Face was clearly not offering. Quite contrary to Face's vicious emotionalism, Hannibal showed no feeling whatsoever as he took a long drink from his canteen and wiped the sweat from his face with the bottom of his shirt.

"Look, Face," he finally offered with resigned disinterest. "You sabotaged - not just fucked up, but actually sabotaged - a mission that could have saved countless lives for the chance to name drop. I'm going to have to explain that. And when I do, I'll be asking for you to be removed from this team."

Face glared. Chin high, he put his shoulders back and his eyes blazed with anger as he snarled back, "I went after a couple of men who would've died at the hands of the VC if I hadn't. Which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for you. Especially since I didn't even know them, much less were they under my command."

The reaction was felt all the way around the room - everyone except for Hannibal. "What the hell are you talking about?" Boston demanded.

"Is that what you think happened to Devon Young?" Cipher demanded, finally putting the pieces together.

Cipher and Boston both straightened, exchanged glances, and looked to Hannibal to see how he would respond. They both knew the details of what had happened to his last team, better than he would've liked. Everyone knew the whole story, it seemed, except for Face. For a long moment, nobody spoke. Nobody moved as they waited to see Hannibal's response. But Hannibal gave no reaction whatsoever. His reaction to the mention of Devon Young had already been spent when Face dropped his name in the field.

"You wanted to see my hand?" Face growled. "There it is. You gonna dress me down? Pull rank? Offer some half-assed excuse for the fact that you'd leave your own man for dead while you go out there doing Bright Light for strangers?"

Hannibal raised a brow, but was otherwise completely calm and unaffected. "You think I abandoned Devon Young?" he asked calmly.

Face glared furiously. "I'm not sure 'abandoned' is a strong enough word, Colonel."

Hannibal shook his head, as if giving up on a project that was too far gone to salvage. And maybe that was precisely what he was doing. Grabbing up his gear, he headed to the door. Unfortunately, he had to pass Face to get there, and the sergeant stood directly in his path to block the exit.

"What's the matter?" Face goaded. "You don't want to talk about that?"

"I don't owe you an explanation, Sergeant," Hannibal replied flatly.

"Then how about I do the talking?" Face replied. "We can talk about how, in all the time since you left him out there – since you lost a member of your team, pulled out and left him for dead – you haven't once gone back to try and find him!"

"That's not my call," Hannibal reminded him, wondering with vague interest just how much of the story the kid didn't know. "You think I just make up these missions off the top of my head?"

Face glared. "Don't give me that. Westman would authorize just about anything you asked for. You feed me this shit about team, and unity, and having each other's backs; you left one of your own men behind to be tortured to death by the VC!"

Hannibal sighed, remaining completely composed as he said, "I'll tell General Westman you'd like a transfer first thing in the morning."

"Maybe I'll just tell him myself," Face threatened. "You might get a transfer out of it, too."

Face turned to leave. Stunned and confused, the team stared back and forth between his retreating form, and Hannibal's calm, emotionless expression. It was Boston who spoke up this time, stopping Face on the way to the door.

"Don't you fucking dare walk out that door," he yelled, surprising them all with the intensity. Boston rarely got riled up about anything. But there was a fire in his eyes none of them had ever seen before, as angry as he was genuinely confused. "You two have been at each other's throats for weeks. Stupid, petty shit - both of you! We just failed a top priority mission that would have saved countless lives and neither one of you even flinches at the fact that our guys are going to die because you two can't get along."

"And that's on you, Face," Cipher added, glaring at him although his back was still turned. "I don't give a shit what you're fighting about. You told me this wasn't gonna cross the wire, but it did."

"Sorry," he said dryly. He wasn't sorry. "I guess I let my personal pursuits get in the way of the chain of command, the job, and... oh, hell, just about everything we're here for." His look toward Hannibal was direct, a pointed glare that didn't waver. "I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Colonel?"

Hannibal didn't flinch. "I'm having an affair with Elaine Westman."

The statement settled with all the subtlety of an atomic bomb, catching all of them - even Face - off guard. Blank stares on the faces of Boston and Cipher turned to wide-eyed realizations that slowly set in. Cipher covered his face with his hand as he muttered something that sounded an awful lot like "fucking hell" as Boston laughed, "You've got to be kidding me," under his breath.

"Your turn," Hannibal said pointedly, fixing Face in a hard stare.

Bewildered, the other two members of the team stared at Face, wondering what could possibly top Hannibal's confession. "I have photos," he informed, though it was as much a threat as a confession.

"Blackmail," Cipher realized, bitter anger tainting the word. "You tried to blackmail a member of this team? Are you out of your fucking mind!"

"Oh, that's nothing new," Face answered bitterly. "I've been blackmailed from the moment I joined this team."

"A signed confession," Hannibal supplied, laying all the cards out on the table. "Drug running, theft..." He sighed with deep resignation. "Everything from fraudulent enlistment to pandering."

Cipher looked back and forth between the two of them. But Boston was the one to speak first. "You two are unbelievable," he said, shaking his head slowly.

Cipher laughed without humor, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow, you're right, Face. Fucking the general's wife is bound to get Hannibal twenty years in a prison cell right next to you."

Face shrugged, and waited. The exhaustion of his time here swept over him suddenly and visibly - as if he'd never let down before, never let go. Hannibal watched as he turned away and headed to his bunk, unbuttoning the blood-soaked shirt as he went. "You know where to tell the MPs to find me," he muttered, shrugging his shoulders out of the shirt and dropping it on the floor as he perched on the edge of the bed. "I'm not goin' anywhere."

Hannibal sighed as he watched the young man resigned to his fate, he turned towards the door without addressing the others, and left. He needed to think. He certainly didn't need his team around him if he was going to do it properly.

August 30, 1978

The arguing had finally turned to tense silence. Face was grateful for it at first. But the longer it lingered, the harder it got to breathe. Finally, he finally stepped out of the car, risking the exposure for a chance to get some air. The phone hadn't rung yet. Leaning back on the hood of the car with his head down, hand across his forehead, he ran through his options again.

If they were in trouble, and needed him to come to their aid, every moment he spent waiting here put them in greater danger. If they weren't, and he walked away, Murdock would be looking for him, thinking the same thing. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes more, and he was going into that bar with Paulie. Five minutes would give him just enough time to figure out what the hell he was going to say once he got in there.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. He looked over his shoulder at Jessica, startled and genuinely concerned that he hadn't even heard the car door open. "You've been through a lot with your team, haven't you?" she asked gently.

He sighed, fairly certain it was easier to just answer her than to try and convince her it was better not to talk about it. "Yeah," he answered simply.

Her brow furrowed with obvious concern. "You think they're okay?"

In spite of himself, he gave a brief half-laugh at that. "Hannibal?" he said as if her question was rhetorical. "I'm sure he's just fine."

"And BA?" she pressed.

Face shrugged. "Him, too."

"So why are you so worried?"

Face didn't answer. He was sure Murdock would call if he was able. If not, they could be anywhere. A "warehouse" wasn't exactly specific.

This time, Face heard the car door open as Paulie ventured forth. "Who is this guy we're waiting on?" Paulie demanded, a bit shakier and far less intimidating than he'd probably intended.

Face turned and glared briefly at him. "Get back in the car. This isn't a good place, remember?"

"How do you know he's gonna call?" Paulie's voice was bordering on frantic. "How do you know, man? He could be -"

"Paulie!" Jessica interrupted. "For God's sake, shut up!"

Paulie fell silent, and Jessica sighed. Another long, tense silence descended as Face stared at the bar, his thoughts running over possible lines and methods to extract the information he needed from the men inside. Two more minutes...

"Hey, Face?"

Jessica's voice was a welcome interruption to his thoughts. He glanced at her, brow raised. "Yeah?"

"If Murdock is... unstable..." She hesitated on her words, and Face's eyes narrowed slightly as he caught the implication. "I mean, he lives in a psych ward, right? That's what he said."

Face sighed and rubbed his forehead again. "As long as he's breathing, Jess, the number one thing on his mind is going to be how to get to a phone," he said quietly. "I can promise you that."

August 30, 1978

The phone rang for almost a full minute before Face finally picked it up. Murdock's sigh of relief was heavy and audible. "Man, it's good to hear your voice!"

"Where the hell are you!" Face cried with an equal measure of unspent worry and frustration. "What took you so long to call?"

"What took you so long to answer?" Murdock retorted, still vibrating with nervous tension as his eyes tracked a harmless passing car. "This is the third time I called!"

Face hesitated just briefly. "I never heard it ring and we've been here over a half hour."

Murdock sighed. He must have called last time right before Face arrived. There wasn't a pay phone near the warehouse BA and Hannibal were holed up inside and he didn't like leaving them in there without contact. He wouldn't even know if they were moved someplace else. The only real comfort Murdock had was in the fact they had each other in there.

"They got 'em in a warehouse," Murdock said quickly, looking up at the street sign nearest the pay phone he was leaning against. "It's backed up against a field with a barbed wire fence around the back of it and a parking lot in the front. Van is down the street a ways. We only went about five miles south down Towson Street. Go right on Fifth and you'll run right into the van, where I'm at."

"I'll be right there," Face promised.

Murdock hung up the phone and heard the coins jangle as they dropped into the reservoir. Scanning his surroundings again, he was not surprised to see nothing had changed. A few cars, an unthreatening Mexican man smoking a cigarette outside the party store on the corner, litter scuttling along the street in the breeze. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis and headed back toward the van at a brisk walk. There wasn't much he could do until Face got there, and he knew it. But he still didn't like being away from where Hannibal and BA were being held prisoner. Maybe he should've taken the van to the store, so he could've gotten there and back sooner.

He cut across the field and walked a block down the street, his eyes flickering frequently to the large, blue building. It had been recently painted, which made it stand out from the others on the street. On one side, industrial buildings. On the other side, residential. He couldn't imagine anyone ever wanting to live so close to factories and warehouses.

His pace slowed a little as he remembered that even when he got back to the van, he wouldn't have contact with the inside. All he could do was sit in the back and wait. He'd already checked the entire perimeter, and knew it. He needed to get inside. For all he knew, Hannibal and BA could be dead already. He forced that thought from his mind.

Still a few yards from the van, he was keenly aware of the car pulling up behind him. He glanced back over his shoulder and came to a stop as he saw Face in the driver's seat. Almost before the car had come to a complete stop, Face was out of the car, leaving his two passengers in the middle of an argument muffled by the windows. Face's expression made it clear that the family reunion hadn't been pleasant. Murdock smirked slightly as Face tucked his pistol into the back of his pants, under his jacket.

"Y'alright?" Murdock asked with at least as much amusement as concern.

Face shook his head, rolling his eyes. "I'm so glad I never married."

With a chuckle, Murdock headed to the back of the van. Face stayed right on his heels. "I was thinkin'," Murdock started as he pulled the back door open and crawled in. Face stayed outside, one eye on the car's passengers. "We've got more than enough firepower to get in there. Perimeter isn't all that secure. But unless we're gonna kill these guys, getting Hannibal and BA out just puts us back at square one. They still want that guy you got in your backseat. They could still go after Jessica to get him. Especially if we piss 'em off by shootin' up their warehouse."

"I met the guys they hired," Face said quietly, leaning on the door. "They showed up with AKs and shot his condo to hell. And his girlfriend."

Murdock frowned deeply. "Way to be subtle."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Face muttered. "Cops were on that place almost before I was out."

"Amateurs?" Murdock guessed. "Or do you think they were going for the 'blaze of glory'?"

"I don't know," Face admitted, shaking his head. "But they did blow up Jessica's house. And that wasn't exactly subtle, either."

Murdock shrugged, but his attention was drawn back to the warehouse. "We need to reestablish contact with them," he said firmly. When he received no response, or suggestion as to how to go about it, he smiled. "We need one of Hannibal's plans."

Face raised a brow. "You have one in mind?"

"Part of one," Murdock answered with a grin. "We just gotta think like Hannibal."

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before a nervous half-smile crossed Face's lips. They'd been working with Hannibal long enough that they both knew full well how to think like him. With a sigh, Face nodded. "Think like Hannibal," he repeated, clearly uneasy. "Right."