CHAPTER FIFTEEN

May 30, 1971

It had taken a bit of know-how and a fair amount of luck to find Colonel Hannibal Smith. His unit was not in Da Nang, their "home base", nor in Nha Trang, or Plieko, or Lang Veih or any of the many Forward Operating Bases along the western border where Murdock would have expected to find them. They were in Saigon, of all places. Informed of this, Murdock was then faced with the difficult question of how to catch them before they headed to some remote area deep in enemy territory.

Thankfully, his luck came through again.

"Sure, I know Hannibal." The affirmative response after so many blank stares made Murdock breathe a sigh of relief.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Murdock waited in eager anticipation for the warrant officer from the 1st Air Cav to continue, and prodded gently when the information was not forthcoming. "Do you know where I might find him?"

"Maybe." The soldier was sizing him up with obvious curiosity. "Who's asking?"

Murdock extended a hand and offered a smile. "Howlin' Mad Murdock, at your service," he said, purposely neglecting his rank. The soldier could see it on his lapel if he was interested. "Or at least what's left of me. Reorientation into this chicken shit outfit is a bitch."

The warrant officer's eyes widened. "You're Howling Mad Murdock?"

Apparently, his reputation preceded him. "No no no, see... you said it wrong." Murdock continued to grin as he pulled back from the handshake and gestured in the air a little. "It's not how-ling." He emphasized the end of the word. "How-ling sounds like a Chinese guy's name. It's How-lin'. Howlin' Mad. Now you try it."

Clearly, the young warrant officer - he couldn't have been more than a few weeks in-country - did not know how to take this. He just stared for a long moment. Murdock would have to be the one to break the tension, and he did so smoothly.

"Anyhow, where can I find Colonel Smith?"

"Uh..." The man shook his head quickly, as if to clear it, then gestured down the hall. "He's in the officer's club. I just came from there. I'll uh... show you the way if you'd like."

Murdock was so light on his feet, he almost skipped after the man. After six months of retraining and testing, he'd arrived in Vietnam three weeks ago. Every spare moment since had been spent in an effort to track down his former CO. He should've known to come to Saigon first. After all, it was where all of their orders came from even if Da Nang was technically "home base". But something about knocking on General Westman's door left him unsettled.

"You're sure he's in here?" Murdock asked as they approached the doors of the poorly built structure. It looked like a converted single story office building made of plywood and cracked asbestos sheeting.

"Positive, sir," the Warrant Officer assured.

Taking a big step forward and pulling out ahead of the man, Murdock threw the doors to the officer's club open and stepped inside with his arms over his head and a shout that echoed off of the walls. "Gentlemen! The cavalry has arrived!"

A few seconds of startled stares, then suddenly he locked eyes with a table full of familiar faces. "Murdock?" Face cried in shock.

He grinned, letting the doors close behind him. Chairs scraped the floor as BA and Cipher both rose with smiles in place. As Murdock came closer, Cipher grabbed his shoulder and turned him to get a better look at the patch on his arm. "You're army now?" he asked in surprise.

"1st Aviation Brigade," Murdock answered with a smirk. "And I got a promotion out of it, too."

"How the hell did you swing that?" Face asked with genuine curiosity, studying the new insignia from where he remained seated, not looking away as he took a long drink from his beer.

Murdock chuckled. "Funny story. I went to the Air Force recruiting office and the jackass basically tells me that they really don't want me back."

"What!" BA cried in surprise.

"Well, it was a little more complicated than that but anyways, as this guy is giving me the third degree, Army recruiter comes walking right by." Murdock's gaze lingered for a moment on Face, whose expression gave no indication of his reaction. "They were all in the same building, you know? And he jumps right in and says they'll not only take me in Vietnam, but they'll put through for a promotion and send me anywhere I wanna go. I signed on the dotted line five minutes later."

Finally, Hannibal stood and leaned over the table to shake his hand. Amongst the laughter and surprise, their gaze held for a long moment. Hannibal smiled, and Murdock returned it with a nod of wordless understanding. He was home.

June 1, 1971

"Aw, sweet!" The young pilot's eyes lit up like a kid's on Christmas morning as they came to rest on the brand new, shiny plane parked at the end of the landing strip. "Wanna go for a ride, colonel? Let's go find us some of those VC mother fuckers!"

Colonel Smith raised a brow, amused by Murdock's initiative, and eyed the plane for a moment. "What'd you have in mind, Captain?" he asked around the cigar.

Murdock didn't slow. He ran to the plane and ran his hand along the shiny metal on the underside of the wing as if caressing a lover. "Man, I would love to have a plane like this," he sighed. "Just take off over the mountains and never look back..."

Hannibal paused near the front of the plane, leaning against it with his arms crossed. It was good to see Murdock with some life in him again, a complete turnaround from the man he'd met only a few weeks ago. He wondered just how long it would take for the rest of the team to warm back up to him.

"Sounds great," he agreed, considering the thought of flying off into the wild blue yonder. "Until you run out of fuel."

Smirking, Murdock glanced back. "Minor detail." He turned and walked down the length of the aircraft, inspecting it. "Did you know that in the States, every other mile of the interstate system has to be straight? For planes to make emergency landings."

"I didn't know that," Hannibal admitted.

"Yep. There's rules about bridges, too." He opened the engine compartment and smiled broadly. "Gee, it's all clean and sparkly still. How long ago did this thing get here?"

Hannibal shrugged. "Not sure."

"We've had her three days."

Both men turned at the unexpected voice, thick with a Texan drawl. A smile broke out across Hannibal's face instantly as he recognized the man.

"General," Hannibal greeted, stepping forward and offering a handshake.

Murdock stood a little straighter. Dressed in olive fatigues and still too far away to see the emblems of his rank and unit, General Westman didn't look much different from any other officer who wandered the Saigon base. But if any man's rank and reputation could instill a healthy fear, it was his.

"So you're HM Murdock," Westman said, extending a hand as he came closer.

"Yes, sir," Murdock replied seriously, casting a quick, uneasy glance at Hannibal before shaking the proffered hand.

"Ross Westman," the General introduced himself. "Heard a lot about you."

Murdock's eyes widened a little, but he smiled nonetheless. "Pleasure to meet you, sir."

"I'll be honest," Westman continued, "I couldn't figure what it was about you that would make this man -" He nodded toward Hannibal. "- risk a court martial to get you home safe."

Murdock shifted uneasily. Hannibal could see him fighting the urge to look away and the tension was almost palpable, but he held it together.

"He says RT Cannon needs you, though," Westman finished. "And, come down to it, I gotta trust his judgment. And -" He paused for a brief chuckle. "- gotta take into account just how far he was willing to go to get you back once you did get home safe."

Nodding his understanding, Murdock forced a smile. "I understand I owe you quite a debt of gratitude for helping me out of that mess at A Shau," he said.

"Ah, that was nothing." With a twinkle in his eye, Westman exchanged knowing glances with Hannibal. "You should've seen the strings I had to pull for your Lieutenant Peck."

Murdock's brows raised as Hannibal chuckled. But he didn't have a chance to answer before Westman clapped a hand over his shoulder. Turning his attention to the plane with a devious smirk on his lips, he led Murdock towards the cockpit. "You know how to fly this thing?"

Slipping easily back into his comfort zone, Murdock chuckled. "All planes fly the same, sir. Some just fly faster than others."

A hearty laugh answered the confident assertion, and Hannibal watched the General with amusement, wondering just what he had up his sleeve. "That's true, that's true," Westman muttered, putting one hand on his hip and the other on the plane. "You wanna take her for a ride, Captain?"

Murdock's eyes lit up. "Seriously?"

"I gotta get to Pleiku," Westman answered with a nod. "So does this plane. And I just heard a debriefing with a real good idea where to find some of them VC you were talking about."

April 20, 1985

Alan was even less impressed with Hannibal's plan than the rest of the team, not least because he had less faith that the holes would miraculously fill themselves once things began to progress. His lack of enthusiasm didn't seem to faze Hannibal in the least.

"All we need is that car," the colonel declared with a shrug. "And a willing soul to pose as brother Chris."

Without even looking at him, Hannibal put an arm around Face's shoulders, and the younger man sighed. "Right."

"No, it's not that easy," Alan warned, wary of Hannibal's confident smile.

"Why not?" Hannibal replied in blinking naiveté, as though stealing rare cars and impersonating mercenaries was the sort of thing he did for relaxation.

Bewildered, Alan stammered a bit on his answer before snapping with impatience, "There's only three prototypes of that car in existence. One of 'em is on an exhibition floor in the GM building in Detroit. There's no way of gettin' it outta there. The other one, I couldn't even find."

"What about the one you stole?" Face asked simply.

Alan stared at him incredulously. "That one's in a police impound in LA. If they ain't come and got it already."

Face smirked, a knowing, confident glint in his eyes. "Perfect."

"Good," Hannibal nodded. "Face, see if you can get a flight back to LA; it'll be faster. Take Murdock and Alan and bring back that car. BA and I will stay here and work on the phones and power, maybe set up some more distractions just in case we need them."

"Too bad those bugs won't transmit all the way out here," BA said dejectedly.

"I've got an idea for a relay we can set up using the van's radio and a couple of walkie talkies," Hannibal said contemplatively. "It'll take some time, but we should have plenty of that while we're waiting for you three to get back."

Murdock was already moving to the van, but Alan was shaking his head vehemently. "Look, I don't even know for sure Corrolini's never met Chris," he protested. "And Kyle will sure as hell know his brother when he sees him! This is crazy!"

"Do you have a better idea?" Hannibal asked pointedly.

"I say we grab Corrolini while he's sleeping tonight and make him tell us where my daughter is," Alan declared.

The entire team paused to contemplate this plan. With a raised brow, Hannibal took a step closer. "And just how do you propose we 'make' him talk?" he challenged.

Alan's fists clenched at his sides. "Any way we have to."

"Look, Alan," Hannibal replied, clearly irritated by the arrogance of a man used to accomplishing his goals through sheer brutality. "If we grab Corrolini, he'll know two things. First, he'll know we can't kill him because then you'll never know where your daughter is. Second, all he has to do is wait it out and somebody on his long list of bodyguards and gun-toting employees will come for him."

"Waiting it out isn't so easy when you're in pain," Alan growled.

"And in case you haven't noticed," Hannibal shot back, "we're not in the habit of torturing, maiming, or killing civilians - even scumbags like Corrolini - to get what we want. And even if we were, there's no guarantee he would talk before someone kills your daughter in retaliation for his kidnapping."

Looking back and forth between the two alpha males, Murdock remained silent. He wasn't surprised when Alan didn't back down, or when Hannibal took a step closer to poke in the taller man's direction with his unlit cigar. "You hired us," Hannibal said firmly. "Not the other way around. If you want our help, we do this our way. Otherwise, we walk away right now."

"It's not like we'll be losing all that much," Face interjected, arms crossed as he leaned against the side of the van. He regarded Alan with a look of calm distaste. "Seeing as we're not even getting paid for this, I'm not entirely sure why we're going through all this trouble in the first place."

Alan cast a quick glance at Face before turning back to Hannibal. For a long, tense moment, Murdock thought this may very well be the end of their involvement here. But finally, shaking his head vehemently again, Alan turned and paced a few steps. He felt his pocket, looking for cigarettes, and Hannibal cast a subtle glance at Murdock. But he had nothing to add.

"Well, maybe I should go in there and give myself up," Alan suggested as he found the pack, then searched for a lighter. "I mean, it's pretty likely they'd take me to wherever they're holding her, right?"

"It's a possibility," Hannibal nodded. "But it's equally possible they'll just shoot you."

"If they hired a mercenary to find you," BA interrupted, "they mean business."

Alan's hands were shaking as he struggled to light the cigarette, and Murdock's eyes narrowed as he watched them. Was it the tension and anxiety causing that, or maybe withdrawal? Not that he cared...

"You have nothing to bargain with," Hannibal continued. "If you go in there now, we don't have a way to get you out."

"And if they kill you," Face added, "your daughter is worthless."

"Well, at least you'd know where she is," Alan replied weakly.

"Not necessarily," Hannibal corrected. "We can't guarantee he'd take you to her first, or that he wouldn't kill you both with the same gun."

"And you don't have a way to get a message to us from in there," Face pointed out.

Alan growled, and hit the van with the side of his fist. "Then what are we supposed to do!"

"Hey, man!" BA warned, stepping forward in defense of his van. "Jus' settle down."

Alan dropped his head forward, resting it against his forearm. "I just want her back," he whispered, sounding shockingly broken. Murdock frowned deeply at the defeat he'd never heard in that all-too-familiar voice.

"If she's alive, we'll get her back," Hannibal assured him, the authority in his tone not wavering even if he was a bit gentler now that Alan had clearly conceded. "But you have to trust us. Otherwise, we can't help you."

"Your plan is crazy," Alan said weakly, shaking his head as he glanced up again at Hannibal.

"We know," Face replied, almost comfortingly. He gave a smile as Alan glanced at him. "But that tends to be the way we do things around here."

June 1, 1971

If Murdock was uneasy about flying a four star general right over the heads of the enemy, he didn't show it. Of course, once they left the ground, it was difficult to think of Westman as a four star general. In his dirty fatigues with a little 5.56mm CAR-15 assault rifle and a small case of fragmentation hand grenades, he gave the impression that he was just another soldier, sitting next to Hannibal in the backseat of the plane. The two of them laughed like old friends - they probably were - and Murdock smiled. It was so unusual to see anyone above a certain rank who didn't flinch at the thought of holding a weapon. Whatever that rank was, Westman surpassed it. Murdock had to wonder what kind of trouble would be had if anyone found out that a man this important was holding a weapon.

"See 'em?" Murdock asked as he flew low enough to skim the trees. In a small clearing were at least a dozen trucks filled with bags and bags of rice.

"Yeah, I see 'em!" Westman called back, aiming the gun out of the large window.

"Hold on a minute," Murdock warned.

"For what?" Hannibal asked, reclining comfortably in the seat next to Westman.

"I gotta circle 'round the other side of 'em and you two gotta switch places," Murdock said. He grinned as he glanced into the back and exchanged brief glances with the colonel. "First time I did this, we had the target on the left side instead of the right. Hot cartridges outta the gun came back on me. Went right down along my neck."

Hannibal laughed. "Nice."

They switched. Murdock circled back around. "'Kay, hang on," he warned as he dove down in a low sweep, tipping the plane as the AKs began firing up at them.

Westman pointed his weapon out the window and emptied a cartridge of ammo on the figures in the trees. Not a single one of the sporadic, answering rounds from the AK-47s made it anywhere near the plane. Laughing, Westman pulled back and reloaded.

"Hot damn!" he cried. "I ain't done this in a long time!"

"Just make sure you don't get shot," Hannibal warned, closing his eyes and relaxing again as Murdock dipped the plane once more in an acrobatic show. A loud war cry from the pilot's seat made a smile creep across his face. The captain was in his element.

The problem with the plane, of course, was the fact that it only held so much fuel. With a careful eye on the gauges, Murdock kept them out over the jungle for as long as he safely could before landing at the Air Base in Plieku and refueling. An enthralled General Westman thanked him for the ride and waved his goodbyes to Hannibal as he headed away. Murdock still wore a broad smile as Hannibal climbed into the co-pilot's seat of the Huey Westman had requisitioned to take them back to Saigon.

"I kinda miss the planes," Murdock admitted as soon as they were in the air again. "Alan an' I used to do this all the time. Fly outta Nha Trang and go check out all the areas where the VC were hiding."

"Must've been a nice diversion from the jungle patrols between missions," Hannibal mused.

"For him," Murdock nodded. "For me, it was nice to get away from all the dead friendlies bleeding all over the back of my chopper."

It was the last thing Murdock said until they touched down again, after a pleasantly uneventful flight. As he climbed out of the plane, Hannibal watched the captain carefully. "What's on your mind, Murdock?"

The long silence had made it painfully obvious that there was something on his mind, even in the wake of such fun and excitement. He wasn't surprised Hannibal had noticed.

"I'm thinking about expanding my job description," Murdock declared with as much confidence as he could muster. He'd turned these words over and over in his head a million times, but they still sounded strange to him. Hopping down from the plane and brushing his hands together in conclusion of a job well done, he smiled at Hannibal's raised brow.

"Expanding it how?" the colonel asked, clearly curious.

"Well, not officially. But I was just thinking..." Feeling the stare of his commanding officer boring into him, Murdock did a walk around the chopper, checking it for damage although he knew there was none. At least, none he'd been responsible for. "I've always had quite a bit of free time. And you've always done quite a bit of extra training. IA drills and stuff..." He glanced over to see how his implication was being received so far.

"You want in on IA drills?" Hannibal seemed terribly amused by the thought.

"Well, lemme put it this way." Murdock poked his head around the side of the plane and hung there, watching the colonel. "We went down in the jungle an' I didn't have a clue what to do about it." He frowned deeply. "I never felt so much like a hunted animal in my life. Now, I'll do my part in makin' sure I keep the bird in the air. But if it ever happens again..."

He let the suggestion hang in the air as Hannibal studied him, trying to determine whether or not it was a serious request. Surely, Murdock was out of his mind, knowing the physical and mental stress of the training he was requesting and would probably - hopefully - never even use. But Murdock was dead serious, and he was willing to pour blood, sweat, and tears into proving it.

"Alright," Hannibal agreed hesitantly, still considering him with a skeptical look. "I'll arrange it."

Murdock grinned as he nodded. "I'll be there," he promised with a sigh of relief. He was never going to be a burden on this team again.