The low, steady hum of the C-141B Starlifter's engines masked the occasional creak as the plane cut through the turbulent sky. The air inside was thick with tension, warning of something worse on the horizon.
Hannibal leaned back against the cold, unforgiving metal bulkhead with his arms wrenched tightly behind him. The rough rope fibers bit into his wrists. He could already feel the numbness creeping into his fingertips from the lack of circulation. Now, this was closer to the rope trick, except he wasn't hanging from the ceiling on a meathook with his shoulders dislocated.
He exhaled slowly, trying to find a more comfortable position. His knees ached from sitting at an unnatural angle, and his shoulders, well, could have been better. Holloway hadn't restrained him for security. He wanted to make a point, knowing Hannibal had once been a POW, wanting him to go through it all over again and suffer. Neutralizing him was too easy.
Across from him, Keller was similarly bound, though his ropes weren't cinched tight. He had taken a few solid hits during the scuffle, with a cut along his temple, a split lip, and a giant purple bruise forming across his cheekbone.
Hannibal watched him, noting how Keller tested the ropes around his wrists, looking for weaknesses.
Good. That meant he hadn't given up.
Further down the aircraft, Holloway stood near the forward bulkhead, conferring with two of his men. His posture remained loose. Hannibal knew a seasoned operator when he saw one. Holloway was listening and calculating. His men had positioned themselves carefully, securing the perimeter of the aircraft like an occupation force.
But Hannibal also knew something they didn't. Men who think they've already won stop paying attention. And Holloway was relaxed and too comfortable. That meant he had already lost.
Holloway turned and smiled. "You're awfully quiet, Smith. From what I've heard, you're normally a chatterbox. Do I sense some fear coming from you?"
Hannibal shook his head. "Nah. Just enjoying the flight. I can be really polite when I'm a guest in someone else's home. Do you always offer first-class accommodations like this?"
"Only for special guests," Holloway said. "Is that what this is? A friendly visit? Are you always this relaxed when you're tied up?"
"It depends on the company. Are you planning on offering drinks?"
"I haven't decided yet. Are you planning on making trouble?" Holloway asked.
"Me?" Hannibal grinned. "Why would I do a thing like that?"
Keller snorted. "You've got to be kidding me."
Holloway crouched in front of him. You know, Smith, you really are a legend. The A-Team. War hero. The Medal of Honor. A master tactician. You're like a ghost that won't stop haunting the U.S. military. But ghosts only exist because people keep believing in them."
"Is that supposed to scare me?"
"It's to remind you that I know who you are," Holloway said. "And more importantly, I know what kind of man you are. You don't work for people like me. You don't take the money. You don't take the power. You don't even take the easy way out. You keep getting in the way. But here's the thing, Colonel Smith. It's going to get you killed."
Hannibal shrugged. "You're probably right. But what is life without a few ups and downs."
Holloway grinned, clearly entertained by their banter. "I see why Decker's been after you for so long. You can't help yourself, can you?"
"I have a strong personality."
"Is that what you call it?" Holloway said.
Then, the plane hit turbulence. The entire aircraft shuddered, violently rotating from one side to the other. The cargo netting along the interior walls rippled. Even the most experienced men in the cabin tensed, adjusting their footing to stay upright.
Holloway stood. "I've got better things to do besides listen to you talk in riddles."
Hannibal glanced at the round porthole in the bulkhead wall and the dark clouds swirling outside. "Feels like it's going to be a bumpy ride."
"We're heading into a storm." He turned to his second-in-command, a wiry man with sharp, hawk-like eyes. "How long until we hit the worst of it?"
The man checked his watch. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes."
"That should be enough time," Holloway said, nodding.
Hannibal didn't like the sound of that. "Enough time for what, exactly?"
Holloway smiled. "To lighten the load."
Keller stiffened beside him. "That doesn't sound promising."
Holloway ignored him, focusing entirely on Hannibal. "See, I finally got your full attention. Are you worried now?"
Hannibal shook his head. "Nope."
Holloway pointed at the rear cargo ramp. "Bring him."
The two men near the cockpit grabbed one of the bound prisoners, a younger man barely out of his twenties.
The young man tensed, and his eyes widened as he panicked, trying to jerk away from the men holding him. "No. No, wait—"
Hannibal's stomach dropped. He already knew where Holloway was going with this stunt. They were going to throw him out of the rear cargo ramp.
The young man fought against his restraints, struggling hard enough that one of Holloway's men slammed him into the bulkhead to keep him still.
"Too many bodies on this flight. We need to make some adjustments," Holloway said, picking dirt from under his fingernails.
The plane hit another pocket of turbulence. The overhead lighting flickered as the aircraft shuddered.
"You're making a mistake," Hannibal nearly yelled to get his point across.
"Am I?" Holloway asked.
"You want to make a statement. You want control. But this?" Hannibal nodded at the struggling prisoner. "This isn't control. This is a liability."
Holloway crossed his arms. "Go on."
"You're running an op. Which means you have a plan. But the moment you start throwing people out of this plane, you invite problems with fear and desperation. Do you think the rest of them will sit here and wait their turn? You know better than that."
Holloway looked at the other prisoners. A few had gone rigid, clenching their fists, primed for a fight.
Hannibal pressed his advantage. "You wanted them in line. Fine. But the second that ramp opens? You've given them nothing to lose."
Holloway laughed. "You are a piece of work, Smith, but you do have a valid point." He nodded at his men. "Forget it. Put him back."
The young soldier sagged in relief as he was shoved back into his seat.
"What now?" Hannibal asked.
"We continue flying." Holloway tapped his fingers on his thigh. "You're smart. I'll give you that. But that won't save you forever."
Hannibal smiled, completely unfazed. "It wouldn't be fun if it did."
Holloway shook his head again and walked away.
Keller turned his head to look at Hannibal. "That was impressive. Stupid, but impressive."
Hannibal shrugged. "I do my best."
"You just bought us time. Nothing more."
Hannibal's smile didn't waver. "Time is all we need."
###
The C-141B Starlifter groaned under the weight of shifting air pressure. Deep, metallic creaks rippled through the fuselage. The steady drone of the engines shifted into an uneven sputter as the plane pitched and yawed wildly. The storm was closing in. An unseen force wrapped itself around the aircraft, squeezing, shifting, and unsettling the delicate balance of necessary lift beneath the wings.
The pressure inside the cabin changed, growing thick and heavy with the electric charge of the oncoming cold front. It wasn't the first storm Hannibal had ridden through in a cargo plane, but he had learned long ago that it was never the storm itself that was dangerous. It was what fear could do to the men inside.
The hijackers hadn't noticed the severity of their situation yet. But it was slowly dawning on a few. The way one of them, a broad-shouldered man near the bulkhead, widened his stance as if unconsciously bracing for the next impact. Another younger man adjusted his grip on his rifle, bracing himself on the bulkhead with the other hand. Even Holloway grabbed the back of a seat to keep from falling.
The plane trembled again. This time, it was much stronger. An ammo magazine came loose from someone's belt and hit the deck, spinning a couple of times before vanishing beneath a row of seats. The man near it stiffened but didn't retrieve it, waiting for orders from Holloway.
Hannibal watched Keller, hoping he wasn't rattled by the storm like the hijackers.
Keller leaned against the bulkhead, seemingly relaxed, but Hannibal knew the difference between a man who had resigned himself to fate and a man waiting for an opening. Keller's breathing was controlled, and he subtly flexed his fingers. He wasn't looking for a rescue but waiting for the right moment.
Making sure no one was watching, Hannibal crunched into a ball with his knees in his chest, nearly dislocating his shoulders as he forced his hands under his feet, getting his arms in front of him, breathing through the pain.
A sharp jolt of turbulence rocked the aircraft, causing a sudden drop that sent everything not tied down in unpredictable directions. That ammo mag went slamming into a bulkhead. A canteen in one of the seats bounced off the floor. One of Holloway's men adjusted his footing. Another reached instinctively for the wall.
Then, the fuselage rolled nearly ninety degrees. The nose dipped, sending all loose items into the forward bulkhead until the pilot corrected, raising the nose. One man stumbled, taking several steps forward, flailing his arms to catch his balance.
Hannibal threw his weight forward, not as an attack, but as a calculated countermove. He slammed his hands on the man's knee, using the unstable footing to his advantage.
"Shit." The man swung his rifle as he struggled to catch himself, but before he could recover, the plane pitched nose down again. He slipped and fell onto his back, colliding with another man, sending both of them hard into the closest bulkhead.
Keller drove his elbow into the ribs of the man nearest to him. In the same motion, Keller hooked his foot around the man's ankle and yanked. The hijacker collapsed onto his back, knocking his head into the deck.
Other bound prisoners jumped into the fray, turning the cargo area into a free-for-all fight. Somewhere, a gun went off, and the round punched into the bulkhead above Keller's head.
And then Hannibal saw a pistol skidding across the deck. One of Holloway's men must have lost his grip, but that was all he needed. A fraction of a second.
Hannibal lunged, sliding on his belly to grab the pistol. The moment he wrapped his fingers around the grip, everything changed.
The hijacker nearest to him froze. His rifle was still in his grasp and pointed, but he hesitated to fire. The certainty that had been there before had wavered.
Even Holloway stopped in his tracks. Holloway turned, staring at Hannibal. There was no immediate reaction, no quick move to counter the shift in power. Instead, Holloway studied him, his going from the gun in Hannibal's hands to the hijackers struggling to regain their footing and the way Keller had positioned himself to move if needed.
Hannibal exhaled slowly, adjusting his grip as best he could with the rope still wrapped around his wrists. Then he smiled. "Well, now we're getting somewhere."
A younger man shouldered his rifle but didn't fire as if wavering between his desire to live over dying as Hannibal pointed his pistol at him.
"I wouldn't," Hannibal advised him.
The young man dropped his rifle and threw up his hands, falling to his knees.
Keller quickly tied him up with a piece of nearby rope.
Outside, lightning flared, illuminating the dark, rolling sky on the other side of the portholes. The aircraft groaned again as it rolled back and forth as if the storm had joined the fight.
Hannibal chuckled. "Do you hear that, Holloway? That's the sound of your plan falling apart."
Holloway didn't immediately react, holding onto a seat to keep from being knocked onto his ass.
But Hannibal saw fear in his eyes. This wasn't part of the plan.
The power had shifted in his favor. And Hannibal wasn't about to let him take it back.
###
The air inside the C-141B Starlifter felt different now. It wasn't the vibration of the storm raging outside or the way the aircraft couldn't maintain level flight as it struggled in the shifting wind currents. Something else had changed. Holloway's ironclad control had cracked, replaced by the fear of failure. Hannibal could feel the tension shifting like a pendulum where certainty gave way to doubt.
Hannibal had the gun now, but it wasn't a perfect scenario, with his hands bound by ropes cinched tightly around his wrists, limiting his ability to maneuver. His grip on the gun was awkward as the weight threw off his aim. But it didn't matter. A man with a gun was always a problem. Add to that, with nothing to lose? That man was an entirely different animal.
Across from him, Holloway's posture remained outwardly relaxed. Hannibal knew Holloway wasn't a man who panicked. He was already recalculating, turning over possibilities in his head, searching for a path to reclaim control.
Hannibal adjusted his grip, feeling Holloway's eyes on him. A few of Holloway's men had shifted their positions, angling for a better vantage point.
Holloway must have seen it, too.
"Don't," Holloway said. "You know this doesn't change anything."
Hannibal chuckled, rolling his shoulders as much as the ropes allowed, holding the pistol steady. He wasn't planning on wasting his one shot.
"No?" Hannibal said, tilting his head. "It seems to me things got a hell of a lot more interesting."
The plane shuddered as turbulence shook the cabin, sending an overhead oxygen mask rattling loose from its compartment. Holloway's men tightened their grip on their weapons.
"You know," Hannibal said. "I don't mind turbulence, but I got to tell you, it makes for one hell of a time trying to get a clean shot." He aimed the pistol at the nearest hijacker. "Not ideal conditions for a firefight, wouldn't you say?"
Holloway's eyes narrowed. "You're still tied up, Colonel Smith. And from where I'm standing, that means you're still in a losing position."
Hannibal gave a slight shrug. "Maybe. But you're in a plane that's about to hit a storm so nasty your pilot's already praying to whoever's listening, and last I checked, bullets don't fly straight when a plane's being tossed around like a paper kite." He gestured vaguely with the gun.
One of Holloway's men, a younger man standing near the cockpit door, moved. Hannibal caught the movement instantly as the man prepared to lunge at him.
Hannibal pointed his pistol at the man, shaking his head. The message was clear.
The young man stopped then tossed his rifle halfway across the plane.
The moment was his. But Hannibal knew better than anyone that if he wanted to get out of this alive, he had to break Holloway's control completely. And that meant getting free.
Nearby, Keller stood, telling Hannibal without words he was ready to join him.
The plane trembled as another wave of turbulence rolled through the cabin, this time more forceful. One of the overhead compartments snapped open, and a small bag tumbled free and hit the ground. It was precisely the kind of distraction Hannibal needed.
Hannibal shifted his grip on the pistol, swung his bound hands upward, and threw the pistol.
Holloway followed the gun with his eyes.
The gun sailed through the air, flipping once before landing in Keller's outstretched hands. He hit one man's rifle with his hands, knocking the barrel wide as the man stumbled back.
Then Keller fired from his position, hitting the man in the shoulder, and the rifle fell from his grasp.
Hannibal drove his shoulder into the nearest man's gut, using every ounce of strength to drive him backward into the row of seats. He didn't need finesse, only momentum. He twisted, yanking his arms over his head and forcing the ropes lower, straining against the knots.
Another gunshot rang out, this one from the cockpit area. The plane shook violently as the turbulence grew worse by the second. Hannibal didn't have time to waste.
Keller worked his way to Hannibal with his weapon raised, firing a shot that forced a hijacker to duck for cover. When he reached Hannibal, he knelt, yanking a knife from his boot.
"Hold still," Keller yelled.
Hannibal did long enough for Keller to slice through the ropes. He rejoined the fight, ducking as a hijacker attacked him, catching the man's wrist and twisting hard, forcing him to lose his grip on the gun. The hijacker jerked back, but Hannibal threw a right cross into his jaw. The man crumpled, out cold.
They had seconds before Holloway's men regrouped.
Hannibal grabbed the nearest rifle and turned to Keller. "Time to level the playing field."
Keller smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."
The battle for the plane had begun.