Summary: Hannibal has a new Lieutenant, and he's not fitting in. He's a cherry with a bad attitude and an annoying cockiness that the others just want to beat out of him… or is he? There may be more to Lieutenant Peck than meets the eye. (I'm sorry I suck at summaries.) Pre-series, Vietnam era.

Disclaimer/Warnings: I am in no way shape or form an expert on the military or Vietnam. I did the best research I could and tried to make the story as accurate as I could but I apologize sincerely for any mistakes. I have nothing but respect for the armed forces and hope that you can overlook the mistakes and enjoy the bad writing. Also, I don't own the A-Team, I just invited them over for tea.

One last side note… Characters are a little bit different than they were in the show because they are all younger. Face is going to seem the most out of sorts but that's because he's a teenager and not yet the mature and sophisticated con man we see in the series.

Lost Boy

It was a rare quiet night in the base. The air was unseasonably cool, the sky was clear. Hannibal was relaxing in the Officer's Club, enjoying a drink and playing cards with some of his fellows. It was a penny and point with no one keeping score, and the men spent more time telling stories then dealing hands. It was a good night, a calm night. It almost made you forget about the war… almost.

Hannibal saw him, the moment he walked in, the young MP that stood near the bar scanning the crowd. He knew in an instant who he was there for, and he could even guess as to why. The kid's eyes settled on him and Hannibal sighed as he watched the kid move his way. The Colonel shook his head as he folded his hand and took a sip from his glass. He'd lay down ten to one odds he knew exactly which of his boys the MP was here to talk to him about.

"Uh-oh, Johnny, looks like somebody's got your number," General Morrison teased his old friend. Hannibal could hear the same exasperation in his voice that he felt. Morrison could also guess which of Hannibal's men was in trouble.

"Colonel Smith," the Corporal said with a salute.

"That would be me, kid," he answered, trying to keep his voice even. "What has my Lieutenant done now?"

The kid's expression remained blank, never a good sign, "Sir, Captain Jackson would like to see you."

The Colonel sighed again and stood up slowly, taking a moment to finish his drink. "I'll see you boys later, once I've gone and bailed out my disciplinary problem."

There was some laughter and jests from the others and a meaningful look from Morrison, but Hannibal ignored them. He took the time to gather his belongings and control the rising tide of his temper. He kept to himself as he followed the Corporal out into the night. He was trying hard to keep an open mind and not to fume… maybe it wasn't related to the kid at all. Maybe there was another reason that Captain Jim Jackson, the head MP of the base, was summoning him at almost twenty two hundred. Maybe Jackson just wanted to have a drink with him, chat about the weather… and maybe pigs flew bombers.

Lieutenant Templeton Peck had been a headache since the day he was assigned to the unit. Davey's blood hadn't even dried on his uniform when the brass was shoving Peck's file into his hands. They said this was his new supply officer; he was going to replace Davey. Davey hadn't even been dead two days. However unfair it was, it wasn't the greatest first impression.

He showed up the same day Hannibal received word of Davey's funeral. He was young, cocky, and cheeky. He was supposed to be a cherry, green as they come, but he carried himself with an air of smugness that said he knew best. Hannibal had wanted to wipe the floor with that smug smile and silver tongue. Blond haired, blue eyes, well spoken, fake manners, and an LA tan…. He was some pretty boy hot shot the Army thought might be useful.

The kid had an air of arrogance that rubbed everyone the wrong way. B.A. wanted to punch him, Ray wanted nothing to do with him, and Hannibal wanted him gone. Murdock was the only one of Hannibal's boys who seemed to show any interest in the young Lieutenant, found him an amusing project. Hannibal had a feeling that amusement was starting to wane.

In the month and a half that Peck had been on base, he had been in three fights, four non physical altercations, and was suspected of dealing with the black market and drug trade. The only reason he wasn't facing charges was because he was so damn good at getting things. Whatever the base needed, Peck got them, and Hannibal did mean whatever they needed. It was the only time he was useful.

At first, Hannibal thought he was being unfair. Losing Davey had been hard on him and the others and Davey had been so different than Peck. He was by the book, honest, and straightforward. He got you what you needed, but he did it by the regs. You always knew where you stood with him, he was always told you what he was thinking, and you could depend on him. Peck just wasn't like that. He found the loopholes in the rules and exploited them. You couldn't tell his truths from his lies or where you stood with him. And while he seemed fine during training, on base he seemed to want nothing to do with his team. He didn't seem to really want anything to do with anybody as a matter of fact.

Peck spent most of his time either in the supply clerk's office, which was fine, or on the edge of the base watching the tree line, which was strange. Hannibal had caught him sitting there, perfectly still, at times, staring intensely into the trees as if he was looking for someone. He had asked him once what he was looking for, and he'd simply shrugged and said monkeys. Peck had switched sports after that, finding different places to watch the jungle when he didn't think Hannibal noticed.

Just like how he didn't think Hannibal noticed how he didn't seek out company. Sure, a few of the guys came over to talk to him and he'd humor them, but he'd never had a personal conversation with anyone on base. He never gave away personal details about himself or volunteer information about where he was from… in fact he actively tried to avoid those types of conversation. A month and a half, and he didn't seem to have any friends or made himself a part of the base life.

Peck just wasn't fitting in. He was a damn good supply officer; it was just everything else…. Needless to say the transition wasn't going well. Hannibal had even spoken to Morrison about reassigning the Lieutenant somewhere else. This was just yet another example as to why….

"Colonel, this way Sir," the Corporal said a few feet away from where the Colonel had turned.

Hannibal looked at him confused, the kid had moved past the turn off for the stockade. "I thought Captain Jackson needed to see me," he said with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes Sir. This way Sir," the young MP said pointing towards the medical tent.

Hannibal frowned, "What happened?"

"Sorry Sir, I don't know. I was only told to come get you," the Corporal said before turning and resuming his walk.

Hannibal's frown deepened and he followed. What kind of trouble did Peck get into now? He sighed, feeling old, and wondered just how he was going to deal with Peck this time. The MP lead him to the medical tent and inside, back to a portion of it that had been sectioned off. There were three soldiers there on beds, hands cuffed to the rails with MPs standing guard and Captain Jackson was standing near the partitioned section speaking with Doc Al, the camp's head surgeon.

"The Captain said for you to just go on up when you got here, Sir. I have to go back and get the Stockade set up," the Corporal said with a salute.

"Thank you Corporal," Hannibal murmured returning the salute, slightly dazed. He was trying to make sense of what he was seeing and why he was there. He didn't recognize any of the soldiers sitting on the cots, but he figured the reason he was here was most likely behind the curtains that had been used to section off the back of the tent.

"Hey John, sorry to disturb your evening," Jim called when he saw the Colonel. His words snapped Hannibal out of his dazed and propelled him forward.

"It's not a problem, Jim, I'm just sorry my Lieutenant's giving you trouble," he said as he shook the other man's hand.

Jackson gave a tired half smile and shook his head, "You have no idea."

"Then why don't you fill me in, and I can figure how to reprimand him," Hannibal said.

"The boy didn't do anything wrong, John. He's the victim in all this," Jackson said.

Hannibal couldn't keep the look of surprise from his face. He took a look around him at the three men cuffed to the cots with their various busted lips, black eyes, and bruised knuckles… all the tell tale signs of a fight, and then back at Jackson. "What happened?" he asked.

"Those three there tried to jump your boy. They got some good hits in too, but the Lieutenant's more capable than he looks apparently. He got himself free, did that," Jackson pointed to the bruises on one of the prisoner's faces, "and was holding his own when my MPs came and broke it up."

"How do you know it wasn't just a fight?" Hannibal asked, finding it hard to believe Peck was simply defending himself. Not with his track record.

"Doc figured it out," Jackson said nodding his head to the man.

"He took a blow to the back of the head hard enough to stun him," Al barked, "and he's got some stomp marks to his back and side. You know, the kind of lumps you get when you're struck from behind and aren't expecting it."

Hannibal looked over at the three prisoners again, this time with anger on his face. He may not have particularly liked Peck, but he was still one of his boys and so he was still protective of him. "How bad?" he asked, turning his attention back to the doctor.

"He'll be sore for a few days. Should be fine by the end of the week. Light duty 'til then though. Excuse me boys, some of us have got to get back to work," Al answered before walking away.

Hannibal watched him leave for a moment before turning his attention back to Jackson. "It sounds like you have everything sorted out. So why exactly do you need me?" Hannibal asked.

"Well, there's a couple reasons. First, do you know of anything in the boy's history that would indicate he's been tortured?" Jackson asked his voice low so that only the Colonel could hear him.

Hannibal stared at him dumbfounded. "Come again?" he said, looking at Jackson like he had two heads.

"The boy's got scars on his back, Doc says they're newer and most likely from a cane or something similar to what Charlie uses in the camps. I'm just wondering if there was anything in his file to indicate if he's been a POW or anything. Cause if there was, that would explain a lot about everything and answer my next question," Jackson answered.

"There's nothing in Peck's record. He's a cherry, Jim. Fresh out of boot camp," Hannibal said, but the wheels in his head were turning. Just what was going on?

Jackson sighed, a tired sound and his shoulders sagged, "Well then, that brings me reason two… the boy's not saying anything about what happened. He won't say one word about being jumped, just says he's fine. It was a misunderstanding and his fault. Now, the Doc is telling me he was jumped. Those three gorillas right there, compared to your boy, it be good odds they thought they could take him. But my MPs found them all fighting, and that means I have to hold them all for misconduct. Unless the boy tells me what happened, he's going to spend some time in the stockade."

Hannibal sighed. "You want me to talk to him? Try and get him to tell me what happened?"

"That's about the short of it, yeah. If you get him to tell you what happened, I'll take your word as a first hand statement. I really don't want to lock the boy up if he's the one who was jumped…." Jackson said, looking over to where Hannibal thought the kid might have been sequestered.

"What makes you think he'll talk to me? The entire time he's been here I haven't said one word to him that hasn't been an order or a lecture," Hannibal replied.

"You're his C.O. Please John, it's a worth a shot. This would be his fourth fight… he's racking them up and heading for formal charges. I'm trying to help the boy. There's something about him… I can't explain it. Just humor me?" There was a plea to Jackson's voice, one that was rarely ever heard.

Hannibal sighed and shook his head. This was just not the headache he was expecting tonight. "Where is he?" he finally said, resolving himself to this hopeless task.

-line-

Hannibal stepped behind the partition that separated Peck from the rest of the room. Unlike the three other soldiers who were handcuffed to cots and under guard, Peck was left on his own under his own power. It was a testament to the belief that Jackson had in his innocence, and one that Hannibal took to heart. Jackson had a good sense about things most of the time.

Peck was sitting in the cot, knees pulled up to his chest and arms resting on top of them, cradling his head. His hair was messy and hung long, obscuring the part of his face that was exposed, but it did little to hide the black eye that was forming, or the evidence of a broken nose. If Hannibal was a betting man, and he was, he'd bet the Lieutenant had a bandage around his ribs and a split lip to match the rest of the bruising. He looked a mess, and strangely, that made him look younger than the 20 years his file said he was… much younger.

Hannibal moved over to a chair that was near by, noting how the Lieutenant's eyes followed his every movement. There was nothing in Peck's body language to suggest that he was ready to strike, in fact, he seemed at ease. But Hannibal could sense it, a carefully controlled tension just under the surface of projected calm. He was on edge, understandably so, but there was something different to this tension... something that made the hair rise on the back of Hannibal's neck.

Pulling the chair up close enough that he could speak with Peck, but not close enough to be with in striking distance, Hannibal sat with a sigh. "I was in the middle of a game of poker, with the General and several other Colonels," he sighed, not sure exactly how to start. They weren't close, Peck and he, and he had no real idea how to reach the kid. The only thing he knew for sure was that Peck could see through bullshit quicker than a lightning strike. "I was having a good night, Lieutenant. Then an MP comes to get me, and here I am. Care to tell me why that is?"

Peck shifted, carefully. Hannibal watched him, taking in the unflinching expression, even as he moved his battered body. He showed no signs of pain, no emotion, but most disturbingly of all, his eyes showed no indication of anything… they were just empty. The Lieutenant resettled himself in a cross-legged position, facing Hannibal. The Colonel had been right about the wrapped ribs, but not about the split lip, or broken noise. It looked like it was just some bruising around his eyes.

'Must have put his guard up,' Hannibal thought to himself as he cataloged the injuries on the young man. He was also now able to see the scars that Jackson had mentioned… thin slices in his skin, some of which were fading, but others looked to be deeper on his abdomen. Hannibal had to admit that it was odd how they mimicked the wounds on POWs.

"It was a misunderstanding, Sir. My fault. I over reacted," came the toneless reply.

Hannibal frowned, not because of the words but because of the way they sounded. It was odd; the tone, the phrasing, the person saying them… none of it made sense. The reply sounded like conditioning.

"Over reacted? To what?" Hannibal pressed. His tone sounded the same, he still presented as the un-amused C.O. coming to reprimand his troublesome subordinate. Inside, however, the wheels of his sharp mind were turning. He was reviewing in his head every detail he could recall of the Lieutenant's file, looking for anomalies. Something wasn't adding up.

"They walked into me. I fell on my face. Came up swinging. My fault. I over reacted," he said and shrugged his shoulders. It was casual motion, a simple and plausible explanation of events. It explained a lot of things. It was a good lie.

"That's it? You tripped and came up swinging?" Hannibal said, his voice clearly indicating that he didn't believe him.

"I over reacted. It's been a long day," was the toneless reply.

"Lieutenant. I'm going to need you to stop wasting my time and start telling me the truth. Those are defensive wounds on your arms and a boot print on your stomach. According to the doctor, you have matching boot marks on your back and a bump to the head. So, let's try this again. What happened?"

Hannibal watched the young man closely, looking for any tell. There was the tiniest flash of color to his eyes, but that could have been easily a trick of the light. Peck never flinched, he never tensed, not even his breathing changed. He remained blank faced and disinterested.

"I don't know what else to tell you Colonel, I've already explained everything that happened. It was my fault. I over reacted," he repeated.

Again, Hannibal heard the conditioning in the words. Looking at the man in front of him, seeing the scars on his body, and witnessing the careful control over his expression, the Colonel was starting to wonder if this was a man or a robot. He was going to have to take another long look at the Lieutenant's file. "So, that's what you're going with?" Hannibal said after a long moment.

"That's what happened, Sir," was again, the eerie reply.

Hannibal nodded. He stood up with a tired sigh and reset the chair. "This will be your fourth fight in less than two months. It will be your eighth overall altercation. You may face formal disciplinary action. You will most certainty be in the stockade this week and face reprimand from me later," these words were threats.

Hannibal hated using threats. But he didn't know what else to do. He didn't know this man or how to reach him. It bothered him, what he was seeing. The robotic stance, the conditioned replies, the obvious signs he was jumped, and the mysterious scars… It was clear he didn't know the full story. But Peck didn't appear at all willing to tell him. He didn't want to work with him… That's when the thought dawned on him that Peck probably was less trusting of him than he was of Peck.

He looked over at the young man who was still unchanged. He still presented himself as calm, but that tension was there, just under the surface. His eyes followed Hannibal's every movement and remained emotionless. There was no tell, no sign of any emotion. The threat didn't bother him, nothing seemed to bother him, but Hannibal couldn't help but feel like this man was only the façade of a scared boy.

"Understood Sir," was the reply and there was a harshness to the word. A bitterness that made Hannibal feel like he had just done something wrong… like he'd just failed a test.

Without another word, the Colonel turned and left, seeking out Jackson.

-line-

Peck was in the stockade, at least for the week. The other three men had been released to their C.O. since Peck insisted he had started the altercation. Now the Lieutenant was locked up awaiting a disciplinary review from the General. Jackson and Hannibal had both explained to him their theory that Peck had been jumped and showed him the doctor's report that correlated with what they said, but all Russell had said was, "I'll take it into consideration."

Hannibal didn't take that as a good sign, not with the Lieutenant's track record. But there was nothing he could do about that. What he could do however, was re-read Peck's file and see what the hell he had missed.

Templeton A. Peck, Lieutenant in the United States Army, received his training at Fort Hood and was then commissioned as a supply officer for the 5th Special Forces due to "exemplary skill." His date of birth was listed as April 1, 1951, which put him at twenty years of age. He was from L.A., California but there was no family listed, no contact information for the next of kin. There was a footnote, however, that said, "If killed, notify Father Michael McGhill of St. Mary's Catholic Church." He had spent two years in school at the University of California, and his transcripts showed an above average student, his GPA a steady 3.6 but there was no major declared. It all appeared to be well and good, and at a quick glance everything looked in order but that was all on the surface.

Hannibal was digging deeper. What had first made him question the file's authenticity was Fort Hood. No Green Beret unit worked or trained out of Fort Hood. That was hole one in Peck's file. Hole two was the commendation for marksmenship that was only mentioned once. The commendation was for the completion of sniper training. There were also several marksmen commendation awards, and one very strange one because it was normally served for those on the front lines. The third hole was the enlistment date, which was the same day as when the last class of Green Berets began their training.

Those were three major inconsistencies and they destroyed the Lieutenant's story. The problem was, Hannibal didn't know who put them there. Peck was young and he didn't look to be the twenty years he claimed. It was possible that he had fabricated the file for a better position in the Army then maybe just being your average draftee. But that didn't sit right… something told the Colonel that if Peck had made this file, he would have done a much better job.

Besides that discomforting thought, there was also the amount of 'official-ness' that oozed off the thing. It reeked of being authentic, or at least being passed through authentic channels. It was designed to look right, to pass the once over test, but it wasn't enough to fool Hannibal.

With a sigh, Hannibal flipped through the file again, trying to find any other clues. There wasn't much other than what he had already found. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair and reached into his pocket for a cigar. He grumbled when he didn't find one. A peg of grief hit him when he recalled Davy always having a box set out on the corner of his desk for when the Colonel needed a replacement. Hannibal sighed again as he began to close the file, but then something else caught his eye. It was an obscure footnote, one that was barely noticeable. It was on the "recommendations for service" page of the Lieutenant's file and it absolutely shocked the seasoned Colonel.

There, written in tiny type in the margins, was a simple sentence that read, "2nd Lt. Templeton Peck received the Bronze Star Medal on the recommendation of Major Roderick Decker."

-line-

Jackson was seated at his desk, picking away at the typewriter there. He paused in his work and looked up when he heard Hannibal enter. "Colonel, what can I do for you?" he asked, confused as to why he was there.

"I've come to see my Lieutenant, if it's possible," he answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I don't see why it wouldn't be. Boy's been quiet all day, I can give you a few minutes," Jackson said and motioned over to one of his MPs. "Jamie, show the Colonel back to the cells, would ya?"

"Yes Sir," the kid, who couldn't have been more than nineteen, said as he stood from the desk where he was filling out a form. He grabbed a set of keys off the wall and unlocked a security door that lead into a back hallway. He stood there waiting for Hannibal, who turned to make his way over.

"Oh, Colonel," Jackson called, stopping him. "You can't take anything back there," he instructed pointing to the file in the Hannibal's hand.

"It's just Peck's file. I just need him to explain a few inconsistencies in it for me," Hannibal said handing the folder over to Jackson.

The Caption examined it for a moment, checking to see if it had anything that could be dangerous. However, he couldn't even find a paper clip inside it so he handed it back to the Colonel. "Alright Sir. Ten minutes," he said. Hannibal gave him a quick salute before following the MP back to Peck's cell.

"Hey, Temp?" Jamie called as the pair walked down the short hall towards a back cell. Hannibal could hear the sound of movement as someone rolled off a cot and shuffled to their feet.

"Yeah Jamie?" came the tired voice of the young Lieutenant.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry. I know you were trying to get some sleep, but you've got a visitor," the young MP said as he and Hannibal came to stand in front of the cell.

Peck was leaning against the far wall, hands clearly visible, and seemingly relaxed. He had a cocky half smile on his face as he spoke to Jamie in a very easygoing way. He seemed to be fine and dandy with everything, or at least that's the impression he was working so damn hard to sell. But Hannibal wasn't buying.

The way he was hunched over wasn't meant to be relaxing, it was meant to guard his ribs. They were hurting him. The smile on his face was forced and if you looked closely enough you could see his bruised eye twitch. Though he spoke to Jamie, Hannibal could feel the Lieutenant watching him… reading him.

"It's alright. I needed to get up anyways," he said.

"Hey, you didn't eat yet?" Jamie asked, looking over to the meal tray that sat untouched on the floor by the meal slot. Hannibal followed the MP's gaze and frowned when he saw it. "You know what the Doc said," Jamie continued, "especially after last night."

Peck shrugged. "I know. I'll eat in a bit. Just not hungry right now," he said smoothly, dismissing any concerns. Hannibal wasn't fooled.

"What happened last night?" he asked. As far as he was aware Peck had been cleared and released into Jackson's custody a day ago. He hadn't been informed of any changes.

Jamie looked at the Colonel sheepishly; apparently he had forgotten that he was there. "Uh… the Lieutenant's head wound is apparently a concussion. He got sick last night and hasn't really eaten much since. Doc wants him to start eating again," Jamie filled in, sending Peck an apologetic look.

The Lieutenant just waved him off. "I'm fine. Once the headache goes away I'll be back to normal," he said again dismissing all concern. Hannibal frowned and took a harder look at the young man.

"Uhhh… yeah. I'm gonna head back up front. I'll see you in ten minutes," Jamie said almost fleeing before he put his foot in his mouth again.

"He's a good kid," Peck said after they heard the security door close, "needs to learn what not to say, but a nice kid."

Hannibal snorted; there it was, the cocky attitude, the arrogance that drove the rest of them crazy. Not to mention he found it incredibly ironic that Peck was calling the nineteen-year-old MP a "kid" when he was almost certain that Peck was younger than him.

"Want to explain how you get a concussion from a blow to the back of your head when you were bumped into, tripped, and fell on your face?" Hannibal asked, eyebrow raised.

Peck just smirked as an answer. "What can I do for you Colonel?" he asked after a moment's silence.

"For starters, you can pick up that tray and start eating," Hannibal responded, "and that's an order Lieutenant." Peck looked at him for a long moment, a strange expression on his face. There seemed to be some sort of inner cataloguing happening, even if he wasn't sure what it was.

Peck moved carefully from his spot on the wall over to the tray and picked it up. He schooled his features, trying hard to show no indication of pain and remain neutral, but Hannibal saw it. He saw the wince and heard the sharp intake of breath. He had to hand it to the Lieutenant though it was barely noticeable. Peck took the tray over to the cot and set it there before settling down cross legged next to it and picking up a piece of bread. He took a small bite, testing his stomach, before determining it was safe enough to eat. Hannibal nodded, satisfied and then held up the file in his hand.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, tone casual.

Peck looked at it seemingly casually and shrugged his shoulder. He swallowed the food in his mouth then answered, "Well, since it has my name on it, I'm going to guess that it's some kind of record on me."

Hannibal smirked, "That's a fair guess. It is your record… it's the one they gave me when you were assigned to my team. I've been reviewing it, in depth." The Colonel spoke with a casual ease that belied the intensity of which he watched the younger man. There was no reaction, no indications of panic, or nervousness. The Lieutenant simply took a bite of potato, so Hannibal continued.

"There are some inconsistencies that I need you to explain to me," he said blandly, flipping open the file. "For starters, how did you get selected for Special Forces if you were trained at Fort Hood?"

Peck shrugged casually, "Don't know. I guess I impressed somebody. Guys got bounced around a lot when I was coming out. Maybe it just was a mix up. I just reported where I was told to."

"Uh-huh," Hannibal said, "When did you enlist?"

Peck stopped eating and scrunched up his face, seeming to think about it. It was a good act. "I can't remember exactly… maybe late January? Early February? Don't know," he said.

"How about the same exact day that Green Beret training began for the unit you were assigned to?"

That caught Peck's attention. He paused in his meal, looking up at the Colonel. Hannibal could see the wheels in the young man's head turning and now knew he had his full attention. "Where did you do your marksmanship training? Were you going to tell me that you had sniper qualifications? I honestly can't understand why a supply officer would need those skills, but it still would be nice to know you have them."

The Lieutenant was watching the Colonel closely. He no longer sat cross-legged, now he was almost crouched, as if ready to spring. Hannibal was starting to get somewhere, he knew it; the walls of Templeton Peck were finally cracking. "One last thing, Lieutenant, why did Major Roderick Decker nominate you for the Bronze Star?"

For a moment, Hannibal saw a chink in the mask on Peck's face. He saw the swirling emotions there and the fear…. But it was only for a moment before the mask was repaired. "May I see the file, Sir?" he asked, his voice neutral as he walked over to the bars. He was careful not to touch them, or to reach out. Instead he waited patiently for Hannibal to move, and once again, the Colonel saw the signs of conditioning. He handed the file through the bars and the watched as the young man flipped through it.

"Huh… sure are a lot of typos. The clerk must have been in a rush… and here we go… here's the problem," he said after a minute. "Middle initial A. I don't have a middle name. Looks like my file got mixed up with some one else's," he said smoothly, handing the folder back through the bars.

Hannibal took it with a snort. The look he gave the Lieutenant told him that in no uncertain terms did he believe that excuse. Peck simply shrugged and went back over to his cot. He settled back down and resumed eating, the walls back in place.

"Lieutenant, believe it or not, I'm trying to help you," Hannibal sighed, reaching into his shirt pocket for a cigar that he knew wasn't there.

"I know," came the unexpected reply, and he did know. He meant those words. He gave Hannibal a sad smile that made the other man wonder, and then said, "The top left drawer of your desk."

"Excuse me?" Hannibal said, clearly confused.

"Your new cigars are in the top left drawer of your desk. I had to hide them," he replied just as the security door opened and Jamie called out to them alerting the pair that the ten minutes were up.

-line-

The base was settling into what was a normal Saturday for them. The weather was still holding in its unseasonably cool and pleasant temperature, the calm from the other night seemed to be holding over. Sitting around a barrel at the motor pool Ray, Murdock, and B.A. all sat drinking and playing cards. The three of them were enjoying their off hours and each other's company.

Hannibal had warned them that they were going into the jungle soon and each of them knew that this could be one of the last times they shared together. That meant they were determined to spend the time sharing stories and laughing than worrying.

"So, the brat's still in the stockade, right?" Ray said after the laughter had finally died down from Murdock's antics.

B.A. snorted, "got himself in another fight what I heard. Started it to." Out of the team, B.A. was the one who disliked the FNG the most. It stemmed back to a run in they had, had Peck's first week.

B.A. had been trying to get something sent back to the state's for his mom and the snot nosed Lieutenant had simply said he'd send it if he had time. B.A. had growled at him that it was for his mama, and that it was important for her. He'd asked the brat if he'd like it if he made him wait for to send something to his folks. The little prick had simply laughed in his face and told him he'd get to it when he could. That had left a bad taste in the Sergeant's mouth and ever since he wanted nothing to do with him. There was no good in a man who didn't respect their mama.

"Now, that's not the story I heard," Murdock drawled sticking up for the kid as always. The eccentric pilot almost never saw the bad in people and of the whole team, he was the only one who had, had actual conversations with the new Lieutenant. It had only been a handful of times, when he had found him sitting on the edge of the camp staring out into the jungle and looking for the entire world like a lost boy. He'd always come up and plopped down and just start talking. The first time, he didn't get more than two words from the kid. But last time he finally had gotten the kid to tell him something not obvious about himself.

"What's the story you heard," Ray prodded, dealing out the next round. For him, Peck seemed like a hot head ready to go off at the drop of a hat. He saw the stress that the Boss was under already being multiplied by all the disciplinary problems the brat was causing. He was nothing but a headache and stress that they didn't need, especially after Davy.

Murdock shrugged, "I heard from one of the MPs that he was jumped. He just didn't want to turn anyone in."

B.A. snorted, "Yeah right… cause he gives two shits about anybody but himself."

"Yeah… sorry Murdock, I have to agree with Bosco here. That brat's trouble," Ray said, "alright, who's putting in?" He tossed a quarter into the pot and looked at the other two.

"You got room for one more?" called the voice of their C.O. who walked up to them, finishing up his cigar. It was Cuban, and one of his favorite brands. How Peck knew, how he got them, but he liked his style.

"Ah Boss! We've got room. Come on fresh blood, I've almost wiped these two clean!" Ray said scooting over to allow the Colonel room.

"What ya talkin' 'bout fool? Who's money do you think I have in front of me?" B.A. grumbled.

"Murdock's," came the quick reply.

"Colonel, I do believe I have been wounded," Murdock said in his best British butler accent. "I am afraid that this can no longer be a gentleman's conflict."

"That's alright Captin. These two are no gentlemen," Hannibal answered as he took his cards and tossed his own money into the mix. There was more laughter and the four played a few hands while joking and teasing each other.

It was during a lull in the conversation that Murdock asked Hannibal, "Colonel, how's the Lieutenant? When's he getting out of the stockade?"

"He's got four more days, at least. The General hasn't made up his mind yet about his disciplinary action," Hannibal answered, looking over to his Caption. Murdock looked worried. "What's on your mind Murdock?"

"Huh? …Oh… nothing really Colonel… just thinking," he said shaking himself out of his thoughts.

"Would you like to share with the class?" Ray asked, "Or do you want to play your hand?"

"I vote for him playin' his hand," B.A. grumbled.

"What were you thinking about?" Hannibal asked, a smile on his face at B.A. annoyance.

"Well… the last time I spoke to the kid he'd said he wished things were different, that he was different," Murdock said, leaning back in his chair and balancing it on two legs, "but he never really told me what he meant by that. Then the next thing you know, he's in the stockade for another fight… it's just odd."

"You're just odd," B.A. mumbled.

"Now, watch it you ugly mud sucker, just because you don't like the kid doesn't mean I've got ta be as rude as you. I mean, have any of you even said more than two words to him since he's gotten here?" Murdock snapped, finally showing some signs of irritation on the matter. "I mean if you've had you would have known that he's got a really twisted sense of humor and really poor taste in sports teams… I mean, the Angels… really?"

"I learned everything I needed to know about him the first week he was here," B.A. growled.

"Sorry but don't really have an interest in socializing with someone who only seems able to cause trouble," Ray added.

"You know, Murdock, you make a good point though… none of us have taken the time to talk to Peck," Hannibal said softly surprising everyone. If it had been two days ago, before he began looking into his Lieutenant and finding anomalies, Hannibal would have been more inclined to agree with Ray and B.A.. as it was, after all the things that he was starting to learn about the young man, he wasn't so sure they'd been giving him a fair chance.

"Hannibal, you can't be serious," Ray said, sounding put out.

Hannibal sighed, feeling old. "Look, we all miss Davy. We all want him back. He was with us from the beginning and when we lost him…" he paused here, because if he didn't his voice would choke. His boys were like sons to him, and when they were wounded he was wounded. Losing one… it was like having a part of him torn away leaving a void never again to be filled. There was something missing from them now and it hurt in ways nothing could touch. "We're not going to be able to replace Davy. We are never going to be able to make up for him, but that doesn't mean that we can't move on. It doesn't mean we can't do better about giving the kid a chance."

"Problem is, the Lieutenant doesn't want to be here anymore than we want him. He thinks he knows everything and is just too big for us lot," B.A. growled, "Excuse me. I think it's time I head to bed." That said, the Sergeant stood up and left.

"I'm with B.A. I'll give the brat a chance, the moment he gives us one. It's a two way street, Colonel," Ray said before he too stood up and left.

Hannibal sighed and watched them leave, wishing he could tell them what he had learned. He just didn't have enough of the story to share, and there was something about the way Peck had acted when he had confronted him… it had only been a moment but there had been fear in his eyes.

"Thank you Colonel," Murdock said softly, "for sticking up for him… he's a lost boy… he's gonna need more time to come around than the others."

"But he will come around?" Hannibal asked.

"I think so," Murdock answered, "he started to with me."

Hannibal nodded, a thought suddenly popping into his head, "You're doing the mail run, right?"

"Yeah… I'm headed to HQ day after tomorrow. Why?" Murdock asked.

"I need a file picked up from them…." Hannibal said, the wheels in his head turning.

-line-

It had taken half a dozen favors and a bottle of fifty-year-old scotch, but Hannibal had gotten it. The actual, unedited file of 2nd Lieutenant Templeton Peck, and it was a harrowing read. So many questions, so many things, became clear. Suddenly, all the problems, his attitude, and cockiness, all the walls that had been built, and why he was so distant, so angry… it all made sense. He had read the file, the commendations, the field reports, and the evaluations, all of it, cover to cover at least three times and he was still having a hard time believing that it was real.

Sitting back in his office chair staring at a picture of a six-man unit of mostly young kids barely old enough to shave and one very clearly older man who had to be their C.O. It was a candid shot of the men. They were all seated against a wall, helmets off, equipment haphazardly stacked around them. They had clearly just returned from the jungle and looked dirty and exhausted. But they were laughing and joking with each other as they ate their rations. You could see whatever it was that they had faced that day they had beaten it. They were celebrating. And there, seated next to the C.O., was Peck, the 'cherry' pain in the ass Green Beret.

It all made so much damn sense now.

Hannibal tucked the picture back into the folder and gathered it under his arm. He made his way to the stockade, fully intending to speak to the Lieutenant. He was surprised however to see that the General and Jackson were standing outside the stockade, already speaking to the Lieutenant.

Hannibal stopped, standing just out of obvious sight watching the exchange. He couldn't hear anything from where he was, but he could tell that whatever was being discussed outside that office was serious. Jackson's face was set in an unmistakable frown and the General also looked equally as displeased. The only one of the three that seemed to have no emotion was Peck.

Their conversation ended and Peck saluted his superiors before leaving, heading off to the sleeping quarters. Jackson, who looked angry, said something to Morrison who seemed to just sigh and shake his head. His shoulders sagged and he seemed so much older in that moment. Whatever the three had been talking about, it didn't sit well with the old soldier. Hannibal watched Morrison simply walk away, leaving Jackson to lean against the wall of the stockade, glaring at the world.

A knot forming in his stomach, Hannibal walked up to Jackson once he was sure the General was well out of earshot. "Captain," he called softly, "I'd like to speak to my Lieutenant."

Jackson snorted, "Just missed him. General's released him from the stockade."

Hannibal already knew that, of course, he just wanted to read Jackson. He needed to understand what was going on. "You don't seem too happy about that…"

Jackson spat at the ground next to him, "That damn boy's gone and given himself a fucking death sentence."

"What are you talking about?" Hannibal asked, that knot in his stomach tightening.

"General was going to give him an article 15 but the boy asked for a transfer," Jackson said and Hannibal did not like how that sounded.

"What kind of transfer?" he asked, and he could feel his heart rate pick up just a little.

"Con Thien," Jackson sighed, losing his anger. Now he just looked sad, "If you excuse me, I have to go finish up some reports." The Captio then disappeared into his office without another word, leaving the Colonel to deal with his shock.

This couldn't be happening… this wasn't happening… Hannibal's mind was trying desperately to process the information he'd just received. It was funny how much a few days could change our opinion on a person… well, a few days and a complete file. Before, he wouldn't have given the transfer a second thought; he may have even thought the idea of a transfer was a good thing. He wouldn't have approved it for a suicide base like Con Thien, but he would have for another base. Some place far, far away from him and his boys.

Now… now he didn't want to lose the kid. Now that he understood what was going on, what had happened, he didn't want this kid to be bounced around. There wasn't going to be another C.O. who was going to be able to help him, hell, they wouldn't even care enough. He'd end up dishonorably discharged, court martialed, or worse, dead.

Making his way over to Morrison's tent, Hannibal had a set to his jaw that spoke of determination. He had just figured out where this kid had come from, and he was not going to lose out on the chance of figuring out who he was. Knocking once on the tent frame, he barely waited for the tired, "come in", before entering.

"Rus. We need to talk about the Lieutenant," Hannibal said, dropping the file in his friend's lap.

-line-

"I've read it… I've seen the pictures… I still don't believe it," Morrison said, taking another gulp of his whiskey. He handed the file back to Hannibal, eyes still wide.

"You were never given a full story?" Hannibal asked sounding surprised.

"Nope. Howard just asked me for a favor, said he had a kid who needed a more… unique kind of unit. Needed special placement…."

Hannibal smirked at that.

"You were going to get him no matter what, it just so happened that Lieutenant Singer was killed," Morrison admitted.

Hannibal nodded and leaned back, "So he wasn't just a rushed fill in?"

"No. I know better than to do that to you John. He was assigned to you while you were out in the jungle. Everything else was just shitty timing," Morrison sighed. "Damn."

"I'm going to ask you to refuse that transfer request Rus," Hannibal said after a moment of silence.

"I know, but there's a problem," Morrison said, finishing his whiskey, "you have to convince him to stay. He wants out John, he doesn't want to be here, and I guess from his perspective he doesn't have a whole lot of reasons not to leave. And that's the tricky part… you can't order somebody to trust or to want to stay. Especially not somebody like the Lieutenant appears to be."

Hannibal sighed, "So, I have to convince him to stay?"

"More than that. You have to convince the rest of your team to keep him too. You know damn well that if they don't trust each other, they're gonna get killed."

Hannibal sighed… this was a mess.

"You convince him to stay and get your boys to work together, I'll refuse the transfer. The only thing I can do to help you is to delay it until after your mission next week," Morrison finished, not envying the task before his friend.

-line-

Hannibal found the kid where he suspected he would, on the edge of the camp perched on an empty barrel. Seeing him there, in the early afternoon sun with the fading bruises and intense stare, once again Hannibal was struck by how young he was. The files all said he was twenty, but Hannibal had to wonder at that. Just like he had to wonder when he started thinking of him as 'the kid' instead of Peck. He smiled to himself sadly and shook his head; he should have put it together sooner, then he wouldn't have to be rushing to fix things now.

"They're miles away, kid," he said softly coming to stand next to the Lieutenant. "They'd reach the fire base before they'd even got near us and by then, we'd be ready."

If he was startled by the Hannibal's appearance, the kid didn't show it. Hell, with all the training and experience he had, he'd probably heard Hannibal coming from a mile away. Peck didn't look over to the Colonel, he never took his eyes from the tree line, he just shrugged his shoulders and said, "They're always closer than you think."

It was hard to argue with that statement. "I found the cigars. I like your style kid."

That earned a smirk, "I figured you were a Montecristo man."

"They are one of my favorites… but how did you get Cubans?"

The kid laughed softly. "It's probably better if you don't ask, Colonel," he said, and there was a smile on his face.

There was something real about the laughter and the smile, something so human about it… The walls of Templeton Peck were coming down some, and it made Hannibal feel protective. It reaffirmed that he wanted to fix the last two months. He wanted them all to have a second chance. "Then can I ask about the transfer request you put in?"

"It's not personal, Sir. It's just better for everyone…." And there was sadness in the way he said that. He seemed so resigned to that idea but he also seemed so disappointed. "I actually did kind of like you all," he whispered, and Hannibal suspected he hadn't meant to say it up loud, but he had, and the Colonel wasn't going to let it go. Especially, since it was a surprise to him.

"You like us?" he asked, and he heard the kid sigh. He watched as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed with his slip.

"Yeah… I did… at least I was starting to… I mean, you're different than the other units here. You're… family… not everybody can be that… not everybody can fit into that…" he answered.

Hannibal nodded. He was reminded of the photo from the kid's file… the line of young men in the victory celebration. They had lost Davy, but the kid had lost his whole 'family' in one way or the other. It struck him then, that the kid was looking for that again.

"Your transfer is pending. The General will approve it, with my permission, after we complete our next assignment. We have a VC base that needs to be dismantled and I need a full team for that."

The kid sighed, "How long?"

"We deploy in three days. The job should take four days to complete. So about a week, maybe a little longer, that work for you?"

"I can make it," came the toneless reply.

"Good. Come on then, we have a planning meeting that starts in five," Hannibal said walking off towards his tent. He didn't need to look to know the kid would follow.

-line-

It had become his practice to have his team planning sessions in his personal tent. It afford them more privacy and a more comfortable setting to hash things out. When Hannibal entered his tent, he smiled at the three other members of his team who were already there and passing out coffee. Ray, ever the X.O. had already laid out the details of their assignment on a crock board and was flipping through the brief while Murdock and B.A. argued.

"Colonel, tell this big ol' mud sucker that pigs can fly if you put a superman cape on 'em."

Hannibal shook his head, a smile on his face as he took his normal chair. "Under the right circumstances, B.A., anything can happen," he said pulling a cigar from his pocket.

"Man… you're both crazy," B.A. dismissed and the others all laughed.

The laughter died when the Lieutenant entered the room. Instantly, everyone was on edge and a tension began to crawl into the room. "Have a seat, Lieutenant, we're about to get started," Hannibal said pointing to an empty chair next to Murdock."

Peck did as he was told well aware of how the others watched him. If it made him uncomfortable, he didn't show it. He simply turned his chair around and sat on it so that he could rest his chin on the back. He studied everything laid out before the group on the board and did his best to ignore the tension.

The briefing started off as normal. Hannibal laid out the details for the team, informing them on their objectives. Intelligence had found a village they suspected was hiding VC supplies. Their mission was simple, watch the village, confirm the Intel, and act if necessary. It was about as basic an operation the team could handle. As it was, it didn't take them long to formulate a simple plan that essentially boiled down to surround and drown. Camp out in the forest, watch the village from as many angles as they could, and at some point sneak in and do a search with out being seen. It was basic, simple, and nothing that this team couldn't handle.

The only member of the team who seemed unconvinced was the Lieutenant. He had been quiet the whole time that the others had been discussing their strategies, something that had not gone unnoticed by Hannibal. It was during a lull in the planning, when the others felt satisfied with what they had come up with, that the Colonel put the spotlight on the youngest in their midst. "You've been awfully quiet Lieutenant," he said, taking a sip of coffee, "what do you think of our little plan here?"

Once again, all eyes turned towards the kid. He could feel the hostility in their looks, daring him to challenge them. They were waiting for him to say anything that would go against their experience so they could shoot him down, put him in his place. And why shouldn't they? He was supposed to be a cherry after all, the FNG who couldn't tell the difference between a firing pin and sewing needle. Except, he couldn't turn off all the training he had. He couldn't just shut out all the past experience he lived with. Especially not when the plan they had come up with was going to get somebody killed.

Peck sighed as he looked up from the map to Hannibal, ignoring the others. He met the older man's eyes, took a deep breath and said, "It's a good plan Sir, if you want to get somebody killed."

Then there it was, the outcry. Murdock and Hannibal both remained silent but the other two… Ray was cussing up a storm about how he didn't know what the hell he was talking about and B.A. was growling and snarling about punk kids. He ignored them, his eyes staying locked on Hannibal.

The Colonel raised a hand silencing the room, though B.A. and Ray both mumbled insults under their breath. The Colonel ignored them as well, holding the kid's gaze. "Why don't you go ahead and explain," he said, and there was no challenge in his voice. There was no anger. He had seen the flaws in the plan they'd come up with as well and allowed it to continue, to intentionally create this moment.

Again, Peck took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well," he said after a moment, "first problem is Murdock. It's great that he's going to be our exit strategy, but that exit strategy isn't so readily available. He can't camp out in the jungle without attracting a lot of attention and that means he's got to wait at a base camp somewhere. So if shit hits the fan, we have to wait for evac. That's asking for trouble. Then this idea of camping out and waiting, that's stupid; you have to split an already limited number of men into smaller units. That unit of two is then going to have to be constantly vigilant for how many days? And then searching the village? That's going to take a long time and the VC hides their supplies in civilian's houses. We're going to be seen. And if you can trust Army Intelligence, then that means we're going to be dead."

"I agree," Hannibal said before anyone else could speak. There was silence now as the obvious holes were laid open. The older men were now staring at the map, unable to look at the kid from a combination of anger and embarrassment. "What do you suggest, Lieutenant?"

The kid chewed his lip a moment before smirking and leaning back. "Crash a helio," he said simply.

"That's sheer bat shit crazy, even for me muchacho…." Murdock said, the only one who wasn't too stunned to speak.

"Think about it. Murdock, you have a flight crew of three, but you really only need one to fly. You have your crew fly us in, under the radar. Maybe we have to do a drop but that's fine, because all the attention is on you and that one helio that is flying all crazy over that village. Then it crashes. Just about any VC in that village is going to go check out that crash. That means the village is going to be pretty much clear for searching. We've already landed. We're already there in place to search. We're gonna see right away who's who in that village. Find out just how accurate Army intelligence is. That way, if that village isn't hostel then they won't ask too many questions why there's a bunch of GIs in the forest, but if it's not then we've got the surprise."

"What's the pilot supposed to do? Huh? Let themselves be taken by the VC if they survive the crash?" Ray snapped before Hannibal could speak. "This isn't some action movie kid, people die out there. The sooner you figure that out, the sooner you can stop pretending you're some kind of commando."

"Fuck you," Peck hissed, clearly at the end of his patience. "You don't know jack shit–"

"I know what the intelligence says. I know that what you just tried to sell us is a shit ton of reckless with pretty pink bow. I know you're a sorry fucking excuse for a soldi-"

Hannibal had been about to intervene when the kid stood up, knocking over his chair. The kid had anger, real and primal anger, written all over his face and for a moment Hannibal wondered if he was going to take a swing at Ray, not that the Major wasn't asking for it. The younger man was shaking with the effort not to lash out, and knowing what he did, Hannibal couldn't blame him. Even if he didn't know the kid's history, Ray had been out of line.

"Fuck your plans. Fuck the intelligence. Fuck you. Go ahead and get yourself killed. Go ahead and get everyone else killed. Just don't expect me to go along with it," he spat before turning to leave.

"Lieutenant, wait," Hannibal said his voice level and soothing, stopping the younger man, "Please."

The young man paused but didn't turn around. His voice was taut and strained when he responded to the Colonel, "I don't think I can give you that week Colonel. It may be best to approve the transfer now."

Hannibal sighed, glancing over at his X.O. who was equally as angry as the kid. He could also sense the same tension from B.A. and felt Murdock's unease. This was falling apart and he couldn't let that happen. Not now.

"Your plan, is that what you wished you would have done in Lang Ria?" Hannibal said, his words creating a hush in the room. All at once, the Colonel felt the anger from his Major and Sergeant turn into confusion and Murdock's nervous energy became bewilderment. Even the kid had stilled, but Hannibal could sense the panic now radiating from him.

"Lang Ria… that's why you don't trust the Intel, isn't it?" The kid slowly turned around, shock clearly written over his face. "Kid, I'm about to agree with your plan. I'm about to start working out some of the kinks in it, and about to order these men to take a huge leap of faith in you. They're going to need to understand why that is. I would like for you to explain it to them."

Peck had paled considerably while Hannibal spoke and the others had gone completely silent. They were so confused and it showed on their faces as they looked from the Lieutenant to the Colonel. "You're not supposed to… I'm not… My orders…" the kid stammered, eyes wide. For the first time since arriving in their unit, Lieutenant Peck actually looked like a real person with emotions. It was unfortunate that that emotion was fear.

"You're right. Those are your orders and you obey the orders that make sense. I know. But those orders aren't helping you. You've been keeping Lang Ria locked inside your head thinking you've got it under control but you don't. It's killing you kid… all that anger and all that fear, you've got to let it out. You've got my word, what you say in here will not leave. I know it's hard to believe it now, but these three here and me, you can trust us. Like you said earlier, we're family. You can trust us," Hannibal said.

"Why should I? You're not my family… This isn't my unit," he answered with anger coated sadness.

"You're right, but we've all been where you are now. We all have faced what you're facing. We've lost brothers too. You know that we just recently lost our youngest. We can help you. We will understand. You give us some faith kid, and we will let you in," Hannibal said and then he held his breath.

This was a long shot. Peck was on the edge. He had been on his own and the outsider for so long that it was a hard sell to get him to trust. But Hannibal always liked the hard sells, he was always good with them. He could see the need the kid had, not just to be seen and heard, not just to belong, but also to trust. The kid needed a family. He needed the bond that one got from having brothers. More than that, he needed to tell his story, he needed to share it or it was going to make him implode.

The moment the kid shut his eyes, and his shoulders sagged Hannibal released his breath. He had won. "I don't even know where to begin…." The kid said softly, looking up to the Colonel like a lost child.

Hannibal nodded, reassuringly, before reaching into Peck's file that he had tucked away under the briefing and pulling out the picture of his old unit. He set it down in the center of the table, earning surprised gasps from the others in the room. "How about you tell us about that night. What were you all celebrating?" he asked.

The kid took a couple of hesitant steps towards the table, eyes glued on the picture. There were tears in his eyes that he refused to let himself shed. He smiled softly though as he looked at the picture, and Hannibal saw the walls he'd built come down even more. "We'd just freed three death camps in six days. A hundred and fifty GIs, all returned home. A shit ton of intelligence found… two tunnels shut down. We earned the nicknames weasels that run."

"It was a good day, huh?" Hannibal asked, a smirk on his face.

The kid laughed softly, "It was hell. We were exhausted and dirty… we had to shave our heads and burn our uniforms because of lice. We got a week's R&R and spent it asleep... Can I keep this?" He asked the question like he was a little kid holding a puppy, the picture must have been the only one of his old unit.

Hannibal nodded, "It's yours, it's from your file. Tell me about the unit, where were you from?"

"1st Cavalry, Airborne, out of Fort Hood. We'd been picked by the Major, all of us, to work with the SOG. We were commissioned to do recon and recovery. We preferred POW recovery and extraction. We were the best at it," he said softly.

"How many missions did you run together?" Hannibal asked, already knowing the answer but trying to make sure that the other men there also knew just how experienced this 'cherry' was.

"We were involved in twenty major operations," he answered with a sigh and set the photo down.

"What was your role in the operation?" Ray asked, surprising Hannibal. It appeared that the Major was starting to see the kid in a new light.

Peck shrugged, "Information, supplies, infiltration… Lot of scamming…"

"So you were the Faceman?" Murdock said with a silly grin.

Peck shrugged, "I guess."

"What about the others?" Ray asked, pointing to the picture.

Peck smiled, a sad one, and tapped the first man, a Hispanic looking kid. "Loco was a ranch hand. His wife had just had their first kid." He pointed to the next man in line, a black boy who didn't look older than nineteen. "King was going to be a lawyer but he took his brother's place in the draft. He and Loco were always together."

He then pointed to another pair, "just like Paul and Mikey. You'd of thought they were brothers. Guess they were… they joined together from the same town. They wanted to open a bar together when they got back." He then paused a moment and studied the last two men in the picture. Clearly these two meant a great deal to him.

"Georgy and the Major took care of me. Took care of us all… But mostly me. Georgy acted like I was his brother and the Major… He always knew when to let things slide. When you screwed up, he'd make you own it but never made it define you. Always gave second chances. They both were hard on me, but I needed it."

There was a long pause there as the others digested the information. Hannibal studied the room carefully then, sensing that it was time to ask for the most important information, Lang Ria.

"What happened at Lang Ria?" Hannibal asked softly, carefully; the kid was on edge as it was. He didn't want to push him over it, but he needed to get the kid to open up. It was huge risk, one that may still not play out in the long run, but if he had any chance of keeping the kid in his unit, he had to try.

The kid shook his head and bit his lip, "I can't tell… I swore…"

"It won't leave this room Muchacho," came Murdock's voice, calm and reassuring, but there was an edge to it that the others all heard… a warning.

"He's right Lieutenant, we all know how to keep secrets," Hannibal also assured as he looked around at the others.

"Might be good to talk about it," BA added softly, surprising every one, "'stead of holding it in, making you angrier. That ain't good for you." The big man paused here, taking in a deep breath, he then met Peck's eyes and said, "sometimes things that happen out here make you hurt, leaves you scared, but you don't have to deal with it alone."

Peck held his gaze for a second, a far off expression on his face, and was still before he sighed and sank down into a chair. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts, but everyone there let him, respecting the silence. When he finally spoke again, Peck didn't look at anyone and his voice had that eerie conditioned tone to it that Hannibal had heard before.

"We were supposed to be doing recon… Kind of like this mission, except we were told that the VC was passing through Lang Ria. We were supposed to sit on the village and watch it, report back what they were transporting and see if they were setting up shop. The village was supposed to be friendly…" Peck began as he stared straight ahead. It was clear to the others that whatever he was seeing, wasn't in the room with them.

"But they weren't friendly, were they?" Murdock asked, encouraging the young man to continue.

Peck swallowed hard, "Loco had, had a bad feeling about it from the start. The rest of us thought he was just being superstitious until a week went by and there was no VC. Intel kept telling us to wait, stay where we were. Said they were coming. One night we saw the villagers hiding some crates and that seemed weird. We didn't really have anything else to go on so the Major sent me and Mikey in to see what we could find out… It was a trap. They had set out empty crates to lure us out of the jungle… The VC were already in the village."

There was a hush here, as the weight of that statement settled in the room. Each of them were well aware of the implications of Peck's story, of how the Intel was so misleading.

"What happened next?" BA asked, his voice filling the silence.

"They got to Mikey first... I got a warning off to the others before they took me prisoner. They held me about five days…" Peck said and his voice sounded angry. Nobody there questioned why. "The major wouldn't leave me, he called for reinforcements but they never got the messages at base camp. The rest of the guys came for me… It was bad. We lost Mikey, King, and Loco. George and Paul got shot up so bad they got sent home. All of us were injured… wasn't worth it."

The last part was said softly, and probably wasn't supposed to be said out loud. The kid didn't seem to realize that he had even given it voice. Hannibal heard it though, and he knew the others did. He wasn't going to let that stand. "We leave no one behind, Lieutenant. Every man is worth the risk."

Peck nodded, though it was clear he didn't believe the statement. He didn't argue with it though. "Anyways… I woke up in a Tokyo hospital and was told the unit had been dissolved. That's the story… Lang Ria."

"That's the water downed version," Hannibal said after another pause. "When you were discovered in the village, you were outnumbered and had little hope of escape but you did everything within your power to weaken the enemy and alert your unit to the danger. The reason you were taken prisoner was because you went back for Sergeant Michael Davis when he was wounded. You protected him while you were both held prisoner, making yourself the target of the majority of abuse. Your actions kept him alive long enough to get him home before he died. You were held captive by the Viet Cong for three days and never once gave away your units position or numbers, even while being tortured. Because of your unit and their actions, the VC lost a strategic base of operations and a number of weapons. You earned a Bronze Star for your actions."

Peck looked at the Colonel, "You read the reports."

"Yeah, kid, I did. It's a horror story," Hannibal replied.

Peck sighed, "truth is, I didn't expect to get out alive. Out of everyone in that unit, I should have been the one to die. Not any of the others."

"We've all felt like that," Ray said before another silence could fall.

"Yeah...but that's why I was picked. No one to miss me if I'm gone… They all had families….it should have been me," Peck explained.

Ray shook his head, "but we don't get to make that decision. God's the only one who can choose who lives and dies here."

Peck shook his head and sighed, "not sure I believe in him anymore."

Ray shrugged, "don't think that matters much to him. Point is, you have no control over what happens, You only have control over how it affects you." Ray paused here and chewed his lip, an indication that he was uncomfortable. Then, he took a deep breath and said, "I let Davy's death turn me into an asshole and that made me treat you like shit. I didn't even want to give you a chance… For that I'm sorry."

Peck looked up at the other for a long moment, and Hannibal could see the gears in his mind moving. "It's not like I'm the easiest person to get along with either. I appreciate it though Major."

"How 'bout we do this, Colonel?" Murdock said quickly, getting a nod from his C.O. to go on, "This here is Peck, newly assigned to the craziest A team in the jungle. But I think we'll call him Faceman, that alright?"

Peck looked at Murdock a smirk on his face and shook his head, "yeah, sure."

"Good!" Murdock exclaimed happy as a five year old with a new toy, "Faceman, I'm Howling Mad Murdock! Best pilot in 'Nam!" From there, the team continued to reintroduce themselves, everyone wordless agreeing that they were starting again. From this point on, the team was looking forward. Everything, the bad blood from the past month or so and all the petty slights, all of it was washed away. Fresh start, or at least no one was holding any grudges.

"I still think it's a fucking movie plot of a plan…" Ray grumbled as the team settled in to get back to work.

"I know," Hannibal said with one of his Jazz fueled smiles as he puffed on his cigar, "Isn't it great?"

"Yeah… But how the hell are we going to get a chopper we can crash?" Ray asked looking around at the others for ideas.

"Didn't you say you got the supplies?" BA asked, looking over to Faceman. "Think you can get one?"

The kid smiled, a brilliant cocky one, "Give me a day, and I can get you two."

"I like your style, kid," Hannibal said with a laugh.

END.