A Friend in Need…

An A-Team Flip

It had only been a few months since General Hunt Stockwell had "rescued" the A-Team.

Not that Hannibal Smith wasn't grateful.

We're not on the run anymore…not being hunted-by Colonels Lynch or Decker-anymore.

But Stockwell's actions hadn't exactly been motivated by charity. A retired General, and an upper-level CIA Operative, he'd required his own personal force.

In return for saving their lives-faking their deaths by Firing Squad-Stockwell had required the A-Team to work off their debt, by working for him.

The work the A-Team did now was similar to the work they had done before, although on a larger scale-missions to Third World Nations and the like-with the proviso that if captured, The US Armed Forces would deny any knowledge of their involvement.

Just like Mission Impossible, Templeton Peck-Faceman-had said.

Colonel Smith had to agree with Faceman's analysis.

Even so, in these few short months, Stockwell had done his best to earn the A-Team's trust.

Now, here Smith was, in the Office part of the headquarters the A-Team now called home.

Usually, Stockwell appeared on the giant wall monitor on the wall. This time, he had called ahead, announced that he would be there in person to deliver the mission.

Again, Smith was assailed by doubts.

Either this mission was a bad one; or one of the Team had a personal stake…

Presently, the rest of the A-Team meandered in, BA Baracus complaining loudly about the quality of the grits served at Breakfast.

"A man can't put in a full day's work on what you cooked!" he accused this morning's chef, "Howling Mad" Murdock.

"But I followed ze direcshiones" Murdock, following behind, had elected to reply with a heavy, almost indecipherable, French accent.

But that was Murdock in a…ahem…nutshell…

"What's up, Colonel?" Face had slid into the seat next to Hannibal Smith. "Stockwell coming here to brief us on this new mission…personally...?"

Face senses it too…

"We'll know when he gets here," Smith assured him. "Which should be right about…now."

As if on cue, the door off to the side opened, and in strolled General Hunt Stockwell.

Our savior…our boss…

"General…" Colonel Smith stood, the others following suit.

"Colonel," Hunt stood at ease. "We have a…situation. It requires our immediate attention. I'm sure you remember Colonel Roderick Decker; even if not with great fondness."

"Yes," Face quipped. "It was only last year we had him hot on our tails. Is he growing lonely with no one to chase after?"

"Hardly," Hunt Stockwell scoffed. "He has bigger problems to deal with."

"Decker's a big boy," Smith said. "He knows how to deal with problems."

"Not this one," Stockwell shook his head. Then, he said the words Smith never expected to hear.

"Colonel Roderick Decker has been framed. He stands accused of High Treason."

"Uh…Decker?" For once, Smith was without a snappy comeback. "High Treason?"

Smith knew Decker. They had been friends once. Many years ago.

"Rod Decker was a royal pain in my backside these last few years," he said. "But Decker committing Treason-High or Low-is about as likely as the Sun rising in the West. It just isn't in him! Who brought the charges against him?"

"Colonel Lynch," Stockwell spoke dryly.

"Of course," Smith sighed.

Colonel Francis Lynch…A buffoon of the purest stripe…

Rod Decker was many things. But never a buffoon…

Back to business…

"What happens if they convict him?"

"I think you know, Colonel…"

Oh yeah…

Smith knew…

Execution by firing squad…