Ok. So, this was my first attempt at Fanfic, and I've since gone back and started to give it a little polish...just to get rid of a few of the glaring errors I noticed later. I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own the A-team, but I wish I did.

Chapter One: Out of the Frying Pan

The sharp ring of a phone cutting through his boredom, Murdock sprang to his feet.

How long had it been since their last mission? Three months? Four? With a mad grin, he scrambled over his bed and sprinted forward. It felt good to let loose with one long howl into the phone. The wait afterwards, during the long span of silence, didn't feel quite as nice though.

Ok, maybe the caller didn't speak beagle, or maybe they were unfamiliar with the dialect.

He nervously adjusted his black baseball cap, deciding to fall back to more standard greeting. "Hullo?"

"Murdock, is that you?"

"Faceman! O' course it's me. Who else would be answerin' my phone? It was the accent that got you, wasn't it? I just can't shake that hint of Irish Wolfhound."

"What? Um…yeah, sure Murdock." Face paused, a quiet sigh sounding over the line. "Geez, I think my ear is bleeding. How about we not answer the phone like that anymore, huh, buddy? Listen..." The tone changed slightly, letting Murdock know they were back to business as usual. "Hannibal has a new mission lined up for us. I'm on my way to spring you from the VA right now. I'm thinking of trying that allergy con again. Can you start sneezing right now?"

"Sure, o' facial one, I'm all over it. See you on the flip side." Murdock slammed down the receiver, cutting off the conversation before the conman had time to ask about the red-headed nurse he had eyed during his last visit. She was way too sweet and naïve to have Faceman unleashed on her.

Turning back toward his comic book laden bed, Murdock pondered the finer aspects of the sneeze.

"A-chu?" That sounded too weak. He needed it to have more oomph, but it had to sound distinct as well. "Ahhh-chooo!" That was better, but not quite perfection.

He opened his mouth, found his Zen sneezing center, braced himself and...

"…Can you…read…me?…Over."

Murdock's head pounded. He took in a deep breath tasting of silt and gunpowder. Could he open his eyes? Did he want to open his eyes? Tentatively, he moved his hands and felt soft flakes of dirt crumble beneath his fingertips. An explosion nearby sent a scattering of dirt and rock raining down. Slowly, he opened his eyes and raised his head.

It was daytime, cloudy but warm with a cool breeze blowing in. He was in the middle of some sort of compound. To the right, a small shed cracked and sizzled as flames danced insided it. A random assortment of rusted farm and construction equipment lay all around, and an empty watchtower loomed over several concrete buildings. Razor wire fences stood haphazardly erected around the area. All in all, it wasn't a place Murdock wanted to buy a time share for.

Zing, zing, zing. He cringed as bullets struck the ground in front of him. Where the heck were the shooters at? Better yet, who was shooting at him?

Static sounded. "Captain? Can you read me? Over."

Hannibal! He scanned around desperately for the radio and spotted it about ten feet away. Next to it, his black cap sat dejectedly staring back at him.

"Don't worry fellas, I'm coming for you!" Murdock shouted. He hated to see his ball cap looking so alone and scared. "Be brave little Muchachos!"

Quickly, he crawled forward, as a few more bullets zoomed by, all narrow misses. As soon as he had the items in hand, he sprang to a crouch and ran for cover. Diving behind a rusted bulldozer, he curled up as another explosion shook the ground. A mad rush of adrenaline had aided his flight, but now that he was still again, dizziness took over.

Panting frantically, he pawed at the radio. "Colonel? It's me, Murdock. Colonel? What's happening? One minute I'm in the VA achoo-achooing and the next minute everything is boom-booming."

He paused, listening to the radio's static.

"Murdock? Is that you, Murdock? Listen, I'm only getting static on my end. Something's wrong with these blasted radios that Face scammed. I think he's losing his touch. I'm going to assume you're in position, because there's no going back now anyways. Remember, this all depends on you. Timing is everything. Over."

Murdock sat staring at the radio. Ok, this was bad, very bad. Turning it over, he studied the melted backing. Apparently he hadn't been the only thing damaged recently.

He reached up and tenderly touched the back of his skull. Tears welled in his eyes as the throbbing brought an uncomfortable pressure to his noggin. There was a large knot on the back of his head and a gash that was maybe an inch or two long. It wasn't deep, but head wounds had a tendency to bleed an awful lot, and he didn't like how wet and sticky his hair already felt. Biting his lip, he let his hand slowly explore the rest of his cranium. He found another large and painful bump above his right eye. Most likely he had taken a blow to the back of the head and had fallen forward and hit the ground with his face. No wonder his head felt like it had been through a washing machine.

Then, he noticed the tee shirt he was wearing. It was dark blue with a picture of a hand glider. He stared at it a moment. When did he get it? It was awesome. He loved it, but he'd never seen it before.

Focus Muchacho, you have to figure out what's happening. The guys are depending on you.

Maybe he was carrying something with him that would give him a clue about this mission. He doubted it, but it was worth a try. In the depths of his brown leather jacket pocket he found a cloth handkerchief. It had the initials K. V. L. embroidered in light pink.

"Now, who do you think this belongs to?" Murdock asked, looking questioningly at his cap, but it didn't seem to know either.

Murdock shrugged, folded the handkerchief up and then pressed it to the back of his head. He gave a hissed breath at the new wave of pain. Quickly, before he lost his nerve, he snatched up his cap and placed it snuggly on his head. Satisfied that the handkerchief was securely in place, he wiped his bloody hand on his pants.

"That," he said, eyes focused upward on the brim of his cap, "was not much fun my friend, but I thank you for your services and I promise to have you dry cleaned when this is all over."

As he leaned back against the bulldozer, he let his hands fall to his sides. His right wrist brushed passed a lump beneath his jacket. After digging around he found, tucked in the waist of his khakis, a single stick of dynamite. He pulled it out and examined it. The fuse was short...too short.

Another explosion sounded somewhere off to the north of the compound, but Murdock ignored it. He sat, biting his lip, staring at the dynamite, wondering what the hell to do next.