THE PERFECT CON

Title: The Perfect Con
Copyright: 2000
Author: Reckless ([email protected])
Disclaimer: The A-Team characters belong to Stephen J. Cannell and Universal.
Warning: Violence, angst, swearing, war memories, after-effects and reference to torture and non-cons (m/m)
[off-screen], death of major character. Extremely sad. (Get your hankies ready)

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PROLOGUE

FORT BRAGG, NORTH CAROLINA

Holding the crumpled piece of paper in his hands, Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith looked over the new arrivals. They looked so young and, suddenly, he felt so old. He normally did not come down to see the arrival of the new Special Forces trainees, but today he felt compelled.

He looked the new kids over. They looked different from most of the Special Forces soldiers he had seen only a few years ago in Vietnam. Back there, most of the soldiers had been selected because they had brute strength or they could obey they types of commands that even the best soldiers would question. But to Hannibal, those skills were not the qualities that the Special Forces needed. So now that he was in charge of their training, Hannibal had begun making changes to the selection and training program.

Yes, he thought, his experience in Vietnam had taught him a lot about what the Special Forces needed. Over there, he had led the best. And, he thought, he'd also seen the worst.

Turning back towards the main administration building, Hannibal barely noticed the paper drop. It fluttered to the pavement, the words written on the teletype faced up for the world to see:

Peck, Templeton Arthur, Lt., Army, 522-70-5444. Deceased.

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CHAPTER 1

Passing his aide, Hannibal walked into his office. Through the window, he could still see the new recruits on the parade grounds getting lectured by the drill sergeant. He thought about some of the men out there, recognizing their faces from pictures in personnel files he had previously reviewed. Hannibal took a keen interest in how he selected his soldiers. He always had.
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VIETNAM, THREE YEARS EARLIER

Hannibal carried his personnel folder as he crossed the compound to the tent they used as an HQ. He saw Decker and Mitchell entering the tent. He hated these meetings, but had to admit they had their use. Army HQ used to assign men to the three colonels at random, which, of course, meant that they never got the soldiers who actually fit their three Special Forces units. So after repeatedly shifting men between the three squads stationed at the compound at the request of the three colonels, the army finally told the colonels to divvy the men up themselves.

So far, the plan had worked. Each colonel liked to lead completely different types of soldiers. Hannibal liked men who could adapt and think on their feet. Mitchell didn't give a shit what his men thought; he just liked them big and muscled. Decker? Well . . . Decker also didn't care what his men thought. He only wanted "yes men" who obeyed commands. Ruefully, Hannibal thought, it wasn't a surprise that Decker's squad took the highest casualties of the three.

Personnel on the base referred to Decker's group as the "Browns" -- aptly reflecting the color of their noses. Mitchell's squad was the "Goon Squad." Hannibal's? To everyone else on the base, his unit was the "Misfits." But Hannibal knew better. Sure his squad was full of projects that other leaders didn't think belonged in this man's army. But his A-Team also was the best and had shown that time and time again when they accomplished missions that Mitchell's and Decker's units could only dream about.

It was in keeping with Hannibal's style. He knew he was a maverick, able to think outside the box that narrowly circumscribed military thinking. He also knew that the outside of the box sometimes fell outside the boundaries of military rules. Sure that pissed off his superiors and made him some enemies, but Hannibal didn't care. He was loyal to his flag and he got the job done better than anyone else. If that made him a target, he could live with that. And if doing his job required him to take on projects, he could live with that too.

But, as he walked to the meeting, Hannibal knew he couldn't take on another project. He already had Baracus and the captain with a little less than complete hold on reality. No, he said to himself, as he thought about the project in his folder, this project belonged to someone else.

The first part of the meeting went well. Most of the enlisted men were quickly divided up between the squads. Then they came to the lieutenant.

"Peck?" said Mitchell. "Smith, this looks like one of yours."

"No can do." Hannibal replied. "I already have a lieutenant. It's Decker that's short."

Even though Decker's last lieutenant had taken two bullets to the sternum a week earlier -- and had a ticket back to the world -- Decker shook his head. "Come on Smith," he said. "Look at this record. Everyone who's seen him says he's a problem who can't keep his mouth shut. You know that I hate that. Look at what else it says. A liar. A cheat. There is no way I'm going to let someone like this into my unit."

Hannibal turned to Decker. "Rod. I've already got enough projects. It's your turn to pick up some of the slack. Besides, I already have an L-T."

"You don't even like Moriarty." That came from Mitchell. "Give him to Decker."

Silently, he agreed with Mitchell. Moriarty was far too much of a yes man for Hannibal. But he couldn't take this guy Peck into his unit. If Baracus gave a proper lieutenant like Moriarty the shit he was giving him, Hannibal couldn't imagine the problems his sergeant would give to a wet-behind-the-ears problem child like this Peck kid. He turned back to Mitchell then, and given his widest shit-eating grin. "Why don't you give the kid a chance, Jim?"

"Oh be realistic, Smith. This kid's, what? Five-eight, one-sixty. There's no way my squad would accept him. Shit, they'd probably frag him on the first hump out."

Again, Hannibal silently agreed, but didn't reply. Instead, he turned to Decker. "Rod. No deal. He's yours. End of story."
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Hannibal looked out the window of his office at the parade grounds. His drill sergeant had finished scaring the hell out of the new arrivals and was now moving them to their barracks. He thought about what he had said to Decker. "End of story." Right. He only wished.
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CHAPTER 2

Hannibal hadn't really given the new lieutenant much thought in the few weeks after the new recruits arrived. He was far too busy getting his own new blood in line. Thankful that Baracus seriously believed in his job of getting new guys ready for action, Hannibal and Lieutenant Moriarty went to meet with Decker and his new lieutenant, Peck.

Inside the tent, Decker and Peck were leaning over some maps charting the terrain for the next mission. It was to be a joint operation between Decker's squad and Hannibal's. It also was taking place over Hannibal's objection.

"Hey Rod," he grinned as he lit his cigar. "What's it look like out there. Let me guess, we'll be crossing a few rivers, climbing some hills and probably moving through some jungle." As Decker glared across the table, Hannibal continued. "Well, how'd I do?"

"Some of us like to be prepared for what we might encounter, Smith."

"Yeah, well, I just make it up as I go along." Hannibal was partly kidding. He'd studied the map the night before. He just liked getting under Decker's skin. Even if that was kind of easy.

Through gritted teeth, Decker said, "If you must know. We'll be fording the river three clicks up from our drop point. Reports have enemy placements here . . . and, uh, here. Skirting those spots . . ."

As Decker recited what Hannibal already knew, he tuned Decker out and studied the new lieutenant. Although Peck had his head down studying the maps, Hannibal was still shocked as he took in the kid's slight build and the blond hair. "When did the army start raiding high schools for the Special Forces?" he thought. This kid looked barely old enough to drive, let alone lead a squad in combat.

It wasn't that Hannibal could really complain. After all, he'd lied about his age when he enlisted. But at least he'd actually looked old enough to fight.

As Decker continued, ". . . and then the units will take out the munitions depot here. . ." the kid looked up at Hannibal and he found himself looking at the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. Hell, he was wrong before. We've been raiding altar boys.

But as he said that, something flashed across Peck's eyes. Mirth? Arrogance? Whatever it was, Hannibal could tell that Peck saw that he wasn't listening to Decker. Hannibal also knew that Peck didn't need the blow-by-blow either.

"Lieutenant," said Decker, snapping Peck's attention back to his colonel. "I hope I'm not boring you."

"Oh, no sir," replied the kid with a smirk. "I especially like the part where you talked about our unit running into the heart of the VC fire. You know, sir, I hate to be the one to point this out, but with two units, we could flank the enemy."

Hannibal nearly groaned. The kid did have a mouth, though that was hardly surprising given the reports in the personnel file. But Hannibal was impressed by his words. Peck was right about Decker's plan. While Hannibal's squad would be approaching the enemy from the left flank, and the VC could easily be placed in a crossfire, Decker's unit would take heavy casualties. With Decker's plan, the VC would retreat back from Decker's frontal assault, missing most of the damage that Hannibal's unit could inflict from the side.

But, now, just to put Peck in his place, Decker would refuse to even consider changing the plan.

"Lieutenant! I am in charge here," Decker roared the veins popping out of his forehead as they always did when Decker got angry. "You will follow my order and you will assault the munitions depot from the front entry!!! THAT IS A DIRECT ORDER!! Do you understand?!!"

Peck snapped to attention and barked, "Yes, sir, colonel, sir."

Decker turned on Hannibal. "Would you like to add anything, Smith?"

"No Rod," he grinned. "I see you've got everything under control. I'll go brief my men." He turned and with Moriarty on his heels, walked out of the tent.

A few seconds later, Moriarty piped up. "Gee Colonel, how could Peck question his orders like that?"

"Peck's just thinking about what's best for the unit" was Hannibal's reply, though what he really was thinking was that a spineless flunky like Moriarty wouldn't understand.

"Well," Moriarty, ever the suck-up, replied, "I certainly would never make my commander look bad in front of other soldiers."

"I'm sure that's true," Hannibal answered. Even if your commander was an imbecile who was about to get half his men killed just to satisfy his own ego. Meanwhile, knowing Decker, Hannibal figured that the other colonel would sit in the back giving commands while Peck took the lead through the carnage. What a shame. Hannibal suddenly realized that he sort of liked the kid.
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Hannibal turned away from the window over the parage grounds and sat down in his desk chair. Yeah, he thought, that's when I first started to like Peck. What a mistake that was.

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After the drop, things pretty much went as Decker had planned. The two units forded the river and humped through the jungle to the point where they planned to split up. Though preoccupied with preparing his own men, Hannibal couldn't avoid being impressed with how Peck was getting Decker's unit ready. Even though everyone in the unit was clearly older than the kid, they followed his directions without question.

"Lieutenant Peck" came a call from Decker. Peck leaped up and ran over to where Decker was organizing gear that his unit was unloading as it lightened up for the expected assault.

BA leaned over to Hannibal and, in a low growl, whispered. "The new L-T's pretty good, ain't he. He knows his stuff. Better'n that fool Decker. Damn shame he won't make it outta here."

Without thinking, Hannibal nodded. "What do you know about Peck, sergeant?"

"Suppose to be a real firebrand out here. Heard he took out a rat tunnel and six VC single-handed on the last hump."

"So, what the big deal about that? All you have to do is drop a grenade in the hole . . ."

"No Hannibal, that L-T jumped in the hole and took them out with his M-16."

"That's nuts," Hannibal thought. No leader should endanger his squad like that. "Where were his men at the time?"

"Wouldn't let em near the hole. Said he won't let them take risks he won't take."

Well that was a way to impress other soldiers. But, as he looked at Peck being lectured by Decker, Hannibal suspected the truth. Peck wouldn't endanger his men, but he didn't give a shit about himself. He had seen the type before. Hannibal turned back to BA. "What's the kid like on base?"

"Ask me, he wanna get his fool ass killed."

"What do you mean?"

"Cocky kid. Picks fights when he know he's gonna get busted up. Breaks rules like you won't believe, Hannibal."

"Oh, so you're suddenly big on rules," Hannibal joked.

"It's not like that. That L-T follows no rules. Other day, forged orders so he could take Decker's jeep on a joyride. Supposed ta have picked up a few girls on the way. Decker was pissed when he couldn't find his ride."

Looking at the ground, Hannibal chuckled at the thought of Decker running around the motor pool, yelling at the mechanics as he tried to find the jeep. Hannibal now couldn't help liking Peck.

Hannibal lifted his head as the kid ran back up the trail. As he ordered his men to mount up, Peck walked over to Hannibal to check watches. Looking at where Decker was still standing among the unloaded gear, Hannibal shrugged, "So what's his story?" Before Peck replied, Hannibal got his answer. Decker picked up a battlefield radio, an AN/PRC-25. Perfect, he thought, a prick with his "prick."

Ignoring Hannibal's groan, Peck gave a sort of rueful grin, "The Colonel plans to keep an eye on our gear and will be keeping radio contact." Peck looked over at his radioman. "Jones, you stay close to me. Colonel Smith, we will radio when we're in position." Hannibal just nodded.

At that, Peck took the lead of his unit -- "Joker." Hannibal gathered his unit -- "Red Dog" -- and moved off to the left. As the leader of the unit, Hannibal was "Red Dog 6." Peck, the second in command of Decker's unit was "Joker 5."

Two hours later, with Hannibal's men in position, Peck's voice came over the radio. "Red Dog 6, Red Dog 6, this is Joker 5. We've got crazy Charlie dead ahead. Over."

The radioman handed Hannibal the phone. "Joker 5, this is Red Dog 6. Roger that. Over."

Hannibal heard Peck's voice again, a little more tentative. "Joker 5 to Joker 6, looks like Charlie's loaded in the chest. Suggest that we go for the ribs. Over." Hannibal smiled at that. The kid had gall. Peck had just asked Decker to reconsider the frontal charge and agree to a flanking maneuver.

"Negative Joker 5," came Decker's reply. "You've got your orders. Over."

"Sir . . ."

Before Peck could say another word, Hannibal intervened. "Joker 6, this is Red Dog 6." Ignoring protocol, Hannibal said "Decker, you're gonna get your unit scrambled. Let the kid take them around."

Peck added, "Joker 5 concurs with Red Dog 6, sir. Over."

Hannibal could almost see the veins popping in Decker's forehead as his voice roared back over the radio. "Red Dog 6, this is not your concern. Joker 5, you've got a direct order. Go up the gut. Over and out."

"Joker 5 to Red Dog 6. We'll see you soon, over and out." Listening to the kid, Hannibal was almost convinced by the sincerity in his voice -- that he really believed he would be taking the munitions dump and joining up with Hannibal's unit. But Hannibal knew that the kid was trying to put on a brave front for any soldiers that had overheard the radio argument. To someone who didn't know better, though, it would have sounded very reassuring.

Only a few seconds later, he heard the popping of the M-16s. But they were not coming from where Hannibal expected. Instead of coming from the right of Red Dog, the sounds were coming from straight ahead. Shit, Hannibal thought. During the whole radio call, Peck had his team on the right flank. He never planned on obeying Decker's suicide order.

"He's gonna catch hell from Decker" said BA.

"Yeah." Hannibal grinned, but mentally added "at least he'll be alive to catch it." Turning to his men, Hannibal ordered, "Get ready. Charlie's gonna be coming straight at us across that clearing right ahead."

Sure enough, minutes, or seconds, later, a horde of VC came racing in Hannibal's direction, firing back the way they had just came.

"Open fire" Hannibal signaled, and his team let Charlie have it.

Caught in the crossfire between Joker and Red Dog, the VC didn't have a chance. The enemy raced into the clearing where they were cut down in a crossfire between the two units. Even though the two units probably had only twenty men between them, they took out 60 VC in less than five minutes. Through it all, Hannibal was shocked to see Peck running back and forth in the clearing firing at enemy soldiers without a care for his own safety. As the kid moved, Hannibal could see Peck's eyes blaze with an intense ferocity.

Hannibal had seen men with death wishes before, but he'd never seen anything like this young lieutenant. Looking at the stunned faces of his own unit, he could see that they had never seen anything like it either.

As the soldiers finished taking out the last of the VC on the ground, Hannibal looked back across the clearing towards the young lieutenant. Instead of the fire that had blazed in the kid's face before, Peck's now wore a wide grin that was aimed directly in Hannibal's direction. Hannibal had never seen anyone grin like that. It looked like all the light in the world was shining in that face. Forgetting what he was thinking, Hannibal couldn't help but smile back.

As Peck turned back to his own men who were entering the clearing and arranged a quick recon and mop-up detail, Hannibal assessed his own unit. "How'd we come out Sergeant?

"Jackson got one in the leg, but thas bout it," BA replied. "Did ya see that? That L-T was right out front. No cover or nothin'."

Ignoring BA's last comment, Hannibal answered, "Sergeant, check Jackson out." With that, Hannibal crossed the clearing to Peck.

The Lieutenant was ordering some men in his unit to head back to the munitions dump to set explosives. Hearing Hannibal approach, Peck turned around to face the Colonel. The grin was still there.

Fighting his desire to return the smile, Hannibal mustered all the anger he could gather. Hoping he sounded serious, he barked at Peck, "Lieutenant Peck, what the hell was that about. You know better than to lead your men out of cover into a clear when we've got a crossfire."

The grin suddenly disappeared from the kid's face and was replaced with a dejected look. "I'm sorry sir. I got, uh, a little excited and came out." His voice rose slightly as he continued, "But sir, my men stayed down as ordered."

Hannibal looked at the soldiers behind Peck. Most were nodding defensively. Attempting to protect their leader, Hannibal thought. He realized that, in the short time the kid had been in-country, he'd already earned the respect of his men. It also meant that, by jumping into the face of enemy fire without support, Peck had confirmed Hannibal's earlier suspicions about him.

"So Lieutenant . . ." Hannibal still tried to keep the anger in his voice. Damn, it was hard when the kid looked at him with that angelic face and puppy dog eyes. Finally giving up the battle, Hannibal softened his tone and asked, "What are your casualties after this little skirmish?"

"Sir, no casualties sir." Certainly a first for Decker's unit.

Before Hannibal could congratulate Peck on protecting his men, a bull charged up the trail at them. "LIEUTENANT PECK!" Decker screamed. "GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

Sheepishly, Peck dropped his head, put one hand in his pocket and turned towards Decker. At least, Hannibal thought, I could give the kid an encouraging word before Decker reamed him out for flanking the enemy. "You did good, kid," Hannibal hissed. Startled, the kid turned his head in Hannibal's direction, his eyes sparkling with pride. He then continued towards Decker, like a kid prepared to receive the whipping of a lifetime. It suddenly dawned on Hannibal that Peck looked like he knew what that was like.

Frustrated that he wasn't supposed to interfere with another commander in the field. Hannibal walked back to his unit. Not surprisingly, they were all watching Decker in his full glory, red-faced and screaming at the kid. It wasn't fair. With the exception of that stunt in the clearing, the kid had done good.

"Come on men. There's nothing to see here. Let's move on."

And Hannibal led them away.
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A knock on Hannibal's door shocked him out of his thoughts. Yeah, he thought, I should have listened to my own orders. Hell, I should have moved on back then, and kept moving.

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CHAPTER 3

Hannibal looked at the soldier lying in the hospital bed. His earlier thoughts had been broken up by his aide reporting the training accident. It was a damn shame. Sergeant Lincoln would have been good in Special Forces, but he had to break his ankle on the obstacle course. Now the kid was crying in the infirmary, his dream of being the army's best destroyed.

"Hey, kid," Hannibal almost called him son, but he no longer made that mistake. "Hey, it's not the end of the world. You were real close to completing the training program and you can try again."

The kid had not seen the Colonel enter. He hastily tried to sniff back his tears and act composed. "I'm sorry sir. It's . . . it's just . . . that I wanted this more than anything."

Hannibal patted the kid's head. "I know, Sergeant. We just can't always get what we want."
_______________________

It had only been a few days after the firefight at the munitions depot when it happened.

Hannibal was lying on his bunk trying to get a little rest. He couldn't really sleep while that slightly crazy pilot who spent all his spare time hanging around tried to piss BA and Moriarty off. H.M. Murdock -- or "Howling Mad" as preferred to be called. Hannibal remembered the guy with a smile; no one could accuse him of false advertising.

Personally, Hannibal liked Murdock. And he could tell that, despite all his talk, BA liked the guy too.

"Oh boy. Lookeys like we've got a trouble a brewin' at eleven o'clock," Murdock said as he looked out the window.

"What you talkin' bout you crazy fool" responded BA.

"Ol' Decker's about to start something with Mitchell. Prob'ly wants to say something about that kid L-T."

His interest piqued, Hannibal asked, "Who? Peck?"

"Yessiree, Colonel."

"What's going on with Peck, Murdock?"

"Well, sir, the L-T got tarred and feathered by Mitchell's goons last night."

Hannibal looked outside at the expression in Decker's face. He wasn't completely sure what to make of it. Decker hated Peck. But he hated the idea that someone -- anyone -- in his unit would get beaten up by members of another unit. Hannibal figured that Decker was also afraid of the hold that Peck had on the men in the unit. If Peck had been seriously hurt, there might be trouble between the Browns and the Goon Squad. That surely would upset Decker's linear, narrow world.

"So Captain, what happened?"

Murdock started laughing. "Oh Colonel. You won't really believe it. But Lieutenant Peck wanted to do something special for one of the guys in the unit. See, here, this guy's been around for a while, but's getting kinda sick about being away from his home in Maryland. So, yesterday was his birthday. And Peck, well, he goes and manages to bring in a couple dozen real, Maryland crabs. Man, the L-T outdid himself."

Murdock was right. Hannibal didn't believe it. "Come on Murdock. How would someone like Peck get real crabs out here, to this base?"

"No one knows for sure, Hannibal. He wouldn't tell. All I know is that the last supply shipment that came in had a crate of real, one-hundred percent, live Maryland crabs."

Laughing at the kid's resourcefulness, Hannibal said, "So what happened after that? How did Mitchell's goons get involved?"

"Well, sir. They like crabs too. Probably the family resemblance. So they crashed the Browns' birthday party. Word is, the L-T asked them nicely to leave, but they refused. When he insisted, a couple of the goons decided to take Peck outside. Beat him pretty bad. Heard they also used a broken bottle on him."

"Why didn't the Browns stop them?"

Murdock looked down, digging his hands into his leather jacket. "I heard the L-T ordered his men to stay out of the fight."

"Ain't right" said BA. He pounded his fist into his hand. "Tha' jus' ain't right."

Hannibal agreed. One of the things that always amazed him about his sergeant was that, despite his size and appearance, the one thing BA hated most were bullies. BA hated Mitchell's goons more than any.

"BA, if the Browns had orders not to interfere, they should have obeyed them," Hannibal responded. He knew he had to gauge the sergeant's reaction before he did what he was thinking about.

"Tha' mebbe right, Hannibal. But that L-T brought the Browns through some serious shit. They owed the L-T their support. Screw the damn orders. The L-T earned that respect. Ain't right tha' they let the goons beat him."

"What would you have done in the situation, Sergeant?"

"Me? Pity the fool who mess with my L-T. The goons be suffrin' if it was me."

That's what Hannibal wanted to hear. Grabbing his jacket off the bunk, Hannibal got up and walked out of the tent. "You wait here," he ordered. "I'll be back in a while."

Hannibal crossed the base towards where he'd last seen Decker. As he passed a tent, he saw Decker closing in on Mitchell.

"MITCHELL," Decker yelled. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? HOW DARE YOUR MEN ATTACK MY LIEUTENANT!!!"

Mitchell turned towards Decker with a sly smile. "Oh, come off it, Decker. We all know you hate that little twerp."

Hannibal came closer to the two. He could see Decker sputtering, like someone who'd just taken a nosedive into a river.

"That's not the point. . . Your apes cannot attack other soldiers. Especially superior officers."

"Oh please, Decker. We all know you're about to send Peck off to Leavenworth. You're just getting the paperwork processed"

This was news to Hannibal. Damn, he thought, things must be worse than he thought. That could wait for a minute, though. First, he had to play peacemaker.

"Guys," he said. "I don't think this is the time or place for this. Let's go inside and discuss this without putting on a show."

"Fuck off, Smith." That from Mitchell.

"Get out of here." Decker.

"Well, see. At least you two can agree on something." Hannibal smiled his broadest grin. "Look, in all seriousness. We can't have you two fighting in the open or it'll mean open warfare between your units. Jim, I know what your boys can do, but I've also seen the way Rod's men reacted to Peck in the field. They respect him. Yes, no matter what Rod thinks, the men in the unit respect the little twerp.' And they're going to want to retaliate."

Both Mitchell and Decker looked at him harshly, but Hannibal knew that they were cooling down. He also knew that neither of the other colonels would actually acknowledge that Hannibal was right.

"Come on Rod. Let's go inside and talk this over."

"All right, Mitchell. But I don't want this happening again."

Seeing the two of them head over to the HQ and with a muttered, sarcastic "you're welcome" to their backs, Hannibal went the opposite direction towards the infirmary.

Peck looked bad, but he still grinned at Hannibal when he came into the tent. Hannibal glanced at the chart and was pleased to see that the kid only had some cuts and bruises.

Turning to the kid, Hannibal asked curtly, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Peck answered with a voice that sounded totally innocent. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"Oh yes you do," Hannibal retorted sharply. "You're trying to get yourself killed. Or thrown in jail. First you pull off that crazy stunt with the tunnel. Then you race into the clear during the firefight. And then you order your soldiers to let you get pummeled by Mitchell's Goon Squad. And that's not to mention the other crazy shit you've been pulling. Like the crabs."

"Awww, Colonel," the kid responded with mock umbrage. "That was for Morgan's birthday. He's been homesick ever since I got here, complaining about how his momma always served crabs on his birthday."

Hannibal wanted to laugh, but that wasn't the point.

"Peck, you know what I mean. I don't know why you have a death wish, but you're in charge of that unit. And they like you. They respect you. From what I saw out there, they'd fight tooth and nail for you."

"Colonel, you know that's because they don't know how to think for themselves. That's the type that Decker likes."

Suppressing the smile that nearly crossed his lips, Hannibal thundered, "That's not the point. You have a responsibility to them. You have to make sure they don't get killed."

"Now wait a minute." Peck was genuinely angry now. "You may be a superior officer, but that's not true. I have never once endangered the lives of my men. Hell, the main reason I'm facing insubordination charges is that I chose to protect them from Decker's foolish orders. So don't you dare accuse of risking their lives."

Hannibal knew he was getting close. He figured he had already gotten Peck through the joking stage and now Peck had gotten defensive. Hannibal felt a little more prodding would do it.

"What about your own life, Peck?"

Silence fell over the room. Peck tensed and shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He didn't answer.

"Come on kid," Hannibal asked quietly. "I want an answer. What about your own life?"

"You . . . don't want to know, sir," Peck answered haltingly.

Hannibal put his arm around Peck's shoulder and felt them slump forward. As the tension in Peck's shoulders fled, Hannibal also saw that the kid's other defenses -- the anger, the smiles -- had also left the room. All Hannibal could detect from the kid was a sense of resignation, of defeat. The kid dropped his head and, without looking at Hannibal, whispered.

"My life's not worth a damn thing."

The force of the statement hit Hannibal right in the gut. All the air went out of him. His own anger disappeared. Where, only a minute ago had been this brash, arrogant son-of-a-bitch, Hannibal now saw the kid for what he truly was. A scared child, who hid beneath a devil-may-care exterior.

Grabbing a chair, Hannibal sat down next to the kid. Without saying a word, he studied the boy's face. At most, Hannibal figured, this lieutenant was eighteen. Even nineteen was stretching it.

"How old are you, kid? I want the truth."

Peck looked at him, those large blue eyes reflecting a weariness and resignation that had no place in that youthful face. "Twenty sir. I swear."

"Sure kid," he answered sarcastically. "I've got fatigues older than you. But if you insist you're twenty, I'm sure the army has the paperwork to prove it."

Hannibal paused and thought carefully before he asked his next question.

"Kid, why do you think your life's worthless? Your men certainly don't think so. They're probably planning to firebomb the Goon Squad's tents tonight."

"But they won't. Once Decker gives the order, they'll stand down."

Hannibal thought Peck was probably right, but he persisted. "You're trying to change the subject. Tell me why you think you're worthless?"

Peck sighed and looked Hannibal over. Looking into the kid's eyes, Hannibal knew the kid was trying to figure out if he could trust the Colonel.

"Look kid. You can trust me. Whatever you say remains between us. No Decker. No Army. I just want to understand why a soldier that can do what you can do on the battlefield is willing to throw your life away? I've seen you fight. I've heard about what you've managed to do on this base. You are far from worthless. In fact, I think you probably have more value than every man in Decker's and Mitchell's units combined."

That seemed to do it. Hannibal had penetrated the defenses. Tears started to stream down the kid's face.

"Colonel. You d-don't understand. M-my entire life. Everyone has always tossed me aside. My parents didn't care enough to stay around. Every set of foster parents I ever had. Even most of the priests who took care of me. They knew I was worthless. The kid's voice was rising, getting louder and more insistent. "Doesn't the Bible says that as a man thinketh in his heart so is he'? Well, I thinketh. . . No, I know . . . in my heart, that I'm trash."

Hannibal was taken aback by the kid's bible reference. He had never thought this kid could be religious. He tried to focus back on what Peck was saying.

"I'm a thief and a liar. What you think you see is just a mask -- I've got a game face for battle and others that I use when necessary. You just can't see through those faces to the real me. Do yourself a favor, sir, and don't even try. Let me go. If I die in the jungle, so be it. If I get thrown in the brig, I'll live with it. And if I get thrown out of the army, I'll get by in the streets. I've done it before and I can take care of myself."

"Kid, if you believe that, you're farther gone that I thought." Hannibal continued, "You go back and try to pull the crap you've pulled here and they'll lock you away for good. I doubt you could survive a few months in a stockade, let alone a jail back in the world."

The kid looked up at Hannibal and spoke, quietly. "All the better."

Hannibal grabbed Peck and held the kid's face close to his own. Looking the kid directly in the eyes, he said, "You can have that attitude and get yourself killed. Or you can show the world that Lieutenant Templeton Peck is more than just a kid with a pretty face and a bad attitude. I want to give you that chance and, whether you like it or not, you're going to get it."

Letting go of the kid, Hannibal stormed out of the infirmary. After a quick stop at the HQ, he started to look for Decker. Hannibal managed to find him without much trouble. The other colonel had cooled down from his run-in with Mitchell.

"Rod, wait up." Hannibal called out.

"What is it Smith? I'm busy," Decker growled.

Hannibal took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. Decker was an ass, but when he thought you wanted something from him, he tried to take every advantage. Hell, Hannibal thought, here goes nothing.

"I want to talk about Lieutenant Peck. Is it true your planning to bring him up on charges?"

"It's no business of yours," Decker replied giving Hannibal a beady-eye stare. "But, the answer is yes. When he is released from the infirmary, Lieutenant Peck will be charged with gross insubordination, forgery and theft. That is, unless I can think of some other things to add."

Hannibal groaned. What a prick, he thought. "Come on, Rod. Give the kid a chance. He got your unit through that firefight at the munitions depot without a scratch. None of your other officers could have managed that."

"He violated a direct order in the process!"

Hannibal wanted to tell Decker what he thought of that order, but thought better of it. None of this was going to help Peck. "Look Decker, let me take Peck off your hands. You can have Moriarty. He's much more your type anyway."

Decker looked Hannibal up and down. "I don't know what you see in Peck. But the answer is no. Peck's going to military prison where he can't disrupt morale and discipline."

Knowing it probably wouldn't work, Hannibal tried to appeal to Decker's sense of compassion. "Rod. Please. You don't see it, but Peck's just a scared kid. Sure, he acts tough and arrogant. But have you ever seriously looked over his personnel history. I just took a look at it. The kid's never had a home. He's never really belonged anywhere. He just needs a chance to find out what it feels like. With time, he could be a great officer."

"Smith," Decker said, "Even if you were right -- and I think that's a lot of head-shrinker babble -- we don't have that time."

Hannibal sighed. That hadn't worked, so he figured he'd play his last card. "Okay, Rod. What will it take to buy Peck off?"

Hannibal could see the thin smile creasing Decker's lips and a gleam in his eye.

"You want him that much Smith?" Decker paused and pretended to be thinking. "All right. I'll make you a deal. My team could use some R&R. Your team takes our next two missions. I'll make sure that Morrison schedules them so they don't overlap with any of yours."

Hannibal mulled the offer. That would mean four to five missions in rapid succession. He imagined how fatigued the team would be. A fatigued team was more likely to make mistakes, more likely to suffer casualties.

Then he thought about the kid in the infirmary. The team would have to manage somehow.

"Okay Rod. You've got yourself a deal."

_____________________________________________________________________

"Sir?"

Hannibal looked up and saw the young sergeant looking up at him.

"Sir, are you okay, sir?"

"Yes, Sergeant. I was just remembering when I sold my soul to the devil."

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CHAPTER 4

As he left the infirmary, Hannibal saw General Roberts driving towards him. Snapping to attention, he saluted the General who stopped the vehicle and got out.

"Good afternoon, Colonel Smith," he said with a smile. "How is everything going with the Special Forces?"

Hannibal genuinely liked General Roberts. Unlike most of the top brass Hannibal had seen, the General actually cared about his men's lives and measured success by accomplishments not body counts.

"Very good, sir. Our newest trainees just arrived this morning." He pulled out two cigars from his breast pocket, offering one to the General who took it without hesitation. As they both lit up, Hannibal started to speak.

"Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"Yes, Colonel."

"Sir, have you ever looked at these kids that we send out there? Some of them seem so young. But we're sending them on the toughest missions the army can find."

"They've volunteered for this job, Colonel. Besides, we train them before we send them out so they know what they're supposed to do."

"I know sir. That wasn't my point. We train them as best we can and they do volunteer. But . . . How do they really know what they're volunteering for? Since the war's over, most of these kids have not seen serious combat. Many of them have only seen combat training in basic. They don't have a clue what it's really like behind enemy lines. They're only here because they want to be the best of the best. It's just. . . It's just that I don't want to have to write some poor kid's parents and tell them that their son died because he thought being the best meant wearing a green beret, but didn't realize that it also meant getting shot in the back in some godforsaken jungle."

"Colonel. . ." the General said reassuringly. "John . . . I've seen the soldiers you turn out. They are the best and it's not because of what they wear. I've watched the parents of those kids at graduation and they are prouder than any I've ever seen. The parents and those boys know how dangerous Special Forces is. Those parents are proud of what you've made of their sons. The parents know the risks, but they accept them because they see that their sons have become men. I've got kids at home, so I can recognize what those parents are feeling. You probably just can't see it because you never had a son."

Hannibal started to respond, but stopped himself. As the general turned to get back into the jeep, Hannibal wanted to tell the other man that he did understand, because he once had a son. Yes, he thought to himself, he did have a son once. But he didn't say it. It suddenly seemed like a long time ago.
_____________________________________________________________________

Hannibal had introduced Peck to the others in the unit as the "Man of 1,000 Faces" -- his and Peck's inside joke. The others had quickly begun calling the kid "Face."

They'd also managed to get through Decker's endurance course. Hannibal had been impressed by the way Face had carried himself. In fact, Hannibal thought the team made it through their fatigue because of the way the kid hustled -- never seeming tired -- picking up the other members when they wanted to collapse. The other men in the unit responded, even BA, who gave Face none of the crap that he had regularly given Moriarty.

Even on base, Face seemed to be straightening out. Where, before, he had picked fights and scammed for silly things, he now began using his skills as a scammer and a forger to make sure the team had the best supplies possible. Whatever they needed, Face managed to pull out of a hat. Hannibal had to admit that, in that area, Face was better than even he had thought possible.

But there was another side of the kid that Hannibal saw. When he wasn't in the field or gathering supplies, Peck spent his time silent and alone. He would sit for hours on his bunk staring into space or praying. He confirmed Hannibal's suspicion, admitting that he had been an altar boy at the church in the orphanage where he had grown up. Hannibal knew that this part of Peck was a side of the kid that only the colonel had seen before -- the kid behind the bravado. And it seemed that only that crazy pilot Murdock could get through to that part of the kid.

Hannibal smiled at that thought. He remembered how Murdock pestered Face for hours until Face would crack a smile. Murdock would pull crazy stunts, often pissing off BA, because they would break Face out of his self-imposed exile. And Hannibal, grateful for the effect Murdock's antics were having on the Lieutenant, couldn't bring himself to punish the Captain. Secretly, Hannibal always believed that BA also saw the results and was mostly playing along.

Slowly over the several months that Face was with Hannibal's team, Hannibal started to think that Face was beginning to come out of the shell. With more time, perhaps, the kid might have reformed completely. But Charlie put an end to that.

"Passengers, this is your captain speaking. Please put your tray tables and seats in their upright positions and hold on as tight as you can," Murdock called from the front of the Huey.

Hannibal was in the back of the chopper with Face and BA, doing a final run-through of the plan. They were headed pretty deep into NVA territory in order to steal some plans for an expected NVA offensive.

"What's the problem, Murdock?"

"Think that little love tap from Charlie tapped our gas tanks, Colonel."

Murdock was referring to a quick barrage of gunfire that he had quickly flown past. He hadn't thought much of it twenty minutes ago. But, obviously, something had gone wrong.

As Hannibal began to climb over some of the other men in the Huey to get to the front, the chopper lurched forward and to the right. He would have sailed out the side of the chopper, but someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him to the back of the Huey. Looking up from the hands around his chest, Hannibal stared straight into the bright blue eyes of the young lieutenant. Then Hannibal heard a loud noise and a sharp cry from Face. Hannibal felt himself launched through the helicopter and, then, darkness enveloped him.

When he woke, it was dark. Groaning from a sharp pain in his side and head, he opened his eyes and saw BA hovering over him.

"Lay still, Hannibal," said the Sergeant. "You've got some broken ribs and probably a concussion."

Trying to focus his eyes through the fog in his head, Hannibal tried to look around BA's bulk. He could tell that they were in a small bamboo cage, with several members of the team. How had they gotten here? Murdock and Face were across the cage looking over a couple of the other soldiers. Hearing BA, Face turned around and crossed over to where Hannibal lay.

He already knew what Face was going to say, but Hannibal didn't stop the kid. He just stared into those blue eyes and took in Face's calm, composed look as the kid talked. "Hannibal, we're in a VC prison camp. Eight of us. You've had a bad bump on the head. Try to lie still. Everything is under control."

"There were ten men on the team," Hannibal answered. "Eleven with Murdock. Where are the others?"

"Jefferson and Solomon were killed in the crash," he answered slowly. "They were on the right side of the chopper when it went down."

Where I would have been, Hannibal thought.

"O'Connor was slowing us down," Face continued. "So the VC shot him."

Hannibal could tell that this was bothering the kid more than anything else.

"Hannibal, please get some rest. I'll fill you in more after you sleep."

Hannibal turned to BA. "If they shot O'Connor for slowing the team, why am I still here? I was unconscious."

BA patted Hannibal on the arm. "Face wouldn't let them shoot you. He stopped the first VC from doing it. Then a VC officer showed up and saw that leaf on your fatigues. You still might not have made it, but Face and I carried you for at least four clicks. We tried to carry O'Connor as well, but Charlie didn't care about a private as much as a colonel."

Hannibal took a deep breath. The kid had saved him twice in the same day.

"BA, help me sit up. That's an order."

Sitting up, Hannibal was able to get a better look at the men in the cage. For the first time, he saw that Face's right wrist was bent back at a grotesque angle. Remembering the kid's cry, he realized it must have broken in the crash. That's why Hannibal had gone sailing through the chopper. The soldier Murdock and Face were assisting, Ramirez, didn't look too good. Some of the others looked scared, but nobody seemed panicked. Hannibal thought that the kid had done good controlling things while he was out.

"Lieutenant, come over here."

Face turned back in Hannibal's direction and crossed back across the cage. "Hannibal," he said. "You really need to rest. We need you to take command."

"How's Ramirez?" Hannibal asked, knowing the answer when Face shifted uncomfortably. He obviously didn't want to say anything that the others might hear. "Okay," Hannibal continued. "I have a pretty good idea." Changing subjects, he said, "Listen to me, son. This is going to be bad. Charlie is going to want info from us and . . . they're going to try to find our weak link. I know its not what you want to hear, but . ."

Face cut Hannibal off. "You don't have to tell me, Colonel. It's okay. We'll get through it okay. Don't worry about me. Just get some rest."

As Face moved away across the room, Hannibal nearly cried at the helplessness he felt. The kid had saved his life but there was nothing he could do in return. He suddenly realized that he had called Peck "son," something Hannibal had never done before. And it dawned on Hannibal that, sometime in the last few months, he had begun to think of the young lieutenant as exactly that.

_____________________________________________________________________

As he stood on the sidewalk watching the General drive away, Hannibal thought about the POW camp. Mainly, he thought, why couldn't Peck have died over there?

_____________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 5

Hannibal made it home, but he wasn't ready to sleep. He had tried to look over some papers after meeting with General Roberts, but couldn't escape the memories that flitted through his brain. Finally giving up the fight, Hannibal walked outside and took a seat on the steps of his small bungalow at Fort Bragg and stared at the moon rising over the base. The full moon reminded him of another night, a night when he had made a promise to the kid he thought of as a son. A night before the betrayal.
_____________________________________________________________________

The camp was bad for Face. Emotionally, he struggled with Ramirez's death the day after they arrived. Face faulting himself for not saving the soldier, just like he had failed O'Connor on the unit's forced march. Hannibal had known the young lieutenant was religious, but Face took it particularly hard that the two soldiers, both Catholics like Face, had died without receiving Last Rites.

Physically, things were even worse. Their captors had taken special delight in torturing the officers, but Face was receiving the worst of it. After the first few days, the VC began to ease up on Hannibal and Murdock. The VC Captain running the place knew Hannibal wouldn't break and Murdock seemed to have finally slipped over the edge of that crevice that he had always been close to. Now, Murdock was huddled in a corner having a conversation with a cockroach, with the rest of the men giving him as much space as possible.

Face had been gone for more than ten hours.

It wasn't the fact that they knew Face was being beaten that worried the men. For the past two weeks, the VC had removed the young lieutenant on an almost daily basis. They returned him hours later, battered and bruised, usually with blood running freely down his body. But they had never taken him for this long.

As Hannibal sat, he wondered at the silence coming from inside the buildings. Whenever one of the men was taken, they could usually hear screams while the abuse took place. Or at least until the prisoner lost consciousness. But Hannibal had never heard Face scream while he was gone. The colonel silently wished the kid would let out a scream. At least then, he would know that Face was still alive.

BA crawled over to where Hannibal sat watching the interrogation center. BA whispered, "Come on Hannibal, there's nothing you can do right now. You're gettin' some of the guys nervous. We need to figure a way out of here and what we're gonna do with that crazy fool pilot."

Just as Hannibal started to respond, the screams erupted from the building. Even though Hannibal had heard plenty of torture sessions, these were the worst he'd ever heard -- as if they had been torn out of someone's soul. He suddenly was ashamed of his prior wish. He knew that, for the kid to cry out like that, something beyond terrible must be happening.

The sounds coming from the building made everyone in the cage jump. Hannibal looked at his team and saw, for the first time, wide-eyed panic among some of the men. Even BA looked shocked as he whispered to himself, "Come on, li'l bro. Hold on."

Knowing he had to act, Hannibal tried to compose himself. It was nearly impossible as the shrieks continued. Numbly, he said quietly, but loud enough for everyone in the cage to hear, "Men, you've got to stay calm. Face is brave and strong. He'll come through this." Hannibal didn't fully believe himself, but he continued. "He wouldn't want you to be afraid. I know it's hard to listen to, but you have to control yourselves and pretend everything's okay. If they see that this is affecting us, they'll keep it up."

Trying -- unsuccessfully -- to shut out the sounds coming from the building, Hannibal sat back down and closed his eyes. Mercifully, after about half an hour, the sounds died down. Then, everything was silent. This time, Hannibal stopped himself from making any silent wishes.

After what seemed like hours more, the door opened and two VC soldiers dragged a figure through the doorway towards the cage. In the dim light streaming from the building, Hannibal could recognize the slight build and the blond hair. But he could not tell if the kid was alive or dead.

Suppressing the sense of doom welling up in his chest, Hannibal reminded himself, "If Face was dead, they wouldn't be bringing him back here."

As the VC approached, Hannibal ordered everyone away from the door. But, when the door opened and he saw Face fully for the first time, he confirmed that the kid was still alive. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he couldn't stop himself from asking whether that was a good thing. Forcing the thought from his mind, Hannibal knelt down to inspect Face.

Both of the kid's eyes were nearly swollen shut and it looked like his right cheek was broken. His prison uniform in tatters, whip marks criss-crossed the kid's back, chest and legs. Blood flowed freely from dozens of wounds. Bruises, probably from caning, showed across his ribs, arms and legs. The right wrist, already broken in the crash, was even worse. Face's hand had been bent back almost completely against the back of his forearm. From the tortured way Face was gasping for breath, Hannibal was reasonably sure that the cane had also cracked a couple of ribs.

But deep inside, Hannibal knew that this beating was not what had caused the young lieutenant's screams. Leaning over the lieutenant, Hannibal saw what he had hoped he wouldn't. The back of the kid's pants were covered with blood. Hannibal knew Face had been violated in the worst way the kid could possibly have imagined.

"Do you think they . . ." BA started to ask in a whisper.

"Quiet Sergeant. Don't even ask." Hannibal knew BA already knew the answer to his own question, but he didn't want anyone in the cage to hear their worst fears confirmed. "Help me bring Face over here."

As they carefully moved the lieutenant into a corner and laid him on his back, Face moaned.

"Hang in there kid. We've got you." Hannibal hoped no one could hear his voice breaking.

"H'nbl?" asked the broken figure.

"Shh. Quiet Face. Don't try to talk." Hannibal could feel the despair rising.

The kid's eyes slightly opened. Even through the swelling, Hannibal could see the clear blue in them. But the eyes had no life in them. They stared unfocussed into space.

"Please, Han'bl," the kid whispered. "G-.God, Hannibal . . ."

Hannibal looked into the kid's eyes, which had started to come into focus. "Shh, son. You need to rest. You'll get through this."

"B-but, it. . . it won't make a diff'rence. I'm g-gonna go to Hell. . ." The quiet voice trailed off.

"Don't think about it son."

"I-I c-can't. . .The-there's no hope f-for me. . ."

"Face, there's always hope. You have to believe that."

"Oh God, Hannibal. . . How? . . .Hannibal . . . P-please Hannibal, p-please forgive me. . ."

Hannibal saw that Face's eyes now shone with a look of panic and his body was trembling. Hannibal fought back the anger and forced himself to speak quietly so no one else could hear. As sternly as he could, he said, "Son, what happened in there was a sin, but it wasn't your sin. God will understand."

"No . . . You don't understand. . . Forgive me, please, f-forgive me." Face's voice grew more insistent.

"Okay. Okay. I forgive you. You've done nothing wrong, but if that's what you need to hear, you're forgiven." He paused and put an arm on the young man's shoulder. "Son, you're a good man and, when your time comes, God is going to welcome you."

Face had turned his head and was looking into the distance, but Hannibal could tell that the kid was starting to calm. After a minute of considering what Hannibal had said, Face stared back up at him. "S-sir, you're a good liar. I c-could probably learn a few things from you."

Hannibal tried to force a smile at this feeble attempt at humor, but he couldn't stop the despair he felt inside. He leaned over and pulled the kid into his arms. He began rocking Face like a mother would rock a sleeping child. "Come on, son. We need you here. You can't give up."

As he rocked Face, he looked down and saw those blue eyes looking up directly into his. Hannibal could tell what the kid was thinking. No one had ever held him like this before. The thought nearly made Hannibal's heart break. That and the fact that the kid had now closed his and was rapidly mumbling Hail Marys under his breath.

Holding the tortured figure in his arms, Hannibal looked out of the cage and growled, "I'm going to kill the guards that did this to you."

He was startled when the trembling figure jolted in his arms and begged, "P-please, d-don't do that. P-please Hannibal."

Hannibal looked down again directly into those blue eyes. This time he saw a serious, determined fire in the kid's eyes.

"P-please d-don't kill them for what they did to me. They w-were b-b-barely older than me. They had . . . orders." Hannibal could see Face struggling for words. "P-please, Hannibal. D-don't shed their blood on my account . . .Y-you're better than that. . . better than me. . . I may be condemned to Hell, but you're not a k-killer."

"That's not true, kid. You've seen me kill people."

"In. . .in b-battle, yes. But not in c-cold blood. I c-couldn't live with that. I-I'm not worth it. Please Hannibal," he whispered. "You have to for. . . forgive them."

"I don't think I can do that, Face. I'm not in a forgiving mood."

"Y-you have to, Hannibal. It's what separates us from beasts. W-we c-can forgive those that hurt us the most. . ." Face's voice trailed off as he lost his battle with consciousness.

Hannibal couldn't respond. His mind raced. How? He thought. How, when all Hannibal wanted to do was hunt down the bastards that had brutalized the kid, how could Face think of forgiveness? Stunned, he looked down with wonder at the barely recognizable features of the young lieutenant. Silently, he gently rocked him in his arms staring out the bars into the night.

After what seemed like hours, Hannibal felt a stir and he heard a barely audible whisper.

"Yeah, kid."

"I need you to promise me something."

Hannibal hesitated. He didn't want to make a promise to a dying boy that he couldn't keep, but he didn't want to refuse what he thought might be the kid's last request.

"Go ahead, son, ask me and I'll see."

"Don't let me die alone."

With that, Face's body went limp as he lost consciousness again. Making sure the kid was still breathing, Hannibal continued to hold the young lieutenant close to him. Hannibal looked out the bars at the moon shining over the camp.

"I promise, son."
_____________________________________________________________________

Sitting on the porch steps, Hannibal realized that he was looking at the same moon that he had looked at that night. The brightness seemed to be mocking him, accusing him of breaking a promise he had made a few years earlier to a kid he thought was dying.

Hannibal sunk his head into his hands. It wasn't my fault, he thought. It was Peck's. Peck destroyed things, not me.

_____________________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 6

Looking down from the mocking moon, Hannibal saw that it was 2000. He knew he wasn't going to get any sleep that night, so he decided to walk over to the Officers Club. Maybe I can get a drink, he thought, so I can forget about Peck, at least for the night.

Entering the club, however, Hannibal knew he had made a mistake. A loud crown of young officers were getting drunk and making up stories about their exploits in Nam. Fighting the urge to really tell them how things had been, Hannibal crossed to the end of the bar and ordered a beer from Sal.

"Can you believe those stories they're telling over there, Colonel?"

Hannibal forced himself to grin at the barkeep. "They're just kids, Sal. They don't know better. They really have no clue what things were like."

"I know. It just ticks me off that's all. Most of them, if they were even there, were paper pushers for the rear-guard. If they ever had to stare down a VC attack, they'd probably have shit their pants and tried to run home to mommy. They have no clue what real bravery is."

Hannibal sighed. It was true. Those drunken officers had no clue about real bravery, but Hannibal did. Hannibal had seen it. He'd seen it in the camps.
_____________________________________________________________________

When Hannibal woke the next day in the cage, Face was no longer lying in his arms. With a start, he jumped up. "No," his mind screamed. "Face couldn't take anymore. They couldn't have taken him again."

Then he saw the kid across the cage. Nearly unrecognizable, Face was sitting, talking with Murdock. Like a protective older brother, Face had an arm around the pilot and was telling him that everything was all right. Somehow, the kid managed to sound convincing, even though his own dried blood, bruises and broken bones were betraying everything he was saying.

"He's been talkin' to that crazy fool for the past hour," Hannibal heard BA say quietly. "I tried ta keep Face down, but he insisted. Already talked with ev'ryone else."

Hannibal could see that the other soldiers were watching Face. Hannibal knew that, despite the tortures the kid had suffered, Face had used what little strength he had left to try to calm the panic rising in the cage. As Hannibal watched him talk to Murdock, the kid looked up. Christ, he looked like hell. He had no right to even be alive, much less moving. Then, in the most shocking thing of all, the kid's face broke into that wide grin. He smiled at Murdock, who actually seemed to grin back. Hannibal saw Face whisper something to Murdock, who looked up at Hannibal and waved. Forcing himself to respond, Hannibal waved back.
_____________________________________________________________________

As he sat in the bar, Hannibal realized that he would never forget that image. It was etched in his skill and, no matter how hard he tried to forget things, he would never be able to forget Peck, bruised and battered, getting that crazy pilot to wave. He suddenly wished that it was the last image he had of Peck, that he suddenly he could forget everything that happened after that.

Draining his beer, Hannibal called for another one. Taking a deep swig from the bottle, Hannibal barely fought as the next memories came flooding back.
_____________________________________________________________________

Somehow they had managed to persevere and then escape from the VC camp. Ramirez had died inside, but he was the only one. Although Hannibal received most of the credit for saving the remaining men in his unit, he knew the truth. If it hadn't been for Face, none of them would have gotten out of there. It was the young lieutenant, who Hannibal still suspected was in his teens, that had been able to keep them alive. The kid would tell jokes and stories, pray with some of the enlisted men, and spend hours sitting with his arm around Murdock. Face would even give treats to the invisible dog that Murdock believed was sharing the cage with them. He kept that grin plastered on his face, even though Hannibal knew it was more for show than anything else.

For it was Hannibal who saw the aftermath of the beatings. He refused to let anyone, other than BA, take care of Face when the VC dumped him back in the cage after a nightly session. It was the only time in the entire ordeal, maybe in his entire life, that Hannibal allowed his emotions to control him. In his head, he knew it was wrong to let himself show their captors how attached he was to Face, but he could not stop the pain that wracked his heart each time they tossed Face's unconscious body into the cage. So every night it was Hannibal who rocked the kid in his arms just as had the night he made his promise. Every night Hannibal swore, if that was the night Face finally gave in to the abuse, he was not going to die alone.

But miraculously, the kid did not die and had even been able to marshal the strength to help carry a wounded soldier out of the camp to the helicopter that Murdock had commandeered. In fact, Hannibal thought, they would never have been able to fly out of there if Face hadn't kept Murdock close enough to reality.

So sitting there in Hawaii, where the team had been recuperating for the last three weeks, Hannibal looked at the paperwork in front of him. They were Face's discharge papers. The idea of sending Face home tore at Hannibal, because he really felt he was losing a son. But Hannibal also knew that, even as Face recovered from his physical wounds, the emotional wounds would require a much longer recovery.

Hannibal also figured that Face would have a better chance of surviving in the real world after his exploits in Nam. He'd recommended the kid for a well-deserved Medal of Honor and figured, with that, Face's opportunities would be unlimited.

The thought cheered him as he left his room and headed to Face's.

Looking through the window of the room and saw Face talking with the priest. They had spent hours together since Father Magill had arrived in Hawaii. Hannibal thought the priest was a good man, but he could always felt a sense of suspicion from the old cleric. Hannibal just chalked it up to jealousy. Before Face had joined the army, Father Magill had been the closest thing to family in Face's life. Now the kid had brothers in BA and Murdock -- and he had a father in Hannibal.

As he peered through the window, Hannibal was surprised by the look in the kid's face. It was that look of stubborn refusal. The kid was vigorously shaking his head at something the priest was saying. Catching a glimpse of Hannibal in the window, Face grabbed the priest's hand and let a soft smile flit across his face as Hannibal entered.

"Hey, kid. How you feeling today?"

"I'm fine, Hannibal. Ready to get back to work."

Hannibal could tell it was going to be hard to break the news to the kid. Uncomfortably, he shifted and then said, "I'm not sure how to tell you this, but I'm going to be direct. You're not going back to work. You're going home, kid."

Stunned, Face flashed a quick look at the priest and then looked back at Hannibal. For the first time since Face had begged for forgiveness in the cage, Hannibal thought he detected a note of panic in them.

"Please Hannibal, don't let them do that. Please don't let them send me away."

"Face, I don't make the rules. Look, it's not going to be so bad. You're a war hero now. You've saved countless lives." He squatted in front of where the kid was sitting and patted Face's arm. "I've never been prouder of anyone than I am of you, son. And if this is the way things have to be, now is as good a time for you to go home."

Hannibal could see the anger rising in the kid, but he didn't expect the torrent of rage that flooded forth.

"HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME!" Face screamed. "HOW CAN YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE, ABANDON ME!"

Stunned by the outburst, Hannibal watched Face get out of his chair and slowly cross the room. He saw Face struggling to regain his composure. Quietly, Face continued, "Please Hannibal. You promised you would stay with me."

Walking over to Face, Hannibal put his arm on the young man's shoulders. "Face, I promised you that I wouldn't let you die alone."

"It's the same thing, Hannibal. If you send me back, I'll be all alone again . . . and that . . . that would kill me. P-please don't make me go."

Hannibal looked down at the face of the son he loved so much. He knew there was no way he could refuse the kid's pleas. Looking across the room at the priest's disapproving looks, Hannibal patted Face's head and said "I'll see what I can do, son. I'll see what I can do."
_____________________________________________________________________

Looking across the bar at a mirror on the wall, Hannibal stared at himself. "Why?" he muttered bitterly. "Why couldn't I have stood firm. At least then, I never would have known the truth."

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CHAPTER 7

"Hey Pops."

Hannibal snapped his head up from his beer. It took him a second to realize that one of the drunken young officers in the bar had called out to him across the room.

"Hey Pops. You deaf? We asked you if you did anything useful in Nam."

Hannibal turned slowly and silently glared at the stupid kids across the room. When they saw him, they fell silent. He heard the whispers. "That's Hannibal Smith." "Heads Special Forces." "Bank of Hanoi."

Yeah, they all knew him. Knew what he and his A-Team had done in Nam. And, of course, they knew about Peck. They all knew what Peck had done.

Without answering, Hannibal stood up, left the bar and headed home.
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Hannibal couldn't understand the charges against him and the team. Peck and Baracus had sat next to him through several meetings with various investigators. Now they were meeting with their attorney, a young, spineless JAG officer who was trying to convince them to plead guilty.

"I understand that you believe you were given commands to rob the Bank of Hanoi, but there is no paperwork. Your commanding officer is dead. There is no way to prove your orders."

God, lawyers annoyed Hannibal. Tuning the JAG officer out, he looked at Face, sitting next to him. The kid looked uneasy. Hannibal hadn't seen that panicked look in his eyes since that day in Hawaii when he begged Hannibal not to send him home. The kid had succeeded in convincing Hannibal to fight the army tooth and nail over that one, and Hannibal had prevailed. Only now, Hannibal wished he hadn't relented. At the moment, he regretted that decision more than any in his life. If Face had left the army, he might have had a future as a war hero and recipient of the Medal of Honor. Certainly, even if they got off after this little fiasco, there were no Medals of Honor in their future. And Hannibal doubted they would be getting off.

Yes, he thought, Face looked panicked. And that sense of panic had been growing steadily through the interrogations and meetings with their attorneys.

BA spoke up angrily, "If those orders show, they'll clear us. Some general signed them. Right, Face."

Face, startled out of his thoughts, looked up at BA. Remembering BA's question, he said quietly, "Yeah. They were signed by General Davis, I think."

Hannibal nodded, ruefully. "Yeah, Face. They were. And then Morrison confirmed them when he signed in front of me."

"Don't you see," said the JAG officer. "General Davis denies ever signing orders to rob the bank. It's your word against his."

Hannibal did see. They'd been hung out to dry. Looking at Face, Hannibal thought, the kid must know it too. Face had his eyes closed, just like he did when he was trying to come up with a particularly difficult scam.

"So what kind of sentence are we looking at? I mean, if we're convicted," Hannibal asked.

The lawyer answered, "Twenty to thirty years. But if you plead guilty, we could probably get you ten to fifteen."

Hannibal sat back and lit up a cigar. How the hell are we going to get out of this. BA and he could probably take a prison sentence. But Face? There was no way in hell he could survive.

Looking again at the young lieutenant, Hannibal was surprised to see that Face had opened his eyes. There was an anguished look in the kid's face. "Hey son," Hannibal said. "It's not over."

Face dropped his head and stared at the table. He muttered, "It's not supposed to happen this way. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. There has to be a way out of this . . ."

"Come on kid, you know as well as me that those orders aren't going to turn up. We'd better start facing facts." Even though Hannibal couldn't see the kid's face, he could almost see the gears spinning in Face's head. Uh, oh, Hannibal thought. The kid was about to try something.

Suddenly, Face threw back his head, stood up and pounded his hands on the table. "DAMN IT!!!" he exclaimed. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this! You two," he pointed at BA and Hannibal, "weren't supposed to be involved. It was a perfect plan."

"Wha' you talkin' bout fool?"

Face ignored BA's question and turned and looked Hannibal in the eye. Fixing Hannibal in his gaze, a sardonic grin crossed his face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity locked in that gaze, the kid spoke.

"I'm sorry, Hannibal. You shouldn't be here. I'm going to confess.

"I forged the orders."

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CHAPTER 8

Back at his bungalow, Hannibal decided to sit again on his front steps. Since he couldn't fight the memories that were playing out through his head, he figured that he would just sit here until the sun rose and it was time to return to his office.
_____________________________________________________________________

"What are you saying, Lieutenant? What do you mean you're going to confess?"

"Yeah, why you actin' all crazy-like, you fool. You're remindin' me of that crazy fool Murdock."

Face backed away from the table and crossed the room. He turned to the lawyer and said, "Would you please tell Colonel Decker that I am ready to confess. But," he added quietly, "tell him that Colonel Smith and Sergeant Baracus didn't know anything." The lawyer, slightly ashen, quickly left the room.

"Face," Hannibal said trying to reason with the kid. "I know what you're trying to do. You're going to give yourself up to save us. You can't. I won't let you. You barely survived the prison camps. You won't survive two years, let alone ten, in a military prison."

Face slouched and dropped his head so he was looking down at his shoes. "Hannibal, you don't understand. It's not what you think."

Hannibal walked up to the kid and put his arm on Face's shoulder. He could still see the gears whirring in the kid's head. Hannibal knew the kid was trying to figure out what to say. "Face, it's exactly what I think. You think that since you've always been told you're worthless, you'll sacrifice yourself while BA and I go free. But that's not how its going to be. The three of us are a team kid. We stick together. We're not going to be like all those other people who abandoned you."

A fire leaped into Face then. He pushed Hannibal away and began yelling.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, YOU OLD FOOL!!! NONE OF THAT WAS TRUE!!!"

Face lowered his voice as he continued. "There was no orphanage. My parents are alive. Don't you understand? IT'S ALL BEEN A LIE!"

His paused then, before continuing with a quivering voice. "D-damn it Hannibal. Why couldn't you have been like they told me? It would have been so easy. But you were so protective that I had to begin liking you."

"What are you talking about, kid?"

"It was all a set up. . .They needed to give you a project."

"What? Who? Why?" Hannibal was confused, a million questions spinning in his head.

"Haven't you figured it out, Colonel." That look of anguish returned to the kid's face and he turned around so he was facing a wall and did not have to look Hannibal in the eye. "I'm CIA, Hannibal. At least, I was until I refused my last order. I just couldn't do it, Hannibal."

Hannibal stood staring at Face in the interrogation room, unable to believe what the kid had just said. The kid a spook. Hannibal could not believe it.

"Come on kid. This is one of your cons. You're not going to scam me and BA like that. Besides, I don't believe for a second that you're a spook."

"Hannibal, its true," Face insisted. Hannibal still couldn't see the kid's face, since his back was turned. "I was assigned to infiltrate your unit. Initially, I didn't know the full plan. They figured that you would never take a pristine soldier, so they told me to be a screw-up, someone that only Colonel Hannibal Smith would find redeeming. Only I played the part too well. You became like a father to me. . .

"You figured the VC beat me because I was the most vulnerable one. But it wasn't true. They knew I was CIA and were trying to get information out of me. That's why, even though I wouldn't tell them anything, they kept at it. But it was you, Hannibal, you kept me alive in the camps. That's why . . .Oh, God. . . Forgive me when I tell you. . ."

"Tell me what, Face?"

"I couldn't do it. When they ordered me . . . I couldn't kill you."

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CHAPTER 9

"Turn around, Lieutenant and look me in the eye." In response to Hannibal's grim order, Face turned and face his commander. Hannibal no longer saw any anguish in the younger man's face. He could detect some pain in the blue eyes, but the lieutenant's face was set in a mask of strong determination. Hannibal felt his blood run cold as the realization set in. For the first time, he began to have some doubts.

"When did you get that order, kid?" Hannibal asked, trying to keep his voice soft.

"Before we were captured . . . I got the orders just before we flew out . . . I was told to find someplace quiet, away from the unit. . .Make it look like an ambush . . . But then we got taken to the camps . . . and after what happened, I couldn't do it. . . I couldn't kill you."

Face stopped talking and a strange expression crossed his face. He was looking at Hannibal, but it felt like Face was looking through him at something distant. That faraway look made Hannibal shudder. It made him think that the younger man was seeing the past.

"It was almost funny," Face continued. "If I'd let you fall out of the chopper, it would have probably done the job. I was just afraid that I wouldn't be able to confirm it. Then the VC put us in that cage, and you kept telling me there was hope . . . After that, I just couldn't do it. . .Told them I wouldn't do it."

Hannibal's head started to spin as he remembered the cage and how Face had begged for forgiveness. Hannibal felt a chill creeping up his spine. No, it couldn't be possible.

"Face, when did you refuse the order?"

"In Hawaii after we escaped from the camps," he replied. "My contact came to see me several times."

"Was it the priest?" Hannibal was surprised by his own question. How could he so quickly begin accepting Face's story?

He could see that the kid also was surprised by the question. But was he surprised by Hannibal's seeming acceptance? Or surprised that Hannibal had remembered the priest? The surprise quickly passed, and Face just nodded.

"He told me that I had orders to kill you. But after what you'd done for me in the camps, I couldn't do it. He said they would hunt me down if I refused, but I figured I could go back to Nam. Maybe I'd get killed there. At least, I figured I could protect your back for a while."

Hannibal's mind was reeling. It couldn't be true. But so much of it made sense. He recalled Face in Hawaii and how he had begged not to be sent home. Even the attitude of the priest fit. It suddenly dawned on him that, from the very start not much more than a year earlier, Face had been almost too perfect. The kid's entire history. The conflict with Decker. The infirmary confession. A screwed-up kid, who'd never gotten a chance in his life, smart as hell and brave beyond his supposed years. Face was the perfect plant. Anyone who knew Hannibal would have seen it.

No, Hannibal thought. It was the perfect plant if Face truly was a plant. And Hannibal couldn't believe that yet. He had seen the other side of Face -- the kid who prayed at night, the kid who needed to be rocked to sleep in the prison camp, the kid who insisted on forgiving the men who'd ripped out his soul. Hannibal didn't believe it, couldn't believe it. The kid was a genius at making things up, an almost-perfect con man. And Hannibal had to believe Face was making this up. Hannibal could not think of what he would do if it were true.

"I know you're fighting it, Hannibal," an anguished Face said looking Hannibal directly in the eyes. "But you have to face facts. I'm not who you thought I was."

Hannibal stared straight into Face's clear blue eyes. Ever since he had known the young lieutenant, Hannibal had been able to look into those eyes and strip away the younger man's masks. He had always been able to tell what was going on in that head. But, here, for the first time as he looked into those eyes, Hannibal couldn't tell what Face was thinking. For the first time he thought, maybe Face was telling the truth. Maybe, since the very beginning, Face had only let Hannibal see what Face wanted him to see. Maybe . . .

"What does this have to do with the Bank, sucka?"

Hannibal jumped at the voice. He had forgotten that BA was in the room. Turning towards the sergeant, Hannibal was suddenly afraid. He had never seen BA so angry.

Face looked at BA thoughtfully. Turning back to Hannibal, Face calmly said, "Hannibal, why don't you sit down next to BA so I can explain this to you both. You need to understand that I never thought you'd get caught up in this."

Numbly, Hannibal crossed the room and sat down. Although he didn't want to hear another word and was still trying to process what Face had already said, the colonel began to listen.

"When they cut me loose, I realized the war would probably end soon. I knew that if I returned to the States, the CIA would track me down. I figured that I should be prepared and for that, I needed money. Robbing the Bank of Hanoi was a perfect way to get it. It would look like part of the war effort and no one would know the truth."

Hannibal groaned. The story was making some sense and sounding believable. General Davis' orders would never be questioned. Morrison would sign off on them immediately. Hannibal figured he needed to find some flaws in Face's story before he could tell it Decker, who would buy it hook, line and sinker. The best way to do that would be to start making the kid answer some questions and catch him in a lie.

"You forged the orders, Face?"

Sheepishly, he responded. "Yes, Hannibal. I figured that the North Vietnamese would never spot us. We'd be out quietly, before they knew what happened. Even if they spotted us, I thought the North Vietnamese would be too embarrassed to complain about American soldiers robbing the Bank of Hanoi. That or the army would consider us heroes. Obviously, I was wrong."

"What was supposed to happen to the money?" Let's see if the kid has an answer to this.

"Morrison had orders from Davis to send the money to two numbered Swiss bank accounts?"

Hannibal, still trying to find a hole in Face's story, kept pushing. "What were the numbers, Face?"

Without a blink, Face answered. "378-599-732-1 and 455-001-255-2."

Still unsure whether to believe the whole story, Hannibal thought, if Face was making this up, he was doing a very convincing job. But before he could test the lieutenant with another question, Hannibal found himself being pulled out of the room, BA by his side. As the MPs pulled him down the hall, Hannibal found himself face to face with Decker. The prick had a smile a mile wide.

"I've got your boy, Smith. I told you he wasn't worth the trouble. He's a liar and a cheat, everything I told you he was."

But Hannibal still couldn't believe it. It couldn't be true.

_____________________________________________________________________

Two years later, in his office at Fort Bragg, though, Hannibal knew that had only been wishful thinking.

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CHAPTER 10

Having showered and changed into a fresh uniform, Hannibal entered his office and glanced at some new paperwork. He tried to keep his mind focused on his work, but his eyes kept seeing the words from the teletype. Peck was dead and Hannibal needed to know more.

Picking up his telephone, he asked his aide to put him through to the US Disciplinary Barracks at Leavenworth. Maybe someone would tell himself something to understand what had happened.

He knew Peck deserved his fate. After all, with what he'd done, Hannibal had been ready to kill the kid himself.
_____________________________________________________________________

Two days after Face's confession, Hannibal found himself back in the interrogation room, staring across the table at Decker. He and BA hadn't seen Face since they'd been pulled out of the room; because of a possible conflict of interest, they had been given a new lawyer who kept telling them the evidence against Face was overwhelming. Hannibal hated not knowing what was happening. He wanted to find Face, to talk some sense into him. The more he thought about it, the more he knew the kid was making the story up. Hannibal figured that if he could talk to Face, maybe he could stop the kid from making the biggest mistake of his life.

"I need to see Face," Hannibal told Decker.

"That's not possible, Smith," said Decker. "You see, Templeton Peck has been telling me a very interesting story."

"It's not true, Decker," Hannibal hissed.

"Actually," Decker paused, "it's all quite true. Obviously the CIA wouldn't give me everything, but I did manage to get my hands on a few pages from Peck's dossier. It all checks out."

Hannibal's blood chilled. "NO!" his mind screamed. Forcing the rising panic out of his head, Hannibal tried to stay calm and asked, "Can I see that."

Decker handed Hannibal a folder. Inside was a picture of Face in a football uniform and a couple pages, mostly biographical. Templeton Arthur Peck. Twenty-two years old, but able to pass for much younger. Raised in California. Two parents. Father: a police officer. Mother: a teacher. Graduated with honors from a top high school at 16. The rest of it suggested a young man with an everyday normal childhood. As he looked the documents over, Hannibal couldn't help but wonder where Face's parents had been when their son was recovering from near-fatal wounds.

Decker spoke, "Recruited into the CIA two years ago. From what I've heard, he was a good operative with a bright future ahead of him. But, supposedly, they had him infiltrate Special Forces and everything fell apart."

"Why?" asked Hannibal. "Did you find out what his assignment was?"

"They wouldn't say," Decker replied. "Something about national security. But see here, it says here that he was let go for unspecified reasons. My contacts wouldn't tell me more. They only said they cut him loose a few months ago. I would have figure that the POW camp probably messed Peck up so badly that he was too much of a risk." Noting Hannibal's surprise, Decker nodded, "I've read the medical reports. I know what happened there. Peck probably cracked after all those beatings and the rapes. If he refused his assignment, that would have proved it. I can understand why the spooks wanted to get rid of him."

"I don't believe the CIA would want to kill me."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Sure it seems kind of farfetched, but you've made plenty of enemies in your time, Smith. Think about it. You ignore the rules and don't follow orders, but you can take men who have no business in the military and make them willing to die for you. That's a dangerous man. Someone might have feared what would happen when the war ended. With the type of loyalty you muster, Smith, you could be one hell of a free agent."

"That's not my style, Decker, and you know it," Hannibal growled. "I'm a soldier in the US Army. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm loyal."

"Look Smith, I'm not questioning your loyalty. I'm just trying to see how the CIA might have seen it. You're enough of a threat that they told Peck to kill you."

"I still don't believe it," he said, though he saw some logic in what Decker was saying.

"You will, Smith," Decker said ominously. Turning around, he pulled a file from a satchel. Decker pulled some papers from the file and set them on top of the dossier. "This was found in your tent after your arrest."

Hannibal looked down at the piece of paper. It showed multiple sets of General Davis' signature. Hannibal shuddered as he looked at them. Somebody obviously had been practicing.

He flipped the paper over to see the other side and promptly dropped it on the table. It was a memo from General Davis to Colonel Morrison about supplies. Hannibal recalled how he and Face had met with Morrison in the colonel's office and reviewed that very memo. But that was impossible. Morrison's office had been destroyed in the shelling. None of his records had survived. The memo had no marks on it, which meant it must not have been in Morrison's office at the time of the shelling.

"We figured that Peck doctored the orders," Decker continued. "We just didn't think he did it without your command."

Again, Hannibal couldn't believe it. But there was the evidence. Directly in front of him.

"We also found this in the remains of Colonel Morrison's tent. Decker pulled a small piece of metal and put it on top of the papers. Hannibal picked it up and looked closely. It was a lockpick. No, he thought, not any lockpick. It was Face's lockpick, part of the set that the lieutenant carried with him always. Hannibal knew that Face was fastidious about his lockpicks; he always left them in his case. Looking closer, Hannibal saw that part of the lockpick was scorched.

"There is one last thing, Smith" Decker pulled out a single typewritten document from his folder. "Swiss bank account numbers that Peck told us how to locate."

Hannibal thought back to the numbers he had attempted to memorize when Face spit them out the other day. The document showed two accounts, 378-599-732-1 and 455-001-255-2, the same numbers that Face had recited without pause.

It suddenly hit Hannibal. Even Face, as good a con artist as he was, could not be that good. The dossier, the signatures, the memo, the lockpick and the numbers were overwhelming proof. Then Hannibal recalled what he had seen in Face's eyes when he had last seen the lieutenant and how Hannibal had suddenly been unable to read the younger man. The realization washed over him. Hannibal believed.

He was convinced.

"Smith," Decker said. "Come on. I may not like you, but I know you're a smart man. Think about it. The set up was perfect. Peck was tailor-made for you. He was a misfit, an abandoned outcast, but one with unlimited potential. Exactly your type. They knew how we selected soldiers. Mitchell and I would never have taken Peck."

Decker has stood up, crossed around the table and was now leaning over Hannibal's shoulder. "Think about it. Here comes this kid, barely twenty, a college dropout. But he's a Special Forces lieutenant, with the ability to gain the respect of seasoned soldiers in a matter of weeks. None of that made sense."

"This," he said, hammering his fist on the dossier, "makes sense."

Decker stood back for a second and leaned forward again. "Peck's going to go away for a long time. As much as I would love to take you down with him, this is not the right way. Don't let yourself go down, Smith. You can still do good. We can put you in charge of training, let you help other lost souls. Maybe you can save them like you thought you were saving Peck."

He couldn't hold out any longer. Decker was right. Peck had been perfect. Too good to be true. Cursing himself for being duped by the younger man, a man he had thought of as a son, Hannibal dropped his face into his arms and began to sob. He barely noticed when Decker left the room to give the Colonel some privacy.

"Damn it, Face," Hannibal cried. "How could you have done this?"
_____________________________________________________________________

Two years later, he still had no real answer.

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CHAPTER 11

In his office, Hannibal heard his aide over the intercom. "Putting you through to Leavenworth, sir."

Hannibal listened through the phone as it was picked up in Kansas.

"Fort Leavenworth. US Disciplinary Barracks. This is Captain Jacobs speaking."

"Captain," Hannibal said. "This is Colonel John Smith at Fort Bragg. I was calling because I would like to get some information about an inmate death."

"Sir," said the voice quietly. "I assume you are calling about Lieutenant Peck."

Damn, Hannibal thought, did everyone in the army know about his A-Team. "Yes, Captain," a tinge of exasperation crossing his voice. "I'm calling about Lieutenant Peck. I want to know how he died?"

"Yes sir." There was a pause on the other end. "Lieutenant Peck was stabbed by another inmate in the exercise yard. We don't know the exact circumstances, but we suspect that it was some sort of deal gone bad."

Hannibal suspected, but he asked anyway. "What kind of deal, Captain?"

The voice on the other end of the phone hesitated again, "Drugs, most likely. But I can't confirm that, sir. Peck was into all sorts of other scams and deals. Anyone of them could have gone bad. You probably know better than anyone that Peck was vermin."

Hannibal took a deep breath. He nearly hung up then, but he needed to ask one more question.

"Captain, was there anyone with Peck when he died?"

"I'm sorry sir. I don't understand the question?"

"Was there anyone, like a priest or a friend, with him when he died?"

The other end was silent for a moment. "I don't think so, sir. He didn't die instantly, but we had to clear the exercise yard before we could get to him. He was dead before we could bring him inside for medical assistance, sir. I don't think anyone was with him."

Hanging up the phone without even a thanks, Hannibal dropped his head into his hands and slumped to the desk. Peck had indeed died alone. Hannibal's last words to the man had come true.
_____________________________________________________________________

He and BA had seen Face only once more before they were freed. Decker said that Face wanted to see them alone, so he arranged for the three of them to meet in the interrogation room. BA and Hannibal were already inside when Face, his arms and legs shackled, was led into the room. The guards left them alone.

Hannibal couldn't look the kid in the eye. Seated at the table next to BA, he studied the knots in the wood without looking at his former lieutenant. Still, he needed answers.

"Why, Face? Why didn't you tell us this earlier. We could have helped protect you."

Face responded quietly, "I couldn't have risked your lives like that. The two of you and Murdock mean more to me than anyone."

Hannibal couldn't resist. "What about your parents?"

Face paused. "They don't matter. When I joined the Agency, I lied and told them I'd been drafted. Not long after that, they were told I'd been killed in action. To them, I'm already dead. Besides, even if they did found out the truth, they'd probably have nothing to do with me. It's difficult to find out your son is a traitor. . . Isn't it, Hannibal?"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" Hannibal couldn't hold back any longer as jumped up from the table and faced the younger man. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO CALL ME THAT!"

"Very well," Face said coolly. Hannibal could see pain in the kid's eyes, but no longer cared. If it hurt, tough. Face had paused before he continued, his voice without emotion. "Colonel . . . if that's what you would prefer. . . I only asked you here for one reason." He paused. "Please don't tell Murdock what's happened."

That surprised Hannibal. Face and Murdock had been best friends, but Hannibal figured that had all been part of the front. After the camps and before the Hanoi Bank mission, Face had spent a lot of time trying to keep the pilot in touch with reality. But that was the Face Hannibal had known in Vietnam Now that Murdock was in the psycho ward at a VA hospital, Hannibal couldn't really imagine this Face -- the one who'd betrayed them -- giving a damn about Murdock.

"Colonel, please. If Murdock finds out the truth, he'll lose it for good. I don't care about anything else, but for his sake . . ." The words trailed off.

"Okay. Murdock doesn't have to know," Hannibal said matter of factly. "But I need something from you in return."

Face lifted his head up and Hannibal once again stared into the bright blue eyes. They looked so lost. Hannibal continued.

"Tell me this, Face. Was any of it real?"

The kid hesitated and again began to study his shoes. "No, Colonel."

As Hannibal began to turn away, Face spoke again. "Wait! That's not true. What I said in the camps was real. My feelings for you and BA. That was real. You've been my family through all of this."

Hannibal saw BA launch himself out of the chair and grab Face around the neck. Before Hannibal could react, BA began punching the smaller man.

"HOW COULD YA DO THIS TO US, SUCKA!" BA screamed. "WE WERE YOUR FRIENDS. YOU WERE LIKE MY LI'L BRO. DAMN IT. I'M GONNA KILL YA, YA SONOFABITCH!"

The kid sank to his knees in the onslaught, not even attempting to protect himself.

"BA," Hannibal ordered. "Stop it right now."

Somehow, BA's training overcame his anger and he stopped pummeling Face. With a look of resignation on his face, Face looked up at BA. A trickle of blood ran down his bruised cheek and his lip was split. Through the bleeding mouth, he said, "Please, BA. Go ahead. Kill me. It's what I deserve."

"BA, go sit back down," Hannibal ordered. "Lieutenant, look at me." But Face simply dropped his head and stared at the ground. Looking at Face, the young man he had once thought of proudly as a son, Hannibal saw the man on his knees, shoulders slouched, not even willing to look at him. Any doubts he still entertained about Face's story after the past few days disappeared.

"Colonel, I'm sorry you got mixed up in this. I've done everything I can do to get you and BA exonerated. BA, I hope you make something good of your life. Colonel, I just want you to know that I love you. And no matter what, I always will."

Face paused and took a deep breath. "Please . . . Please forgive me."

"FUCK YOU, PECK!"

Hannibal realized that it was the first time since shortly after the lieutenant had joined his team that Hannibal had actually used Face's real name. Leaning over Peck kneeling on the ground, Hannibal could feel the niagara of anger coursing through his veins. He wanted to strangle Peck himself, but he wasn't going to. That would be letting his betrayer off too easily. Gritting his teeth, Hannibal spat.

"You once said that forgiving people made us different than animals. That we can forgive the people who hurt us most. Well I don't buy your idea of forgiveness.

"I will let you rot in hell before I forgive you, you son of a bitch."

He stopped and thought carefully before he spoke again.

"I also told you before that I don't think you'll last in prison and I still believe that. But I also once promised you that you wouldn't die alone."

Hannibal paused before continuing. Some MPs were entering the room, with Decker.

"I don't give a damn about that promise any more. I hope you die, you worthless piece of shit. I hope you die alone."
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At his desk in Fort Bragg, Hannibal thought about those last words he'd said to Peck. Everything he had said had come true. And sitting there, two years later, he didn't regret a single word.

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CHAPTER 12

A buzzing brought Hannibal back to Fort Bragg. He sighed as he thought about the past few years. Peck had gone to prison and Hannibal had tried to push the man out of his mind. BA had taken the first chance he could and returned to Chicago. Hannibal smiled ruefully at that. He had kind of hoped the sergeant would stick around. But he understood the big man's thinking. Who really wanted to work for an employer that was quick to send you away for something you didn't do? Hannibal also knew that BA was trying to forget the young lieutenant, the little brother who had betrayed them all.

Hannibal looked around the room. He knew exactly what BA had been thinking. Hannibal had had the same thoughts, but he'd been in the army since he was just a teenager and could not think what he would do without it. He certainly was not going to prove the CIA right and become a soldier of fortune. So even though he knew he was not going to be climbing the military ladder any more after letting himself be duped by Peck, Hannibal had taken the assignment at Fort Bragg.

He heard the buzzing again, suddenly realizing that it was his aide on the intercom.

"Yes."

"Colonel Smith, sir, there is someone here to see you."

"Who, soldier?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but he asked that he be allowed to announce himself."

"All right," Hannibal replied. He was tired after not getting any sleep the night before and he knew he looked like shit. He wasn't really for visitors. Particularly top brass.

He stood up from his chair to greet his visitor.

As the door opened, Hannibal was startled. Behind his aide was a priest. The same priest that had come to Hawaii to see Peck. No, not a priest, Hannibal reminded himself, a contact. In his hand was a large envelope. As Hannibal's aide closed the door, the "priest" spoke.

"Hello Colonel Smith. I don't know whether you remember me, but I'm Father Magill. We met once before in Hawaii."

"Stop," Hannibal replied curtly. "Cut the crap. Peck told me the truth about you. Why don't you tell me who your really are and why you're here? Are you going to finish what Peck couldn't finish? Why bother? It's not like I'm a threat to you here."

"Colonel. I'm sure that Templeton told you a lot of things before he went to prison. I can't fault you for believing him. Templeton was always very good at making people believe what he said. But who I am is not important right now, and, even if I wanted to tell you the truth, it's not for me to say. As for the why, Templeton is dead, and he asked that I come see you. He asked me to give you this."

The other man motioned to the envelope. Even from a distance, Hannibal could see Face's writing. The addressee was "Colonel John Hannibal' Smith."

The "priest" continued. "The last time I saw him, Templeton told me that he didn't know how much longer he could survive in prison. He told me that he'd said some things to you that he wanted to explain. He asked me to give this to you in case he died. He said it might answer some questions."

"What does it say, father'?" Hannibal asked, not even attempting to mask his sarcasm.

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't say. Templeton asked only that I serve as a messenger. He made me promise not to tell you anything. He felt that the answers to your questions had to come from him."

Hannibal felt the past two years of bitterness flowing to the surface. "Get out," he growled. "Whoever . . . No . . . Whatever you are, I want you out of here. Right. . . Now."

The other man studied Hannibal for a second before answering. "Very well, Colonel. If that is what you wish, I will leave. But I have a job to do and a promise to keep." With that, the "priest" dropped the letter on Hannibal's desk and turned towards the door. As he reached the doorway, he turned back. "Colonel. I don't know what's written in that letter -- and Templeton told me that you probably would refuse to read it -- but I know it would have meant a lot to Templeton if you read it."

Hannibal looked at the other man in anger. How could this man even ask Hannibal to do something for Peck, a man who had betrayed him -- hurt him -- at the deepest levels? Once again, Hannibal felt the fire burning in him, the anger rising, threatening to consume him. He gritted his teeth.

"Get out. . . Get out father.' Get out and don't come back."

Shaking his head, the "priest" left his office, leaving Hannibal with the letter, a message from the grave.

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CHAPTER 13

Two hours later, his fury unabated, Hannibal was still in his office. Other than sitting down, he had barely moved in that time. He held the unopened envelope in his hands. Although he contemplated doing exactly what Peck had predicted -- destroying it unopened -- Hannibal finally realized that he had to know the truth. He opened the envelope.

The first thing he saw was the photograph. It was of a boy of about ten. He was wearing what were obviously hand-me down clothes -- mismatched pants and sweater. He stood in front of a large sign that read "Sacred Hearts Orphanage." If ever there was poster child for orphans, Hannibal thought, this was the kid.

There was no mistaking the blue eyes, blonde hair and that grin. It was Face.

Stunned, Hannibal thought, if the photograph was true, the parents, the CIA -- the rest of the story -- had to be a lie.

But the doubts persisted. Two years after being convinced that the young lieutenant had betrayed him, Hannibal couldn't simply wash away what he had come to believe. What about the documents Decker had shown him -- the documents that convinced Hannibal of Face's guilt? Even if Face had made up the story, why had Decker gone along with it? Decker hated Hannibal the most. If he could have convicted Hannibal for the bank robbery, why was he content to take Face instead?

Moreover, even if the CIA story was a lie, the two sides of Hannibal's mind were at war. He knew Face had lied and he hated the lieutenant for that. But he didn't know the lie? Either Face had lied about his life in Nam, betraying their shared experiences there. Or he had lied about the bank robbery in the interrogation room, betraying any hope for the team. Either way, Hannibal was angry and bitter. He didn't know if he could ever let go of that anger.

Looking back into the envelope, Hannibal saw the letter. His hands trembling, he pulled out the pages and began to read:

Dear Colonel,

I wasn't sure if I should start my letter like that. I remember what you said last time I called you Hannibal. But there's so much to say and I'm not sure how to say it. I'm afraid if I call you Hannibal, you'll toss this letter away and I'll never really get to say what I need.

Shit, I'm losing focus. It's just I'm not sure how to say what I have to tell you. Usually when I write something, I'm pretending to be someone else. I guess I've forgotten how to be myself. Since I guess the direct route is best, let me get to the point.

It was the perfect con.

It had to be the perfect con if I was going to save your lives.

You see, Hannibal, when we were sitting in that room and the lawyer was telling us to plead guilty, I knew we weren't going to beat the rap. I wracked my brain thinking about what we could do? But I knew that even if we testified that we had orders, we'd only get a longer prison term. We were helpless.

So sitting there, I thought, if the army denied the orders existed, they'd probably been forged. And that made me think about who was the most likely forger in the group. I suddenly realized I could use my reputation to our advantage. Everyone knew I was a liar and cheat. Why not say that I had lied and cheated with the orders? That way you and BA could go home. I was going to prison anyway. There was no need for all of us to suffer.

I knew I could get everyone else to believe it. The only problem with my plan is that you never would. You would probably think about Templeton Peck, the young orphan, the kid who never got a break, the scared kid who prayed to God, who needed someone to hold him in the prison camp. You would fight for that kid even if it meant going down with me.

I knew then that I had to convince you that the kid didn't exist. I had to make you believe that Templeton Peck's entire life was a lie. So I came up with the CIA. I would never say it was a perfect story, but at least give me some credit. I was making it up as I went. You've got to admit, Hannibal, for a ridiculous story, it served its purpose. I got you to question my loyalty. To at least believe that maybe the liar and cheat who served your purposes in the A-Team might have been serving someone else's purposes all along. To think that the very reasons you cared for me and I cared for you were part of some elaborate plot.

But I knew that just telling you the story wouldn't convince you. There were too many holes in the story that might not check out. Like when you remembered the priest coming to see me in Hawaii. I figured that if you checked out Father Magill, you'd realize that I was making the whole thing up. The same with the account numbers. I knew you were testing me when you asked me, so I had to give you numbers that sounded like they came from memory. But you nearly caught me on that. When I tried to remember the numbers for Decker, I could barely remember them.

I know you are probably trying to figure why Decker went along with this. He didn't believe the CIA story at first, but I gradually made him believe. Since he always thought you were a menace to the army, it made it easy to convince him that the CIA wanted you out of the way. It also helped that he never thought I was officer material. It made it far easier to convince him I was a plant.

Then I told him that the most important thing was convincing you.

Decker refused at first. He figured I was guilty, but it pissed him off that you might get away with the robbery. It's pitiful really. He thinks so one-dimensionally. But I told him that my story would convince the court-martial. You and BA would be exonerated no matter what happened and Decker would look like an asshole for bringing you to trial. That would embarrass the army and destroy any chance he might have at a promotion. I also told him that if you didn't believe that I was with the CIA, you would force the army to try you. If that happened, I told Decker that he'd still look like an asshole.

I explained that the only way to get his conviction cleanly, without embarrassment to the army or to himself, was to convince you that my story was true. Then you wouldn't protest. You wouldn't try to prove I was lying. If we could accomplish that, he'd have no trouble with his nice, orderly conviction.

I think what finally convinced Decker was when I said that my conviction would probably destroy your career. Maybe you would wind up in some desk job, but you would never get another promotion. Not if you couldn't figure out that your second-in-command was a traitor. I think Decker decided he could live with that.

I told Decker that if this was to work, you had to hate me more than anyone. You had to want me dead or your doubts would screw things up. I convinced him that only way to do that was to show you records that proved I was with the CIA. Of course, since the CIA wasn't going to give us those documents willingly, we'd have to make reasonably good approximations. I guess being a master forger does have some uses. Getting a copy of Davis' memo to Morrison and charring one of my lockpicks were also pretty simple.

Decker knew that I didn't have parents in California, but since I had told him that you needed to believe my entire life, from the very beginning, had been a lie, Decker went along with that. That's why, even though he knew it wasn't true, Decker agreed to make it look like the whole orphanage story was a scam from the very beginning. He also was supposed to destroy any records at the orphanage as a precaution. I knew I could make Father Magill play his part, if necessary. I told him that, if you contacted him, he should reluctantly admit to using the orphanage as a front. I'm not sure he ever would have gone through with it, but he would only have been doing what I asked.

Besides, my main goal was that you would hate me so much that you would never bother checking.

I have to admit that I didn't really expect the whole thing to work so fast. I figured it would take a couple of sessions with Decker, maybe some more evidence. I guess I'm not sure how that makes me feel. I mean, I'm glad you got off. But I always wondered why you so quickly accepted that I betrayed you. I guess it kind of proved everything I always thought about myself.

I'm not going to lie to you, Hannibal. You were right about prison. I won't make the entire sentence. I've fucked with the wrong people and, sooner or later, they're going to get me. I've made peace with dying. Hell, I've been looking for death since I joined the army at sixteen. You were right about that too.

It's just that I'm sorry that I couldn't have been a better person. That I never got a chance in the real world to prove that maybe I wasn't so worthless. It's funny. Before I met you, I never would have even thought about that. I always figured that I was a worthless piece of shit, and there was nothing I could do to change that. Until I met you and you convinced me that maybe there was some value to my life.

I'm sorry for the grief and the guilt this letter is going to cause you. But you needed to know. The most important thing I ever did in my life was not in Nam, but in that room when I confessed. I've never doubted that decision for a moment.

You and BA can do good in the world. I don't know what you're doing now, but the last news I got was that BA was helping get kids off the streets and you were training Special Forces. Both of you have the chance to change a lot of lives. Maybe help some kids before they become the lost cause I've always been.

You once asked me what was real and though I tried to deny that any of it was, I couldn't. I was real and what you meant to me was real. You were more of a father to me than anyone else in my life. Even if I die in prison, I will always be grateful that I could know you and that you called me "son."

Farewell, Hannibal.

Face

Looking at the letter in his hand, Hannibal felt the pain rising from the pit of stomach. He could see the kid's face in front of him. The angelic features set off against those bright blue eyes. Hannibal had let that wonderful boy -- a boy that he thought of like a son -- take the fall for a crime he didn't commit. And Hannibal had let him die. Alone. Hannibal didn't even attempt to fight the tears.
_____________________________________________________________________

Two days later, Hannibal found himself walking through the doors of the church at the orphanage. The plain, pine casket sat on the dais. There were no flowers anywhere. Nor was there anything to indicate that Templeton Peck had served his country in the most honorable way. Aside from a few nuns and priests, the place was empty.

It's not fair, he thought. "Kid," he said silently. "You deserved so much better from this world. You had so much more to accomplish and you never had a chance to do that."

Hannibal walked up to the open casket and looked at the beautiful face of the young man. Even the two years of military prison had not changed the kid's face much. He still looked like a choirboy.

In his hands, Hannibal carried a small wrapped package. Slowly he unwrapped the cloth, revealing the gold star and ribbon in the case. He took the Medal of Honor, awarded for Hannibal's bravery in the Vietcong prison camp, and placed it inside the casket.

"You deserved this, kid. Far more than me. You took more abuse than anyone I've ever known. And you responded by helping the others. Murdock would never have had a chance of recovery without you, kid. Most of the others would have died. Hell, on the day we were captured, you saved my life twice. But I never thanked you for that, did I?

"BA should be here soon. We had a long talk the other night. I realized that we hadn't talked in several months before that. It was too hard without you, thinking that you had done what you'd done."

Hannibal couldn't even say it, now. It wasn't true, so he would never ever say that Face had betrayed him. He would never say it or even think it again. Hannibal could again feel the pain rising inside him. He felt the guilt, the shame that he had so quickly rejected Face, abandoning him like everyone else in the kid's life.

Hannibal found himself slumping to the floor in front of the casket. His body shook from the sobs that erupted from him.

"Oh, God. How could I have let this happen? Face. Son. How could I have let this happen?"

He felt the priest, Father Magill -- a real priest, he thought -- put his arms around his shoulder. "Son. It's not your fault. This is how Templeton wanted it."

"Father, when I last saw Face I screamed at him. I said I hoped he would die. I was so angry, felt so betrayed. I had promised him once that he wouldn't die alone. I knew that, more than anything else, that is what he feared most. But I was so angry, I told him that was exactly how I hoped he would die. How could I have done that to him? I loved him like a father."

The cleric looked at Hannibal and said softly, "Colonel, he knew you didn't mean it."

"But that's not true. I meant every word of it." And he had.

"I know, Colonel, but Templeton said that if you came to his funeral, you should read this."

The priest pulled a letter out of his pocket and placed it in Hannibal's hands. Trembling, Hannibal opened it.

Hannibal,

I know why you came. We both know what you said before you left. That promise was the most important thing anyone ever said to me. But you need to know that you didn't break it. I made the decision for you.

And if that is not enough comfort for you, remember this. I forgive you.