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Missing In Action
by Haven.

It had just started to rain when the rear door burst open, slamming into the cinder-block wall. Two people emerged at a run, the first carrying a briefcase and fumbling for keys, the second looking behind and firing shots at his pursuer.

Face had just enough time to shout, "BA, behind the building!" into the two-way radio before the truck came barreling at him. Diving over the concrete divider separating the delivery area from the parking lot, Face caught his leg on a piece of exposed re-bar on the way over. He fell - hard - knocking the wind from his lungs. His radio hit the ground at the same time he did, its back smashing open, the batteries rolling away.

Face struggled to his feet, gasping for air. An unexpected jolt of pain knocked him back down; blood ran from the wound on his leg. Fighting a sudden wave of nausea, Face heard the van skidding around the corner in hot pursuit. He tried shouting, to let BA know he was behind the barrier and injured, but didn't have the breath. He forced himself back onto his feet, but by the time he was vertical it was too late. The van had already passed him by. Face waved his arms in semaphore over his head, hoping BA would spot the motion in his side view mirror, but the van never slowed and soon disappeared into the distance.

Face stood, his leg throbbing, hearing the wail of approaching sirens. He had to get out of sight. Now.

Looking around, he saw a storage shed standing behind another business several thousand feet to the west; if he moved fast enough, he might be able to break inside before the police arrived. Ripping off his silk tie, using it to put pressure on the wound, Face loped to the shed. In the first bit of good luck he'd had that day, the shed was both empty and unlocked. Collapsing gracelessly onto the earthen floor, Face wondered if the police would simply follow the trail of blood to his hiding place.

The storm picked up, rain pounding on the metal roof as he used his tie to staunch the flow of blood. The police cruiser splashed past without Face's knowledge, the din of rain on the corrugated metal roof isolating him from the outside world.

Old memories returned to life as Face sat in the gloomy shed. The dirt floor, with its scent of oil and diesel, subconsciously reminded him of the team's jungle headquarters. Likewise, the heat, the high humidity, the wet shirt clinging to skin were strongly reminiscent of life in Vietnam. Weakened by the loss of blood, distracted by pain, Face found it nearly impossible to focus his thoughts.

After a time, the rain slackened and he thought he heard voices. He listened intently, trying to catch the words. With rising panic, Face realized the words weren't in English -- they were in Vietnamese. He shrunk into a corner of the shed, his back against the wall.

Once again the storm increased in intensity, the rain deafeningly loud against the barracks roof. Face tried to think past the throbbing in his leg, past the threat of capture. It was monsoon season and this was Vietnam. He had to keep his wits about him.

He continued putting pressure on his lacerated thigh although the bleeding had almost stopped. Later, when he was sure the wound had closed, he'd peel back the bandage and check the severity of the injury. Until then, the best thing he could do was stay calm and let his body rest. When the time came to move out, his survival would likely require every ounce of energy he had.

The storm abated somewhat, the noise on the roof subsiding to a dull roar. Slouching against the wall, Face drifted into a light sleep. An indeterminate amount of time later he woke to the sound of a helicopter, the blades throbbing in the air. Had a search been organized? He listened intently, willing the sound closer. The rain was now falling gently and he realized he could hear shouting in the background, the sound of people running. Was it an ambush? Did the VC know he was there; were they using him to lure down a slick?

His heart pounding, Face listened to the sounds outside his hiding place. The running feet came closer. Face's pulse quickened; the throbbing in his leg grew worse. Unseen hands ripped open the shed door and Face felt his heart skip.

A dripping-wet baseball-capped head appeared through the opening. The head disappeared and he heard "Hannibal! BA! Over here!" And then Murdock was inside the shed, holding him, telling him not to worry, that everything would be okay. He nodded, trying not to let the other man see how badly he was shaking.

Draping Face's arm around his shoulder, Murdock felt the tremors. Repeating his mantra, "Don't worry, I've got you, everything's going to be okay," he hoisted Face to his feet and helped him walk through the door to safety.

- fin -

Title:  Missing In Action
Author/Pseudonym:  Haven.
Fandom:  The A-Team
Rating:  G m/m
Special Thanks to:  Cath and Karo who beta'd this
Disclaimer:  I don't know who owns The A-Team, but it isn't me.
Archive:  Upon request
Comments:  Comments are welcome
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Originally Posted: June 14, 2002
Haven's Slash Archive

I can be reached at haven@cruelhaven.org