CHRISTMAS 1969

 

 

“Chicken?  Chicken?!  What is wrong with these people?  It’s Christmas.  We shouldn’t be having chicken.  We should be feasting, on turkey, or goose, or, or…”

 

“Duck?”

 

Ray stopped briefly in his rant to look across at his commanding officer.  Hannibal, as usual, sat leaning back in his chair, smoke curling out the end of his cigar, a look on his face that said he didn’t have a care in the world.  It was something in his grin, in his eyes.  Chicken or no chicken, he was on the jazz.

 

“Or duck,” Ray repeated after the pause, his voice trailing off as he realised he had lost where he was.  Tipping his head to the side, his eyes took on a dreamy look.  “Oh what I wouldn’t give for a big, juicy, succulent turkey right about now.  Slowly roasting in the oven, roast potatoes cooking away, carrots and sprouts, big pan of homemade gravy. Ummmm.”  He sighed, glancing around the sparsely decorated room.  “What you guys think?  BA?” 

 

The sergeant merely grunted, not even bothering to look up from the letter he was writing home to his mama.

 

“Colonel?”

 

“Nice, kid, nice.”  

 

“Murdock?” 

 

There was no reply.

 

Frowning, Ray looked around.  “Hey, guys, where’s Murdock?  I thought he was around here somewhere.”

 

BA just grunted again. 

 

“Think he said he had to go get something,” Hannibal replied absently, still enjoying his cigar. “He’ll be back.”

 

“Yeah,” BA added.  “Fool can’t get lost.  Annoys enough people they always send him back.”

 

“Ah, that’s not nice, BA,” Hannibal replied in mock seriousness.  “You know he just suffers from homing pigeon-itous.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray grinned.  “He can’t help it; it’s in his blood, just like you’re always gonna be a big mean ugly mudsucker.”

 

The answering growl had Ray stepping further back.

 

“Relax, BA,” Hannibal grinned, “it’s Christmas.  We’ve got a few days off, chicken’s on the stove…”

 

“Would have preferred turkey,” Ray interrupted.

 

“Yeah, well, we can’t get everything.”

 

“Would have liked a white Christmas too.”

 

BA grunted again. 

 

“Just ‘cause you got a white Christmas every year, BA, doesn’t mean the rest of us did.”

 

“Ain’t what they’re all cracked up t’be,” BA threw back, looking up and groaning as a familiar cheery voice filtered in through the door.

 

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly!  Fa la la la la, la la la la.  Hey guys, miss me?”

 

Two grins and one scowl greeted the very familiar figure as he sidled into the barracks, his face beaming with childlike enthusiasm. 

 

“Yeah,” Ray grinned, deciding to take his chances, -- this was the holiday season after all.  “BA especially.  He was just going to find you.”

 

They’d never seen BA’s head shoot up so fast, but they laughed at his glare.  Within seconds the lanky pilot was beside the big sergeant, invading his personal space.

 

“Aww, BA, is that true?”  He battered his long eyelashes.  “I just knew you were a soft teddy bear under that grim exterior.”

 

Scowling, the sergeant tried unsuccessfully to bat the pilot away.

 

“Aww, cheer up BA.  ‘Tis the season to be jolly.  Fa la la la la and all that.  And I got you a present too, somethin’ to remind you of home.  Here, catch.”

 

Before any of them had the time to react, the pilot’s hand flew up into the air, releasing what looked to be thousand of small… pieces of paper?

 

“Look, Ma, snow!” 

 

There was no denying the laughter in the pilot’s voice.  BA, however, looked far from impressed, although the others all agreed later that he did look kind of cute all covered in thousands of pieces of white paper.  Probably would have looked cuter if it hadn’t been for the scowl and threatening posture.

 

Hannibal smirked around his cigar as the big sergeant moved to his feet, causing Murdock to scuttle quickly behind Ray, who in turn protested loudly that he didn’t want to be caught in the middle of another argument.

 

“Sit down, BA,” the Colonel said softly, voicing it almost like an order.  “It’s not worth it, and besides, it’s Christmas.  And Murdock…” The pilot looked across to his commanding officer.  “A little advice.  Sticking your tongue out is probably not a good move right now.” 

 

The pilot managed to look highly offended, as if he would *ever* consider something like that, but it didn’t last long.  He did offer to help BA pick off all the paper from his bulky frame, but retreated at the sound of the growl.

 

“So, Ray, turkey being cooked then?”

 

Ray grunted as the pilot came to lean over his shoulder.  “I wish.  Supply officer said he couldn’t get a turkey for us.  This was the best he could do.”

 

The pilot’s face slowly fell.  “Tell me that’s dog and I’m outta here!”

 

“It’s dog,” BA growled quickly before anyone else could get in there.

 

“It’s *what*?!”  Murdock’s brown eyes widened in mock horror.  “Colonel, please tell me it’s not true.  Tell me that the big mudsucker over there is only joking.”

 

“Relax, Murdock, its chicken.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray grumbled, “chicken.  Not turkey, not goose, not duck,” he looked at the pilot, “not dog.  Just boring old chicken.  You know, Colonel, you’ve really got to do something about that supply officer.  Ever since Psych went home things have been going down hill.  This new kid’s nice enough, but he ain’t gonna cut it here.”

 

Hannibal sighed.  “Yeah, I know.  Shouldn’t be for much longer though.  They’re sending us a new kid in a few weeks.”

 

Murdock grinned.  “Let me guess; misfit, trouble maker, conman, his reputation precedes him.  HQ can’t control him so they send him out here to the great Hannibal Smith whose whole team is made up of the wild and unruly…”

 

“Hey, I’m gonna get offended here, Murdock,” Ray interrupted.

 

Murdock grinned.  “I’m right though, aren’t I, Colonel?  Aren’t I?  Aren’t I?”

 

“Yeah, you’re right Captain.”

 

“Hear that, BA?  I’m right, I am.”

 

BA merely grunted and glared.

 

“So, Colonel, do we get a name?”

 

Hannibal grinned.  “Peck,” he supplied.  “Lieutenant Peck.”

 

“Oooh, an officer, huh.  Bet you’re gonna love that, aren’t you, BA, old buddy, old pal.” 

 

“Get off,” the Sergeant growled, pushing away the arm Murdock had dared try sling around his shoulder.  “And I ain’t your buddy, or your pal.” 

 

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” Murdock grinned.  “Now, Peck, where’ve I heard that name before Colonel?  Peck?  Hey, ain’t he the one who built that sports club back in Saigon?”

 

Hannibal’s eyes gleamed.  “The one and only.”

 

“And they’re sending him out here?!  Man, whose wires did he cross?” 

 

Hannibal’s grin only broadened.

 

“Aww, don’t tell me you had something to do with it, Colonel?”

 

“Not a word, Murdock.  By the way, there’s a bottle of stuff keeping cool, might as well get it out.”

 

Murdock grinned.  “Aye, aye, sir.”  Within minutes Murdock had the bottle open and was pouring out three glasses.  “You want any, big guy, or is there still some milk left?”

 

“Milk,” BA grunted, nodding to where it was kept.

 

Murdock got it and poured out a large glass, handing the wine around too.

 

“I think this calls for a toast,” Ray offered as he got his glass.

 

“I agree,” Hannibal nodded.  “So what are we toasting to?”

 

“Peace and goodwill toward men,” Murdock offered noticing the looks he received.  “What?  We can all dream, can’t we?”

 

“Fool has a point,” BA pointed out.

 

“Alright then,” Hannibal said, “peace and goodwill.  Anything else?”

 

“Family and friends?” BA added.

 

“Good one, BA,” Ray grinned.  “I’d like to add Lieutenant Peck to that list, maybe next year we’ll get a turkey.”

 

Hannibal grinned raising his glass.  “Okay then, to peace and goodwill, family and friends and to Templeton Peck.  Let’s hope he lives up to his reputation and that next year we’ll get that turkey.” 

 

“Cheers!”

 

*-*-*

 

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