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Chapter Seventeen

General Westman had alerted Hannibal ahead of time that he was coming. But he hadn't given so much notice as to make it seem like a formal meeting. For a formal meeting, Hannibal probably would've gone to him, anyways. Not the other way around.

Really, it was better if Westman did not come into the combat zone. For that very reason, there was an entourage with him - MPs and security forces - as he stepped off the plane at Qui Nhon. Nobody wanted to take a risk of him getting shot.

The men who were gathered all around Hannibal all stood at full attention, a formal salute even though it was hardly necessary out here. The respect was clear, and deserved, and Hannibal mimicked it. Spine straight, shoulders square, his salute was textbook. The handshake and grin that followed the salute were not. He could feel the corner of his mouth pull up in a half grin as he greeted the older man.

"Good to see you, General."

Westman returned the smile, and the handshake. "And you."

He passed Hannibal to shake hands with several of the younger soldiers. Laughter and smiles followed wherever he went. He was known everywhere by reputation, but few of these men had ever had the pleasure of meeting him.

After a good twenty minutes of greetings and morale boosting, he turned to Hannibal, still smiling. "Someplace we can talk, Colonel?"

The TOC was the best – the safest – place to talk. And probably the one place where they could be alone. The guards stayed outside as they entered, and Hannibal lit his cigar as he leaned his hip against the table in the center of the room. "So Ross, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Westman eyed him carefully, almost warily. That wasn't a good sign. "What's going on with your boys, John?" he asked. "You seem to be having some problems lately."

Definitely not a good sign. Reaching up, Hannibal took the cigar from his mouth. Ross and he went back a long ways, but he had been in the Army long enough to know not to volunteer information to a superior. Friends or not, Hannibal was still dealing with a four star general. He was walking the line between soldier and friend.

The team had had two recent unsuccessful missions, and failure was a feeling they were not well accustomed to. Hannibal's eyes were serious as he studied Westman, analyzing carefully. "We had some unforeseen trouble at Lang Vei," he conceded in a neutral voice, watching for the reaction.

"Lang Vei?" Westman chuckled. "I heard about Lang Vei, but that wasn't exactly what I was talking about."

Hannibal nodded slowly. "Saigon, then? Because I told you how that was going to end."

Westman raised a brow, eyeing the colonel carefully. "Not particularly. Though that's part of it."

"Care to elaborate?" Hannibal wasn't going to play guessing games.

"I've had two separate incidents across my desk in the past week about your Lieutenant."

He let the statement hang, and Hannibal eyed the cigar in his hand. Westman was feeling him out, too. They both had been doing this so long it was second nature. The wheels turned slowly in Hannibal's mind. The outburst at Saigon was the first. He couldn't even guess where the second complaint had come from.

Putting the cigar back in his mouth, he fooled his arms across his chest. "That kid has a gift for rubbing people the wrong way."

Westman laughed loudly. "That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

He eyed Hannibal warily. Eventually they would get into the specifics, but first they had to do the Army two step.

"Two separate incident reports, John. In a week. And two pretty substantial failures. What the hell is going on?"

Hannibal's gaze remained steady, but inwardly, he sighed. He had already been asking himself that same question. It wasn't so much the complaints, it was the failures. They were the best unit he had ever served with, each one of them the best at what they did, but all lacking in social graces. Hell, that was too nice. They could all be giant pains in the ass. They ruffled more feathers then a fox in the hen house. But they were unstoppable as a team. At least, until recently. Two failed missions didn't seem like a lot. But theirs was a unique team, with unique demands.

"You know, Ross, my boys have been at a dead run for months now. I know that was part of the deal, but you need to realize, that's a lot of pressure and stress." He paused briefly. "If you want to know what I think, they need a week or two of R&R."

Westman's gaze remained steady. Silent. Finally, he reached into his pocket for a cigarette, lit it, and sat down in one of the chairs against the wall. "I got no problem with you taking R&R, John. For Christ's sake, you ain't done it in four years. Except when you needed an excuse to go looking for your pilot."

Hannibal didn't answer. No reason to confirm or deny that.

Westman eyed him warily as he dragged on his cigarette. "But I'm not sure that's really what's needed here. You do know that half your team just spent a few hard-earned days off on Bangkok, after requisitioning a helicopter in Saigon under forged orders, right?"

Hannibal never saw it coming. There was no hiding the shock in his eyes. His expression turned dead serious as he stood up straight, arms dropping to his sides. The shock of them doing something as stupid as going AWOL and leaving the country in a misappropriated chopper was compounded by the fact Hannibal had no clue it had happened. It was one of the rare times he was out of the loop on something that was happing with his men. Someone else was having to tell him what was going on with his own team. There was no smile as he asked in a quiet, shocked tone (that he hated), "What?"

Westman raised a brow. "Ah, you don't know about that. I thought perhaps not." He sat forward. "Seems your lieutenant showed up in the GHQ in Saigon with orders to take a transport of supplies down to Bangkok. Except that the orders were signed by a Colonel Mark Usten. Who does not, to the best of my knowledge, exist."

Jesus Christ, a fictional colonel to sign false orders! He'd used a made up Colonel to make a paper trail that prove they went AWOL and left the fucking country. Bangkok. What the hell was he thinking? Famous for sex, but they could've gotten that just as easy in Saigon, and without putting their names on something that could get them court marshaled. It was stupid and reckless in so many ways it was terrifying.

"Now, why no one verified these orders, I don't know," Westman continued. "Probably didn't feel it necessary. After all, there's not a lot of people with the gall to pull a stunt like that. That boy of yours is one of a kind."

If it was Face, then it had to be Cruiser with him. Cruiser was a good soldier, but he never thought past the moment he was in. Long term planning was a foreign concept to him. Since it was a chopper then it had to be Murdock who flew them. That kid needed to be part of the team, needed it to have any type of hope or focus. They were his only place to be. He would do damn near anything to be part of the team and bond with Face and Cruiser. They knew it and they'd used him.

He processed the thoughts slowly, organizing the facts and focusing on overcoming the shock and – increasingly – the anger. After a few moments and several rounds of deep breathing, he could feel his emotions coming back under control.

"Now." Westman paused and took a deep drag off of his cigarette. "I can court martial him. Get him off your hands. Not a chance in hell he'd con his way out of this one." The feigned amusement dropped very suddenly, and Westman's tone and eyes both turned deadly serious. "Or you can get him the hell under control, Colonel. Because I will not ignore not one more report that comes across my desk with his name on it. Or any of you. Either get it together or tell me right now that you can't do it. There is no third option."

Hannibal's jaw clenched. He hated the words, but he couldn't disagree with them. If it was his command he would be saying the exact damn thing. The sudden sensation of heat at his fingers reminded him of his forgotten cigar. He tapped off a large line of ash before he put it back to his mouth.

There was no choice, really. He and the team needed Face, and to keep him, it was going to require his personal word. It wasn't a position he should have been put in, and it was one he would make goddamn certain never happened again. His blue eyes shone ice cold as he answered firmly, "You have my word, General. This ends now."

The plan was already in his head. The hell with R&R. He was going to spend the next two weeks running them so fucking hard they would be too tired to blink, let alone come up with stupid bullshit stunts like this. If they thought their training at Fort Bragg was bad, they hadn't seen anything yet. One way or another, he was going to get this team through this goddamn war without any of them being court marshaled.

"Well, I'll take your word on that, John. I made it your call in the beginning and I'll leave it your call now." He sighed as he stood. "But you're right, it does end now. You've done a lot of good, and I'll make sure that's recognized when it comes time for promotion. But if we ever have this conversation again," he forced a tight smile, "I'll be handing you transfer paperwork."

The threat was not at all vicious. That didn't make it any less valid. Westman's forced smile remained in place as he extended a hand. "Thank you, General," Hannibal answered as he shook with him. "I would expect nothing less."

He was on notice. There was officially no room for error.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was irritable. Maybe even pissed. Maybe not. It was a fine line to walk, with him. He knew the role of his commission. He could play the game better than most officers - and drill instructors, for that matter - Face had met. Hard to tell when it was genuine anger, when it was the role, and when he just needed to get laid.

"You okay, Colonel?" Murdock was willing to ask. Face was more inclined to just watch silently, lying on his bunk with his legs crossed at the ankles, until he could figure it out for himself.

In any case, asking accomplished nothing. Hannibal didn't answer. He didn't even afford a glance at Murdock. Face set the book he was reading on his chest as his eyes tracked the colonel across the room to his bunk. There, he grabbed something, walked back, and passed Face without so much as a glance. "Lieutenant, I want to see you in the TOC."

He was pissed.

Setting the book immediately aside, Face rose and grabbed his rifle, taking it with him out of habit as he followed Hannibal out of the team room and across the camp to the TOC. He glanced around as he passed the sandbags to the door. There was nothing immediately obvious about their surroundings that would lend to this mood.

Hannibal was already standing on the other side of the table, staring down at a piece of paper. He heard Face step in, but didn't look up. "Shut the door."

Face straightened at the authoritative, warning tone. Without thought, he slipped into the role of the subordinate soldier, mentally preparing himself for whatever the hell this was about. "Something wrong, Sir?" There was still a chance that it wasn't about him. Whether it was or not, this was still the safest and surest way to not further piss Hannibal off.

"Where is Cruiser?"

Face stared at him blankly for a moment. He hadn't been expecting that. "You gave him a three day pass, Sir. He's probably still in Saigon."

"So you went there together and you came back separately?"

"No, Sir, we all came back last night. Together. He left again this morning and took BA and Snap. I didn't figure he was going to get into too much trouble with the two of them." Good God, Cruiser, what did you do now?

Hannibal looked up, eyes burning into Face. "What the fucking hell were you doing in Bangkok last night?"

Face's jaw almost dropped. He'd been expecting anything but that. How the hell does he know about that? He pulled himself together quickly, schooling his expression into his practiced blank look. He knew to be careful with his next words. Lying to Hannibal was never a good idea. But neither was self-incrimination. And Face had no idea how much he knew, or how reliable that information was. It was a roll of the dice to call him out on it. But he had no other way of knowing.

"Colonel?" he asked innocently, brow raised.

That was the wrong answer. Face knew everything he needed to know in two-point-three seconds. Hannibal's eyes flashed as he threw the paper across the table in Face's general direction. "Don't you fucking get cute with me! I just spent the past twenty minutes talking to General Westman about why he shouldn't court marshal your ass! Now what in God's name possessed you to leave this country without permission!"

Face quickly weighed his options as he watched the papers flutter to the floor. Hannibal obviously had good information. He didn't know where from – he knew he'd run the scam perfectly – but it didn't really matter in the end. Just something to tuck into the back of his mind as he focused on Hannibal's anger. "Well, you see, Hannibal, it's like this…"

Hannibal growled audibly, cutting him off. "You better think long and hard before you try and bullshit me, Lieutenant. I am more than a little pissed that I have to hear about this from my commanding officer." The anger, through teeth, turned to yelling rage in a flash. "Are there not enough whores in Saigon to keep the two of you busy?"

The two of them. Well, hell, that said a lot. Face filed that piece of information away and made a quick decision. He still had to come up with something to say for himself. "Look, Hannibal, we've been out on how many missions now without a break?" He sighed. "We just wanted to blow off some steam. And granted we got a little carried away but –"

"A little carried away! You took a chopper off of an Army base with fabricated orders and a forged signature from a Colonel who does not even exist! And that's your idea of a little carried away? Jesus Christ, Face, what the hell does a lot carried away look like to you!"

Face took a breath. "Colonel, those supplies had to go to Bangkok anyways. We just did it in lieu of someone else who –"

"Who what?" Hannibal shot angrily. "Had orders?"

Face shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, breathed again, composed himself. He wasn't getting anywhere with trying to reason, or justify his actions. Hannibal already knew why they'd done it. He wasn't really looking for an explanation. So what was he looking for?

Face's tone was almost pleading when he tried again. "Come on, Colonel. We both know this is nothing compared to some of the scams we've run."

"And what scams would those be, Lieutenant? You got any more confessions to make? Or should I wait to hear them from the general?"

Face stared back at him coldly. What did he think he was talking about? Face's most complicated scams to date were for Hannibal! "You know that's not what I meant."

Hannibal took a step toward him, finger pointing as if scolding a child. "You go running off on your own, Lieutenant, you are on your own."

Face sighed, and lowered his head. "You're right. I know." Nothing left to do but the submission routine.

"How many times do we have to go over this before you fucking get it? I am really starting to think that I'm doing you a disservice in covering your ass."

Face clenched his jaw, not speaking. He only had apologies, and Hannibal wasn't ready to hear them.

"These are not little infractions, Face! Forging orders and going AWOL is serious! Now, I understand that you were not alone in this and believe me, I will have words with Cruiser. But you were the one who scammed that chopper. And you are the ranking officer when you're out there. And if it comes down to you or him? You're the one who's going to be spending the rest of your life in Leavenworth!"

Face's jaw worked slightly. He wanted a comeback, a defense. There was nothing. He allowed the thoughts tickling the corners of his mind to distract him from the sting of Hannibal's tone. Face wasn't the ranking officer out there; Murdock was. Who the hell did he think was flying the chopper, anyways? But Hannibal had only mentioned Cruiser in the shared guilt. Face continued to stare at the floor as his eyes narrowed. That crazy son of a bitch flyboy sold them out.

Hannibal finally quieted. He stood for a long moment, saying nothing, eyes burning into Face. As the silence lingered, the angry look faded just slightly, and he gave a frustrated sigh as he turned away. "Damn it, Face, I am so tired of being called on the carpet for you. What's next, huh? This was... there wasn't even a reason for it!"

Face made sure to remove any trace of anger from his features before he looked up and met Hannibal's gaze. He didn't like that look of doubt and disappointment in his eyes. He would've rather stuck with the anger. "I'm sorry Hannibal." He didn't have to try to sound remorseful. He hated that goddamn look.

Hannibal hid his face in his hand, rubbing as if to massage away a headache. "Look, Face, I just want you to think about it. Because I can stand here and threaten you until I'm blue in the face about how I'm not going to back you up not one more time. But we both know I will."

He turned and their eyes locked again. Damn it, this was worse than the yelling. Buried underneath the calm exterior, Face was fuming. It wasn't his scam that had brought that air of defeat to Hannibal. Hell the scam worked fine, it was a certain big mouth pilot who needed to be taken care of.

"You're pushing too hard, Lieutenant. Too far. And sooner or later, it's not going to be my call. And nothing I can say is going to save your freedom, much less your rank."

"I'll think about it, Hannibal."

"Think about it when you get these crazy ideas, Face. In case you haven't noticed, our track record isn't what it used to be these past few months. Whatever immunity you might've thought you had before... you don't have it now." He sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the wall, eyes on Face. "You and I had this big discussion once about personal actions and decisions shaming this team. Don't do it, Lieutenant. Just don't do it. It's just that simple."

He felt his checks flush at Hannibal's words – embarrassment and anger. But he ducked his head down, hoping Hannibal hadn't noticed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal raise a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "Now get out of here."

He left in silence. He would think about it. Really, he would. Just as soon as he found Cruiser and they came up with a way to deal with their "rat" problem.

*X*X*X*

"What the hell, Face?" Cruiser seemed both surprised and irritated. It was an odd combination of emotions on his face. "Your scam got us caught?"

Face frowned, and glanced up as Cruiser sat down on the bunk next to his. "The scam was flawless."

"Yeah? Then why did Hannibal just ream my ass for it?"

Face watched him for a moment, then sat up and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You catch the part about how it was the two of us out there?"

Cruiser frowned. "Two of us?"

Face nodded. "Hannibal asked me something about the whores in Saigon not being enough for the two of us."

He could see the gears turning in Cruiser's head. "Two of us meaning not Murdock. Who was clearly there because he flew the damn thing."

"Uh huh. Which makes a little more sense when you consider the fact that the three of us were the only ones who knew about what went on last night."

Cruiser growled, and covered his face with his hand. "Fucking shit…" He stood, and turned away, walking a few paces. "What the fuck are we supposed to do about that?"

"Well, actually, that's what I've been sitting here thinking about."

Cruiser looked back at him, over his shoulder. "And you got an idea?"

Face smiled wickedly. "I got a few of 'em."

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