johnnypenn (johnnypenn) wrote,

Dogpatch - Chapter 4

This is 8 pages in my word doc. I was gonna end it earlier but....Hannibal happened.

- - -

The Dogpatch


Fandom – The A-Team


Disclaimer – I do not own the A-Team characters. I do not make any money off this piece of fiction; this is strictly for my amusement.


Pairing – H-BAMF


Rating – R/NC17


Summary – AU – First Lieutenant Templeton Peck finds himself in a pickle. He’s the only officer in the POW camp, nicknamed by the American’s Dogpatch – which is run by the most famous Traitor Hannibal Smith and his crew. It’s not easy to plan an escape and to keep this certain Colonel off your back, literally and figuratively.


Historical Notes- Dogpatch is a real POW camp that is based near the China-Vietnamese boarder. It’s a good place because at the time the people who ran the camp built it there because they knew that American policy wasn’t going to conduct any operations in that area. So, it fits my AU story line quite perfectly.


ANOTHER NOTE – Vietnamese take their names seriously. Tuan = Bright and Tu’ = Star. So Bright Star.



Chapter 4 – Waterloos’ Almanac



      The night was bright, the moon shown high in the sky overlooking the dense forest. Stars twinkled around the moon and Templeton could easily see the Northern Star fixed in the sky. He looked down at his map. If his calculations were correct he surmised that they were no more than fifty clicks away from Waterloo. To his left Captain Hendrickson clicked his canteen closed. The rest of the men were getting what shut eye they could while the Officer’s went over their last minute plans.


      “So, you’re sure the A-Team isn’t hanging around, correct Lieutenant?” Hendrickson asked.


      “I circled the camp five times,” Templeton tried to keep annoyance out of his tone; it wouldn’t do to piss the Captain off right now. They had a job to do, whatever grievances they had – they needed to forget them right now.


      “I didn’t see hide or hair of them, not even a flicker of gold,” Templeton folded up his map.


      “Then we’ll strike tonight,” Hendrickson said. He hiccupped. Nothing in the jungle around them moved. Templeton hoped that there wasn’t a random gorilla scout on their heels – that’s mess everything up. The waft of alcohol he smelt when in direct fire of Hendrickson’s lousy breath also told Templeton that they possibly wouldn’t get out of this alive.


      It isn’t water in that canteen – it’s vodka! He thought to himself as he lent back into the brush. Not making a sound. He’d been trained well, out of all the men here, he was the only one who could walk through this jungle silently. None of the other men had SF training. It’d put some of his teachers back at base to shame if they’d known.


      Templeton wanted to ask Hendrickson if he were crazy. But held back, it wasn’t his place to question, only to do as he was told. Maybe if he ever got a higher rank than Hendrickson he’d see what the idiot was thinking at this moment in time. Obviously, not much.


      “Wake the men and I’ll go over the plan one more time before he head out,” Hendrickson ordered. Templeton nodded and slowly made his way down the line of twenty men. They mustered, and thankfully knew better than to make a sound as they started their slow march after Hendrickson gave more orders. At he end would be blood shed. Templeton knew he wasn’t the only one praying for a safe return to Delta Zero.



      The night wore on and they flanked Waterloo. A team in back, a team in front, and two teams to the side; for a military move, they had too few men. Templeton knew that if he were in charge he’d have found a way to sneak in, plant some bombs, sneak out – leave a few clicks and then blow the camp to smithereens. But no, they were going in by the front, back and side doors.


      They were out manned and out gunned – if Tuan Tu’ and his men made a stand. They’d win.


      “All right,” Hendrickson took a small breath and then he stood up and started shooting.


      It went to hell from there.


      “Wake up, Templeton!” he was shaken hard and came awake in a panicked daze. He knocked his head against the top of the cage with a loud “shit!”


      Hannibal helped him out of the cage. Morning was bright and airy. Golden sun lift wafted through the slits in the wood and lined up nicely on the wooden floor. Hannibal, as always, was puffing on a cigar. He was giving Templeton a look that said he was very interested in whatever the young man had been dreaming about.


      “So, sleep well?” he asked.


      Templeton clinked, still holding his head. A headache was the least of his worries unless it became a migraine. The bruise hurt where he’d been punched by Hendrickson the day before and he wanted a bath. A nice, hot, long soak in the tub would put him to rights. Only, he’d have to wait ages for that dream to come true in any sense of the word.


      “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, sir,” he hadn’t slept well at all. Waterloo haunted him. This entire thing was about Waterloo. Hendrickson had been too drunk to think straight, the boys didn’t have any recourse but to do as Hendrickson asked and Templeton was the only one out of the lot who willingly saved him. Being Face-to-Face with Tuan Tu’ was harrowing. For some reason, he felt more afraid of the Vietnamese General than he was of Hannibal Smith – which didn’t jive with their intelligence at all.


      “Come on, up you get,” Hannibal said as he yanked Templeton to his feet. He walked him outside were he took the manacles from the day before and locked them around Templeton’s wrists and ankles. He was barefoot, for Hannibal had insisted on his boots being removed from him the night before. This meant easy tracking in the Jungle.


      Templeton wondered just how much Hannibal knew about him. There’d been an exercise at Home Base – hunting a man through the woods barefoot. It’d been easy, then it was his turn, and he had been able to evade the guys “hunting” him for half the day. At least the bolstered him a little.


      Hannibal smoked as he led him across the court yard to the prisoner yard. Hendrickson was all ready there. He lent against the fence. His right arm in a sling, the splint from last night looked a bit dirty but in proper order. It’d take a month or so for him to gain the use of his arm again.


      “ah, note this, Lieutenant…” Hannibal stopped his younger prisoner outside the gate, “we didn’t punish him for attacking BA because of the broken arm BA gave him. Won’t you impress upon the Captain that any more bullshit from him will have him floating down the river in pieces,” he grinned.


      Templeton nodded; “Yes sir,”


      He was pushed inside, gently, and then the gate snapped shut and was locked behind him. Next to the fence was a tray of food. It was cold rice in the form of porridge, even the coffee was cold. They weren’t in good favor this morning.


      Templeton picked up one bowl and cup and brought it over to Hendrickson who was fettered to the fence by chains. Templeton estimated a good ten seconds to pick them – his own, five if he had the right tools. His picks were inaccessible just because Hannibal and his men never missed a detail.


      “Here,” he handed the cup of cold coffee and the porridge to Hendrickson who looked like he was in need of the hospital. He looked hazily at Templeton before looking down at the food. At least he ate, Templeton sighed. He went back for his own and sat out of arms length of Hendrickson. The food gave him enough energy to start a hushed conversation.


      “I’m getting out of here,” he said.


      “What?” Templeton glance around, no one in sight but that didn’t mean anything, “how are you going to do that with a busted arm?” he asked out of the side of his mouth. He took a bite of porridge. It tasted better than the stuff he used to get from St. Almanac’s Orphanage in Arizona. He’d decided then and there to get as far away from that hell hole as possible.


      “It’s not all that bad here,” he heard himself saying. He sighed as Hendrickson glared at him.


      “What is that supposed to mean?” Hendrickson demanded.


      “Nothing, nothing…” Templeton gulped some coffee, “only that compared to some of the other POW camps we’ve heard about, so far, it’s been all right here. I mean, we could have been in worst places – and our men…”


      He didn’t get a chance to finish, Hendrickson threw his tin cup at Templeton, who daftly dodged it. “Our men are dead! And it’s all your fault!”


      “My fault?” Templeton was about to let him have it when the gate screeched open behind them.


      “That is the last I am going to have from you,” BA hissed. He pulled Templeton up and without another word he dragged him out of the pen. Murdock entered after and approached Hendrickson. Templeton didn’t get a chance to even figure what Murdock was going to do as BA took the bowl from him and continued to drag him to an opposite corner of the compound.


      The box stood empty and Templeton knew that today it was his turn to be its resident. He didn’t fight BA as he was shoved inside. Then the door was bolted and he was shut in darkness. The box wasn’t big enough for him stand up in. If he curled himself small enough he could lay down. The earth was hard except for a few patches in the ground where it was soft enough not to hurt.


      He wondered what he was being punished for - What was the point of putting him in here without letting him know what for anyway?


      A sudden bang got his attention and he jumped out of his skin; “Templeton, you’ve been a bad boy,” he heard Hannibal’s voice from outside. He glared, because he could get away with it.


      “How so?” he asked. His voice echoed but he didn’t care.


      “You haven’t been eating, so you’re being punished,” Hannibal replied.


      “Erm…okay…sorry…” it was hesitant because wasn’t that just a bogus lie. Maybe Hannibal needed him to be away from Hendrickson for a while. The box would slow him down. He couldn’t lock pick his way out. Digging would take ages as well. An escape would mean two people, and one of them had a broken arm all ready.


      “Whelp” Hannibal said with a chuckle, “Have fun in there, Temp!” and the he walked away.


      Templeton side, “where does he get off calling me that anyway?” he asked the dark. It didn’t reply, then again, he didn’t think it would.


      Look on the bright side, Templeton Peck! His inner voice chimmed, sounding too much like Hannibal for the good of his Sanity, at least you get to catch up on all that lost sleep over the last few weeks since Hendrickson’s failed attack on Waterloo!


      And by golly, the voice was right. Templeton groaned as he moved around to get comfortable. Hendrickson hadn’t mentioned how hot the box could be. Templeton had only heard horror stories from other men who’d been POW’s for a time – from what he heard, the temperature could climb and this was one punishment you wanted to avoid at all costs.


      He closed his eyes, and tried to not think about it too much.




      The St. Almanac’s School for Boys was a converted warehouse in down town Phoenix, Arizona. It was run by Rusty Almanac. He was a balding man of middle age who’d given up being a used car sails man in order to bring in more money by the illegal use of child labor. In the basement he ran a sweat shop where the boys of the school were made to learn sewing and other skills that made clothes, cheap. Then, he’d sell them to a Fence, who’d hawk them onto someone else, where finally the clothing would reach the unknowingly stupid public.


      The boys, all dressed in kaki pants and grey button down shirts, spent hours every day making garments and not seeing a dime for their efforts. Rusty would look on from his office, which was made of glass so he had a clear view of the children – and his goons who traversed the floors – and if he saw anyone not being fast enough, he’d whip the child with his belt in front of everyone.


      It was anyone’s guess to who’d get the belt today. They didn’t bet on the chances because they didn’t understand betting pools. Templeton Peck, who’d spent time on the streets, did everything he could to get out of the school. However, as on every other day – Templeton was dragged to the sweat shop to see “Father” Almanac and his “Holy” Belt from God.


      And like every other day, he was beat till he was almost senseless with it. He tried not to cry. He wasn’t ashamed of it either. He refused to feel that, ever, again. Not after what his Father had done to him – not after his parents got that divorce, not after she’d left him on the steps of this school with the promise to return.


      The beatings didn’t do to him what it did to the other boys who were made to watch. Nope, the beatings just made Templeton promise himself that one day he would escape and he would make a name for himself. He wasn’t going to give up.


      Don’t give up…


      The last thing Sister Lily told him when he’d informed her that he had signed up to join the Army, Special Forces was a detail she didn’t know about and possibly never would.


      “I won’t give up…” Templeton whispered to himself.


      Time had flown out the window and he was surprised that it’d been a whole day as he was let out of the box. Hannibal smoked and grinned at him.


      “Have you learnt your lesson?” it was Murdock, however, who asked him the question and Templeton nodded.


      “Yeah, I’ve learnt it,”


      Inside, he smiled.


      He wouldn’t give up. Not on himself, and not on escape.


      Hannibal interrupted Templeton from his thoughts by snapping his fingers in front of his face. Templeton blinked.


      “You need a bath,” Hannibal said.


      “I want a bath,” Templeton quipped. He was slightly done with this man and his lackey’s. Though, to be fair, at least Murdock liked him.


      “Come on,” Hannibal turned. Murdock tugged and Templeton’s arm and they led him away from the box. Night had descended, but Hannibal’s Hut was lit by many lamps. Inside it was bright, and Templeton was glad that he hadn’t been bombarded with light when first exiting the Box. Their short walk had helped his eyes to acclimate, though, he had to blink when entering the hut.


      In the middle of the floor was a large bath tub full of water. There was a bar of soap, a bottle without a label and towels along with wash rags sitting on a small table near by.


      Templeton gave Hannibal, Murdock and BA a suspicious look while asking; “Okay, what is this going to cost me?” he began to back away. Hannibal was grinning that grin which spelt trouble even as he began to advance on Templeton.


      “Everything,” he said, “I want everything, your body, mind and soul,”


      “Don’t forget about us, Colonel!” Murdock chirped, looking a bit put out.


      Hannibal turned away for a second to reply, “I won’t forget,” and that’s when Templeton took his leave of them. He sprinted out into the night. His shackles clanked but fell from his ankles. His boots had been the only thing keeping him tethered, but without them, the shackles had slipped right off as he ran.


      “There he goes,” Hannibal gave Murdock and BA a nod and they were out the back seconds after Peck’s flight. Hannibal laughed and followed Templeton’s tracks.


      He was going for the wall. This was the stupidest thing he’d ever done. Templeton decided, and if he lived through it – he promised himself a very good retirement plan. No way in hell was he going to be a Vietnam Veteran living on the streets after this – than Dogpatch would seem far too good, even after St. Almanac’s. It was really funny how life worked out that way.


      He ignored Hendrickson’s cries for help as he made a jump. He was almost to the top when there was a yell and someone grabbed his legs. Then he was pulled down from the fence. He landed hard on the ground.


      Hannibal held him down. Body close to his with his arms pinned above his head as Hannibal kissed him quickly. Then he made a face, “damn kid, when was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Tags: au, ba, faceman, hannibal, murdock, the a-team, vietnam

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