johnnypenn (johnnypenn) wrote,

Dogpatch - Chapter 12

Well, looky here, mates. Ya'll got a second chapter in one day. *lol* albeit a bit late...

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The Dogpatch


Fandom – The A-Team


Rating – R/NC17


Pairing – H/F and BA/M


Disclaimer – I do not own the characters of The A-Team. I am not making any money off this bit of fiction. However, I am open to working on a book for the A-Team if the creators like what I have here…erm…slash is optional.


Summary – AU – Templeton Peck is a secret world famous spy who’s been accidentally (or not so much) captured by VC and exchanged into Colonel Hannibal’s hands. Now, he has to keep the man at arms length, otherwise risk something he’d much rather not.


A/N – Ahahaha, I am changing up the pairings. Instead of H-Bamf, I’m going for Hannibal/Face and BA/Murdock on the side. I hope no one minds but it works for this story.



Chapter 12 – Is there a Doctor in the house?



            Tuan Tu’ glowered at the fire. The night had just begun to cool. Before him an American POW knelt on the other side of the fire pit. The man had been captured near the Chinese boarder. He didn’t have any faith in anything the man said. American’s couldn’t be trusted.


            “Tell me Captain Hendrickson…” his English was better than most Vietnamese, but they never studied in America. “Where is the other man, the Faceman…?” he asked. A sneer graced his lips. The Faceman was the only person standing between him and complete control of Vietnam, North and South.


            “I keep telling you, he’s with the A-Team…and you know them…” Hendrickson stuttered. Tuan Tu’ sighed and reached forwards. From the fire pit he picked up a long metal rod. On the end was an emblem of the hammer and cycle. It glowed red hot and sizzled.


            Tuan Tu’ stood and rounded the fire pit; “I had my men tear their camp apart and there is no sign of them.”


            “Than…they must have left after I escaped…I honestly…don’t…” Hendrickson wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Tuan Tu’ was tired of the man’s excuses. He jabbed the brand forward. Hendrickson screamed in pain. He fell to the side but the brand followed. The smell of burnt skin overcame the light scent of flowered night.


            “Now, you are going to go back to your precious Morrison. You tell him that if he gives me the Faceman, I will give him Victory,” then he yanked back on the rod. Skin peeled away slowly. Blood dripped down Hendrickson’s face. He gasped furiously against the pain, trying hard to keep himself together. He’d been just as well trained as that Peck bastard – possibly even better. Panicking would just end his life.


            “Now, get out of my sight, American scum!” Tuan Tu’ motioned at his men. Two came up and dragged Hendrickson away, leaving a blood trail behind them. They cut the man’s bonds and pushed him through the gates of the secret POW camp that Tuan Tu’ was using as his secret head quarters.


            Tuan Tu’ replaced the brand in the fire pit.


            Morrison would be in contact within a few days.




            Delta Camp awoke to “Boogie-woogie bugle boy” playing over the PA system. Tommy Angel yawned upon waking. Great, he thought, Yet another boiling day in the beautiful Vietnam Jungle. Watch out for that spider over there, it’ll kill you just as soon as the Commies. He frowned at these thoughts. Why did he ever think this was a good idea anyway? His Dad was going to have a cow just as soon as he got shipped State side.


            He had no interest in the mob business – but he had to admit, the glory of war wasn’t what people claimed it to be. He found it dirty and smelly and…horrible. He wanted out.


            Tommy sat up and shook out his boots. Snakes and all sorts of other jungle things could decide that your boots were the best place to be during the night and if you didn’t double check, you could get bit by something not very nice. Thankfully, his boots were empty and he laced them on before he grabbed his army green shirt and threw it on over his matching green tank.


            “Yo, Tommy…” Sergeant Kinmore poked his head into the tent. He was a huge black man with an easy manor and smile, “General Morrison wants ta see ya in ‘is tent!” 


            “Thanks Sergeant,” Tommy nodded. He wasn’t awake enough for a lecture from Morrison. He wasn’t Lieutenant Peck and never would be. Why couldn’t Morrison see this?


            He got himself up and off his bunk and practically jogged from one side of the camp to another. Morrison hated to be kept waiting. He got cranky. Tommy could only hope that the man had gotten some coffee – otherwise, Tommy didn’t think he’d survive the lecture.


            He knocked on the post that held the awning of the tent up; “General Morrison, sir?” he called out.


            “Enter, Lieutenant Angel,” Morrison replied, he sounded gruff. Tommy pushed the tent flap out of his way. The tent doubled not only as sleeping quarters but as Morrison’s office. Morrison was dressed shabbily; everyone suffered in this damned Jungle. He stood behind his desk; in his hand was a tumbler of whisky that he handed to a man across the way. Tommy recognized Captain Hendrickson straight away despite the dirty gauze of head wrappings.


            “I have it on good authority, Angel, that you are the best sharpshooter on base,” Morrison said. “Captain Hendrickson here has his orders, you are on a need to know basis.”


            “Yes sir,” Tommy nodded.


            “The two of you are going to Germany, you’re objective is to find The Faceman,” Morrison said.


            Tommy wanted to ask why they were going to find a world renowned Assassin but thought better of it. He was trained to follow orders, not question them. He not only had the army to thank for that, but his father as well.


            “Yes sir,”


            “Good,” Morrison sat down at his desk. “You are, of course, under the command of Captain Hendrickson here during the duration of the mission,”


            “Yes sir,” Tommy nodded again.


            Captain Hendrickson gulped down the whisky before standing; “I want to leave as soon as possible, General,” he said.


            “Of course, take any hooey going out,”


            Hendrickson snapped a lazy salute before leaving, Tommy’s was a bit more on the respective side and he followed. Hendrickson stood outside the tent, he lit a cigarette as he turned to Tommy; “Get your stuff, meet me at the pad in twenty minutes,”


            “Yes sir,” and he was off, jogging again, to carry out the orders.




Schmidt Castle, West Germany


            Dr. Leopold Dunkle arrived at the castle an hour after he’d gotten Johnny’s call. He rang the bell and thankfully someone had been on the main floor to hear it. The small door within the huge, oak and iron gate gave way by a cheerful looking man with dark brown hair and bright eyes. He grinned at the Doctor.


            “It’s great to see you again, Muchacho!”


            “Heir Murdock, it is very nice to see you in good health,” Leopold and Murdock shook hands.


            “Erm, we’ve got a new member of the team. And he’s really sick,” Murdock reported just as Hannibal made it down the stairs.


            “A new member?” Leopold gave Hannibal a raised eyebrow.


            “He’s under our protection,” Hannibal muttered, “this way, please,” and he beckoned the Dr. up stairs to the second level of the huge castle.


            “What has he done that warrants your protection, Johnny? Nothing horrendous I hope?” Leopold asked.


            “Nothing like that, Doc,” Hannibal shook his head. Once they were on the second floor Hannibal pulled out a key. He went to the first bedroom on the right. He unlocked the door and went first.


            The first thing he noticed was that Face wasn’t on bed. The alarm hadn’t sounded so the kid couldn’t be outside. Then they heard the flush of the toilet and the sound of running water.


            Leopold made his way to the bathroom to get a look at his patient; “Ah, you look like death warmed over my child, come lay down,” he directed his patient into the main room. Murdock lent against the door. Hannibal stood at the foot of the bed and BA decided to stand before the French doors leading to the balcony.


            “Please, tell me your name…?” Leopold asked as he made Face lay down on the bed; sans covers.


            “Templeton Peck and you’re a Doctor…?” Templeton was able to mutter. His throat was still scratchy.


            “Leopold Dunkle,” Leopold smiled as he dug through his bag and pulled out a tongue depressor, “Now, Heir Peck, say Aaaawweee…”


            And suddenly Face felt like a five year old and Hannibal’s huge, shit eating grin didn’t help things along.


Tags: ba, faceman, fan fiction, germany, hannibal, murdock, pow camp, the a-team, vietnam

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