Status: Active
To the Edge of the Earth
Bravo
Laying down in the middle of the desert, four men groaned in pain while holding various limbs and pieces of cloth to bleeding wounds. Templeton sat up gingerly, his back felt more bruised than ever before, his shoulder bleeding constantly with an entrance and exit wound from a bullet. With his eyes squinting slightly he could see in the distance a small town, one where no one probably spoke English or recognised them.
Looking to the ground beside him he saw his father in law, the grey and white haired Irish man was laying there with furrowed eyebrows, he couldn’t figure out how his plan went so pear shaped. Usually by now he’d have lit a cigar and be celebrating by puffing it quickly. The other two had superficial bruising, nothing that wouldn’t heal in time; but Baracus was more concerned with the flying that Murdock had submitted him to.
“There’s a hospital there somewhere, I need some stitches,” Templeton groaned, using his good arm to get him to his feet. The other was limp, far too sore to move, let alone put pressure one. “This is gonna leave a mark,” He complained, staggering forward, not looking behind to see if they were following. They’d all catch up at their own pace. Every new scar was noticed by Isabelle, she hated to see them, they made her beg him even harder to stay with her, not to leave.
Murdock pulled Baracus to his feet, forcing them all to follow Templeton into the African town. They were in Sudan, not the safest country, they knew that, but they were needed there to help secure a water source for a refugee camp that had been taken over by rebels; they knew they had to help, to do what they do best. The sand was course, it wasn’t the soft beach sand that you could sink your toes into, the kind of sand Templeton wishes he was walking on barefoot with his wife at his side.
“He’s thinking about her again,” Baracus chuckled, “His eyes have that dow like look to them,” With a sigh they kept on walking, talking about ‘her’ made both Templeton and Hannibal upset, missing the same girl. “Sorry guys,” Baracus apologised, not wanting them to both become soppy and emotional like always.
They found a rundown shack that passed for a hospital, a middle aged woman sat out the front asking them in the best English she could about their details regarding the injuries. Most of their answers were lies. ‘We are volunteers, we were attacked, no we didn’t fight back’. The lies they told were able to fall from their lips so easily, they sometimes forgot what was the truth when it came to their lives. Not soon afterwards a tall man began to treat them inside.
There were no lush floors, nice beds or even top grade medical equipment inside. The best thing they had was a television with botched reception and the crackling interrupting everything that was being said. They watched the television as they were being treated, stitched and bandaged. It didn’t take long for all of them to feel their blood pressure rising.
“Today CIA officials confirmed the arrest of Isabelle Peck, wife of fugitive Templeton ‘Faceman’ Peck and daughter of the ringleader Hannibal Smith. She’s been remanded in questioning until such a time as she tells the location of The A-Team.” The young anchorman said, his voice monotone, he didn’t care about the news, he just wanted his pay check at the end of the month.
Hannibal could feel his face turning red with rage, his hands opening and closing, an attempt to calm himself down. How could they touch his daughter? His only link to a normal life.
“I think we’re done here.” Faceman grumbled, his arm stitched and in a heavy black sling. “We have to go get her.”
Looking to the ground beside him he saw his father in law, the grey and white haired Irish man was laying there with furrowed eyebrows, he couldn’t figure out how his plan went so pear shaped. Usually by now he’d have lit a cigar and be celebrating by puffing it quickly. The other two had superficial bruising, nothing that wouldn’t heal in time; but Baracus was more concerned with the flying that Murdock had submitted him to.
“There’s a hospital there somewhere, I need some stitches,” Templeton groaned, using his good arm to get him to his feet. The other was limp, far too sore to move, let alone put pressure one. “This is gonna leave a mark,” He complained, staggering forward, not looking behind to see if they were following. They’d all catch up at their own pace. Every new scar was noticed by Isabelle, she hated to see them, they made her beg him even harder to stay with her, not to leave.
Murdock pulled Baracus to his feet, forcing them all to follow Templeton into the African town. They were in Sudan, not the safest country, they knew that, but they were needed there to help secure a water source for a refugee camp that had been taken over by rebels; they knew they had to help, to do what they do best. The sand was course, it wasn’t the soft beach sand that you could sink your toes into, the kind of sand Templeton wishes he was walking on barefoot with his wife at his side.
“He’s thinking about her again,” Baracus chuckled, “His eyes have that dow like look to them,” With a sigh they kept on walking, talking about ‘her’ made both Templeton and Hannibal upset, missing the same girl. “Sorry guys,” Baracus apologised, not wanting them to both become soppy and emotional like always.
They found a rundown shack that passed for a hospital, a middle aged woman sat out the front asking them in the best English she could about their details regarding the injuries. Most of their answers were lies. ‘We are volunteers, we were attacked, no we didn’t fight back’. The lies they told were able to fall from their lips so easily, they sometimes forgot what was the truth when it came to their lives. Not soon afterwards a tall man began to treat them inside.
There were no lush floors, nice beds or even top grade medical equipment inside. The best thing they had was a television with botched reception and the crackling interrupting everything that was being said. They watched the television as they were being treated, stitched and bandaged. It didn’t take long for all of them to feel their blood pressure rising.
“Today CIA officials confirmed the arrest of Isabelle Peck, wife of fugitive Templeton ‘Faceman’ Peck and daughter of the ringleader Hannibal Smith. She’s been remanded in questioning until such a time as she tells the location of The A-Team.” The young anchorman said, his voice monotone, he didn’t care about the news, he just wanted his pay check at the end of the month.
Hannibal could feel his face turning red with rage, his hands opening and closing, an attempt to calm himself down. How could they touch his daughter? His only link to a normal life.
“I think we’re done here.” Faceman grumbled, his arm stitched and in a heavy black sling. “We have to go get her.”