As requested ...
Here is the story behind this: I was watching the show and started thinking about how mismatched the team is. To the best of my knowledge, military units do not often include both officers and enlisted personal.
So how did a group like the A-Team come together?
That plot bunny led me down a winding trail and I ended up with what you are about to read.
This first chapter is dedicated to Tripidydoodah for encouraging me to post.
DISCLAIMER: I am neither old enough to have created The A-Team or rich enough to own it.
Lt. Colonel John "Hannibal" Smith puffed his cigar as he surveyed the map in front of him. The Vietcong had been gaining territory at an alarming rate and, if they weren't stopped soon, their bases and field hospitals would be overrun. The only trouble was, how do you stop an army with home-field advantage? That jungle was so think, they could be right on top of the enemy and not even know it.
"It can't be done," Lt. Colonel Dixon stated, circling a spot on the map with his finger. "The VK are spread all through this area. It would take hundreds of men to push them back, and that's assuming we can even find them."
He was right about that, if they planned to use traditional warfare. However, as the enemy was not playing by those rules, Hannibal saw no reason why they should have to. Moving his gaze away from the front lines, he quickly found a solution.
"An army moves on its stomach," Hannibal pointed out, indicating a road with his cigar. "If we can cut their supply lines, we can slow them down, at least long enough to get our M.A.S.H. units back a safe distance."
"And how do you plan to do that, Smith?" Dixon challenged. "You bring troops in there, they will be picked off before they ever reach the road!"
"Then we don't follow the road," he reasoned. "A small team can use the river to take out the bridges."
"Seems a little risky," Colonel Morrison commented. "That river is pretty deep inside enemy territory."
"With all due respect, Sir," Hannibal replied, "risky is all we have left."
"It's suicide," Dixon stated firmly," and I won't have any of my men risking their necks on such an insane plan."
"Okay," Hannibal shrugged. "I'll find my own … with your permission, sir."
Morrison hesitated, eyes still on the map. He was a good leader and strategist, so it was likely that he was mentally calculating the risk of failure against the death toll they were facing if they did nothing. In the end, his commanding officer let out a sigh.
"I can't order anyone to go in there, not with that much risk."
"You won't have to, Sir," Hannibal promised him. "A three-man team can do the job and I know where I can get a couple of volunteers."
"Alright," Morrison relented. "I'll give you whatever support I can, but I won't send in a platoon if you get in hot water."
"Understood. Thank you, sir."
With the meeting dismissed, Hannibal headed out of the building. He hadn't gone more than two steps before Major Fisher was right beside him. A good friend for many years, Fisher was sure to give him the support and honesty that their friendship required.
"Hannibal, you are out of your ever-loving mind."
Well, at least he had the honesty down.
"Fisher, we don't have a choice here. Either we take out their bridges or they take out our hospitals."
"By 'we,' I hope you aren't talking about me."
Hannibal gave his friend a smile as he clapped him on the shoulder and shook his head. Fisher may be a good and loyal friend, as well as a phenomenal strategist, but stealthy he was not. This job called for both finesse and power, two things the man was lacking in. However, if the officer's club gossip was to be believed, there was one place he might be able to find exactly what he was looking for …
To be continued ... tomorrow.
In the meantime, feedback is always appreciated.