I've come to a decision to write the stories I want to write and not seek to get any of them published. For my Bobby Lee Bond comedy-romance-adventure stories, that means I get to include modified version of the A-Team. It's not fan fiction, it's just something my story needs. I've patterned Bobby after Dirk Benedict's Face / Starbuck characters and it just needs Hannibal, BA and Murdock in very rare cameos.
The problem with fanfic, in addition to being derivative and hideous, is that anyone reading it who is familiar with the source material will instantly whip out a dozen objections to whatever you did, pointing out how your story is not canon. Heck, fans did that with recent Star Wars movies and those were big-budget movies written by professionals.
In my case, I just want to have fun and I have odd little scenes in my head involving the guys. Since the story is set in 2026 and Bobby is 55 or so, it can't be the A-Team as it appeared in the TV series. Those characters would all be dead or ancient. I'm not worried about the exact timeline of Bobby's life during his years with the team, I just think they add a lot of fun to the stories. That's the key. If it makes them more fun, it stays. If it makes it less fun, it goes.
Anywho, here's a scene I wrote that will be the first time we encounter Hannibal Smith. This is after the incident at the fish camp in Louisiana where Bobby and Basil, thoroughly hungover, find Cat and General Beauregard injured and their little shack in disarray. It's also after yet-unwritten scenes where the guys drive back to their place on the Fish River with the animals and then take them to their normal vet in Foley for a follow-up appointment to deal with their injuries.
There, a newly-hired veterinary assistant has kidnapped the animals. General Beauregard is equipped with a tracker, so once the vet calls them up and sheepishly admits the animals are gone, the guys can track them. The woman who kidnapped them has taken them to Pensacola, then onto a private plane and off to Martinique.
There's some more setup that I'm working on, but in this scene, Bobby has gone to visit Hannibal while Basil gets their plane in working order.
Enjoy.
Jamaal's lesson at the range concluded, Bobby left the long gun case in the trunk.
Jerome glanced at it, then at Bobby.
“I’ll be out here when you’re done. Give the old man my love.”
“I will.”
The house was a small, one-story place on a quiet street in Cape Girardeau. The front door stood open behind a screen door, and Bobby could hear a Cardinals game from inside.
He knocked on the frame.
Hannibal appeared almost immediately.
For an instant the years disappeared. The old man broke into a broad smile, pushed open the screen door, and wrapped Bobby in a hug.
“How you doing, son?”
“Pretty good.”
Hannibal stepped back and looked him over.
“What brings you all the way up here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
Hannibal's eyes narrowed slightly.
“You going on a mission with that British fellow?”
“Basil?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yep. Soon as Basil can get the airplane going. Stupid thing spends more time in the shop than it does in the air.”
Hannibal laughed.
“That’s why we always stole the airplanes Murdock flew.”
Bobby shook his head. “Murdock. I swear, those were wild.”
“Some more than others.”
“Bolivia. All-time winner.”
“Nope.”
Bobby stared at him. “Nope?”
“Morocco. Hands down.”
“Morocco? Morocco was ordinary.”
“You weren’t sitting in the copilot’s seat.”
“What happened?”
“Every engine gauge in front of me was redlined. Every one. Almost from the moment Murdock started the engines.”
Bobby frowned. “I don't remember that.”
“You were in the back.”
“Did Murdock know?”
“Yep.”
“What did he say?”
Hannibal looked at Bobby.
“He said a good pilot never watches the gauges. You have to listen to the spirit of the aircraft and let her tell you what she needs.”
Bobby stared at him.
“He actually said that?”
“Then he patted the instrument panel and told me she was feeling wonderful.”
Bobby burst out laughing.
“I spent the entire flight waiting for both engines to seize.”
“Maybe.” Bobby considered it. “But in Bolivia Murdock had just been hit on the head. He flew the whole trip while concussed.”
“That’s true.”
“He was flying maneuvers that didn't make sense to him.”
Hannibal considered that.
“Bolivia was pretty bad.”
Bobby looked toward the television. The Cardinals game continued without either of them paying attention to it.
“Hannibal, I need your help.”
“I’m not getting the team back together.”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I think I’m about to do something incredibly stupid, and I need you to tell me not to do it.”
Hannibal looked at him.
“You came to me for that?”
“I realize now that may have been a tactical error.”
“Go.”
“Hannibal, you haven't even heard what it is.”
“Doesn't matter. Go.”
“See, this is exactly why I never came to you for sensible advice.”
“You didn't come for sensible advice.”
“I drove all the way to Cape Girardeau.”
“You flew most of it.”
“That's not the point. I had to get Jimmy to fly me up here. Then Jerome had to come get me. Do you have any idea how complicated this has become already?”
Hannibal smiled.
“And Basil is in Mobile trying to get that airplane running, which means by now he's probably bought another airplane part that will cost us more than my first house.”
“Go.”
“Would you stop saying that?”
“No.”
Bobby sighed.
“I haven't even gotten to the stupid part.”
“All right.” Hannibal settled back. “As soon as I get us some coffee, you can give me the stupid part.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two mugs of coffee. Bobby took one, tasted it, and looked into the cup.
“You still make terrible coffee.”
“I’m old. I don’t have to improve anymore.”
They sat in a pair of beaten-up chairs facing the television.
“All right,” Hannibal said. “Give it to me.”
Bobby did.
He told him about the fish camp in Louisiana. He told him what had happened to Cat and the General. He told him about coming home to Baldwin County. Then he told him about the veterinary clinic in Foley and the animals being taken.
Finally he told him where they were.
“Martinique,” Hannibal said.
“Martinique.”
“And Basil’s getting the airplane ready.”
“At Mobile.”
Hannibal sat back.
“Well, I can see your tactical problem.”
Bobby waited.
“It’s a trap.”
“We know.”
“Not probably a trap. Not maybe a trap. The whole thing has been engineered to bring you and Basil exactly where they want you.”
“Yep.”
“So forget surprise. They know you're coming. I wouldn't waste much time trying to be clever.”
Bobby raised an eyebrow.
Hannibal shrugged.
“Dramatic frontal assault.”
Bobby stared at him.
“What?” asked Hannibal, confused.
“Nothing.”
“You asked,” said Hannibal, slightly annoyed.
“That’s not my problem.”
Hannibal stopped.
“What do you mean, that’s not your problem?”
“That’s not why I came.”
Now Hannibal studied him.
Bobby put the coffee on the table.
“Hannibal, what am I doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
Hannibal did. Bobby could see that he did. But the old man wasn't going to help him.
Bobby looked away.
“It’s a dog and a cat.”
Hannibal said nothing.
“A dog and a cat, Hannibal. I’m about to get on an airplane and fly to Martinique, knowingly walk straight into a trap, and God knows what happens after that.”
Still nothing.
“For a dog and a cat.”
Hannibal waited.
“I can replace them tomorrow. There are probably fifty dogs and a hundred cats sitting in shelters in Baldwin County right now.”
Hannibal leaned back in his chair. He rolled his eyes as the Cardinals’ hitter swung at a pitch a foot outside. He sighed and turned back to Bobby, suddenly serious.
“Remember when we had to go get B.A.?”
Bobby closed his eyes.
“Oh, come on.”
“He'd been wounded.”
“I knew you were going to bring that up.”
“They had him. They knew we'd come for him.”
“Hannibal—”
“We knew they knew.”
“I remember.”
“We went anyway.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Because it was B.A.”
Hannibal let the silence sit for a moment.
Then he changed direction.
“You ever kill a man, Bobby?”
Bobby gave him an irritated look.
“What kind of question is that?”
“Have you?”
“Of course I have. I was on the team for ten years while we did it.”
“You’re Catholic.”
Bobby's irritation disappeared.
Hannibal continued.
“You believe every human life is sacred.”
“Yes.”
“Every one of those men you shot had a life that was sacred.”
“Yes.”
“You ever go back for one of them?”
Bobby said nothing.
“You ever charge into a building full of armed men because one of them was wounded?”
“No.”
“But you did for B.A.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
Bobby stared at him.
Hannibal waited.
“Because B.A. was family.”
The instant the words left his mouth, Bobby saw it.
His eyes closed.
“Oh, hell.”
Hannibal smiled.
Bobby pointed at him.
“Don't.”
Hannibal didn't waste a second.
“So are they.”
They watched the rest of the inning without speaking.
Bobby drank the coffee because it was there. Hannibal drank it because, inexplicably, he seemed to like it.
The Cardinals put two men on and stranded them both. They sat through the ads in silence.
Bobby never took his eyes off the television.
“Frontal assault?”
“Yep.”
Hannibal didn't look away from the game.
“Basil blasting away with that portable artillery piece of a rifle and you sniping around the edges to shape the battlefield for him.”
The Phillies’ leadoff batter stepped into the box.
“A few well-placed external satchel charges set to go off after the fun begins and shut off passageways wouldn't hurt, either.”
Bobby took another unhappy sip of coffee.
“Thought you weren't getting the team back together.”
“I’m not. I’m going to stay here, watching baseball.” Hannibal turned to him with a wicked grin. “You will let me know how it goes, won’t you? I happen to have a vested interest in the participants.”
Bobby softened. “Thanks, Hannibal.”
Hannibal paused and then added, “Cat has grown on me.”
Bobby laughed, shook his head and stood up. Hannibal stayed where he was, watching the game, a big grin on his face.
“Love you, old man,” said Bobby, quietly.
Hannibal looked up. “Love you, too, son. Be sure to come back alive or I’ll never speak to you again.”
Bobby walked out the door, smiling.
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