“The A-Team: Landing Gear Down”By M.L. Zambrana

“I know we had to do it, Hannibal, but I still feel bad about leaving Murdock like that.”

Templeton “Face” Peck rubbed the side of his face, where a faint bruise had begun to blossom along the cheekbone. Under normal circumstances, the Faceman would’ve been panicked about the condition of his greatest asset and insisted that they stop off for ice somewhere, but his appearance seemed to be the last thing on his mind.

“I mean,” Face continued, “we could’ve taken Murdock with us. Dropped him off at the V.A.”

“Sure,” Hannibal agreed. “And then he could explain to the police why he had powder burns on his face, right?”

“Gunshot wounds require a police report,” Face argued. “Powder burns don’t.”John “Hannibal” Smith gave a rude snicker under his breath. “Face, anything

involving a wound caused by a gun gets a report on it Even BB guns. Any kind of firearm is subject to police scrutiny. You think Colonel Lynch wouldn’t drop by, asking why an escaped mental patient with connections to the A-Team would suddenly show up with powder burns?” He half-turned in the passenger seat of the van. “Look, we knew this might happen. We knew that Murdock might be left behind--that‘s why Beller Air arranged for one of their pilots to give him their I.D., to mask his identity. They’ll take care of him.”

Next to Hannibal, B.A. Baracus nodded in agreement. He glanced back at Face through the rear-view mirror.

“We had no choice, man,” he said gruffly. “We had the police and the military on our backs.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “I can’t believe that we managed to get out of the airport without getting busted.”

“Yea, me, neither,” Face agreed in a reluctant tone. “It looked like we wouldn’t make it this time.”

Hannibal reached out and gave B.A. a quick pat on the arm. “Not without B.A.’s driving, we wouldn’t. Even though we had to carry you off the plane at first, what with you being catatonic.”

“But I’m just saying,” Face continued in an agitated tone, “that I don’t feel right about it I mean, we left him there, sitting there in the cockpit, doing shut-down procedures by memory. A blind pilot fumbling around the controls--”

“Hey!” B.A. interrupted. “He ain’t blind. Don’t be sayin’ that he’s blind!”Face blanched. “I know, I know. He’s just hurt. He’ll get better.”“To Murdock’s credit,” Hannibal pointed out, “he is such a great pilot that he can

do it by memory.” He paused. “He’s strong. He’ll pull through this just fine.”“Of course he will.” B.A. nodded again. “There’s a lot more to Murdock than

people think.”“I’m willing to bet,” Hannibal muttered, “there’s more to him than even we

know.”

H.M. “Howlin’ Mad” Murdock winced and let out a slight grunt of pain as the emergency room doctor pried open his right eye--the less-damaged one--to study the orb beneath the slightly seared skin. He gripped the edges of the gurney and tried not to move as the doctor’s effort separated the upper eyelid from the lower one, and the bright examination light of the retinoscope hit the dark brown iris. The effort hurt, but not too badly; the relief of being able to see out of it again helped him to push aside any discomfort. He stared in to the bright light with a gratefulness that he hadn’t anticipated, and when the light moved away from his face, he squinted and tried to look around the room.

Doctor Gary Lippett tutted as he placed the gauze bandage back over Murdock’s right eye, forcing it shut again. Treating the burns to the skin had been the emergency room’s first actions, and they’d put gel and gauze over the wounds to protect them from infection.

“Now, Captain Rankin,” he said as he put one gloved hand on the side of Murdock’s head, to turn his face back towards the ceiling, “don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Sorry, Doc.” Murdock swallowed and settled his head back into its previous position. “I’m just… well, it looked like I could see just fine, there, for a moment.”

“No doubt, you could,” Doctor Lippett remarked. “The eye seems to be in very

good condition. I spotted a slight scratch on your cornea, but the orb seems to have mostly cleared itself out of any debris.”

As the doctor stood up and moved his stool over to the other side of the gurney, Murdock reached up and wiped the stream of still-wet tears away from the right side of his face. The liquid had run down along his temple and pooled on the sheet beneath him, just behind his ear--the reaction had been a combination of the body’s natural efforts to remove a foreign object from its midst as well as a sign of his fear (released in a series of slow, steady tears) that he might be blinded for life.

Murdock took in a long, slow breath as he heard Doctor Lippett settle down on to the stool again.

“Now, this will probably hurt…” the doctor warned him.“I know,” came the short reply. Murdock balled up his fists, and felt a reassuring

pat on the shoulder.“So that’s why I’m injecting a pain killer,” he continued. “Just relax. You’re

going to feel the needle going in, and then you should be numb within less than a minute and I can examine this other eye. Okay?”

“Okay.”A minute later, as the injection took away the burning, stinging pain of the powder

burns on the left side of his face, Murdock let out a sigh of relief. While he could sense the doctor working apart the more damaged eyelid, none of the anticipated agony surfaced. However, instead of the clear, sharp light that he’d seen with his right eye, Murdock had to swallow hard at the blurry, disjointed images that registered in his brain as light seeped in through the left eye.

“Doc, what’s wrong with it?” he forced himself to ask.“It’s got a little more damage to it, that’s all. Some more corneal scratching, more

debris. This was the side closest to the gun, remember. I’ve seen worse, don‘t worry.”Murdock bit his lip. In an onboard fight with two of the hijackers of Beller Air

Flight 267, B.A. had tackled one of the men while Face and Murdock went after the other. When Face got thrown to the ground, Murdock reached out and grabbed the arm of the attacker--by pure luck, good or bad, he grabbed the arm holding the gun. Just before it discharged, Murdock turned the gun towards one of the airline seats, sending the bullet safely in to the back of an empty seat and away from the windows and bulkheads of the plane, which would’ve resulted in depressurization. But it happened too close to his face. Now, with some dismay, he realized that the ugly black barrel of the gun might be the last good image that his left eye would ever register.

The doctor snapped off the light and replaced the square of gauze, returning Murdock to a world of darkness.

“I’m going to have to irrigate the eye, Captain Rankin,” Doctor Lippett informed him. “I’ll be back shortly. Just try to relax.”

Rankin. Murdock possessed the credentials of one of their pilots, Captain Thomas F. Rankin, in the event that the mission did go successfully and questions arose as to what pilot brought the plane in for a landing. The pilot bore a passing resemblance to Murdock, but close scrutiny by any police officer worth their badge would’ve blown that cover; luckily, the facial wounds and the immediate need for medical attention brushed

away any official questions, and Murdock got whisked off by ambulance without having to flash the I.D. until he got to the hospital.

The name would still be sufficient to hide him from the military police and any questions about the A-Team, and keep him safe. He just wish that he felt as confident about the future that awaited him.

“Good morning, Captain.”Murdock’s entire body jerked in relieved recognition at the voice to his left, and

he smiled and reached one hand out.“Colonel!” he exclaimed.A low shushing noise followed, and Hannibal Smith laid a gentle hand on

Murdock‘s forearm as he brought it back down to the bed.“Keep it down, Murdock. It’s 2 a.m. We don’t want any nurses coming in to

check on you.” He paused. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”Murdock settled back in to his pillow and pulled up the sheet. “No, I was just

lying here thinking. I didn’t want ‘em to keep me overnight, but until I get the bandages off, I can’t very well leave on my own.”

He reached up to pat the lump of gauze around his head. The hospital had gone a bit overboard with the protective bandaging, but the extensive powder burns had damaged a sizable portion of the skin along his temples, over his eyebrows and on his eyelids, so the doctor had bundled him up securely before moving him to a private room--paid for courtesy of Beller Air.

“Are we leaving?” Murdock asked.“You’re in no condition to go anywhere… Captain Rankin,” Hannibal pointed

out. “I think it’s best if you just stay here and let the doctors work on you. Make sure everything is all right.”

“Oh, come on. The V.A. can do that.”“Sure, but so long as Beller Air is footing the bill, why not get the best care

around?”Murdock shook his head. “The longer that I’m here, the more chance there is that

the police, or even the military police, will find out who I am.”“I know, but it’s a risk you’re going to have to take.” Hannibal leaned in and gave

his hand a quick squeeze. “Murdock,” he said softly, “right now, you are blind.”“But I’m not! I can see real good out of my right eye, and the doc says the other

one… well, it needs to heal up a bit. But it should be all right, too.”“You’re not hearing me,” Hannibal said with quiet patience. “Right now… at this

moment… you are blind. Do you understand what I‘m saying?”Murdock grew quiet. “You’re saying that without my eyes, I‘m no good to the

team as anything.”“No,” came the soothing reply. “I’m saying that you’re a patient. You are

temporarily incapacitated, and I would no more pull you out of this bed because of your eyes than I would if you had a broken leg. You need to rest, and you need to heal. As things stand, we can‘t risk any infections setting in by moving you out of a sterile environment. There could be complications.”

“You mean, I could still go blind.”“Possibly, yes.”“What… what if I was blinded for life?” Murdock asked. “What would happen

then?”Hannibal did not answer, and Murdock drew in a shaky breath. The question

didn’t really need a response. As a blind veteran, Murdock would probably live the rest of his life at the V.A., either in or out of the psych ward, fed and clothed and taken care of, but he would never again be able to rejoin the team in a working capacity. What could he do for them? He couldn’t rewire anything. He couldn’t weld. Maybe he could help assemble something, but to do so, he’d need the pieces laid in his hands and basic instructions given--and more often than not, the team never had time to explain what had to be done; tasks on hand just needed to get done. He wouldn’t be able to drive or to skydive or…

Murdock shivered. Worse yet, he wouldn’t be able to fly ever again. The glorious sight of the world spread out before him from the windows of a cockpit would become a memory… just like the barrel of that gun that had gone off in front of him.

“Please take me with you, Colonel,” he begged softly.“We’ll be back for you when you get discharged,” Hannibal promised. “Face has

got a pretty little nurse who’s keeping an eye on your paperwork, and she’s feeding us updates on you.” He paused. “Stay strong, Murdock. Good night.”

“Good night,” Murdock responded in a faint voice.Hannibal’s footsteps faded away, and Murdock slowly brought his hands up to his

head. His long fingers traced the thick wrap of bandages around his head, and he fought back the urge to tear them away. He could see. He knew that he could see. He did still have his vision, and in that moment he wanted desperately to prove it to himself. But he knew better, and so he forced his arms back down to his sides.

His body began to shake. It had been hours since the tense landing in the enormous Boeing, with Hannibal beside him at the controls, and Face and B.A. each freaking out in their own ways behind him, but only now did the shock of the experience begin to seep in to Murdock’s mind. He took quick, frenzied breaths, his fingers balling up the sheet and his damp palms pressed in to the material…

And if not for the lumps of gauze over his eyes, H.M. Murdock would have been crying.