On The Jazz
On The Jazz Newsletter: Volume 2 Issue N°11

Date: February 27, 1996
Author: Nicole Pellegrini
Download: otjv02i11.zip

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**Home of the On the Jazz Newsletter Archives**
DATE:   February 27, 1996
ISSUE:  11
Greeting everyone! As they say, we're better late than never around here...I just made it back into town this week after being in D.C. to catch Dwight Schultz on "Nowhere Man" Monday night. Good episode, yet another good appearance by Dwight, who also had just appeared in the new Outer Limits last week in the episode "If These Walls Could Talk." If that's not enough Dwight spottings recently, well, I also have heard to keep an eye (& ear) out for the new audio book version of the "Unofficial X-Files Companion" this coming month. Dwight, along with Nana Visitor (of ST:DS9) are the readers of this 2 volume set, priced at $10 US each.

Also spotted Eddie Velez in at least a small part on "Walker, Texas Ranger" last week. The UPN show he was in, "Live Shot," has met an "untidy demise" recently. Not an especially good show, but Eddie was quite good and had one of the only really interesting characters on it, IMO. No other news on upcoming appearances by any of the Team, but as always I'll keep you posted as soon as I hear of anything.

In other news, I got my copy of Mr. T's appearance on Howard Stern's E! show from last month but haven't had a chance to transcribe anything from it yet. But look for it in the next newsletter. The program was taped sometime last year (right before he was heading to England, so there is no mention of his being ill and he is really in super-charged form for the show.) If anyone has this show taped off the radio, let me know, as the TV version is not complete, I think.

Last issue I made an announcement about the next A-Team Philly party, asking people for what dates in March/April were good and if they were interested in coming. Well, only 2 people got back to me on this, which was rather surprising as many other people had been asking me about this recently. So, I'm repeating the announcement this issue. I'm proposing that the party will be held on either Saturday, March 30, or Saturday, April 6, based on any feedback one way or another. The place, as last time, will be my apartment in Center City Philadelphia. If you are interested in attending PLEASE make a preliminary RSVP with me sometime in the next week. If I don't hear from a few more people about this by the next newsletter, I'm going to cancel the party (although those 2 people who I've talked to about it already are more than welcome to come over & hang out that weekend anyway :-)

I've heard back from a lot of people who have either called Columbia House or written them since last issue, which is great. I think they must be getting flooded by requests for carrying A-Team videos by now. But if you haven't written them yet, please do so! The address to send mail to is:

Columbia House
1400 North Fruitridge Ave
P.O. Box 1114
Terre Haute IN 47811-1114

Also, several people have suggested to me that a cable station like FX would be a perfect place for the A-Team. You might want to call them at 1-800-fxfxfx1 if you can't get the show in your area currently.
Well, this week, on to part 2 of...

by Michele Lellouche
Originally printed in "Closed for Remodeling #1," 1986

Face was on watch, perched on the meager pile of firewood, legs stretched toward the fire, rifle across his knees. He scratched at his beard with chill-stiffened fingers and tensed as he stared into the darkness around them.

It was eeire to look at a sky not lit up by a city's glow or tracer flares from a Cobra gunship. Darkness that made him wonder where their persuers were, how close. Darkness that chilled him more than the damp, cold air. It was a beautiful night, especially with an almost full moon, but it was on unfamiliar ground -- and that made it deadly.

He broke off his perusal of the sky when one of the horses snorted. He stared at their mounts, seeing ears prick, nostrils flare. He got to his feet, moving with the stealth with which he had always walked point. He came alongside his mount, rubbing the black nose to quiet him.

"Easy..." he breathed, then went still, listening. In Nam, he was always the one on point, always the one to hear Charlie before they struck. He heard now. "Yeah...yeah, I hear 'em." He rubbed the horse's neck, then turned back to the fire.
                       *     *     *
Impassable Bay was almost that, closed against Fulbright and his men with the thick growth of pine trees, the standing deep water, the bone chilling cold and darkness. The four-wheel drives finally had to be abandoned, and Fulbright sent his men further into the depths on foot with electric lanterns. He led them himself, hearing their grumbling and feeling their unease all too clearly. Fulbright was moving faster than they were and was unaware of it. He slogged through the swamp remembering, as his followers did not, the Delta in Nam. He remembered, too, the men he was after.

They were legends in Vietnam, but they had been in I Corps while Fulbright had been in IV. They were Special Forces, and he had a regular Army distrust of Berets and their unorthodox tactics. They had rarely ventured into his country, and Fulbright had never seen them in action. He had a stubborn cynical streak that was disinclined to believe anything he had not seen. So far all he had seen of them was their humiliation of him. To him, they were only arrogant fugitives who had humiliated the U.S. Army for much too long.

He froze suddenly when he heard the howl of a wolf, eerie anywhere under a nearly full moon, but especially so in a swamp that had no wolves. The call seemed to rise from the water under his feet and whistle mournfully through the trees. He heard his men breaking far behind him, and he realized he was cut off from them. An answering howl came from seemingly miles away as Fulbright regained his pace. He kept going forward, trusting his second to do something with the squad.

He broke from the woods almost half an hour later, landing completely alone in the rain-soaked clearing. He surveyed it, smiling as he saw the signs of habitation. He knelt at the dying fire and knew. He might be a cornered hunter, but a hunter he still was, and he could sense his prey.
                       *     *     *
Murdock kicked his horse into a slow trot, his saddlesore muscles no longer even trying to go with the jolting ride. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and drew the automatic from his holster, riding on a few dozen yards before nonchalantly sending two shots into the air.

He and Face were playing an elegant game, circling the squad of persuers using gunshots, a few grenades, and lightning charges to cause panic. Age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill,/ he thought, trying to remember where he had heard it. /And teamwork will always triumpth,/ remembering his and Face's coordinated runs dividing the men.

He pulled his mount to a stop, rubbing the bay under his shaggy mane. He felt sorry for the squad milling in the trees, irrationally, since they were hunting him like an animal. Still, he had been there himself, running through unfamiliar woods under fire. But it had been deadly fire then, not the kind he and Face were laying down now. He stood in his stirrups wearily, trying to see if the troops were regrouping, when he heard the mournful wolf cry once more. He grinned and sank back in his saddle; only someone who knew the voice could detect the conman lilt to the howl. Face could sell even in another tongue. Murdock howled his trademark call in response and urged his mount back to a canter.

He circled their persuers and rode slowly up on the rendevous he and Peck hadset on their way out. He shivered as fog rose up around him and his mount. He was tired of swamps and cold, chilled through for so long that he was beginning not to feel cold anymore at all.

He nearly went for his rifle as he cleared the trees and came up on the sandy knoll. Face held his rifle ready, his horse ready to leap as well. Murdock, on edge for so long, almost skidded over it on seeing the lieutenant practically emerge from the mist. Carefully, the captain drew a deep breath and calmed down as Face lowered the gun and gave his trademark smile. Murdock's return grin was shaky as he rode alongside.

"In a little deep, aren't we, Faceman?" Murdock hissed, a razor under his jest.

"Over our heads again," Peck returned, razor edge matched. He turned his horse. "B.A.'s up the trail. Hannibal's found Fulbright." Face urged his horse to a trot.

"We have met the enemy and he is ours..." Murdock murmured, following.
                       *     *     *
General Fulbright stood at the sound of hoofbeats coming at a slow trot over the pine needles. He knew at least one rider was ahead of him, the others behind him. He drew his automatic, his mouth set in a grim line. They wanted a battle; he would give them one. The hoofbeats stopped.

He froze, then turned in a tight circle. Even in the light, he could see nothing. He laughed at himself sharply as the hoofbeats started again. Then he heard four rifle bolts slipped simultaneously in a circle around him. This time as he circled, he saw his quarry. For a silent minute, he had to stare at the four horsemen to be sure they were indeed the A-Team.

"They are a law unto themselves."/ Fulbright thought of Decker's parting words as the A-Team stared down at him. The legends of these men suddenly became believable when he saw them now, no longer the laughing, arrogant gang that had held him at bay so often. They were the A-Team they had been in Nam -- hungry-eyed and gaunt, with muscled frames he could see as the wind tore through the clearing, gazes that promised easy, random violence planned to the highest degree, and hands that could fulfill those promises. Bearded, hooded with fatigue and dying adrenalin, they looked more dangerous than Fulbright had ever seen them. Defiant stare met defiant stare as he settled his gaze on Hannibal Smith, blue eyes glinting with dangerous laughter over a white-gray beard.

"Whaddya say, General?" Hannibal asked, his usual insolence worn to a rasp. His rifle was crossed over his saddlehorn, steady even as his bay tossed his head up and down.

"We've got you, Smith. For once we've got you," Fulbright snarled with a confidence he did not feel.

"I don't know about you, General, but I don't exactly see any 'we' out here except us," Hannibal returned archly.

"I have a whole squad out here behind me." He whirled at the sound of hollow, derisive laughter from Peck and Murdock, stirrup to stirrup behind him, and caught sight of B.A. at a right angle to Peck, a length away. All three rifles were trained loosely on him, their eyes cooling rapidly.

"Had, General," Face corrected. "Murdock and I sent them around in so many circles they'll be dizzy for weeks." His Faceman smile was sinister under the dark beard.

"We gave them 'Good Hunting.'" Murdock grinned and then howled the truly chilling howl that had scared even his teammates at first. It rose all around the clearing and seemed to draw the moon even closer. Fulbright swallowed -- he could believe all the reports of the pilot's insanity. The general knew he had to bluff it out.

"It's not gonna matter. The whole National Guard is out after you, and an infantry company from Bragg is coming intomorrow."

At that Hannibal shook his head. "I doubt the entire Guard is out here. The Suwannee's at flood stage -- the Guard will be out there helping people, which is what they're supposed to do. Maybe you should join 'em and take the detachment from Bragg along with you -- let 'em do some good. You're certainly not going to get us."

"You're too sure of yourself, Smith, you and your whole tribe."

Hannibal laughed, sitting back in his saddle. "Tribe, huh? I like that." He looked at his team. /We certainly look like a tribe -- Geronimo's at the end of the chase./ "And this is one chief who will never say 'We will fight no more, forever.' He jerked the reins, kicked his mount, and they turned with precision just as Face and Murdock moved their own mounts, leaping into the clearing and past Fulbright. Face tossed over his shoulder as they went past, "And we will never surrender!"

B.A.'s larger horse was slower, and he was trotting past as the general shouted, "I'll get you, Smith!"

"Not today, sucker!" B.A. barked over his shoulder, finally kicking his mount to a gallop.

Fulbright had no choice but to watch as the A-Team disappeared into the pines and the mist, leaving only the dead fire and hoofprints, their departure echoed by a mournful howl -- one Fulbright had come to hate with fury.

To be continued...
That's all for this week, everyone! "Shadows" will finish up next time, after that I've got a bunch more stories from various sources lined up for the coming weeks, so there's lots to look forward to.

Until next time, stay on the jazz...

Quote of the week:

Amy:  Hannibal, where are you going?!
Hannibal:  Through the front door - where else!
Amy:  *Stupid* question...
                                (from "Diamonds 'n Dust")

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