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On the Jazz - Vol 02 Issue 12
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The totally unofficial A-Team electronic mail newsletter
***** Now in it's second year of publication !! *****
Reflector submission address: onthejazz
Administrivia: Nicole Pellegrini
Please use the following address for subscribe/unsubscribe
and back issue requests (do NOT send them to the reflector address):
pellegri
Also use that address if you wish to change your subscription status
to receive the newsletters only (or vise versa).
The A-Team Homepage: http://www.seas.upenn.edu/~pellegri/ateam.html
The A-Team On the Web: http://www.xs4all.nl/~jmm/a-team/
**Home of the On the Jazz Newsletter Archives**
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DATE: March 11, 1996
ISSUE: 12
VOLUME: 2
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Howdy folks,
Well, it's that time again. First a brief mention of some...
ADMINISTRIVIA
I still haven't heard back from AOL about getting LISTSERV for this group,
so it's time to start seriously looking at other alternatives (as mentioned
about 2 months back, our current umich list administrator will be leaving in
a few months, therefore we need to find a new administrator and/or site to
carry the message reflector.) Now, I know at least 2 people also at umich
contacted me about possibly taking over the management of the site. If those
people could contact rkwong, you can find out more of the
details as far as what would be involved in managing the list.
FINAL PARTY ANNOUNCEMENT
Okay everyone, this is the final and official announcement that the 2nd
semi-frequent A-Team Philly Fest will be held on Saturday, April 6th, all-
day-until-you-can't-take-anymore-A-Team. This location is my apartment in
Center City Philadelphia which I can provide instructions to if anyone
needs them. Plenty of food, drink, fun, and mind-numbing entertainment.
I'll have a bunch of unedited episodes from the original NBC broadcasts of
the show that we can check out (along with those great 80s commercials!)
Please RSVP with me as soon as you can.
ZINE NEWS...
Looks like if everything goes smoothly, next issue I should be able to
officially announce the release of "Plans Scams & Vans 2," full of some
great original A-Team adventures from fellow Onthejazz members.
That means, with all contributions in for Issue 2, it's time to start thinking
about material for Issue 3...also, based on several people I know who are
actively working on A-Team/X-Files crossover stories, we're going to try to do
a special *all* AT/XF zine to be called (drumroll, please...)
"The A-Files"!!!
Yes, I know, I'm crazy. Completely crazy. But it's too cool an idea to pass
up. So, if you have any story ideas/artwork/etc. that might fit in with this
theme, let me know and I can provide more info on the project.
In other 'zine-related news, I recently heard from Rita Ractliffe, who wrote/
published the A-Team 'zine "Nightmare" which I reviewed a while back here.
A few people had contacted her about purchasing the 'zine, but 1) she can't
accept personal checks, ONLY money orders, and 2) to the person in Australia
who wrote her, she has to check on the overseas postage and then she will get
back to you on it. If you are in the U.S. and would like to order it from
her, the 'zine cost is $10 plus postage - $3 would cover priority mail postage.
She wanted to apologize to anyone who may have written her and never heard
back,
as certain personal and work-related problems were keeping her preoccupied
until recently.
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STORY TIME
And now, time for the 3rd and final part of...
SHADOWS IN THE RAIN
by Michele Lellouche
Originally printed in "Closed for Remodeling #1," 1986
B.A. rode rear guard, wearily watching the dawn rise, rocking in the
saddle when they went back to a lope as the trees thinned. They had been in the
saddle almost the whole night, and he knew their run had drained almost all of
their reserves; he could feel fatigue weighting him down just as his rifle was.
He had nearly dropped off as they had been forced to a walk in the heavier
forest. Now, the pounding was at least keeping him awake, but being awake was
not exactly terrific. He was convinced they had not lost their persuers, and
although Hannibal said otherwise, he knew the colonel was not convinced either.
So B.A. listened as closely as he could behind him, but he stared more closely
ahead. As he watched, he worried.
He was the one who had gotten them into this, dragging them to see his
aunt and uncle in Tallahassee's Frenchtown. Someone there must have recognized
them and alerted Fulbright. But as much as he blamed himself, he had to admit
that the rest had been good, even if it were only one day's worth. He looked at
them now and knew even the respite had been no help. He saw Hannibal losing
weight, adding lines, going white over gray, and he worried. He saw Face and
Murdock losing weight neither could afford, and he worried some more. They
were his family. The other three had grown up independently, but he had had a
family and missed it. He considered himself their protector, and he was
concerned now for them. They might not get out, and even if they did, in a few
more days they might be stretched too tight to recover fully. /"We're old...
older than Nam."/ He snapped out of his musing when the others came to a halt.
The other three were turned back the way they had come when B.A.'s horse
brought him up. Absently, he noticed the dawn submerging in the storm clouds
above them. Both Peck and Murdock were standing in their stirrups, staring
into the woods.
"Hear somethin'?" B.A. grunted, more for show than actual curiosity. He
had seen those looks before, too many times.
"Yes...," they said as one. Hannibal said nothing, trusting his men as
they did him.
"They're behind us," Face said softly, resigned, dropping back into his
saddle. Murdock shook his head.
"No...they're over us." As he said it, they all heard the chopper blades,
then turned their heads as one to see open ground -- a flat two hundred yards
of sawgrass and baby pines they had to cross. Hannibal knew instinctively, with
the same uncanny knowing that had saved them countless times before, that both
Face and Murdock were right. Their pursuit was on land as well as in the air.
"Let's go," he said simply, expecting the usual joking protest, but there
was none. They were too near the edge to summon the extra energy. Rifles
were unslung and checked, reins entangled with manes in chilled fingers. Then
the horses were turned as the blades came closer and the four-wheel drives could
be heard.
"Get his tail rotor -- it'll bring him down faster," Murdock said quietly,
looking at Face, the only one of the four secure enough in the saddle to use his
rifle accurately, with both hands. Peck nodded, then kicked his mount, with
Hannibal alongside him.
****
Fulbright ordered the chopper lower as they reached the edge of the forest,
barking an order to his ground commander. He was grinning, alive with the
possibility of finally capturing his quarry, especially after the scene last
night. They were practically skimming the trees as the forest ended -- and
four horsemen broke from it.
Fulbright could fix their order from the air -- Murdock in the lead (had to
be -- he was the only one Fulbright did not know from the photographs), Smith
and Peck stirrup to stirrup, Baracus in the rear. All were firing randomly at
the chopper with no deliberate aim because it was impossible to aim a rifle with
one hand.
"Lower, dammit, get in ahead of them. Cut 'em off." The pilot began to
comply when the fire became deliberate and aimed.
One of the few things Fulbright rememebred from military history at the
Point was the Parthian shot -- the famous archer-horsemen of Afghanistan and
their shots, riding the horse while turning completely around to shoot. He had
only seen photographs, of course -- never the moving, live picture he saw now.
Peck dropped the reins and turned, aiming upward with the Ruger rifle and
opening up with deadly fire. The pilot pulled up as quickly as he could, but it
only presented a better target.
Face took aim on the chopper, ignoring the perfect target of the belly and
concentrating on the tail rotor. No matter the pursuit, he would not kill to
protect them unless there were no other choice. Still, the primitive adrenalin
he had been running on hungered for a permanent end to the chase. Angry
with himself, he shook the feeling and fired a three-round volley to bracket the
craft and determine his line of fire as his mount plunged through the grass.
His second three-shot crippled the tail rotor and sent a plume of dark smoke to
join the rapidly darkening clouds.
Fulbright felt the sickening lurch and gritted his teeth as he watched Peck
turn back to his riding. As the chopped went down, Fulbright scowled at their
escape and at the knowledge that Peck did not make the obvious shot. He knew
his only hope to catch them was to meet up with his ground force. Then the
cold rain began, sheeting from a blue-black sky. Fulbright stared into it,
wondering if the Fates were permanently in the A-Team's side, and watched them
ride away into the rain.
****
"Good evening. This is the CBS Evening News, Dan Rather reporting. Rain,
an intense deluge, blanketed northern Florida, raising the Suwannee River to its
highest level in recorded history and ending the manhunt for the legendary
fugitive A-Team, a hunt that was ended by a storm from above and gunfire from
below. Bruce Hall has the report."
"The fourth day of the search for the A-Team was also the last. Late
today, rain-soaked Florida National Guardsmen and Army MP's arrived back at
their base in the Osceola National Forest, unsuccessful once more. The
commander of the search, Army General Harlan Fulbright, returned earlier from a
helicopter flight ended by gunfire from the fugitives as they disappeared into
the Pinhook Swamp notheast of the national forest. Fulbright himself called
off the search as rain intensified into thunderstorms throughout the day and
rising water made further searching difficult and dangerous.
"By afternoon, Governor Bob Graham summoned the remaining National
Guardsmen back to the Suwannee River to aid flood victims, and by nightfall,
the A-Team had once again disappeared without a trace. Bruce Hall, CBS News, in
the Osceola National Forest, Florida."
****
Sunset again, although they could not see it as they rode out into another
sawgrass clearing. Face led them, urging his mount through soaked underbrush,
rain roaring in their ears and beating down on them. He halted, standing in his
stirrups and raking a hand through his hair. He felt weariness drag him down
harder than his sodden duster; he was beginning to believe he had been born in
this saddle. He shook the thought and focused his attention on the nature of
the clearing. He was trying to see through the rain and decide why the
clearing was long and straight when a black pickup truck flashed by, plowing a
huge backwash. Face's mount jumped and Face almost turned him back, but he was
tired of this game. He dug his heels into his horse's ragged flanks and rode
onto the /"...road...it's a road."/ He drew rein again, the shod hooves
slipping on the wet asphalt. Beyond the road he could make out a gravel bed
which had to mean railroad tracks. He turned his horse back as the rest of the
team emerged from the trees. He trotted toward them, smiling, his first real
smile in days, maybe weeks -- he couldn't remember.
"A road...railroad tracks beyond!" he yelled hoarsely over the roar of the
rain. He saw B.A.'s and Murdock's relief, then looked into Hannibal's
skepticism.
"Could be abandoned," Smith shouted back. As he did, they all heard a
haunting whistle echoing over the rain. Smith sighed. "I love it when a plan
comes together," he grinned as rakishly as he could manage. He expected their
laughter but was still relieved to hear it. He joined it, silently
thanking God
for the return of his team.
****
"Today, the intensive manhunt for the fugitive A-Team ended, but the
search is still going on. Tonight in his commentary, Bill Moyers examines what
has become the longest chase in American history."
"For Americans, the Vietnam War ended in 1973 -- 'peace with honor' for a
nation tired of fighting. But there was no peace for the country we left and no
honor for the men who came home. One year ago, we established a memorial to
some of those men, a memorial to the dead, to help atone for using them and the
survivors as scapegoats for a war gone somehow terribly wrong.
"There are those who are still paying for that war, perhaps chief among
them three men whose only crime was to fight the war too well. Under orders,
they robbed the Bank of Hanoi, returning days after the war ended only to be
imprisoned -- the price of a peace that was only a holding action. When Andrew
Jackson won the Battle of New Orleans after the official end of the War of 1812,
he became a national hero. The men on the A-Team have become national heroes of
the fugitive variety. Many feel they are modern-day Robin Hoods, persecuted by
a government single-mindedly pursuing them even as the veterans are honored and
the draft evaders come home.
"For the A-Team, however, there have been no honors, only the acclaim of
the people and the relentless chase of the Army.
"I'm Bill Moyers."
The end.
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That's all for this issue, folks. Would have some more for y'all but my wrist
is acting up...Next time, part 1 of another great story from Laura Michaels
that's a MacGuyver/A-Team crossover (yeah, just had to do that one next
considering the recent debate on the mailing list!)
Until next time...
nicole
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Quote of the week:
Hannibal (to Face): "Sometimes your sense of larceny is your
most attractive trait."
(from "Cowboy George")
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Sockii
------
This Space For Rent
