Mad Dogs and Englishmen Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Face sighed happily and lay back on the hotel room bed. It was good to feel clean and cool again. He snoozed, listening to the sound of Murdock singing in the shower. Murdock was currently belting out a Wagnerian sounding aria, though the words "kill the wabbit" slipped into the recitation now and again.

The hotel was less than a mile from the Stewart's home. Jenny had warned them it was a little basic, to which Murdock had cheerfully replied, "That’s okay, we don’t have very much money anyway." They had agreed to meet up tomorrow morning and drive out to the warehouse at Tonbridge. Meanwhile the A-Team had the evening to themselves to settle in.

"We have to go up west this evening," Murdock said, coming out of the bathroom, towelling himself dry. "Go to a few pubs, it'll be great."

"Aren't you tired?" Face asked marvelling at Murdock's limitless energy.

"Nope. Come on, get dressed. We'll get Hannibal and BA, go out for a few pints, you'll love it."

"Pints?"

The A-Team walked into a pub on the Charing Cross Road. It was still early in the evening and the place was pretty quiet. They got a few odd looks, something they were now so used to they never even noticed them any more. They sat down. After a few minutes Murdock noticed the barman was staring at them and he remembered something important.

"Oh, they don't have waitress service in English bars! I forgot."

Face gave a long-suffering sigh and said, "Okay, I'll get the drinks. Anything else you forgot to tell us, Murdock?"

"Nothing that comes to mind." Murdock said, grinning contritely.

Face went up to the bar. "Hi," he said, giving the barman a Smile. This one was variation 15(b) I'm your new favourite customer. (You won’t even notice I didn’t leave a tip.) The barman didn’t seem overly impressed.

"You gents drinking, or you just come in for a rest?"

"Oh, sorry about that. We're Americans." He found this seemed to excuse, or at least explain most eccentric behaviour. "We just arrived today, you know." He saw a glance pass between the barman and a customer standing by the bar. "We'll have, hmm, something traditionally English?"

"Traditionally English, eh? Well you can't get more traditional than Scrimpton and Ferret's Old Peculiar Pale Ale. Robin Hood himself used to swear by it." Face knew that was a line, but he let it go.

"Pale Ale? Is that like lite beer?" Face asked, with his best' innocent boy in the big city' look. There was that look again between barman and customer.

"Yeah, something like that." The barman started to draw off the beer.

Sometime later Face returned to the table with three pints of Scrimpton and Ferret's and a coke for BA.

"Wow, does this come with a spoon?" Murdock asked picking up his glass and looking at the creamy head on the beer.

Hannibal tried a sip. "This stuff is like molasses!" Face looked around and grinned embarrassed at the other patrons who had turned to stare after Hannibal's exclamation.

"Just drink it." Face said, turning back to Hannibal, his teeth gritted. Hannibal shrugged and drank. Several of the customers continued to watch them suspiciously.

An hour later Murdock weaved a little unsteadily back from the lavatory. He wobbled a bit as he passed a table and bumped against a seated man.

"Watch it, mate."

Murdock turned to apologise and through his Old Peculiar induced haze noticed that the men at the table were in military uniform. At this point Murdock made a very bad decision. He decided to salute.

Murdock had never had the snappiest salute; it had been the despair of his instructors and commanding officers. Long years without practice and two pints of Scrimpton and Ferret's turned it into something resembling an orang-utan trying to knock itself out. The men at the table were not impressed. The one Murdock had bumped into stood up quickly, grabbed Murdock's jacket and slammed him onto the table on his back. His friends lifted their glasses out of the way in perfect synchronicity and all stood up.

"You takin' the piss, mate?"

"No! Not 't all," Murdock slurred a little. "Ges'ure respec', fellow soldiers." He offered his hand and a slightly wonky smile. "Captain HM Murdock, United States Army, pleased t' meet you."

"Captain? Oh look, lads, we got ourselves an officer, we'd better salute."

"That's right suckers, you'd better." They turned to look at BA, standing menacingly by their table. Murdock waved to him.

"And I suppose you're a bleedin' general?" The group's spokesman asked, looking BA up and down.

"I'm a sergeant, corporal." BA said, noting the two chevrons on the man's sleeve. "Fifth Special Forces."

"Oh yeah? Well we're Royal Marines and…" The corporal went on talking but BA heard nothing else after the word "marines".

Ten minutes later the A-Team and six Royal Marines were out on the pavement in front of the pub. The corporal had his arm around Hannibal.

"That was a bloody good rumble," he said, with enormous satisfaction. "'specially when pretty boy there stood on that bottle." He gestured at Face who was being held up by Murdock and one of the marines. Hannibal frowned a little at the phrase 'pretty boy', but then grinned at the memory of the fall Face had taken as he backed up to get a better swing at a marine and put his foot on a discarded beer bottle. This was apparently the finest piece of entertainment ever seen in the pub. It had brought the fight to an immediate end as none of the marines could stop laughing long enough to even attempt to hit any of the Americans.

They had all staggered outside, followed by shouts of "you're all barred," from the barman.

"Come on then, Colonel." The corporal slapped Hannibal on the back, "I've been thrown out of better dumps than this one. Let us show you where you can get some proper beer."

"And then she said to me… she said… she said." Murdock frowned, then enlightenment spread over his features. "She said, 'Murdock…' She used to call me 'Murdock', you know."

"Everybody calls you Murdock, fool." BA said.

"'n' so did she." Murdock replied. BA shook his head. They were in the fourth pub now, the team and the marines sitting around listening to Murdock's story. Well, some of them were listening. One of the marines had his head on the table. The man beside him was using his ear as an ashtray. Face had a glassy expression and a fixed smile. Hannibal was preoccupied with attempting to light a cigar, but was having trouble getting lighter flame and cigar to line up.

"So she said, 'Murdock, you're really sweet.' Thass what she said to me." The other men looked sympathetic.

"Oh, that’s harsh, Murdock," the corporal said.

"Sweet!" Murdock exclaimed. "All know what tha' means. I mean no one ever calls him 'sweet'." He tried to point at Face, but misjudged the distance and poked him on the arm instead. Face slid to one side and fell against Hannibal's shoulder. He closed his eyes. BA, took the lighter from Hannibal, lit the cigar for him and gave him back the lighter.

"We're goin'." BA said.

"Aw, c'mon, sarge, it's still early," one of the marines protested.

The barman rang a bell and called out, "Time, gentlemen, please."

"We got stuff to do in the mornin'." BA said. "Been nice meetin' you fellas."

With the help of their new best friends BA got his teammates out of the pub and into a taxi. Face went to sleep on the seat. Murdock sat muttering incoherently, the word "sweet" being audible occasionally.

"You guys are a disgrace." BA said severely. "We got work to do, and you're gettin' drunk and brawling with marines."

"Don't fret, BA," Hannibal said, reassuringly and slightly unsteadily. "Consider it a little warm up exercise." He frowned suddenly. "Anyway you started the fight." BA had hoped Hannibal was too drunk to remember that, but the Colonel could hold his drink inconveniently well. "It' not even midnight," Hannibal said, checking his watch. "We'll all get a good night's sleep tonight and be ready for action in the morning."

Murdock sat down at the table where BA and Hannibal were tucking into their full English breakfasts. Murdock looked at the large platefuls of fried food and quickly averted his gaze. He picked up a piece of toast and spread some jam on it.

"Where's Face?" Hannibal asked.

"Bed. I tried to make him get up but he just told me to either leave him alone or shoot him. Said he didn't mind which." He shrugged. "He'll be okay after a gallon or two of coffee." He glared at Hannibal for being so perky and apparently hangover free.

"Shoot him?" Hannibal smiled at that, but it made him remember something he needed to sort out. They had to get hold of some guns. This would not be easy he knew. England wasn't exactly stuffed with gun shops like the US. It needed working on. He finished his breakfast, gulped down a cup of coffee and stood up.

"Right, meet you out front in a half hour." He gave a really evil smile. "I think it's time to sound reveille for my lieutenant."

Hannibal decided that since it wasn't far they would walk back to the Stewart's home. Face especially could do with the fresh air. By the time they arrived most of the green tinge had gone from the lieutenant's face. Chris was in the front garden, drinking a cup of coffee. He looked tired and greeted them rather wearily.

Hannibal immediately noticed that the small car that had been parked there yesterday was gone.

"Jenny at work?" He asked.

"Um, no." Chris said, a little awkwardly. "She's in Cornwall. Well, she's on her way there. With the kids. We, ah, discussed it last night and we decided they should go and stay with my parents until this is all over. It was that note. It sort of upset us."

Hannibal nodded. He could see how it would. "That's probably for the best," he said. Chris looked relieved, as if he'd been nervous the team might take offence. Hannibal noticed Murdock looked rather disappointed. "Well, no sense in wasting time." Hannibal clapped his hands together and rubbed them. "Okay, Chris, let's go take a look at your operation."

Chapter 4