indigo_angels

..2..

It’s the shouting that reminds Hannibal about the soccer match, if he’d not been so tied up in his paperwork he might have remembered earlier. He follows the yells to the dry patch of ground behind the kitchens and is relieved to find he hasn’t missed the whole game. He spies Cptn. Jason ‘Bunter’ Harvey sprawled pitch side, swigging from a half empty bottle of water and sits roughly in the dirt next to him.

“Boss!” Bunter almost chokes on his drink, “Where’ve you been? Thought you were gonna miss it!”

Hannibal smiles at the slightly British lilt to Bunter’s voice that living in the US since the age of five has not been able to erase and nods at the action on the pitch, “Came as soon as I could. How we doing?”

Bunter takes another swig of water and wipes the sweat off his forehead as he too turns his eyes back to the game, “It’s tight. We’ve been 2-1 up for ages, but the bastards just equalised a couple of minutes ago and,” he glanced at his watch, “there’s only about eight minutes left…”

Hannibal frowns. Soccer really isn’t his game, he’s much more a baseball kind of guy, but the boys love it. It’s often the game of choice due to the ease which with it can be organised in almost any conditions, but today’s game is much, much more serious than that. He shakes his head, “I can’t face Blumenfeld if his boys beat us again, Bunt, we gonna be able to pull this one off?”

Bunter chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, “Dunno boss… We just don’t look like scoring any more.”

Hannibal scans up and down the touch line, “We got anyone we can put on?”

“Nah…” Bunter shakes his head without looking. “Made our last sub about ten minutes ago, new lad came on for me.”

Hannibal’s eyes drift around the players looking for Lt. Peck. It’s hard to tell them apart in the middle of the pitch. In the absence of proper kits, the soccer games are always played ‘skins’ vs. ‘shirts’; Hannibal’s team are skins today and one sweaty, shirtless player looks very much like another. Or at least that’s what Hannibal thinks before he locates Peck somewhere to the left of midfield and his mouth goes dry. /Jesus/, that kid is built... Hannibal clenches his fists and pushes inappropriate thoughts to the back of his mind while he grabs Bunter’s bottle off him and takes a swig.

Once his thoughts are back on safe and solid ground he can register his surprise that the kid’s even playing. From what he’s heard, Peck is a bit of a loaner and not too popular with the others. It may only be a seven a side soccer game, but he knows his boys take their soccer very seriously indeed; they don’t let just anyone play for them.

“How’s he getting on?” he asks, glad his voice seems to sound perfectly normal.

Bunter shrugs, “It’s early days boss, I don’t think he’s played much before and we had to tell him the rules before we started; still don’t think he gets the off-side rule, but he’s doing-”

“Not in soccer…” Hannibal interrupts and Bunter turns, confused.

“Oh! You mean in the unit?” Hannibal nods, “Right, gotcha boss!” Bunter laughs a little at himself, “Yeah, he seems to be getting on great.”

Hannibal stares at the side of the captain’s head as Bunter goes back to watching the game. That wasn’t the answer he had been expecting. “Really?” he knows he sounds incredulous.

“He’s a bit quiet you know, think he’s just weighing us all up, maybe he’s worried the lads are gonna take the piss out of him or something, but he’s good in the exercises you know, and I tell you what-” Bunter turns back to Hannibal and stops as he sees the expression on his face. “What?”

“Peck, right?” Hannibal clarifies.

Bunter frowns, “Yeah. Something wrong?”

“Well,” Hannibal chooses his words carefully. “It’s just I got the impression that he wasn’t very popular over in Sanders’ unit.”

Bunter scoffs, “Well, he wouldn’t be, would he?” Bunter turns to see Hannibal’s raised eyebrow and continues, “Sanders always made sure of that, boss. It wasn’t very good for your health to be buddies with our new guy over there.”

“Expand, Captain.”

“From what I’ve heard, Sanders doesn’t like him, first met him in Basic Training and has had it in for him ever since. Made him /persona non grata/ if you know what I mean, no one was to go near him, kept him as isolated as he could.” Bunter looks over at his boss’s shocked expression. “Come on Hannibal, surely you know that Sanders is a dick-head?”

“I /have/ heard that before,” Hannibal mutters. He frowns slightly, “But Peck’s been in other units as well, not just Sanders’. What about them?”

Bunter sighs. “Man’s a goddammed octopus. His fingers reach into many pies; it’s never been worth giving the lad the time of day before, not worth the flack you’d get.”

Hannibal picks up on the past tense, “But now?”

And Bunter turns to beam at him, “Now? Well he’s with you boss isn’t he? No way Sanders is gonna try anything around you. We know it and the lad knows it,” he turns back to the game, “couldn’t have come to a better place.”

They sit in silence for a minute while Hannibal processes this new information. Then he turns back to Bunter, “You were in the middle of telling me something. Carry on Captain, I’m all ears.”

Bunter gives his boss a quick look before switching his eyes back to the game, “Oh, yeah. Well, I tell you what, boss, it’s all Sanders’ loss ‘cause I’ve never seen anyone get his hands on the stuff that Face can get hold of, guy’s like a walking warehouse!”

Hannibal registers the nickname. He’s heard it bandied about once or twice with the boys but never really gave it any thought before, now it’s another example of how quickly the kid is being accepted here and he’s surprised.

“You know how Jonno likes that Aussie rules stuff?” Bunter doesn’t wait for an answer before ploughing on, “Well, last week he was moaning about the Superbowl being on, says he never gets to see any of that Aussie stuff, anyway, two days later Face appears with a VHS of the Aussie Rules Cup Final or whatever they call it, Sydney versus Bombay or something.”

Hannibal stifles a smile. Bunter’s never been that good at Geography. It’s a good job the US army hasn’t moved into India yet. Or Australia for that matter…

“Jonno was made up! And then for Sharkie’s birthday he turns up with an ice cream cake. An ice cream cake! Where the hell did he get that out here?” Bunter shakes his head. “Tell you something Hannibal; Face’ll be real handy to have around when we get out on jobs again.”

Hannibal nods to himself. “So why ‘Face’ then?” he queries, eyes on the game as the final whistle draws closer.

Bunter laughs, “You seen him, boss? Looks like a fucking model!”

Hannibal laughs along with him, but is glad the Captain’s eyes are on the field and not liable to spot the heat in Hannibal’s face.

“It’s not just that though, it’s the way he uses it, can carry coal to Newcastle, that one…”

“What?” Hannibal is aware he’s probably missing out on a British-ism here.

Bunter laughs again, “You know, sell sand to the Arabs, that kind of thing…”

“Right… Well, I’m gonna ask you to baby-sit him for the next month, Bunt, get him out from under my feet.” Hannibal had made sure Peck had stayed really close for the last couple of weeks; he hadn’t relished the thought of being woken at the crack of dawn to sign him out of a cell again…

“Sure thing, boss.”

Again Hannibal is surprised; Bunter is an excellent Captain, but he is also the biggest whinge on the base. If there had been any reason at all that he didn’t want Peck tailing him for the next few weeks, Hannibal would have known about it.

“And try to keep him out of trouble,” Hannibal warns, “he’s been out of the stockade for two whole weeks now, must be some kind of record for him…”

Bunter laughs, “Yeah, I have heard that about him, it seems… Oh! Yes! Go on, go on… ”

Hannibal’s eyes shoot up to the penalty where a melee of players are tangled in a heap on the dusty ground. The keeper runs out towards them just as the ball bounces free and a filthy leg swings out of the tangle of limbs and connects smartly with it. It flies off a bare shin and grazes the keeper’s fingers on its way past him and right into the back of the net.

“YES!!!!!!” Bunter is on his feet, leaping up and down on the spot and waving his arms in the air as Templeton Peck drags himself up and out of the melee, yelling like a banshee and setting off on a mad sprint around the pitch, one fist in the air like superman with his jubilant team mates in hot pursuit.

Hannibal rises at a much more sedate pace and claps his hands appreciatively watching as Peck dives full length onto the dusty ground and is instantly buried in a mass of team mates all ruffling his hair and pummelling his arms and back in sheer joy and relief.

The referee eventually restores order but Blumenfeld’s boys only get chance to kick off before the final whistle sounds.

A cheer goes up from the assembled Rangers and their supporters and Hannibal watches with pride as his team leap all over each other again, congratulations all round, slapping each other’s backs and hugging each other.

He wanders onto the field, shaking hands with the losers and high fiving each of the winners. It seems a random path he’s taking, but it’s no coincidence that he reaches Peck just as the others have left the field.

“Hey,” he says, planting himself in front of the lieutenant, “Well done, Face, I’m proud of you.”

He knows he’s trying out the nickname on his lips, and likes the way it feels. But not as much as he likes the heat that flares within him at the way the kid’s whole face lights up at the praise, or the stupid way his stomach flips as they bump fists as Face passes him by. Hannibal feels his first impressions may have been a little off with this one. He’s going to have watch really carefully to find out.

Part Three