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Portrait of a Mother 1-4

Portrait of a Mother

by Davis Webster

Rating: R
Disclaimer: The A-Team owned by Stephen J Cannell Productions.
Summary: The name and author should say it all. This is my autobiography.
Warning: Violence, could be some non-con, I don't know yet, angst, emotion, all that lovely stuff.
Note: Please read this as if you were a member of the A-Team or someone else mentioned in the story. It makes it more fun.

To whom it may concern,
You are receiving a copy of this manuscript in hopes of getting feedback, and not sued. You are being allowed to read this, because you, at some point, are mentioned within the pages. Please read the enclosed from cover to cover, and contact me with your comments.

Davis Webster


To Gen. Hunt Stockwell. who gave me a reason to write this. From one parent to another, I salute you.


PROLOGUE: Where To Begin?

JR, I've been trying to figure out where to start this book. The beginning seems so cliche, but with the nature of the stories, it also becomes the perfect place. By the time you read this, I'm hoping you will be old enough to understand the words and stories.

First you will be wondering why I am calling you JR. It's because at the time of writing this, I still haven't told your father what I want to name you. By now, you know he hates initial nicknames, but this threw him off, because JR could have stood for Junior. Lord, how I love messing with your father's mind.

Before you even opened the cover, you asked me why you should read this. No, JR, I'm not psychic. You see, being our son, you have an inherant curiosity, and a laziness when it comes to reading anything longer than a newspaper article or poem.

Growing up the way Tem and I did, we learned at an early age that nothing is for certain. Now, sweetheart, I don't want to scare you, but being an orphan myself, I wanted to be sure you got to know me.

COntained within the following chapters is my life story. From the time I was born, until I met your father. From when I was abruptly taken from the team, to the sad reunion. All the way to the present, which would have been a few months before your birth.

No matter how boring, emotional, or scary some parts may be, promise me you will read every word. To miss a word, sentance, or paragraph is to miss a lesson I am trying to teach you. What I am trying to give you in these pages is advice.

There is a song that just debuted a few months ago, which will be a retro track to you, when you read this. A quote from the song to prove my point:

Advice is a form of nostalgia,
Dispensing it is a way of fishing
The past from the disposal,
Wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts
And selling it for more than it's worth.

Portrait of a Mother; (2/?)
Chapter One: The Time Before

I originally planned on having each chapter represent one year of my life. This plan fell through, but will be picked up in the next chapter. Since nothing of real significance happened before that fated meeting in summer of 1977, this first chapter will contain my first seven years.

I was born on April 3, 1970 in Los Angeles, California, to Michelle and Steven Webster. Steven was a Sergeant Major in the United States Army. Due to this fact, when Michelle died giving birth, I was made a temporary ward of the State of California. Steven had been given his orders a few months prior, and was in Vietnam.

It didn't happen just like that. Steven was shipped back to the States, to take care of the effects, and of course me. Two months later he was ordered back to Vietnam. Having already served with the A-Team, he knew Lt. Templeton Peck. Tem had told Steven, on many a drunken night, of his growing up in an orphanage, owned by Father Magill.

Steven proceeded to find Father Magill, tell him of the situation, and ask for his help. Upon hearing the name Templeton Peck, the priest agreed. That is how I ended up in the orphanage.

The next two years went by, and nothing of importance happened. To me, anyway. Half way around the world, it was a different story. By the time the paperwork was finished, and Steven was sent back to his unit, it was six months later. He didn't find out, until he was reunited with them, that he had been purposefully detained by a Col. Roderick Decker. It seems that not a week after he was shipped home, the A-Team was captured by the NVA. I am leaving out the gruesome details of their time in the Hanoi Hilton, because I feel it is not my place to tell them. Just be assured in the fact that they escaped, albeit not in the physical, emotional, or mental states in which they were captured.

The next year and a half went by as usual for them. Going on missions deep in VC territory, rescuing soldiers and doing demolition work. Occasionally being injured, and patched up. Only to be sent out on another mission, when they were able.

Then in 1972 came the famed mission, by order of Col. Samuel Morrison. The orders seemed clear enough, even if it was an unusual mission. The A-Team was to rob the Bank of Hanoi, on the morning of the celebration of the Tet New Year.

It was a simple plan. Steven, Col. John Smith, and Serg. BA Baracus were to go into the bank, and blow the safe, while Face, Tem's nickname, waited by the getaway vehicle. That was until a couple of NVA soldiers decided to watch the parade, and leaned on the vehicle. This forced Lt. Peck to find another means of escape.

Everything was fine, until the two soldiers spotted BA at the bank window. Face grabbed the nearest jeep, and drove through the bank wall. He jumped in the back with Steven, Hannibal, Smith's nickname, took shotgun, and BA drove. They were persued, and shot at, by NVA. One of the bullets found Steven's back, and he was killed. Before he died, he asked the others to take care of his daughter.

The three survivors were captured. Within the year they were shipped back to the States, and sent to Fort Bragg for court martial. The base where they had been stationed was blown up during an attack. Along with everything else, the only evidence of their being ordered to rob the bank was destroyed. The A-Team promptly escaped the maximum security stockade, and disappeared.

The pilot, Capt. HM Murdock, was also shipped home. Upon returning he was given a psychological evaluation, and sent to the Westwood Veteran's Administration Hospital, as an in patient in the psych ward. Many time during his stay he escaped, only to return within the month. His profile will most likely list every known psychological disorder, and a few unknown. He was admitted as being Schitzophrenic, with a history of violent behavior. Upon being admitted he was in a catatonic state.

When the A-Team escaped, Col. George Lynch was assigned to capture them. Little did the Colonel know, or was he really smart enough to realize, that this was not an easy assignment. Over the next eleven years, until he was replaced, he caught them on several occasions, only to have them escape.

The A-Team made their way to Los Angeles, and contacted Murdock, to let him know they were okay. They realized that they had a problem. To be able to work they needed Social Insurance Numbers, which the government could trace. They quickly decided to become vigilantes of a sort, taking only cases that the police, and no one else, would touch.

At this point I was three years old, and quickly learning I had a knack for getting into trouble. Not only was it fun, it was also easy. As I got older, the trouble got bigger. To this day I'm still surprised that Father Magill didn't move my cot into his office, for all the time I spent in there anyway.

I drove the nuns crazy. Sister Mary Francis went so far as to say I was "too smart for your own good". I didn't understand. How could someone be too smart? I learned. When you're six years old, and just starting school, don't upstage a seventh grader.

I got into trouble with the other orphans, but more on that later. My seventh birthday came and went, and summer was fast approaching.


Portrait of a Mother; (3/?)
Chapter Two: The True Beginning

I had learned a few years earlier, by eavesdropping, that my temporary status had been pulled, and I was now a full-fledged orphan. The puppy in the window feeling was starting to set in. All these potential parents would come, and we were dressed up. We would put on these big, innocent smiles, as they walked around the building. Then some other lucky kid would be picked, and usually beat up that night. Nothing like jealousy among children. The kid would leave the next day, and it would all start the next time.

I had learned the value of money, and the need for it, recently. I stole a calculator from a convenience store, and removed the inside. When I got back to the orphanage, I sold the casing to one of the older boys for $10. He ran around the grounds for twenty minutes, and finally ratted to Father Magill. Now they were both after me, and I was in hysterics on the roof.

Just as the priest went back into the building, a black van pulled up. Three men got out, an old guy, a handsome guy, and a real big, mean looking guy. Father Magill came running back out, and asked them if they'd seem me. They began to search, and couldn't find me.

When the handsome one was beside the building, I hollered. They all looked up, and I jumped. Before you worry, it's only a one story building. I landed on the handsome one, sending us both to the ground.

The old guy pulled me up, and I was caught. I kicked him in the shin, but he held on. Father Magill scolded me, right in front of them. My poor victim could only watch, and wait. He was sure he could beat his $10 out of me that night, maybe even have some friends help.

Upon hearing my name, the visitors exchanged puzzled glances. The old one turned to the priest. "Davis Webster? *This* is Steve's daughter?"

Whoever these guys were, they knew my father. The four adults went into Magill's office, and stayed there for the next two hours. Unfortunately for me, this gave my victim his chance.

Portrait of a Mother; (4/?)

I was standing on the tree stump, outside the priest's office, listening. The visitors were telling him about a promise that was made to Steven. They were supposed to take care of me. Father Magill seemed to know the handsome one, he must have grown up here. After much negotiating, he relented, and they would be taking me for a few days.

I didn't notice that the older boy was behind me, and was on my back before it registered. He glared down at me. "I was gonna pound you for my $10. Now, I'll do it more, 'cause you're gettin' out."

Too much talk always gets you in trouble. When he finished his tirade, I kicked him in the groin. Poor guy went down like a ton of bricks. Before I could jump up, two of his friends pinned me to the ground. The coward pounded me, while I couldn't fight back.

"HEY!!" an unforgettable voice yelled, when the handsome guy rounded the corner. As if they were rag dolls, he pulled them off, and picked me up. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, and grinned when the big, mean guy growled at the boys. They took off around the building. Not putting me down, the handsome one carried me into Father Magill's office. The priest took one look. "What happened this time, Davis?"

I looked up at him, with my best innocent expression. "I dunno, sir. Tommy just started beatin' on me."

Father Magill shook his head, and introduced me to the men. This was the A-Team. The old one was called Hannibal, the handsome one was called Face, and the big, mean one was called BA.

I left with them an hour later. At first they didn't seem to know what to do with me. Almost like they'd never been around children before. BA was nice enough, but his sheer size scared me shitless.

They told me stories of Steven. How they'd met, some of their milder missions, and what little they knew of the man. They smiled as they told the stories, but they were forced, wan smiles.

The next day Face *sprung* Murdock from the VA, and I met the most interesting man I've ever known. It was at this time that I began to learn just how cool Face was. He told me the *scam* he'd used on the nurse, and I knew I wanted to learn everything I could from him.

Someone else I met at this time, was the famed Billy. This is Murdock's invisible dog. While I couldn't see him, and doubted he was there, I humored the pilot. This is a very interesting man, at the time he was thirty, but had the personality of someone my age.

I learned by the next morning that Face was very glad I was there. Murdock woke me up at six-thirty to watch cartoons. Face was thankful, because it was usually him who Murdock woke.

My few days vacation turned into a week and a half. Murdock only stayed for a few days, then Face took him back. When I asked, I guess they thought I was too young, and just said that Murdock was in the VA for "a little while". Who were they trying to kid? He was there for fifteen years.

When they left, I went out and watched BA work on the van. He turned, and smiled at me. My first instinct was to run inside, but I didn't. In the past four days I had only talked to BA when I had to. He was never mean to me, but the way he treated Murdock made me nervous.

I gave him a shy smile. "What ya doin'?"

He motioned me to come over and take a look. I climbed onto the front bumper, and held the frame. "Ever seen an engine before?"

I shook my head, and he proceeded to tell me the names of all the parts, and what they did. Hannibal came out, and smiled at us. He pulled out a cigar, and realized he had left his lighter inside.

Before he turned to go back in, I pulled a zippo out of my pocket, and tossed it to him. He stared at me. "You smoke, kid?"


Portrait of a Mother 1-4 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 5-9 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 10-14 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 15-19 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 20-24 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 25-29 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 30-34 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 35-38 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 39-43 by Davis Webster
Portrait of a Mother 44-46 by Davis Webster



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