A Day of Mourning
Summary: Hannibal's Military Memorial Service.
Warnings: None... but if you're like me and are very sensitive... grab tissues... had a hard time getting through this.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys I just write about them.
Copyright: Characters have been made up by yours truly. Except characters from the A-Team.
A small dedication: I dedicate this story not only to my grand father and uncle... but to the Late George Peppard... the greatest actor of all time, and the only one who brought character to John Hannibal Smith.
A Day of Mourning
I stand at the graveside with a single yellow rose. The chill of morning seeping into my bones. Slowly consuming the overwhelming sadness protruding through my body. The red, white and blue pattern of the flag were bold and crisp. A well know stinging sensation attacks my tear battered eyes, looking aimlessly at the fellow Veterans, who shared friendship and memories or war. Wallowing in their sorrow for the demise of their beloved leader and comrade. Thoughts of the silver haired man run through my mind. The only father figure I've ever known. His taunting chuckle, the smell of his habitual cigars and the gleam in his eye he often got while on the jazz. All but a memory now. I look at my husband, his soft brown eyes clouded with tears, hearing his uncontrollable sobs. I try to comfort him by slipping my arm around his waist. He looks at me sullenly and snaps back to attention.
Somehow I sense someone is gazing at me. I turn to my left meeting bloodshot, cobol blue eyes. I firmly grasp his trembling hand as the tears fell from his 'face'. I stand beside this handsome man, knowing the loss's he's suffered in the past. Now losing his mentor and father as well. Remembering how the two fit so well together, biologically not his son, he took the orphan as his own. Raising him in the jungles of Vietnam to become a man. Something that was meant to be. The blonde haired man lowered his head, as if saying a silent prayer. Still holding his hand and gripping my husbands waist, I look at the Big Guy standing tall and proud. Making no sound and showing no emotion. The big, mean ugly mudsucker, as my husband often refers him, didn't look mean at all. Just somber on this day of mourning.
Standing in a distance was a dark complected man of Puerto Rican descent. His dark hair greased back into a neat ponytail, wearing a black Armani suit. There wasn't a closeness between him and the team but his presence was appreciated.
The Honor Guard marched into position and presented arms. Our bodies reacted in small winces as each shot rang through the silent cemetery. The playing of 'Taps' echoed through my ears as I realized the finality it summoned within me. I watched as they folded the flag with synchronous poise and honor. Caught up in my emotions, I missed the presentation of the flag. Sobs erupted from my left as the Lieutenant held Old Glory close to his heart.
While people were dispersing I turned to my husband.
"I'll be just a minute."
"Ok Muchacha." He replied as he turned and followed the Big Guy to the black van.
I walked up to the cherry stained casket and placed my hand and the yellow rose upon it. Like rain, the tears flowed from my painful eyes. "I love you Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith. I'll miss you always."
I felt a compassionate hand being placed on my shoulder.
"It's time to go Sunnie." Templeton said. I nodded and followed him.
About half way to the van, I glanced back at the gravesite once more as a light wind whispered through the trees. I could have sworn I heard Hannibal say,"I love it when a plan comes together." I turned around and smiled. "He's on the jazz." I said out loud. "He's on the jazz."