Airwolf – Terminal Velocity.
This is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF.
Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters.
Prologue.
Santini Air, Van Nuys, California.
Summer 1984.
"You took your sweet time," Dominic Santini grouched as he watched his young colleague, Stringfellow Hawke, saunter back into the hangar with an aerial map in his hands.
"Maybe if you had some kind of proper filing system back there, it wouldn't have taken me half the morning to find what I was looking for."
"There's nothing wrong with my filing system."
"If you happen to read Braille."
"Smart Alec," Santini grumbled. "I'm a pilot, not a secretary," he gave the younger man a pointed look. "Point of fact, mister, I ain't your secretary."
"Ok," Hawke let out a deep sigh and regarded his friend with cold blue eyes. "I'll bite. What's gotten your underwear in such a tangle?"
"I took a message for you."
Hawke frowned.
He hadn't heard the telephone ring.
But then again he had had his head buried in every drawer of every damned filing cabinet in the small back office for the last hour or so, trying to find the map he needed for an aerial stunt Santini had assigned him to do out of town, on location in an area that he wasn't all that familiar with.
Hawke continued to frown as he tried to figure out who had called and why it had so obviously put Santini's nose out of joint.
"Well, are you gonna tell me who it was, or do we stand here for the rest of the day playing guess who?"
"Archangel."
"And?" Hawke prompted impatiently.
"He said he wanted to see you, ASAP."
"That's it? That's what's gotten you so bent out of shape?" Hawke rolled his eyes heavenward in incredulity.
"Not exactly …."
"Oh my, it is like pulling teeth today," Hawke sighed deeply once more in frustration.
"Smart ass."
"Spit it out Dom, you'll feel better."
"Well, when I told him we'd be right along, he said it was just you he wanted to see …. Not me."
"Well, there's nothing unusual in that, is there? I'm the one who's the thorn in his side."
"But …."
"We're a team, Dom," Hawke strode over to join his friend and slapped him convivially on the back now, sensing that a good dose of reassurance was required to soothe the older man's ruffled feathers.
"I couldn't have done half what Archangel has asked of me without your help, and he knows it, as well as I do. But, let's face it, although he accepts that you are a vital member of the crew, I'm the one he feels he has to deal with, and tact isn't always his strong suit."
"Sure," Santini sighed, but his crestfallen expression said more about how hurt he was feeling than any words. "Odd failing that, for a guy in his line of work."
"You won't get left out old friend," Hawke assured. "Didn't I just say you were a vital member of the crew?"
"Yeah. Thanks, but …."
"Dom, I don't know what the hell Michael wants, and right now, I don't really care. I'm so tired of his pulling all the strings and still managing not to keep to his end of the bargain. I guess it's time I reminded him of the rules of engagement around here."
"You go give him hell, kid," Santini's grin was warmer now.
"Youbetchya," Hawke assured once more and again slapped Santini on the back. "Youbetchya."