The wind blew through Caitlin's shoulder-length, golden red hair as she indulged in the time-honored tradition of all pilots — the walk-around. Twiki accompanied her, along with Dr. Theopolus, who's present purpose was largely that of a sentient scanner. Meanwhile, Boomer and Starbuck verified the final loud-out of armament, much of which had been telekenetically enhanced by Stella earlier in the day.

"Multiple inbound craft," came Starbuck's voice over the craft's public address system. "E.T.A., five minutes."

Stella hastened her pace and, having returned to the rear bay door on the left side of Airwolf, she lifted the short, silver ambuquad through the hatchway to a waiting Dr. Huer who, with Stella's assistance, seated the silver android next to himself at the back of the bay.

As quickly as she could, Caitlin raced around the front of Airwolf, opening the pilot's hatch. She climbed up on the seat and, shutting the hatch after herself, was again subtly reassured by the familiar gentle re-pressurization hiss. She quickly scanned across the status displays, pressing the main startup switch. Donning her black helmet, she made a final mental note of the ship's relative combat worthiness.

"Confirmed at least five inbound from the northeast, 800 knots closure," Starbuck continued his update.

"Copy that," Caitlin responded as she grasped the horizontal control Boomer remembered her calling the "collective", and waited.

"Give me a countdown of the last 60 seconds."

"Estimating one-minute-thirty according to this equipment," replied Starbuck.

"Cait," called Stella, a tinge of nervousness in her voice, "What are you planning to do?"

By now, the overhead rotor was spinning fast enough to have seemingly disappeared into a blur, imparting a noticeable downdraft on the ground outside. The sensation of a readiness to leave the ground was tangible.

"I intend to fly a reverse course on their present flight path, and let them overshoot us."

"You do realize it will be the effort of a moment for them to turn around and track us," commented Theo.

"Yes, Doctor, but it's the only way I know to put any real space between them and us."

There was a brief moment of silence, and Stella noted it felt like the calm before a storm.

"How much electro-magnetic radiation can this craft of yours take?" she asked.

"Why?"

"I think I can shield us from at least some of their incoming fire."

"Shield us?"

"One minute," Starbuck called out.

"You remember the energy bubbles I put around the ammo you were loading earlier?"

"Yeah," Boomer replied.

"Well, I can project a reinforced version of that narrow-band EM shielding up to about... maybe 30 meters, give-or-take."

Caitlin turned around to look at Stella, who had been gesturing with her hands. "Well, it is supposed to be radiation-hardened," she said. "But that's from the outside. The safest bet would be through the hatch by you."

"Understood," Stella replied. "I'll monitor the scanners back here and be ready." Caitlin turned back to look through the windshield again.

"Thirty seconds," Starbuck said.

Caitlin pulled back gently on the collective, and Airwolf all at once seemed to hop off the ground, hovering above it in a way that might have seemed to an observer like an animal readying itself to pounce on something.

"Twenty seconds."

"Give me a count of the last ten."

"Rog..." Starbuck said, briefly allowing himself a look through the forward window before looking back down at his console. It was just a little bit awkward still for him to play the part of second fiddle when he had spent his whole career as a fighter pilot. "Ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven, six, five..."

Caitlin yanked back hard on the collective, and Airwolf shot upward like a rocket.

"Turbos," Caitlin called out.

"Where?" asked Starbuck.

"Red lever on the left. Slide it all the way up." Starbuck complied, and the turbo engage warning tone could be heard.

Caitlin pressed the turbo control on her joystick, and suddenly everyone was pressed back in their seats.

Silver Spar Squadron sailed through the dark, starry, shiny night that was interplanetary space. Fresh from a good night's sleep aboard the Galactica, Sheba and the rest of the squadron training group had planned on another day of combat exercises, but an early morning alert had changed all that. Already scheduled to be next-up in the launch bay, they were sent towards Earth to check out a faint, intermittent distress call. As Sheba was the squadron leader for Silver Spar, she took command of the mission.

"Negative on all channels," called Lieutennant Bojay, second-in-command of the squadron. "Earth's rotation should put us at optimum for reception in about three microns."

"Roger that," responded Colonel Deering, who was flying the wingman position for Sheba in a Colonial Viper instead of her more customary Starfighter. "Earth Defense Directorate is confirming Dr. Huer was aboard the transport, along with two other VIPs."

"Understood," said Sheba. "We should reach atmospheric entry in about five Earth minutes," she said with a touch of awkwardness in her voice, still trying after six months to get used to using Earth's time measurement system.

"This'll be a first," commented Apollo, who was Bojay's wingman.

"How's that, Apollo?" called Bojay.

"Usually it's Starbuck who charges to the rescue."

"Wonder where he's gotten himself to."

"Knowing him, he's probably in New Las Vegas," said Buck, who was wearing his usual pilot's business face, with just a bit of a smile poking through.

"Figures," agreed Sheba.

There was silence for a time. The flight path was routine enough, and relatively clear of other traffic. With Earth's defense shield down for scheduled repairs to the orbital emitter grid, the flight was even more straight-forward than it would have otherwise been. Ordinarily, the point of entry would be generated at a random spot in the hemisphere nearest the intended point of entry, with a three mile path in a flyable, yet equally random direction. This replaced the older system which had been in service up until a few months after Buck had arrived following his cryogenic suspension. The shield would produce a more straight-forward path for cargo freighters, of course, but all non-military ships entering Earth's atmosphere were also routinely scanned prior to entry to ensure they were free of hostiles, pestilence, disease, or other contraband.

As they entered the atmosphere, Buck casually ignored the relatively low amount of atmospheric hellfire their craft experienced compared to space craft of his time. He had first noticed this when Colonel Wilma Deering guided him down in his 20th century vehicle, Ranger III. But, as with many other things in life, the mind has a curious way of dismissing that which becomes routine.

Caitlin continued to evade the pursuing enemy craft, ducking into and out of canyons and mountains and any other escarpments she could find. She had hesitated in using any of Airwolf's precious missiles thus far out of concern that their best use would be only for a last-ditch, frontal assault maneuver. And, given what she could tell of their adversary's capabilities so far, there was no question Airwolf no longer had any business flying in the unfriendly skies of 25th century Earth.

"You sure that transponder isn't working?" Caitlin called for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

"Positive," said Dr. Theopolus. "I still detect no signal emanation. It obviously must have been damaged in the attack yesterday."

Starbuck, wary of the device's failure, had been eyeing the control console around him, hoping against hope the museum curators had made some change — any change — which would send a modern-day signal to rescue forces. Alas, the hope was in vain. He turned to look at Stella, who was sitting in what Buck had once described as a lotus position, her fatigued arms still outstretched, hands and closed eyes glowing. As he'd moved, quite by chance he bumped into a switch he'd noticed, and dismissed just as readily, earlier: EMG X-MIT. A light illuminated on one of the panels now behind him with a corresponding marking.

"We have three contacts bearing on us, Stella. You still holding up ok?"

"Doing the best I can," came a vaguely distant reply. "I'm reinforcing it again. Not really sure how much longer I'm going to be able to keep this up. It's very draining when they strike it." Her voice sounded as exhausted as she felt; everyone could hear it.

"We're starting to run low on fuel," Boomer observed. He noticed the fuel gages dropping for a while now, each extended burst Caitlin used with the turbos brought their supply that much nearer empty.

"Estimating one quarter remaining."

"Tell them that," said Caitlin, using her thumb to point backwards, behind the helicopter. "There's too many flatlands around here to get good cover."

She looked out the windows and down at the scopes, hoping for some sort of inspiration, but found none. Where was Stringfellow Hawke when you needed him? she thought, wistfully.

"Stella, I'm going to try something. I dunno if it will work, but it may give you a minute to rest before I try another hair-brained scheme."

"Better hurry up. I can sense they're angling for another shot."

Caitlin pressed the turbo button again, pulled back gently on both the joystick and the collective, and they raced into the afternoon sky like the jet they had become, seeking a patch of wild blue yonder somewhere near the top of what Caitlin could likely coax Airwolf to fly through.

"Gaining altitude," said Starbuck cooly, still unaware of his activation of the backup transponder. "Twenty thousand. Twenty thousand one hundred. Twenty thousand four. How far you going up, Cait?"

"Far as she can. Let me know when we get near eighty thousand."

"Right." I hope this works, he thought quietly to himself. Whatever in Hades it is you're planning.

"Confirmed they are pursuing," Boomer reported. "Got about a micron, maybe micron-and-a-half, before they catch us."

"Stella," called Caitlin.

"Twenty-two thousand."

"I'm already relaxing," she responded, her arms down in her lap, and the ethereal glow disappeared from the delicate features of her face.

"Sure wish we could deploy the weapons pod," Boomer mused.

"You and me both," chimed in Twiki.

They continued to climb, hitting thirty thousand feet like a freight train, and kept on going. Thirty-five thousand, forty thousand. Forty-five thousand.

"I'm picking up multiple inbound bogeys, bearing oh-one-seven degrees starboard."

"Shit," cursed Caitlin. She banked away sharply, pitching Airwolf over to the left in the hopes of staying clear of the line of fire. She braced for the fire she knew would be striking them any second. Braced herself against the untimely death she knew she could not avoid. Clenching her teeth, when the moment of anticipated oblivion did not come, she continued her crazy, zig-zag course through the heavens.

However, the upward-bound hostiles split up, with two still pursuing the sleek black helicopter, and the other three breaking off simply to avoid the newcomers.

"Descending," stated Starbuck, simply. "Thirty-one thousand and continuing. Twenty-seven thousand, twenty-six thousand five hundred..."

"I'm reading six craft below," said Sheba from her lead position. "Five of them appear to be conventional craft of various types. They're pursuing a lead sixth craft, unknown configuration." She'd already activated the War Book — the Colonials' equivalent of the Terran Combat Computer System — which tried to make an identification, failed, and then simply showed a silhouette.

Buck, who had likewise been operating his own on-board War Book, met with similar results. However, there seemed something oddly familiar about the silhouette.

"It's headed back down towards the surface," he said. There was something different about the tone of his voice. Wilma picked up on it instantly.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Not sure, Wilma. But I don't think it's a space-capable vehicle. We're too far to get a good schematic on this system yet, but if I had to guess..."

He was suddenly cut off as the other craft fired several shots before suddenly changing course.

"Break! Break! Break!" shouted Sheba, and the squadron veered off.

They maneuvered around, and the other ships continued to fly off in different directions and at great speed.

"Buck," called Sheba.

"Yo," he responded.

"You and Apollo pursue the other two. Everyone else, form on me."

"Copy that," Buck called out. Apollo formed up on Buck's wing and the two followed the attacking craft.

"Approaching five thousand," Starbuck said.

"Turbo fuel now critical," said Boomer.

Caitlin let off the turbo button, which she had kept depressed throughout much of the descent, hoping to gain enough speed to make her other controlled jerks to the collective and the cyclic exaggerated sufficiently to make their attackers' shots go wide of the target.

"We're running out of sky, Cait," Boomer said. "Twenty-two hundred."

"There it is," she responded, almost feeling like a tour guide.

"There what is?" asked Dr. Huer.

"Valley of the Gods."

"Looks like you get your wish a bit early."

"Question is: what do we do with it?" commented Boomer.

"Reducing speed."

"Nine hundred."

"They're coming in. Forty degrees. Two above and two below. Can't make out who they are from these scanners," a frustrated Boomer said.

Caitlin, who had been pulling back on the joystick for some time, eased off as they entered a more level flight.

"Three-fifty, holding steady."

"Velocity?"

"Homing in on 300 knots. Three twenty, three ten. Three hundred. Continuing to slow. Two ninety-five, two ninety..."

"Deploy the pod."

"Pod deployed," said Starbuck, pressing the appropriate control.

"I hope the Indians forgive me," Caitlin said, sounding like a school girl who was about to do something naughty.

"For what?" asked Boomer.

"Show you in a moment," Caitlin said with a wink, looking over at her co-pilot briefly. Airwolf headed towards one of the roughly needle-shaped, cylindrical monuments.

By now the lead craft had slowed to such a point that Buck could just barely discern its features visually.

"Oh my God, it's a helicopter!"

"A what?" asked Apollo.

"An aircraft from my time," he said by way of explanation.

"What's it doing here?"

"Damned if I know. I just hope whoever's piloting it knows what he's doing, though."

"It's turning sideways."

"Sideways?"

"Pursuing craft are firing on it."

Buck waited for the explosion, knowing here was no way it could survive. However, the shots lit up the shielding and appeared to bounce harmlessly off.

"Did craft of that time have shields?" asked a confused Apollo.

"No, they didn't," answered an even more confused Buck.

"It just fired some kind of rocket at that rock formation," observed Buck in horror. Assuming like Apollo that the pilot had somehow misfired, he continued towards the attacking craft, which continued hot on the sleek black helicopter's tail.

The missile hit the monument about one-third of the way up, full force. There was quite a cloud of localized dust, which obscured the attackers' vision. Just then, the towering spire of rock tumbled forward, taking out one of the pursuing craft. The helicopter slipped around another monument, and the attacker along with it.

"Going weapons-free," declared Buck.

Stella had collapsed, no longer able to maintain her wedge-shaped bubble of protection. She looked up at Dr. Huer, who had managed with no little amount of discomfort, to catch her before her head impacted on the decking.

"Thanks," she said, weakly.

"Just rest a moment," Huer said, soothingly.

"Still reading three pursuing craft," said Starbuck.

"I'm going to head around this next monument, spin around and return fire. Then... see what's left to do," said Caitlin, defiantly.

The craft pursued them around a good portion of Sentinal Mesa, one of the larger free-standing monuments. Then, just as Caitlin was about to turn about-face, the craft vaporized.

"What the hell?" Caitlin exclaimed.

"One of the other pursuing craft fired on it," replied Starbuck.

"I'm picking up Colonial frequencies," announced Dr. Theopolus. "I'm receiving a message from Captain Rogers, requesting we respond on this craft's emergency frequency."

Caitlin pressed a few buttons on a panel above her head, and turned another adjustment knob.

"This is Boomer," the dark-skinned lieutenant said abruptly, hoping he would be more readily accepted than the voice of a stranger. "Thanks, Captain."

"Boomer?" asked Apollo, surprised. "What in Lords' name are you doing aboard that relic?"

"It's a long story, Apollo."

"I wouldn't exactly call this a relic," said Caitlin, grateful but a little annoyed. "But thanks for the assist. It didn't look anything too good back there."

"Poor choice of words," said Apollo, a slight note of apology in his tone.

"I'd say it's an excellent choice myself, actually," Sheba chimed in.

"What happened to the others?" asked Buck.

"Downed two of them and disabled the other one. Greenbean and Bojay are forcing him down now."

"I don't know who you are," Caitlin said to Sheba, "but those pilots are being backed with some kind of ground force. You better give your pilots a heads-up."

"The name's Lieutenant Sheba. And you are?"

"Caitlin O'Shannessy. Look, we're running a bit low on fuel here. If we're gonna continue this discussion, we'd better do it on the ground. Also, be advised we have some VIPs on board."

"Copy that," replied Sheba. "Pick a spot to land. We'll join you shortly."

"Understood," said Caitlin. "Airwolf out."

Several minutes later and safely on the ground again, Boomer, Starbuck, Caitlin, and Dr. Huer were standing outside of Airwolf. Stella, still trying to recover, sat somewhat unceremoniously on the ground, gently leaning up against Twiki.

Sheba's fighter had been the last to land. Never having seen a Colonial Viper before, Caitlin was amazed by their sleek lines and the sheer intensity of the landing. Soon, all four pilots were in a group, walking over towards the location Airwolf had settled.

"Dr. Huer, are you alright?" asked Wilma, seeing the older man's left arm in a makeshift sling.

"I think I'll live," he responded with a smile and in his usual dignified way, as he walked over to a thin, attractive redhead. "Allow me to introduce Caitlin O'Shannessy."

The foursome approached, and Caitlin shook hands in turn with each. "Pleasure to meet you all," she said.

Just then, Buck recognized Stella, who had been sitting on the ground next to Twiki.

"Stella Breed?" he asked, surprised. "You ok?" She nodded.

"I'm still recovering my stamina from that industrial-strength force field I was generating." Buck simply shook his head in amazement.

"Hello, Captain," smiled Boomer.

"Hey, Boomer." Book shook his hand just as Starbuck patted Buck on the shoulder.

"Glad you folks turned up when you did."

"Anyone else in your party?" asked Wilma.

"The shuttle pilot and co-pilot were killed on impact," said Huer, sadly. "We went down in a place this young lady says was once called 'Walnut Canyon'."

"Walnut Canyon? That's just outside of Flagstaff. How'd you get all the way up here?"

"Now there's a silly question," Caitlin said, a look of curiosity crept across her face. "Here's another one," she said, cocking her head to one side slightly. "You wouldn't happen to be the missing astronaut Buck Rogers from that NASA mission that went haywire, would you?"

Buck was a bit surprised, not from been recognized, since over the course of the last few years on Earth he had gained a degree of public notoriety, but instead from the way in which the young lady had phrased the question.

"I am. Why?"

"Sorry, Buck, that was me," Stella piped up. "I mentioned you to her. I suppose, in the interest of full disclosure, I should mention that Miss O'Shannessy here is from your time."

Buck's world began to spin, just like his head. Another survivor from the 20th century? How many more of these people were there? he wondered to himself.

"You're kidding, right?" Buck said in disbelief. "The 20th century?"

"I'm not kidding," said Stella.

"I'm from the 20th century. Guess I got, uh, 'frozen' about nine months or so after your disappearance."

"How?"

"I'm still trying to figure that one out. I lost consciousness before it happened, so I'll probably never know."

"I don't mean to bring this reverie to an end," said Apollo as diplomatically as he could, "but we're going to need some shelter for these folks, and for us, until help arrives."

"How long?" asked Huer.

"They should be here within half an hour, along with an armed escort."