CHAPTER 3

Gently settling the last one into the back, the back doors were closed and they were preparing for the trip back when it occurred to them none of the bodies had looked like Mike. It was a distinct possibility there wasn't enough left to pick up, or perhaps he had been one of the one recognizable ones, but they had hoped.

"Are we ready?"

"I guess so," Saint John replied quietly, reflecting back to the last time he had seen his friend. He had been too busy with his own personal problems to do anything more than leave a message on his answering machine to say he would see him later, only to have Mike on his doorstep the next morning. He was shipping out. In another month he would have been stateside again, away from dangers such as these. But instead he was just gone.

Why couldn't I have made time for a beer with him? Saint John demanded of himself. Why couldn't I have spent just a little more time talking to him, enough to find out he was getting transferred before the day he left?

Automatically, he climbed inside and began bringing the systems online, oblivious to the world around him until the radar brought warnings of quickly approaching trouble.

"Come on guys. We have to go. Now!"

"Just a minute," Caitlin called back, something catching her eye.

"We don't have a minute, get in," String returned, reaching for her and missing, then running after her.

Caitlin ignored him, carefully picking her footing to the bloodied arm half buried beneath the sand. It had twitched a moment ago, she knew it, she saw it.

"Caitlin!" Hawke called, nearing her. "Cait we have to go."

One step and two muzzle flashes later, she went down, crumpling limply to the ground.

Rushing frantically to her side, he searched for a pulse, praying he could find one. "Talk to me, Cait, please. Say something, anything."

A wave of gunfire sent him ducking, unaware as Saint John brought Airwolf closer to provide cover with her armored hide.

As soon as the gunfire subsided he was at her side again, reassured by a faint cough. His assurance was soon replaced by fear again as he caught sight of the quickly spreading blood stains across her stomach.

"It's alright, Cait, I'm here. We're going to get you to a hospital, just hang on. You have to hang on."

Scooping her up in his arms, he awkwardly made his way toward Airwolf, almost missing how warm the fingers her had clasped were in contrast to the cold lifelessness they should have been. If he was dead that was.

Saint John leaned across, helping him pull Caitlin's limp body inside, increasingly closer gunshots still ringing off the outside of the fuselage.

"Alright, I've got her. Now get in."

"I have to go back; there's another one," he explained briefly.

"We can't. It won't do us any good trying to bring back any of the bodies if we get ourselves killed before we can get out of here."

"I think he's alive though."

With that, he was gone, hitting the ground and wriggling across it down the trench that had been dug out by the earlier explosion.

Saint John swung the Lady around, offering what cover he could, and fired back at the approaching group, hoping the risk his brother was taking was worth it. Rescuing one person wasn't really worth it if you lost several others in the process, especially if the "rescued" person turned out to be dead anyway. If he was alive though, he could certainly understand String's determination to go back for him.

Bullets whizzed overhead, slamming into the sand around him, but he continued on, his focus on the barely moving hand a couple yards in front of him. Whoever it was, they were alive; how long they would stay that way was to be seen, however. Between being shot at and his current physical condition it wasn't looking good though.

Abruptly the hand stopped moving, its owner given up, unconscious or dead. He could only hope it wasn't the latter.

Just reaching it, he hurriedly began to rake off the dirt covering the man, nearly loosing his own head in the process.

Airwolf edged closer, the strong rotor wash becoming as much of a hindrance as a help. At least he wouldn't have far to travel without cover though, he thought.

Finally unearthing the half buried man, he found him to be alive, barely, and breathing, just recognizable enough to be identified as Major Mike Rivers.

"Come on, String," Saint John urged. "We've got to get out of here before they call in reinforcements."

"I'm working on it," he returned. "You want to help me get him it?"

Reaching for him, Saint John grabbed the collar and helped haul him inside, catching enough of a glimpse to get a pretty good idea who it was.

"Is that…."

"Yeah."

"He…"

"He's alive."

"Thank goodness for that."

"He's not going to be long though if we don't get him some help. Even then I'm not so sure."

"What about Cait?"

He threw a worried glance her way. "I don't know, I just don't know."

Saint John lifted off, taking out the remaining enemies with a volley of gunfire from the chain guns while String set up the oxygen masks and fought with the gauze in the back, trying to stop, at the very least slow, the bleeding.

"Sinj, we aren't doing well back here. It's… it's everywhere and I can't make it stop."

"I wish that was all of our problems. Unfortunately we have a pair of MiGs coming our way too."

"Hang on," he whispered, clasping his wife's hand. "Hang on, and don't you dare let go."

I need some ammo - how about a Copperhead as soon as we're in range."

"They're ready when you are." He brought up a screen in front of him with a more detailed list of armament. "They're got heat seekers, so be ready for them."

The first MiG fired a R-73, never breaking the formation, but Saint John evaded it, lining up for his own shot.

"Now."

The laser guided Copperhead raced through the air, never giving the MiG a chance before they collided, exploding on impact.

"One more to go."

I have another one ready when you need it," String said as he pressed the button with one hand, the other still intertwined with Caitlin's. "Just make it quick before things gets worse back here."