REUNION 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.
Chapter Eleven
They made slow progress in the soft, loose earth, finding it hard to get purchase, Santini and the KPLA soldiers stopping intermittently to turn and return fire, allowing Hawke to take advantage of his momentum and carry on ahead, getting a good head start.
Santini knew that they must be getting low on ammunition, and could only hope that Mendofa's men, shooting so wildly and haphazardly as they were, were confronted with a similar problem and that as the trees were getting closer together, the higher up they were getting, their pursuers might decide to conserve their bullets until the escapees were out in the open.
All Santini could hope was that he could buy Hawke enough time to get a good enough head start.
If Hawke could get himself and Nimbani safely back to Airwolf, then Santini knew he could bet his life on Hawke coming right back here to fish him out.
In the meantime, he had to keep moving up this damned hill, covering Hawke's hastily receding back.
Adrenalin was coursing through his veins, counteracting the fear and fatigue, and the top of the hill was getting closer, and from there, the going would get a little easier, down hill and then flatter ground, Santini told himself. He would maybe be able to catch up with Hawke there.
Hawke finally crested the hill and disappeared over the top, and Dominic Santini found himself still grinning.
"Go for it, kid!" He laughed out loud, panting heavily, then watched with surprise as the KPLA point man suddenly made a mad dash up the hill after Hawke.
"What the hell?"
Santini glanced over to where the other KPLA man was miming something frantically at him. Santini frowned, watched some more of the pantomime, and then suddenly realised that the man was trying to tell him that his colleague had decided to make a run for the Jeep, to drive it back for them.
Or maybe drive himself out of harm's way and leave the rest of them high and dry, Santini couldn't help thinking, cynically.
Santini mimed back that they too should make a run for it, then set off up the hill, legs pumping hard, heart racing so fast he thought it might explode right out of his chest at any moment, and then he too was over the crest of the hill, and there was Hawke ahead of him, almost at the bottom now.
So close.
They were so close now, the bottom of the hill, and then just a half a mile to the river bed, Cimbawe, and the Jeep.
The KPLA point man was closing in on Hawke fast, but even before realisation dawned, Santini was watching with horror as more dust and stones were suddenly erupting all around the running soldier, close on Hawke's heels too, and then the KPLA man was falling, dead before he hit the ground, and the ear splitting report of the other KPLA man's weapon spitting out more covering fire came from close behind Santini, deafening him, startled him so much that Santini stumbled, and suddenly he was tumbling down the hillside, head over heels.
"Dom!" Hawke screamed, having turned back to see what all the commotion was, just as the KPLA man went down and then Dom too, and he now watched in horror as his old friend tumbled down the hill, and skidded to a halt in a tangle of limbs, practically at his feet.
It was hardly the way Hawke would have recommended the old guy come down the hill, but it had certainly been quicker.
"You ok?" He barked between gasps for breath, juggling Robert Nimbani's limp body around to lessen the ache he was now feeling all the way down his neck and spine.
"Oh, yeah. Just great!" Santini grumbled, gagging and coughing on the cloud of dust still swirling around his head, blinking rapidly as he gathered his senses. "Just fine," he grumbled. "I just took a header down this here hill, now how do you think I feel?"
"Sore?"
"You don't say!"
"Foolish?"
"I could have broken my damned neck …." Santini ignored Hawke's jibe, dusting off his uniform and working the kinks out of his neck and spine too.
"You're whining, so I guess that means you're still alive," Hawke commented, then ducked as another hail of bullets went flying over his head. "But if we don't get moving," Hawke's voice trailed away then as another hail of gunfire rained over their heads, and all he could think was, thank God for their lousy aim.
"Whining huh? Time to worry is when I stop whining …." Santini grouched then he too instinctively ducked as the bullets whizzed over his head and kicked up dust and dirt and stones all around them.
"Who taught these guys to shoot? Elmer Fudd!"
"Even he got lucky once in a while, now move it, Dom. Its duck season, and we're two sitting targets here!"
Hawke turned and sprinted off down the last part of the hill, smiling wryly to himself, knowing that the old man's sense of humour was cover for his feeling somewhat foolish for his recent tumble, and relieved that there were no obvious signs of any broken bones.
However, the enemy was coming up over the brow of the hill, fast, and as if to prove the point, that they were indeed sitting ducks, the sole KPLA soldier suddenly collapsed to the floor, obviously having taken a round, and did not move again.
"Let's go, Dom. Now!" Hawke screamed back over his shoulder.
"You go …." Santini protested, feeling aches and pains in all his joints as he tried to hurry after Hawke.
"Not an option, now haul ass, old man!" Hawke snarled.
"But you said …."
"I know what I said, Dom, but I changed my mind. Now quit arguing and expend some of that excess energy in getting the hell out of Dodge!"
"Yes Sir!"
Feeling every ache and scratch Dominic Santini forced himself to follow Hawke, placing himself between the younger man and the approaching enemy, although he knew that that made him an easier and slightly bigger target for General Mendofa's men to aim at.
Better him than Hawke and Nimbani.
Gun fire destroyed the peace of the African veldt, as they shot out onto the undulating dry river bed, but the strange thing was, none of the bullets actually seemed to be getting any closer to their mark, which puzzled the hell out of Santini
Santini recalled Kubasa's briefing about Mendofa's elite troops, how they were cold blooded, ruthless killers in close combat, preferring a quick kill, but their marksmanship wasn't quite so good.
Santini found him self thinking that they were wasting a lot of bullets, because none of them could hit the broad side of a barn, but then recalled that they had just lost the two KPLA men and reasoned that one of them had to get lucky some time, it was the law of averages.
Hawke had been right about the need to keep moving.
If they were chasing Hawke and Santini, then the General's men couldn't stay still long enough to fire off an accurate shot.
Hope fired in Santini's belly now.
The Jeep wasn't all that far away now, he was sure of it.
And the border was even closer still.
If he could just keep up with Hawke, this last few hundred feet, if he could just stick close to String, whom he could now see was beginning to flag under the extra weight of the African leader, his legs quaking as he staggered on, the odds of their making it were getting better and better.
Then, at last, they rounded the last bend in the dry river bed, and could clearly see the outline of the camouflaged vehicles on the other side.
Badly winded, Hawke missed his footing on some loose stones, and stumbled, and Robert Nimbani crashed heavily over his head, falling to the floor beside Hawke, who fell down on one knee, keeping his balance only by reaching out with both hands to steady him self, as he desperately tried to draw in much needed air.
"We made it!" Santini panted as he drew up beside Hawke. "You ok, kid?"
"No, I'm having a coronary!" Hawke rasped between gasps for air, glancing back over Santini's shoulder to see what their situation was, and spotting the fast approaching group of Mendofa's men.
"Now who's whining?" Santini raised an eyebrow mockingly now.
"How are you doing, Dom?" Hawke asked, still kneeling and dragging in air, relieved that for now the gunfire had stopped, although he was confused as to why, when they were just sitting there, out in the open, still, easy pickings ….
He was concerned for his old friend, noting the scratches on his face and the pained expression on his face, the way he was holding his left leg, like his hip was paining him.
"That was a nasty fall you took …."
"I know, I was there," Santini scowled, glancing back over his shoulder and spotting the fast approaching enemy. "What are they waiting for?" He indicated over his shoulder to the advancing enemy force.
"Getting their second wind," Hawke rasped breathlessly, and then it hit him.
They must be pretty close to or already had, crossed the border.
"Yeah, well, they're not the only ones. You enjoying your vacation?" Santini snarled, but he was relieved to see that his young friend was recovering from his exertions, because he had an idea that they were going to have to start running again pretty soon.
"Yeah, but I think we wore out our welcome."
"Some things never change, huh? Natives sure are getting restless," Santini agreed.
"Time to fish out your passport Dom, and find us another resort."
"Fine by me, but what about him?"
"I don't hear him complaining."
"That's because he's still out cold, kid," Santini grinned. "I'll go get the camouflage off the Jeep," he offered when he saw the scowl settling on Hawke's face as he staggered to his feet once more, then again reached down to pick up Robert Nimbani.
"Yeah, and make it snappy, Dom."
"Gotchya!"
Hawke took a second to glance around to see where exactly they were, and knew that he was right. They were positioned just beyond the center point between each ancient crumbling river bank, closer to the Jeeps and trucks, on the Cimbawe side, but that didn't mean that their pursuers wouldn't still try to shoot at them. All they had to do was stop on the other bank and keep firing.
Hawke realised that that was exactly what they planned to do as the first men to reach the bank dropped flat on their bellies and again took up their weapons.
Feelings aches in his hips and knees, every scratch on his hands and shins and even on his face, and palms, where he had reached out to try to save himself as he fell, Dominic Santini moved as quickly as he could toward where they had parked the Jeep, then wrestled to free the open topped vehicle from the camouflage netting, glancing back every few seconds to see how his young friend was doing, still laboring under the dead weight of the unconscious African leader.
"String!" Santini suddenly yelped out, as he found half a dozen enraged men pulling up on the opposite bank, who quickly dropped to their bellies and aimed their weapons.
Lousy shots or not, at that range, they could not fail to miss, and the looks on their dark faces told Santini that they meant business.
Reacting to the note of warning in the older man's voice, Hawke knew that he was in deep trouble, and he put his foot down hard on the gas, but his legs felt like rubber, shivering and quaking, lactic acid burning in his calf muscles, his spine feeling like it would snap, as he staggered under the weight of his burden.
His physical strength was waning, but he would get there on sheer determination and force of will, and adrenalin.
The Jeep was right there, just a few hundred feet away, and Stringfellow Hawke had never been a quitter.
What happened next happened to Hawke's eyes as it were happening in slow motion.
As he ran, staggering, tripping and stumbling in his haste to reach Dominic Santini and the Jeep, Hawke could see the older man struggling to pull the camouflage netting off the vehicle, rushing around, yanking the net off the windshield then rushing around the side of the vehicle to free it from the overhead strut and the rear of the vehicle, stopping at the off side fender to turn around and let off a few rounds of covering fire over Hawke's shoulder, before moving round to the other side and hauling off the remainder of the net, so that he could then jump into the driver's seat.
Just as he released the last of the stubborn netting from the overhead strut, Dominic Santini went into some kind of spasm, a weird wavering dance as his body arched forward then backward in a whiplash kind of motion, then like a puppet with its strings cut, he was toppling forward, slumping over and falling flat on his face on the driver's seat.
"Dom!"
Hawke's voice echoed in his ears as he tried to move faster under the heavy burden he carried, but it felt like he was wading through molasses, taking him an eternity to lift one foot and put it down again, one after the other, as his gaze remained fixed on the lifeless form of Dominic Santini in the driver's side of the Jeep.
He was almost there when he too suddenly felt a strange movement behind him. The man on his back seemed to be rousing, or so he thought.
Great timing, pal!
It was the very last thing he needed, for the fevered African leader to regain consciousness, and in his confusion, try to fight against Hawke, but then again, if he was conscious, he might just be able to move the last few feet under his own steam ….
Then realisation began to dawn in Hawke's brain.
Robert Nimbani wasn't waking. His body was recoiling from a gunshot, which as the thought registered in his brain, Hawke also began to feel in his own body, a sharp pain radiating out through his left shoulder, like it was exploding out, from back to front.
It was a pain he recognised, from a very long time ago, and instinctively he reached up with his right hand but was still horrified to find it covered in blood when he pulled it back.
He was hit.
The first movement that he had felt was the impact on Robert Nimbani's body as the bullet had passed through him, and then its momentum had taken it on through Hawke's shoulder where it had lodged against the bone.
During the time it took for Hawke to register all of this, amid another shower of bullets, his momentum had carried him on to the rear of the Jeep, and knowing that it probably didn't make any difference now, he carelessly tossed Robert Nimbani's body into the back seat of the Jeep and reaching out for the bodywork, pulled himself the last few feet to where Dominic Santini lay, spread eagle across the driver's seat, a small scorched hole, surrounded by a little blood, in the back of his flight suit marking the spot in his mid back where he had taken a bullet.
"Dom?" Hawke, ducking down to avoid still more gunfire, tugged at the old man's sleeve and was rewarded with a low moan, which the younger man took to be a good sign, at least Santini was still alive.
The pain in his left shoulder was almost unbearable, but Hawke knew that he somehow had to get them out of there, ASAP, and to do that, firstly he had to move Santini over into the passenger side, so that he could drive.
Mendofa's men had still made no move to cross the river bed, which Hawke realised was their only saving grace, but he also knew that they would keep shooting until they ran out of ammunition.
"Dom …"
"Yeah, kid," Santini's voice was weak, emitted between short gasps for breath. "I'm ok," he tried to reassure.
"Like hell you are, and I'm real sorry, but I gotta move you. It's gonna hurt."
"No, it don't. Don't feel nothin'."
This drew a look of horror from Hawke who immediately feared that his old friend might be paralysed for life then quickly told himself what did that matter if he died right here?
Then Hawke realised that the older man was trying to play down the severity of his injury, not wanting to frighten his young friend out of his wits.
Too late, he was way beyond that point, and not just fearing for his old friend's future.
He was in bad shape himself, although he didn't want to think about just how bad, because if he did, he might not be able to keep it together long enough to get them out of here and to some place safe.
Honestly, they were as bad as each other, trying to spare each other's feelings, when they both knew just how bad it really was.
"Liar," Hawke snarled, but there was a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he appreciated the gesture.
"Hey, you ain't too old for a spanking!" Santini growled back. "Mind your manners, kid, when you're speaking to your elders."
"You gotta help me, Dom. I'm hit too," Hawke confessed raggedly now, the wry smile turning into a wince as he began to feel the pain radiating from his shoulder more keenly.
This made Santini start, and then let out a load groan of pain as he struggled to try to move.
"Take it easy, Dom. It's not bad," Hawke reassured, not wanting to alarm the older man any more than was necessary.
"Now who's a liar?" Santini countered, trying to twist himself around to get a look at his young friend, to assess for himself the seriousness of his wound.
"It's my shoulder. I don't think I have the strength to move you with only one arm, Dom. I'm sorry."
"It's ok, kid," Santini gasped, struggling now to try to help Hawke get him upright enough to sling his arm around the younger man's neck, much as they had done not so long ago with Nimbani, and then somehow they managed to support each other, as Hawke, relieved to find that the older man could stand, with his help, which meant that his wound probably hadn't caused any damage to his spine, or the nerves there, taking most of the older man's weight, hauled Santini's bulk around the front of the Jeep and helped him to settle in the passenger seat, trying to ignore the huge blood stain swiftly darkening the front of Santini's flight suit as he did so, all this with bullets whizzing and zinging off the metal bodywork of the Jeep.
Now, in the driver's seat, breathless and feeling dizzy and light headed, Hawke reached out to start the engine and ignoring the pain in his shoulder, thrust the gear lever forward, noting as he did so, the thin trickle of blood running down his forearm, as he flexed his fingers around the gear lever.
