Officer Caitlin O'Shaunessey expertly guided the CHiPs helicopter through
the air traffic surrounding busy Van Nuys, directing it due northeast
toward the spot outside of Las Vegas, Nevada, where she would intercept the
rest of the assault team. In the seat normally occupied by Ramon
Gutierrez, Jason Locke sat slightly hunched, one hand pressing the
headphones tighter against his left ear.
"... when we rendezvous," the black man was saying, talking loudly to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Grid coordinates four-seven-one, bearing two-zero, confirm. Lobo will echo our ETA plus fifteen. Do you copy?" He listened to the voice at the other end of the scrambled frequency, then nodded. "Roger," he acknowledged a moment later. "Out." Locke flicked a switch on the comm unit, reconnecting himself to Caitlin's headset. "Epsilon Guard is en route," he told her. "They have two choppers, members of Zebra Squad filling out the roster on the third. Airwolf will converge on our position fifteen minutes after we join up with Brewster's unit."
She nodded absently, her gaze flicking first to the instrument panel and then to the vista unfolding several thousand feet below, the rugged California hills just beginning to give way to flatter desert contours. "Never did like having anything to do with Zebra Squad," she remarked, tapping one of her gauges with a short fingernail. "The whole idea of an assassination team gives me the creeps."
"Be that as it may," the other returned, also scanning the terrain, "Zebra Squad is superbly trained, and Epsilon Guard is one of the finest assault teams I've ever seen. We're going to need the best to penetrate Horn's defenses and save the hostages."
The woman pulled back lightly on the collective, then adjusted the cyclic, increasing their altitude and giving the helicopter a flatter, nose-to-the- horizon trim. "Ah'm not really complaining on that part," she drawled, green eyes invisible to him behind the dark sunglasses. "Ah'd deal with the devil himself if it would get Dom and Michael back. Working with the Firm much as I have, I feel like I already have."
Locke laughed, one brow lifting into his hairline. "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of us, Officer O'Shaunessey. I assure you, we're not all the ogres you must imagine."
She glanced at him startled, a becoming blush tinting her peaches-and-cream complexion with rose. "Awww, heck, ah didn't mean nothin' personal!"
Locke's mustache bristled humorously over his grin. "Frankly, Miss O'Shaunessey ..." He leaned his head confidentially closer to her's. "... you're probably right. We just don't like to let it get around. Image, you know."
She giggled at his friendly gambit. "Image I learned from Michael!" The name sobered her again. "I wonder how Michael is doing? He's been in Horn's hands as long as Hawke was, Dom even longer! And you heard what Jo said about the kind'a shape Hawke was in back at the Lair."
Jason turned to look at her fully, studying her profile. "If you mean Stringfellow Hawke, I agree, but at least he's safe now. They can drop him at a hospital on the way...."
Caitlin interrupted that with an impatient chopping gesture. "You kin forgit that. He ain't going to no hospital. I've seen him hobble around on a busted leg for a couple of weeks rather than even go in for x-rays. Boy is as stubborn as a Missouri mule."
Jason harumphed, the effect through the mike that of a cat hacking up a furball. "I noticed. We've clashed a time or two in the past. The first time we met we nearly ended up knocking each other's blocks off."
"Sounds like him," she said, unconsciously placing responsibility for the near collision on the pilot. "Ah take it you had some security boys standing by to break it up?"
Near-black eyes widened, surprised. "How did you know that? Course correct bearing two degrees south," he added, consulting a chart.
She obeyed automatically, realigning on the new compass heading, then picked up on the conversation, her Texas accent growing slightly thinner. "'Cause I know Stringfellow Hawke, that's how I knew. That boy doesn't never back down once he's got his mind set on getting something. So either you gave him what he was after or you had security drag him off."
Jason tilted his head suspiciously. "How do you know I didn't give him what he wanted?"
She wrapped her fingers more securely around the collective, then glanced at him, looking ever so slightly superior. "Because what he wanted was his brother, and I understand Saint John wasn't rescued 'til almost a week later -- after Hawke was hurt."
Jason smiled appreciatively at the deduction. "You're one smart cop, Officer."
"Caitlin," she corrected, returning the friendly smile.
"Caitlin." Locke adjusted his suit jacket over his broad shoulders, then touched his tie. "Actually, what went down was a little bit of both. Security did pull him off me before I had to get rough myself, but he was only looking for some kind of background data on that recording of Saint John's voice Buchard sent. That much I could give him, plus a little information I dug up on Hawke's last mission for the Company."
"I was on location with a film crew when most of that was going down," Caitlin said, a sad expression crossing her elfin features. "I made it to the funeral but like I told Jo Santini, I kept getting that feeling like ah was being watched, and had to keep my distance for a while."
Strong hands clasped in his lap briefly while Locke regarded the woman with open speculation. "Very wise, as things turned out. Pity -- with your experience, you would have been welcome to join us. You've got security clearance and are more familiar with Airwolf's systems than any of us were." He lifted one wide shoulder in a little shrug. "Mike, Jo and I had to practically muddle our way through that first mission into Myanmar. If I hadn't worked on similar computers in the past, we wouldn't even have had access to all the sensor equipment."
"Yeah, ah learned the boards pretty well while I was flying." Caitlin gestured at the interior of the helicopter she was piloting, a satisfied smile lightening the shadows on her face. "I think I'm doing pretty well now with the Highway Patrol. It's a lot different from the flying meter maid routine I was pulling back in Texas. And Ramon is a great partner; got me out of a couple'a scrapes already."
"Different than working with Stringfellow Hawke, I'll bet," Jason teased good-naturedly.
She laughed out loud at that. "Different? Listen, Mr. Locke, during all the time I knew Stringfellow Hawke, I could count the number of times I saw him smile on the back of a postage stamp. And except for the little digs he and Dom gave each other, he never once -- never once told a single joke." She glanced mischievously at the agent before again sweeping the instrument panel. "You clashed with Hawke; you tell me how different he is from Ramon."
He joined in her laughter, adding his mellow rumble to her light soprano. "Not much of a comedian," he agreed, "unlike your partner, judging from what you've been telling me. But I'm still considering recruiting Stringfellow on a permanent basis for the Airwolf team. I didn't get the impression he would be the best undercover agent we've got...."
"He's got all the subtlety of a bucking bronco," the woman interjected fondly.
"I noticed that, too." They shared another amused look. "But Saint John, Mike and I are all trained in intelligence work, so there'd be no shortage along that line. And Jo's turned out to have a flair in the field, for all we've used her only when we didn't have a choice."
"She could probably do with a little more training?" Caitlin suggested gently.
"If she keeps on working with the Company, she's going to have to get some," he agreed. "So far she's refused. Said it would take too much time away from the air transport business."
Caitlin scanned the crisp, cloudless sky, changing course a few degrees when she spotted an incoming twin engine. "Santini Air used to be a full time occupation. There was even a part-time mechanic working there until Dom's ... accident."
"Everett Logan. He's still at Van Nuys." At her glance, he shrugged. "A complete security check was the first thing I ran when I took over Archangel's responsibilities." He waved that away. "As I was saying, while Jo's a good pilot, she's not a combat pilot -- Stringfellow Hawke is. According to Mike, maybe the best there is. I think having him on the team could be useful, freeing Saint John and Mike to handle more of the ground work."
"You sound like you're putting a whole unit together instead of one team," Caitlin said, turning to stare at the black agent fully. When he maintained a politic silence, she turned away. "Don't know if the other two would go for something like that. Three macho pilots and one little Airwolf?"
The man shifted uncomfortably. "That's occurred to me, also. Stringfellow seems to grate on Major Rivers even worse than he does me. They're diametric opposites; I'm afraid there would always be a power struggle going on for the helicopter if not command -- something I can't afford to allow for the sake of morale if not team unity. Saint John, at least, would be glad to see his brother with us. Maybe."
"Maybe?" One light brow rose above the rim of the sunglasses, disappearing under the fringe of copper colored hair she wore as bangs. "You're not sure he'd want his own brother working with him?"
Locke dipped his head, and pulled his handgun out of the shoulder holster he habitually wore under his tailored jacket. He carefully checked that the safety was on and ejected the clip. "Saint John is usually pretty laid back -- he takes his orders and makes them work whatever it costs. Usually."
"Follows his own mind on how to get 'em done, though, doesn't he?" The policewoman nodded to herself. "Dom used to say that he and String ran on different tracks but both chugged along in the same direction."
Locke paused, thinking that over. "What does that mean?"
She shrugged. "No idea."
"Anyway," the other went on stolidly; he proceeded to recheck the gun's load, one bullet at a time. "Hawke ... Saint John turns out to have a pretty strong protective streak where his brother is concerned. He didn't even let us know Stringfellow was still alive much less recovering from the explosion. He didn't even tell Jo."
"Or me." O'Shaunessey's words carried more than an undercurrent of hurt. "Hawke might have spent a few months out of touch, but he could have gotten me a note or something if he'd wanted to bad enough." She pursed her lips, face carefully expressionless. "An' don't think he's any looser on the protective side. Or is possessive a better word? Not once during all the time ah've known him would he ever share even scraps about Saint John. Don't even know if he talked about him much with Dom, and I know Dom tried."
"Sounds like they are running on parallel tracks," Locke stated, applying his own spin to Santini's analysis. "You must know the two well. I assume you all got close during the eighteen months you worked for Santini Air?"
She considered the matter seriously and long enough to bring a question to his eyes. "I guess if I had to pick the one person closest to 'em, it would be me," she decided, choosing her words carefully. "They liked me -- even let me into their little family circle to a point. But there was always a line I couldn't cross -- a piece of them I wasn't allowed to touch." She bit her lip, copper hair gleaming where the sun hit it. "The only reason I even found out about Airwolf was because String and Dom were both laid up in the hospital and Michael was being held in East Germany. In other words, they were stuck."
"It seems to have worked out," the agent soothed, holding a steel-jacketed bullet up to the light. "You flew several missions with them, didn't you?"
She nodded. "Whenever I could -- mostly in the back seat. I'm a good pilot -- a real good chopper pilot, but flying Airwolf takes a little more than muscling around a joy stick. Didn't matter much; I was willing to take that big, black helicopter any way I could get her!"
"I've flown Airwolf occasionally myself, mostly with computerized assist, and I agree completely." Finished checking his ammo, Locke began to reload the clip. "Not that I'm anywhere near the level of either Mike or Saint John, and Stringfellow is supposed to be even better yet."
"Best pilot I've ever seen," Cait agreed proudly.
Locke slipped the clip back into the butt of the gun and reholstered it. "Perhaps, but one thing he's not is a team player, and I do need someone who isn't going to fight with me at every turn." He grinned self- deprecatingly. "Guess I don't have Michael's touch with him."
"Not many do." Caitlin stretched her left leg, wiggling her foot before returning it to the tail rotor controls. "Michael Coldsmith-Briggs is the highest-class snake oil salesman I ever met. Saw him in action a few times, even caught on to his game once or twice. He almost never argued with Hawke -- not that it would have made much difference once way or the other. He just kind of aimed him like a gun and let him fire himself."
"Whatever works," Locke muttered doubtfully.
She tossed her head. "Only thing that did work on him except for Dom. They'd do just about anything for each other."
"That's all very touching," the agent returned without sarcasm, "but the unit no longer consists of just those two. Saint John, Mike, Jo and I are a full team, and have to coordinate as one. Granted, those three are usually only called in when it looks like Airwolf is going to be needed, but we've all been part of covert ops as well."
"Often?"
"Often enough." He stroked his mustache, sharp mind engaged elsewhere though he still addressed the woman. "On many occasions we need an operative rather than a test pilot. Saint John can do that."
"While String is a pretty bad liar despite that poker face he's got." Caitlin automatically corrected for an updraft, voice thoughtful. "I've only met Saint John a few times, and he's not what I expected. I watched Hawke fight to get him back, but now that I've met him it's hard to believe those two are even related. They may favor each other a bit with the coloring and around the eyes, but they can be so different. I mean, he's more like that Major Rivers than he is String." She paused. "I wonder how much of that has to do with the last fifteen years? I saw what String went through, but I can only imagine what Saint John suffered as a prisoner."
Jason too sobered at the thought. "I did two tours in Viet Nam and even I have trouble imagining. Pity, too. If Saint John hadn't been captured, he could have been a good DEA operative once the war ended." He dropped his head again, dark eyes troubled. "When I was over there, I saw what the NVA did to their prisoners. A lot of them are still in hospitals -- won't ever get out."
"Saint John Hawke seems to be in pretty good shape," Caitlin commented with a worried look.
Jason's nod was quick. "Remarkably so. The psych profile we required before formally sanctioning him on the team showed that he was adapting even better than expected to the changes of freedom. Being on the team helped considerably; he had a purpose and station in life -- some kind of foundation."
The chopper bucked slightly, meeting a headwind, and Cait again increased their altitude until the turbulence ceased. "You don't think just being back with String would have done it?" she asked, hands working their magic on the controls with a minimum of conscious effort.
He waggled his fingers, a negative gesture. "Not according to our staff psychiatrist. About half of the adjustment trauma Saint John is working through is directly connected to his relationship with his younger brother. According to their files, there's a great deal of guilt on both sides. Stringfellow has spent the last fifteen years paying for his decision to leave Saint John behind during that firefight; Saint John knows that, and is having trouble handling the fact that his brother hurt for so long on his behalf. It's going to take them a long time to get over that. According to the reports I read, Stringfellow might never be able to put it behind him, and if he doesn't, Saint John won't." He brightened. "However, being part of the Airwolf team has at least given Saint John a focus beyond his brother's problems, and that's exactly what he needs right now."
Caitlin shook her head wonderingly. "You might end up with a decent team, provided Saint John is willing to give up the flight commander's seat in Airwolf to do ground operations."
"He won't have to completely, of course, but for his brother, I think he will," Locke finished triumphantly. "If we can get past the problem with Mike, I think Saint John will go for anything that will make his brother part of the team."
Then it was Caitlin's turn to be impressed. "Y'know, I may have oiled the wrong snake. If you can pull this one off, you may just be in Archangel's league after all."
He regarded her suspiciously. "I may accept that as a compliment," he rumbled, eyes narrow. "But I think I'm going to think about it first. For a long time."
***
"... when we rendezvous," the black man was saying, talking loudly to be heard over the roar of the engine. "Grid coordinates four-seven-one, bearing two-zero, confirm. Lobo will echo our ETA plus fifteen. Do you copy?" He listened to the voice at the other end of the scrambled frequency, then nodded. "Roger," he acknowledged a moment later. "Out." Locke flicked a switch on the comm unit, reconnecting himself to Caitlin's headset. "Epsilon Guard is en route," he told her. "They have two choppers, members of Zebra Squad filling out the roster on the third. Airwolf will converge on our position fifteen minutes after we join up with Brewster's unit."
She nodded absently, her gaze flicking first to the instrument panel and then to the vista unfolding several thousand feet below, the rugged California hills just beginning to give way to flatter desert contours. "Never did like having anything to do with Zebra Squad," she remarked, tapping one of her gauges with a short fingernail. "The whole idea of an assassination team gives me the creeps."
"Be that as it may," the other returned, also scanning the terrain, "Zebra Squad is superbly trained, and Epsilon Guard is one of the finest assault teams I've ever seen. We're going to need the best to penetrate Horn's defenses and save the hostages."
The woman pulled back lightly on the collective, then adjusted the cyclic, increasing their altitude and giving the helicopter a flatter, nose-to-the- horizon trim. "Ah'm not really complaining on that part," she drawled, green eyes invisible to him behind the dark sunglasses. "Ah'd deal with the devil himself if it would get Dom and Michael back. Working with the Firm much as I have, I feel like I already have."
Locke laughed, one brow lifting into his hairline. "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of us, Officer O'Shaunessey. I assure you, we're not all the ogres you must imagine."
She glanced at him startled, a becoming blush tinting her peaches-and-cream complexion with rose. "Awww, heck, ah didn't mean nothin' personal!"
Locke's mustache bristled humorously over his grin. "Frankly, Miss O'Shaunessey ..." He leaned his head confidentially closer to her's. "... you're probably right. We just don't like to let it get around. Image, you know."
She giggled at his friendly gambit. "Image I learned from Michael!" The name sobered her again. "I wonder how Michael is doing? He's been in Horn's hands as long as Hawke was, Dom even longer! And you heard what Jo said about the kind'a shape Hawke was in back at the Lair."
Jason turned to look at her fully, studying her profile. "If you mean Stringfellow Hawke, I agree, but at least he's safe now. They can drop him at a hospital on the way...."
Caitlin interrupted that with an impatient chopping gesture. "You kin forgit that. He ain't going to no hospital. I've seen him hobble around on a busted leg for a couple of weeks rather than even go in for x-rays. Boy is as stubborn as a Missouri mule."
Jason harumphed, the effect through the mike that of a cat hacking up a furball. "I noticed. We've clashed a time or two in the past. The first time we met we nearly ended up knocking each other's blocks off."
"Sounds like him," she said, unconsciously placing responsibility for the near collision on the pilot. "Ah take it you had some security boys standing by to break it up?"
Near-black eyes widened, surprised. "How did you know that? Course correct bearing two degrees south," he added, consulting a chart.
She obeyed automatically, realigning on the new compass heading, then picked up on the conversation, her Texas accent growing slightly thinner. "'Cause I know Stringfellow Hawke, that's how I knew. That boy doesn't never back down once he's got his mind set on getting something. So either you gave him what he was after or you had security drag him off."
Jason tilted his head suspiciously. "How do you know I didn't give him what he wanted?"
She wrapped her fingers more securely around the collective, then glanced at him, looking ever so slightly superior. "Because what he wanted was his brother, and I understand Saint John wasn't rescued 'til almost a week later -- after Hawke was hurt."
Jason smiled appreciatively at the deduction. "You're one smart cop, Officer."
"Caitlin," she corrected, returning the friendly smile.
"Caitlin." Locke adjusted his suit jacket over his broad shoulders, then touched his tie. "Actually, what went down was a little bit of both. Security did pull him off me before I had to get rough myself, but he was only looking for some kind of background data on that recording of Saint John's voice Buchard sent. That much I could give him, plus a little information I dug up on Hawke's last mission for the Company."
"I was on location with a film crew when most of that was going down," Caitlin said, a sad expression crossing her elfin features. "I made it to the funeral but like I told Jo Santini, I kept getting that feeling like ah was being watched, and had to keep my distance for a while."
Strong hands clasped in his lap briefly while Locke regarded the woman with open speculation. "Very wise, as things turned out. Pity -- with your experience, you would have been welcome to join us. You've got security clearance and are more familiar with Airwolf's systems than any of us were." He lifted one wide shoulder in a little shrug. "Mike, Jo and I had to practically muddle our way through that first mission into Myanmar. If I hadn't worked on similar computers in the past, we wouldn't even have had access to all the sensor equipment."
"Yeah, ah learned the boards pretty well while I was flying." Caitlin gestured at the interior of the helicopter she was piloting, a satisfied smile lightening the shadows on her face. "I think I'm doing pretty well now with the Highway Patrol. It's a lot different from the flying meter maid routine I was pulling back in Texas. And Ramon is a great partner; got me out of a couple'a scrapes already."
"Different than working with Stringfellow Hawke, I'll bet," Jason teased good-naturedly.
She laughed out loud at that. "Different? Listen, Mr. Locke, during all the time I knew Stringfellow Hawke, I could count the number of times I saw him smile on the back of a postage stamp. And except for the little digs he and Dom gave each other, he never once -- never once told a single joke." She glanced mischievously at the agent before again sweeping the instrument panel. "You clashed with Hawke; you tell me how different he is from Ramon."
He joined in her laughter, adding his mellow rumble to her light soprano. "Not much of a comedian," he agreed, "unlike your partner, judging from what you've been telling me. But I'm still considering recruiting Stringfellow on a permanent basis for the Airwolf team. I didn't get the impression he would be the best undercover agent we've got...."
"He's got all the subtlety of a bucking bronco," the woman interjected fondly.
"I noticed that, too." They shared another amused look. "But Saint John, Mike and I are all trained in intelligence work, so there'd be no shortage along that line. And Jo's turned out to have a flair in the field, for all we've used her only when we didn't have a choice."
"She could probably do with a little more training?" Caitlin suggested gently.
"If she keeps on working with the Company, she's going to have to get some," he agreed. "So far she's refused. Said it would take too much time away from the air transport business."
Caitlin scanned the crisp, cloudless sky, changing course a few degrees when she spotted an incoming twin engine. "Santini Air used to be a full time occupation. There was even a part-time mechanic working there until Dom's ... accident."
"Everett Logan. He's still at Van Nuys." At her glance, he shrugged. "A complete security check was the first thing I ran when I took over Archangel's responsibilities." He waved that away. "As I was saying, while Jo's a good pilot, she's not a combat pilot -- Stringfellow Hawke is. According to Mike, maybe the best there is. I think having him on the team could be useful, freeing Saint John and Mike to handle more of the ground work."
"You sound like you're putting a whole unit together instead of one team," Caitlin said, turning to stare at the black agent fully. When he maintained a politic silence, she turned away. "Don't know if the other two would go for something like that. Three macho pilots and one little Airwolf?"
The man shifted uncomfortably. "That's occurred to me, also. Stringfellow seems to grate on Major Rivers even worse than he does me. They're diametric opposites; I'm afraid there would always be a power struggle going on for the helicopter if not command -- something I can't afford to allow for the sake of morale if not team unity. Saint John, at least, would be glad to see his brother with us. Maybe."
"Maybe?" One light brow rose above the rim of the sunglasses, disappearing under the fringe of copper colored hair she wore as bangs. "You're not sure he'd want his own brother working with him?"
Locke dipped his head, and pulled his handgun out of the shoulder holster he habitually wore under his tailored jacket. He carefully checked that the safety was on and ejected the clip. "Saint John is usually pretty laid back -- he takes his orders and makes them work whatever it costs. Usually."
"Follows his own mind on how to get 'em done, though, doesn't he?" The policewoman nodded to herself. "Dom used to say that he and String ran on different tracks but both chugged along in the same direction."
Locke paused, thinking that over. "What does that mean?"
She shrugged. "No idea."
"Anyway," the other went on stolidly; he proceeded to recheck the gun's load, one bullet at a time. "Hawke ... Saint John turns out to have a pretty strong protective streak where his brother is concerned. He didn't even let us know Stringfellow was still alive much less recovering from the explosion. He didn't even tell Jo."
"Or me." O'Shaunessey's words carried more than an undercurrent of hurt. "Hawke might have spent a few months out of touch, but he could have gotten me a note or something if he'd wanted to bad enough." She pursed her lips, face carefully expressionless. "An' don't think he's any looser on the protective side. Or is possessive a better word? Not once during all the time ah've known him would he ever share even scraps about Saint John. Don't even know if he talked about him much with Dom, and I know Dom tried."
"Sounds like they are running on parallel tracks," Locke stated, applying his own spin to Santini's analysis. "You must know the two well. I assume you all got close during the eighteen months you worked for Santini Air?"
She considered the matter seriously and long enough to bring a question to his eyes. "I guess if I had to pick the one person closest to 'em, it would be me," she decided, choosing her words carefully. "They liked me -- even let me into their little family circle to a point. But there was always a line I couldn't cross -- a piece of them I wasn't allowed to touch." She bit her lip, copper hair gleaming where the sun hit it. "The only reason I even found out about Airwolf was because String and Dom were both laid up in the hospital and Michael was being held in East Germany. In other words, they were stuck."
"It seems to have worked out," the agent soothed, holding a steel-jacketed bullet up to the light. "You flew several missions with them, didn't you?"
She nodded. "Whenever I could -- mostly in the back seat. I'm a good pilot -- a real good chopper pilot, but flying Airwolf takes a little more than muscling around a joy stick. Didn't matter much; I was willing to take that big, black helicopter any way I could get her!"
"I've flown Airwolf occasionally myself, mostly with computerized assist, and I agree completely." Finished checking his ammo, Locke began to reload the clip. "Not that I'm anywhere near the level of either Mike or Saint John, and Stringfellow is supposed to be even better yet."
"Best pilot I've ever seen," Cait agreed proudly.
Locke slipped the clip back into the butt of the gun and reholstered it. "Perhaps, but one thing he's not is a team player, and I do need someone who isn't going to fight with me at every turn." He grinned self- deprecatingly. "Guess I don't have Michael's touch with him."
"Not many do." Caitlin stretched her left leg, wiggling her foot before returning it to the tail rotor controls. "Michael Coldsmith-Briggs is the highest-class snake oil salesman I ever met. Saw him in action a few times, even caught on to his game once or twice. He almost never argued with Hawke -- not that it would have made much difference once way or the other. He just kind of aimed him like a gun and let him fire himself."
"Whatever works," Locke muttered doubtfully.
She tossed her head. "Only thing that did work on him except for Dom. They'd do just about anything for each other."
"That's all very touching," the agent returned without sarcasm, "but the unit no longer consists of just those two. Saint John, Mike, Jo and I are a full team, and have to coordinate as one. Granted, those three are usually only called in when it looks like Airwolf is going to be needed, but we've all been part of covert ops as well."
"Often?"
"Often enough." He stroked his mustache, sharp mind engaged elsewhere though he still addressed the woman. "On many occasions we need an operative rather than a test pilot. Saint John can do that."
"While String is a pretty bad liar despite that poker face he's got." Caitlin automatically corrected for an updraft, voice thoughtful. "I've only met Saint John a few times, and he's not what I expected. I watched Hawke fight to get him back, but now that I've met him it's hard to believe those two are even related. They may favor each other a bit with the coloring and around the eyes, but they can be so different. I mean, he's more like that Major Rivers than he is String." She paused. "I wonder how much of that has to do with the last fifteen years? I saw what String went through, but I can only imagine what Saint John suffered as a prisoner."
Jason too sobered at the thought. "I did two tours in Viet Nam and even I have trouble imagining. Pity, too. If Saint John hadn't been captured, he could have been a good DEA operative once the war ended." He dropped his head again, dark eyes troubled. "When I was over there, I saw what the NVA did to their prisoners. A lot of them are still in hospitals -- won't ever get out."
"Saint John Hawke seems to be in pretty good shape," Caitlin commented with a worried look.
Jason's nod was quick. "Remarkably so. The psych profile we required before formally sanctioning him on the team showed that he was adapting even better than expected to the changes of freedom. Being on the team helped considerably; he had a purpose and station in life -- some kind of foundation."
The chopper bucked slightly, meeting a headwind, and Cait again increased their altitude until the turbulence ceased. "You don't think just being back with String would have done it?" she asked, hands working their magic on the controls with a minimum of conscious effort.
He waggled his fingers, a negative gesture. "Not according to our staff psychiatrist. About half of the adjustment trauma Saint John is working through is directly connected to his relationship with his younger brother. According to their files, there's a great deal of guilt on both sides. Stringfellow has spent the last fifteen years paying for his decision to leave Saint John behind during that firefight; Saint John knows that, and is having trouble handling the fact that his brother hurt for so long on his behalf. It's going to take them a long time to get over that. According to the reports I read, Stringfellow might never be able to put it behind him, and if he doesn't, Saint John won't." He brightened. "However, being part of the Airwolf team has at least given Saint John a focus beyond his brother's problems, and that's exactly what he needs right now."
Caitlin shook her head wonderingly. "You might end up with a decent team, provided Saint John is willing to give up the flight commander's seat in Airwolf to do ground operations."
"He won't have to completely, of course, but for his brother, I think he will," Locke finished triumphantly. "If we can get past the problem with Mike, I think Saint John will go for anything that will make his brother part of the team."
Then it was Caitlin's turn to be impressed. "Y'know, I may have oiled the wrong snake. If you can pull this one off, you may just be in Archangel's league after all."
He regarded her suspiciously. "I may accept that as a compliment," he rumbled, eyes narrow. "But I think I'm going to think about it first. For a long time."
***