Saint John sat in the silent cockpit and wondered at the fact that he was alive. The last few minutes had been crazy; a wild ride of bucking helicopter through treetops and rough terrain. Somehow Hawke had threaded the helicopter through the smallest opening in the canopy; had avoided the thick trunks and branches around them with the rotors and had forced the chopper to the ground with only one gut-wrenching bump that had thrown them all around the small space. Saint John tried to calm his heartbeat, regain his breath. His hazel eyes darted across to his brother and he froze.

Hawke was slumped against the cockpit door with his face drained of all colour. His eyes were closed and he was very still; too still.

'String?' Saint John croaked. His hands fumbled with the restraining belt before he unsnapped it and dived across the seats ignoring the stirring of the other men in the backseat. 'String?' His voice was stronger but vibrated with fear. 'String?' His fingers felt for a pulse and he breathed out sharply at the steady beat.

'Is he…?' Michael couldn't finish the question as he peered through the front seats at the other man.

Saint John caught his worried eye. 'He's got a pulse.' He gently drew his brother back to a sitting position and winced at the livid bruise and cut on his forehead. 'He's taken a knock to his head.' His throat closed on the rest. Any head wound was serious and this looked bad; Hawke probably had concussion at best and at worst…he couldn't contemplate it. He turned his attention to the rest of the group. 'Everybody else OK?'

'Fine.' Locke said tersely. He was holding his ribs gingerly and Saint John figured he had jolted the already bruised bones.

'I think I'm about to lose my lunch but I'm OK.' Mike said he placed his hand on the seat to push himself up and gave a sharp cry. His face blanched and he took a deep breath hurriedly moving his hand to cradle it gently against his chest. 'OK.' He said trying to maintain the previous irreverence. 'A little sprained wrist. Maybe.'

'Michael?' Saint John asked insistently.

'I'm fine.' Michael confirmed.

'Do you hear that?' Mike asked suddenly.

'What?' Michael asked.

'That.' Mike's eyes flew upwards to the ceiling of the chopper as though he could see through it to the sky above.

'It's the chopper that was chasing us.' Saint John confirmed staring up in the same way as Mike. 'It's flying over.'

There was a tense silence.

Eventually, Saint John breathed out. 'It's gone.'

'Now what?' Mike asked.

'Basic survival training.' Saint John replied. 'Let's get out, administer first aid and assess the situation.' He pushed at the door next to him and it opened. He jumped out onto the floor of the forest and took a deep breath of clean air before he stepped around to open the door next to Hawke. Michael joined him and Saint John grudgingly accepted his help to manoeuvre the younger man from the helicopter and place him gently on the ground.

Michael hurriedly searched his bag and placed a rolled up jumper beneath Hawke's head. They covered him with a blanket Locke pulled from the hold. It was important to keep him warm and dry. Saint John pulled out the first aid kit and within moments, Mike's wrist was bandaged and his arm in a makeshift sling while Locke's ribs had been taped to provide him with support.

Saint John looked around the clearing where they had landed.

'He set us down real nicely, Saint John.' Mike noted. 'Dark side of the forest. We're in shade.' He looked up at the mostly intact canopy of the small clearing and wondered how Hawke had managed to avoid ripping it all to shreds with the rotors. 'He's left us with plenty of cover from that chopper.'

'Until the sun changes position.' Locke said. 'That chopper will catch the rays hitting the rotors.'

'Not if we cover them.' Michael gestured at one of the tents. 'We can put one of the green canvas tents over them.'

'Good idea.' Saint John said.

'I'll do it.' Mike volunteered.

Saint John shot him a pointed look at his wrist.

'I'll supervise.' Mike corrected smoothly.

'Why don't you check our supplies while Michael and I see to the camouflage?' Saint John suggested.

It took them a good fifteen minutes to cover the helicopter completely and rig up a shelter over Hawke's prone form. They were delayed a couple of times as Saint John stopped to assess the damage to the chopper. Saint John checked on his brother again before he collapsed to sit beside him. He took the water bottle Mike offered him gratefully.

'What's the situation?' Michael asked taking a bottle from Locke as he settled on the other side of Hawke to Saint John.

'We have all the supplies for the weekend.' Mike said. 'Everything came through intact except for the chopper and…' he gestured at their pilot. 'We can last a couple of days out here with what we have.'

'String needs medical treatment.' Saint John said firmly. His eyes returned to his brother again and he reached over to tuck the blanket more securely around him. 'His head injury doesn't look good.' He knew he didn't need to explain that the continued lack of consciousness was not a good sign. 'We have to get off this mountain.'

'The chopper's bust.' Mike said bluntly.

'Yeah.' Saint John said. 'The tail rotor's shattered. It looks like there was a small explosive device set on the inside of the tail.' He shook his head. 'It wasn't there when I went over her.'

'We were all in the hangar for a while after your pre-check.' Locke pointed out. 'Someone could have planted in then.'

Saint John shook away the feeling that he had let them all down. 'It would take some work to fix the rotor.' He sighed. 'The radio transmitter is bust too. It looks like there was an identical, smaller charge attached to it. It's fried. Besides…'

'Any outgoing signal will catch the attention of whoever's out there.' Mike said pointing skyward. 'They could pinpoint our position.'

'I have a satellite phone.' Michael motioned at his luggage with the bottle he held.

They all stared at him for a moment and he looked back at them impassively. He had learnt his lesson on the last fishing trip; the more communication tools the better.

'Same problem.' Saint John dragging their attention back to the matter at hand. 'We don't know if they can pick up the signal.'

'We might have to take that risk.' Locke argued. 'We could call out a rescue and…'

'Lead whoever's after us straight to us like Mike said.' Saint John cut in. 'We have to get help for String without alerting whoever's trying to shoot us down.'

'Who is that?' Michael asked almost lazily.

'How should we know?' Saint John retorted exasperated by the other man's belief that the attack was something to do with them.

Michael's gaze hardened. 'The only people who know that I was coming here are Marella, my daughter and you guys.' He stabbed a finger at Saint John. 'Who did you tell?'

Locke and Mike exchanged a worried look as Michael and Saint John glared at each other across Hawke's body.

'Guys,' Mike said quietly, 'blaming each other isn't going to help us get out of this.'

Both older men stirred and subsided as though to their respective corners like prize fighters in a ring.

'OK,' Mike said firmly, 'so let's recap. Someone is after us. Your brother somehow landed us in a good position for cover so we could stay here until someone realises we're missing except for one thing; Hawke has a head injury that needs medical attention as soon as we can humanly get it to him.'

'If we use the radio or the phone we run the risk of it being picked up. Our position would be discovered and we'll all end up dead.' Locke added.

'So we have to find a way to get help for Hawke while not giving away our position.' Michael concluded.

'How far is Foxridge?' Mike asked.

Saint John sighed. 'I estimate from our last coordinates…' he waved a hand eastwards, 'about a ten-hour hike in that direction.'

'I'm not sure moving Hawke is a good idea.' Michael added. 'And if we do take him that ten hours is going to be more like twenty with us having to carry him and the supplies.'

'For once I agree with you.' Saint John said.

'Caitlin will realise something's wrong when we don't check in tomorrow morning and come looking in Airwolf.' Michael murmured. His blue eye ran over Hawke's unmoving form. 'But I'm not sure we should wait that long.' His own worry for Hawke gleamed momentarily in his good eye.

'We split up.' Mike suggested. 'Some of us could get to Foxridge and call Caitlin from there. That means we potentially have help in twelve-thirteen hours tops.' He shrugged. 'The rest of us stay here and look after Hawke. Guard our position in case they're looking for us.'

'Sounds like a plan.' Michael said smoothing his moustache.

'So who goes and who stays?' Locke threw in.

Saint John sighed heavily. 'I'm fit and I know the way. I should do the hike.' His aversion to leave his brother was evident in his unhappy tone.

Mike gestured at him with the water bottle. 'I'll come with you.'

'And what happens if Saint John has an accident.' Locke objected. 'You wouldn't be able to help him, you're injured.'

'So are you.' Mike retorted.

'But I'm not.' Michael said reluctantly.

Saint John looked over at him questioningly. 'It's rough terrain. What about your leg?' He gestured at the limb that Michael had stretched out in front of him.

'My knee's in good condition.' Michael argued. 'I'm certainly more physically able than Rivers at the moment. I'll be fine as long as I take my walking stick.'

'I'll go alone.' Saint John said stubbornly.

'Locke's right.' Michael said. 'What if you have an accident?' He waved his hand impatiently and a stubborn glint appeared in his eye. 'Besides, Hawke would never forgive me if you went alone.'

'Then it's decided.' Locke said forcefully before Saint John could argue. 'Saint John and Archangel will hike to Foxridge, alert Caitlin and Jo who'll bring Airwolf back to extract us.'

'We'll stay here.' Mike said. 'Watch Hawke's six.'

Saint John sighed. He knew the longer they stayed and argued about it the longer it would take for them to get help. 'Let's get packed. We'll travel light.'

Michael nodded and moved to gather a rucksack of basic provisions and supplies as did Saint John. Another five minutes later and both men were ready.

Saint John took one final look at his unconscious brother. 'Look after him.'

'You have my word.' Mike said without any of his usual humour. 'Good luck.' He gave Saint John a quick pat on the shoulder.

Michael allowed himself a glance towards his injured friend before Saint John joined him at the edge of the clearing. They moved out without a word.

'Think they'll be OK?' Mike asked as he watched them disappear into the dense foliage.

'Sure.' Locke said encouragingly. 'If they don't end up killing each other, they'll be just fine.'

'Right.' Mike said dryly.