File in hand, Mike Rivers leaned against Michael's desk a worried frown creasing his features. Lauren, while not very forthcoming at first, had been unable to hide her growing concern for her boss and Marella. It was obvious something was wrong, very wrong.
Well, there was no question where String and Airwolf had gone. He could only assume Seb and Roper were providing back-up since they were nowhere to be found. Still, all of them had been gone at least twelve hours and there'd been no word. Lauren wasn't the only one concerned now.
What to do? It wasn't like Hawke to miss a check in and it seemed strange that Marella had been out doing field work after all this time. Not impossible…but odd. And why hadn't Michael been told she was missing? If Lauren was to be believed, she'd been gone almost four days before he'd even been informed. While he could expect such cold-bloodedness from the FIRM, especially with Thor at the helm, it seemed unlikely they wouldn't have made moves to secure her files, to disallow access.
It sat uneasy in his stomach. No matter their propensity for eating their own, he couldn't imagine them leaving the information out there unprotected.
Fingering the file, he scowled. He needed help. He'd be willing to stake his life on the fact there was more to it.
Lauren hovered uncertainly in the doorway, obviously uneasy with him in Michael's private files, but at a loss as to what else to do. He sighed. It was apparent something was wrong, unfortunately Lauren lacked the skill and the clearance he needed to get to the bottom of it.
But Jade didn't. Decision made, he reached for the phone punching in her number.
Cold, steel grey eyes narrowed behind the binoculars. The contingent of armed men on the wall behind him got little notice. If Hawke got through the Haversham, they'd be of no use.
Assessing, he rubbed his thumb across the ridged edge of the field glasses he held. Hawke was better than halfway through. So far, he'd run it with the same cold efficiency that'd beaten two Haversham screens in the past, the only man who'd ever done it.
He smiled, the grin cold and evil. It'd be interesting to see what he did with the last half. A Haversham screen supplemented with the four prong multi-missile attack Van der Berg had originally designed for the Thor missile system, tweaked substantially, he doubted there was a man alive who could beat it - even Stringfellow Hawke.
"Thor!" Marella's voice, hard and angry cut across the wind.
Seething, he spun. What the heck was the woman doing out? He wondered reaching for his gun. He'd left explicit instructions concerning her…Incompetent fools, what did he pay them for?
"Stop right there," she bit out, leveling the gun she held at him.
He froze, his fingers on the gun. Whatever else she was, Marella was an excellent marksman. He figured he'd be wise not to push his luck in her present state of mind.
"Marella, my dear," he greeted her, the voice unassuming, soothing.
"Don't try me, Thor," she snarled. "Put the gun down."
Carefully, he finished reaching inside his jacket for the gun, dangling it between his thumb and forefinger as he extracted it.
A scuffle ensued off to her left, one of Thor's men seeing an opening and taking it. Caught by surprise, Seb abruptly found a nasty looking automatic shoved up against his temple. Spotting the movement out of the corner of her eye, Marella's attention wavered. Damn, he'd been right behind her. How had he managed that?
Thor took advantage of the momentary shift and seamlessly palmed his own gun - bringing it up to fire.
Staggering up the stairs Michael's weight heavy on his shoulders, Roper gained the top of the landing. They arrived just in time to see Thor palm the gun.
"Marella!" Michael yelled, abruptly snatching to attention. Her focus shifted to Seb's predicament, she never saw Thor raise his gun in her direction.
Reaching across Roper's body, Archangel lunged for the Beretta on his belt. His hand closing around the butt of it, he drew, clicking off the safety in one smooth motion as he did so.
Hearing Michael's yell, Marella turned, her eyes widening as she saw the gun in Thor's hand, knowing instinctively she was too late even as she did so. She heard the shot, followed almost simultaneously by a second one.
Seb dropped, slamming an elbow into his attacker's stomach. The man doubled over even as the youngest Hawke brother's back fist found its mark, breaking his nose. Rolling he hit the ground, recovering the gun as he went.
Caught in the heartbeat between shots, Michael watched as Thor's bullet found its mark, the impact taking Marella off her feet and down. His own bullet hit in a deadly head shot, dropping Thor where he stood.
On his knees, Seb provided cover, the gun in his hand making it apparent he wasn't fooling around.
Fighting to pull free, Archangel handed Roper's gun back to him as he limped forward. The younger man gripped the gun, warily joining Seb in providing cover for the downed agent and Michael in case any of Van der Berg's men showed up.
Airwolf's engines screamed overhead as she swooped over the building, executing a perfect split-s maneuver. Harmlessly, at least for her, a missile exploded on impact where she'd just been. Ducking flying debris, Roper shot a rueful glance at Seb. Thor's men might not kill them, but if they weren't careful Airwolf's fallout might.
Dropping to the bloodstained concrete beside Marella, Michael eyed the growing puddle beneath her with a sense of horror. Taking a shuddering breath, he reached for her.
Her eyes flickered open, pain hazing them. "Michael…?" she murmured.
"Shh," he whispered. "I'm here." Desperately, he tangled his fingers in hers, his throat tight.
The dark, brown mocha eyes focused on his. "Did you get that jerk?"
The tone was so blatantly irreverent he had to grin. "Yeah," he whispered. "I did."
"Good," she sighed on a shuddering breath. Her fingers tightened momentarily on his against the pain. "Then how 'bout getting me home?"
"You got it," he murmured, against the lump in his throat. Beside him, he could sense Seb rifling through his pack, pulling together makeshift first-aid supplies while Roper stood guard.
The rattle of 50 mm cannons overhead sent them all ducking as Airwolf made another blazing pass, her own chain guns rattling as she took out the second rocket launcher. The thudding of cannon fire sounded incredibly close, even to Michael's trained ears and he winced at the beating she had to be getting.
Pressing the gauze against Marella's wound, he looked upwards. Watching, he saw Hawke roll her right, the recovery wallowing a little as he pulled her out of the bank. A sparrow spewed from her belly, launching from the ADF pod and effectively taking out one of Van der Berg's Sikorsky S-70 gunships just starting to take off.
Archangel fought the urge to grin. She was a beauty to behold and in Hawke's hands she was like nothing he'd ever seen.
Weaving, she cut through the laser fire, ducking another missile as she took out the final rocket launcher.
The explosion shook the ground. "Whoo-hoo!" Roper yelled in exultation, high fiving Seb as he rose to his feet. Slapping each other on the back, the two men stood shoulder to shoulder, throwing up a congratulatory thumbs up sign to Hawke.
Skimming overhead wolf howl screaming on the wind, Airwolf sliced through the air. "Poetry in motion," Michael whispered, thinking he'd never seen anything more beautiful.
Abruptly, flak exploded in front of her, black puffs of acrid smoke tainting the air. Frantically, the three men tried to pinpoint the source of fire, as did Hawke. Banking, Airwolf climbed.
Hauling Marella upright in his arms Michael froze, his heart in his throat, watching. Hawke rolled Airwolf hard left avoiding more 50 mm cannon fire, only to take one across the starboard engine intake.
"Hell," the stunned curse slipped past Archangel's lips as he watched the helicopter take the blow, a blow that a second earlier or later wouldn't have mattered in the least.
Almost immediately, Airwolf wallowed, her gait wobbly, uneven and suddenly awkward.
"Get her up, String. Get her up," the words whispered across Michael's consciousness. He couldn't have said whether he had muttered them or Seb, the other man suddenly standing beside him, his face abruptly pale beneath his tan.
Roper stood next to him, shoulder to shoulder, sapphire eyes the exact same shade as Hawke's trained intently on the sky above.
Agonized, Michael watched her drop like a rock as Hawke fought for control. It was obvious, she was going down.
Marella's fingers tightened on his, snatching his attention momentarily away from the tableau in front of him. Watching her lips moving silently, he realized she was desperately praying as she watched the scene above unfold.
Jerking his own attention back to the helicopter, Archangel cringed, watching her nearly scrape the edge of the rocky hillside rim, as she just barely cleared it. Stunned, they all stared in shock for a long moment as she disappeared from sight.
And then a resounding explosion rent the air, deafening; a black cloud, oily and mushrooming, roiling over the mountainside. Instinctively, the three men threw their hands up shielding their eyes as did Marella.
"No," Seb whispered stunned as he stared at the cloud, shell-shocked, unmoving.
"Hawke…," Roper rasped, sounding like the sound was ripped from his throat.
Michael blinked, fighting the choking lump in his own throat. His mind was telling him they had to get out of here, even as his blood pounded in his ears. He bent awkwardly, gathering Marella into his arms, his own head bowed.
"No, Michael. Oh please, no. Not Hawke," she sobbed.
"Shh-h," he whispered, struggling up with her on his damaged knee.
Almost as if in a trance, Roper reached for her, lifting her out of Michael's arms. He turned desolate eyes to the spy, hoping, praying he was wrong.
Wearily, Michael shook his head, knowing Airwolf had been badly hit. From the size of the explosion, probably due in large part to the armaments she carried, he didn't see how anyone could've survived. Not even Stringfellow Hawke. "No," he whispered.
Roper looked away, his blue eyes filling with tears, even as his arms tightened around Marella.
Forcing a harsh breath, Seb fought down his own pain, hoping for numbness even as he desperately tried to pull himself together, to take charge of the situation. Whatever his personal feelings, it was his responsibility to get them all out of here. He'd promised String, and sure as hang wasn't going to fail him in this. "Let's go," he muttered grimly. "We have a helicopter to liberate."