Michael sat the glass down with a solid thunk on the desk, sliding the picture back into the bottom of the drawer. Seemed the job came with more than it's fair share of ghosts these days. Too many.

First Sonya, then Alex, he thought thinking regretfully of the redhead in the picture he'd just slid away. Gabrielle for Hawke, so nearly Marella and Caitlin over the years, and now Jade for Seb.

Wearily, he wondered if Seb would ever be the same again.

Were any of them really?

Only recently had Hawke been returned to flight status. Monique Branscomb had come to see him this morning to inform him.

He'd hoped to give him some down time. Goodness knows, he could probably use it. He knew things had been rough with Airwolf's crew as of late…

…but once again, fate had a way of stepping in, he thought in frustration, worriedly fingering the file sat in front of him.

Long slender fingers rubbed the bridge of his nose where the beginning of a headache had started. Grimacing, he reached for the phone and Santini Air.

"Caitlin, wait!" Hawke yelled, shoving to his feet. Whatever the deal was with Tuyen, surely Cait had to know he'd meant it when he'd said those words to her. 'Course, he'd meant them too when he'd said them to Tuyen.

Behind him, he could hear the jangling ring of the phone and Saint John's husky murmur as he picked up.

Tuyen's hand grasped his arm and he tried to shake it off, desperate suddenly with the need to explain, to make things right again.

Her grip on his arm only tightened. "No, Hawke," she murmured. "Give her time." The melodious tones washed over him, calming him not in the least.

He shook loose with determination. "No, you don't understand…" he snarled.

Obsidian dark eyes met his sorrowfully. "Yes, Hawke, I do. It was quite a surprise for me, too."

Torn, he glanced back and forth between Tuyen and Caitlin heading out the door. Maybe he was better off waiting 'til she calmed down?

What if she didn't calm down? that nasty little voice in his head taunted him. What if she just walked out the doorway and kept walking?

Memories of a conversation in front of the cabin, so many years ago, replayed themselves in his head. "…I'm just going to get on a plane and keep going 'til the money runs out, and then I'm gonna walk…and I'm never gonna stop…"

Surely, she wouldn't do it though…

He couldn't take the chance…

And then Saint John's hand was on his arm. "String, wait!"

"It can't!" he snapped, trying to sidestep his brother.

His brother's grip on his arm only tightened. "It'll have to," he said, shoving the phone at him. "It's Michael."

He snatched it from him. "Hawke here," he snarled, watching Cait head out of the hanger - he just hoped it wasn't out of his life.

The news that Mike Rivers was dead brought everything to a screeching standstill.

"What do you mean he's presumed dead?" Hawke demanded, not caring Tuyen was standing there next to him, able to hear every word.

"He was testing a new surveillance aircraft for the Airforce," Archangel began. "It was shot down."

"Shot down? Where? How?" Hawke muttered, feeling a sense of cold, unreality seep through him as he flopped down onto the desk beside him.

"Near the Bay of Pigs," Archangel replied.

Dumbfounded, String stared at his brother. "Wanna tell me what he was doing in Cuba?" he ground out.

Archangel sighed. "That's need to know Hawke, even I don't have all the details."

"I'm willing to bet you know a lot more than that, Michael," he snarled.

"Maybe so," Archangel agreed, "but that's all I can tell you, Hawke. I'm sorry."

"Not half as sorry as I am," String muttered. He sighed, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. "Fine, Michael," he bit out. "What do you want us to do?"

Archangel sighed. "We need you to either go in and get the plane out, or destroy it."

String fought the urge to make some sarcastic remark like - gee is that all? "How soon?" he clipped.

"As soon as you can get Airwolf in the air. There's a series of mid-air refueling points being lined up now."

"Yeah," Hawke sighed, watching Caitlin step warily back into the hanger. "You told Sarah yet, Michael?"

"No."

"Then find out for sure before you tell her," String growled. "She deserves better than that."

"I'm working on it, Hawke," the spy replied tersely.

"I sure as hang would hope so," String replied, thinking of all the years he'd wondered about his brother.

Hand hovering over the disconnect, String watched Tuyen and Saint John try and coerce Cait back into the hanger.

Michael owed him a favor…

Maybe it was time to collect…

He shifted uneasily. Favors from the Firm might be expensive in his experience, but this was one he couldn't afford not to collect.

"Marella still there…?" he asked, suddenly quiet.

"Yes, why?"

"Put her on the phone, Michael. We need to talk."

Marella's promises still ringing in his ears, Hawke set down the phone. With Roper unavailable and Seb still mourning Jade's death, it left the Lady's crew down to three - himself, Saint John and Cait.

Great, he thought, taking in the wounded look Cait shot him. Like the timing couldn't have been worse. String raked a frustrated hand down his face - and he still had no idea why Tuyen was here.

It would have to wait, he realized with a grimace. If there was any hope Mike was still alive, they were it and irregardless, Archangel was right - they couldn't leave a top secret spy plane in the hands of the Cubans.

He just hoped his marriage could survive it.

"Delta-niner, delta-niner this is Eye in the Sky, do you read? Delta-niner, do you copy?" Disgusted, First Lt. Jack Richardson flipped the radio switch, eyeing his pilot worriedly. "Nothing, sir," he muttered.

Boyishly handsome, Mike Rivers bit back a curse as he pulled back on the yoke, his usually ebullient blue eyes anything but at this moment. He'd been in enough tough spots over the years to know he was in one of the worst he'd ever been in right now.

"Try again, Richardson!" Mike clipped, rolling the plane hard left, trying to avoid 50mm ground canon fire.

Scrambling fingers hit the radio switch, as twenty-eight year old Richardson fought the seat harness alternately cursing and blessing that which held him in place as blonde-haired Rivers sent the plane hurtling across the sky. Dipping out of an aileron roll, the plane dodged another torrent of ground fire. Damn, he was glad it was Rivers flying this bird and not him.

Brown eyes widening in horror at the radar screen, Richardson realized their luck was about to run out. "Incoming!" he rasped, desperately bracing himself against the instruments as Rivers barrel-rolled the plane again.

Stomach-clenching, he'd just about decided they'd made it, when he heard the thud of 50mm shells tearing through the plane's right wing and starboard engine.

Blood spattered across Mike's hand as the windscreen spider webbed. Hauling back on the yoke, he fought to maintain altitude as he cast a worried glance over at his co-pilot. The plane bucked and foundered beneath his hands.

"Jack!" he snapped. "Come on, talk to me! How bad is it?"

No answer said it was bad, Mike realized looking at the shell-shocked look on the younger man's face as he fought for breath.

"Ah, hell," the blonde-haired pilot muttered, having seen enough mortal wounds to know the kid was bleeding out before his eyes. Not a thing he could do about it either.

Engines screaming, straining to pick up the damaged engine's load, Rivers pointed the plane to the sky and prayed. Desperate fingers slammed the cockpit radio back to life. Where was his crew anyway? "Samuels! Pierson!" he yelled. "Somebody, get you butt up here, now! I need you!"

Booted feet scrambled for the cockpit, Richardson's gurgling breath filling Mike's ears. "Hold on, Jack," he panted, rolling the plane to avoid ground fire and hearing the sickening thud of flesh into metal cockpit walls.

"Not gonna …make it," Richardson wheezed beside him, his eyes clouding with pain. Muscles screaming, Mike hauled back on the controls one-handed, reaching over towards Richardson desperation knotting his grip on the other man's arm. "Hang in there, Jack" he rasped. Fingers clenched on his sleeve as he shook the other man hard. "Don't you quit on me, Richardson. Do you hear me? That's an order!"

Pain-hazed brown eyes caught determined blue. "Trying…sir," the younger man gasped, fighting for air.

Mike nodded, reluctantly forcing his attention back to the struggling plane.

Staggering, Pierson stumbled in, taking one look at Richardson and grabbing for the first-aid kit. Samuels was a half-step behind him, staggering into the cockpit, worry darkening his already dusky features as he shot an anxious glance at his pilot and Richardson. "You okay, sir?" he demanded.

Fighting exhaustion, his own breathing labored Rivers struggled to keep the plane in the air. Twenty minutes more and they'd be home free - assuming he could keep her up that long. Jet fuel was streaming now from the damaged engine.

He reached over and flipped the fuel line switch, blood running down his arm. There was no doubt they were going down.