CHAPTER 7
Groaning in pain, Hawke drew in a deep breath, surprised he had survived the encounter at all. Maybe throwing himself towards his captor who was about to shoot him to wrestle for the gun while still handcuffed wasn't one of his better ideas. It had worked though, just barely, he admitted, already noticing the cool blood dripping from his cheek where the bullet had grazed him, only a mere fraction away from what would have been fatal.
After checking the gun's clip he was even more even more glad he had made his shot the first time - it was now empty.
Now he had to get Airwolf and get out, a rather arduous task with no gun, but it was probably the only chance he was going to get.
Checking the hallway first, then once it was clear, gimping down the hall and outside, his abused body feeling every miserable step.
He quickly found the hangar but Airwolf was nowhere in sight.
Slipping around the outside quietly, he searched the area for where they were hiding the Lady.
All those beatings and his lack of sleep the last few days was really catching up with him, he admitted ruefully tom himself. He limped painfully forward, stumbling for a moment before regaining his balance, happening to catch a glimpse of Airwolf.
"There he is!" he heard someone shout from behind him.
"Great, just what I needed," he murmured, cursing to himself.
Shots rang out again, round after round pounding all around him as he ran for Airwolf. Reaching Airwolf and safety, he pulled open the side hatch door and scrambled inside, the gunshots still ricocheting off the composite fuselage.
He punched the button labeled 'start one' but there wasn't enough power to get her up.
'Come on Angel, come on.'
Still not quite enough.
He tired bypassing the mains and starting up on the secondaries, but it also was a futile effort.
The guards were now braving it enough to start coming near, and while their current weaponry wouldn't cause Airwolf any further damage. He would prefer not to stick around until they brought out the big guns.
'Lock both hatches and switch to bare minimum. Everything manual, then retry startup.'
'Error. Cannot process request. Approaching enemies. Switching to minimum power would further endanger Airwolf integrity and pilot safety.'
"If you don't Airwolf won't exists and neither will the pilot, or at least he'll wish he didn't. 'Override. Manual and bare minimum now.'
'Override accepted. All systems manual.'
The main rotors started to turn ever so slowly, a gradual movement as the guards surrounded the big black battleship.
'Come on, baby, come on.'
Finally the long rotors gained enough speed, now growing faster until they were ripping through the air, slicing through with deadly speed, lifting up off the soft and sandy soil as the infantry moved forward.
\A/
Caitlin rocked the toddler who was now suddenly quiet, a blessing after the incessant screaming he had been doing for the last thirty minutes. Often he would sleep after a fussy fit, and he was quiet, but definitely not asleep. Totally silent, not making a sound though.
"How'd you get him quiet?" Lauren asked.
She shook her head silently in response. "I don't know. He just suddenly quit crying and hasn't made a sound since then."
"Is he alright?" she asked concernly noting the peculiarity of the three year old's sudden silence.
"I hope so; he's been acting kind of strangely the whole time String has been gone."
"Do you want a doctor to take a look at him or something? It wouldn't be any trouble and he could be coming down with something."
"I guess it wouldn't hurt anything to take a look, but he kind of shares Hawke's dislike of doctors."
"Is there any way they aren't alike?" she asked good-naturedly.
"Chance is blonder, that's about it. Some of these things I can't even think of any logical reasons why he would be that way, but honestly it wouldn't surprise me all that much if it wasn't long before he was flying and playing the cello. Typically he even prefers vegetarian meals."
\A/
Now having gained purchase of the air, Airwolf started forward, men shouting behind.
The engine stalled out and he was loosing altitude fast but he had to get out of there somehow. Cheating death once today was enough for him. Next time he might not be so lucky. He wondered what his likelihood of survival would be right now if one of Michael's angels were to run it through the computer, but it would probably be better if he didn't know the odds because he already figured they were against him and getting decidedly more so.
Now he was down to about a thousand feet and still dropping. Maybe with the turbos he could… oh wait, he couldn't use the turbos - not enough power. Muttering, mumbling, and cursing under his breath, he tried to pull up, to at least not lose any more altitude, but it was more than obvious he was fighting a loosing battle.
All radio communications were out, all the automatic armament was uselessly confined inside the hidden ADF pods. His only hope if he had to land would be the shoulder rocket launcher in the back or if he had any extra clips for his Colt 45. Sanjar thought it would be ironically funny if Hawke was killed by him own gun; he thought it wasn't going to happen.
A hundred feet. No doubt about it, he was going to land whether he liked it or not. "Guess we'll land and hope for the best," he said aloud.
\A/
Saint John, clad in desert camo, moved closer to the compound where the agent had told him String was most likely being held. Whoever this guy was had to have known String would come in by air, Saint John thought grimly noticing the vast amounts of SAM's and other air systems he wasn't even familiar with. For a moment he found himself wondering why he didn't go by foot then, but soon found countless tracks of soldiers' boots that had marched in well worn paths at various locations throughout the area. But where were they now? Such a great army didn't disappear into thin air, but if they made such marches on a regular basis, why wouldn't they be now, especially now that they had a prisoner?
Something wasn't right. It was too quiet, too empty. Perhaps they had moved on, forsaken this place for another. No, that didn't make sense either. They wouldn't leave the weaponry. Such new technology could probably be sold for millions on the black market.
Staying low and hiding behind any available object between him and the compound, he crept closer, constantly assessing the area, on the lookout for any clue as to what they had done to his brother or where they might've taken him.
Climbing up from behind a large rock, he noticed fresh blood only recently having dried there and another few drops in the front of the rock and moving in the direction he had just come from. Staggering and dragging footsteps in the sand making a separate path in the sand.
A few yards away the footsteps gave way to a larger indention in the sand, more blood staining the sand there.
What if it had been String? It looked like he had fallen or been thrown or shoved there, and the blood, that couldn't be a good sign. He knew one thing - he had to find String and soon . The question was - how?
