CHAPTER 8

Airwolf was now safely on the ground and out of harm's way, for now at least. A decidedly lightheaded feeling fell over him, his breath coming quick and shallow. If he was going to get out of here alive he had to get moving, get Airwolf repaired enough to fly home and get the heck out of dodge, but maybe a quick break wouldn't hurt, he thought as another nauseating wave washed over him.

"Just have to figure out what's wrong…" he panted to himself, wearily dragging himself out of the helicopter and round outside to survey how bad the physical damage was.

AS his hands ran over the sleek fuselage, checking every inch of it and also leaning heavily against it for support, he found himself thinking grimily about just how long he could realistically survive like this. He didn't have any injuries that were life threatening on their own but that didn't mean he didn't still feel absolutely miserable. He'd had the crap beat out of him multiple times a day for what seemed like forever now, had had practically nothing to eat, and now he was stranded out here to burn up in the desert, persistent rays of sunshine incessantly beating down upon him. Maybe it, just for once, cold be something simple. Something he could rig long enough to get home, get some rest, then repair properly, he tried to encourage himself as his grip slipped and he collapsed into the sand, too weak and tired to even bother attempting to get up.

\A/

Carefully and quietly, Saint John made his way down each corridor, constantly on the lookout while searching for some sign of his younger brother.

Shoving a heavy door open, he revealed the second of what seemed to the only two holding cells. This one was different though - smaller, only eight by eight at the most, and not a single possible way of escape, a thin mattress, adorn with blood stains, the only furniture, and it had splattering of the drying sticky substance throughout. String had been here, he just knew it. Someone had been staying here recently and there just wasn't any other place he could've been, but the question was the same - where was he now?

He figured the most recent additions to the dark red substance clinging to the floor and about head height if he were sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall had not been there long, indicating he had just recently been moved, or escaped, he thought with a faint hope.

He continued his search, his final room being the interrogation room. Stepping inside, he caught only a vague sense of the horrors that had gone on in this room. Blood splattered all over a chair that looked as if it had repeatedly had something metal banged against it, and an empty bullet shell embedded into the far wall and a dark haired man's body draped unceremoniously across the floor, a pool of blood underneath it.

It wasn't String he quickly realized much to his relief, but he had been shot, clean in the middle of the forehead. Surely all of this blood wasn't his though. It just didn't make sense. But who else had been here then? String? He hoped not. It didn't look like a single thing in here didn't involve massive bloodshed, definitely not a fate he would wish upon String. Unfortunately, he guessed String had spent plenty of time in here, judging by what he thought must've been his brother's prison cell. All the more reason to find him sooner than later, he reasoned. He could have some serious injury or bleed out, and he couldn't let that happen, he just couldn't.

\A/

The doctor handed the squirming child back to his mother. "Admittedly, he wasn't very cooperative, but to me he looks perfectly healthy," she told Caitlin.

"Daddy wolf need help," Chance finally said, speaking for the first time in hours.

\A/

Leaving the compound, he went to search the outside again, avoiding the few guards that were left to patrol the near deserted area. He went back to the place he had first seen the blood on the rock and sand, going over it again thoroughly. At last he found three indentions spread apart in the a triangular shape in the sand, like the three wheels of a helicopter. Airwolf? he wondered hopefully. There were many other typed of helicopters with wheels he understood, but the possibility was there.

Reaching for the radio in one of the empty jeeps he went radio Airwolf, but received only a static reply. The radio was out, what did that mean for the rest of Airwolf?

If Airwolf wasn't in very good condition, then she probably wasn't far away, Saint John rationalized. And that would explain the sudden vacancy if they'd gone after him. It was worth a try. Maybe if he 'borrowed' one of the jeeps he could find them.

Saint John climbed into the jeep without hesitation and hotwiring it then revved the engine and sped off, leaving a huge dud cloud behind him.

\A/

Breathing heavily and wishing the thin grey flight suit wasn't so thick and heavy, Hawke finally attempted to climb to his feet, leaning heavily against Airwolf's sides as he did so. With an enormous amount of effort, he finally managed to pull open the side hatch and haul himself inside. Trying to catch his breath again, he contemplated what he should do to aid in his escape from inside the cockpit, after he found the canteen.

With shaking hands he pulled himself into the back engineer's seat and fiddled with a covering until he had pulled it off and started the arduous task of rerouting the circuit board, passing over anything that wasn't absolutely essential for the long trip home.