Minutes later Roper and Seb took off in Angel Two. Seb piloting and Roper an avid, if inexperienced co-pilot. Grudgingly Seb had to admit - the kid was a natural pilot. For a guy who'd flown a helicopter once, he was catching on quick.
"Steady her out, easy," Seb muttered feeling the helicopter yaw sideways, his gut clenching with the movement. It was kinda like riding with String in Airwolf, he acknowledged - just without the finesse. Both left you praying for mercy.
Okay, he admitted he didn't have the nerves of steel String had developed flying combat and backing far too many beginners, but even he had to admit once Roper had balanced out the difference between a jet fighter and a helo he'd be a heck of a pilot. And he could certainly see Hawke's point about getting his nephew helicopter capable. The way things were around here, you never knew when you might need it.
Red Star loomed in the distance, parched white rocks hard and foreboding. Never had it looked so good, Seb thought feeling a trickle of sweat slide along his hairline.
"Angel Two, Angel Two this is red Star, do you read?"
Seb reached for the radio switch. "Red Star this is Angel Two, go ahead."
"We have a rendezvous, do you read?"
"Loud and clear," Seb replied, mic in hand. Looking at Roper, he nodded. "Go ahead."
Grunting, Hawke hefted another Maverick into the missile bay. Re-arming the Lady was work and he figured the way things were going, she was definitely going to need all her teeth to get out of this one.
"He wasn't trying to cut you out, Hawke," Caitlin's voice washed over him, the Texas twang more pronounced - a sure sign she was upset.
"Didn't say he was," he replied curtly.
"He's doing the best he can."
Hawke didn't reply, slamming the missile bay door shut. Silent, he moved on to the wing guns, checking the rounds.
Caitlin glared at him, hands on her hips.
He climbed down and reached into the cockpit, closing the wingtip sponsors.
"Stringfellow Hawke are you listening to me?"
"How could I not, Cait?" he flared. "Yes, I know Roper did what he thought best. Do I wish it'd been handled differently - sure. Can I change it? No, no I can't. All I can do is play the hand we've been dealt and pray that's enough."
"You're not mad?"
"No," he sighed, rubbing at a grease mark with a rag. "Just worried. What if I can't pull our butts out of the fire this time?" He raised doubt-filled eyes to hers.
"You will," she said, taking the two steps over to where he stood. "We've faced bigger things than this."
"And if I can't?" he said searching her face.
She placed two fingers on his lips silencing him. "We will. Stop worrying."
He looked down at her, his expression sober. At last, he shook his head giving her a rueful smile even as he pulled her in for a quick hug. They stood that way for a long minute, her head nestled under his chin.
The bang of the front door echoed in the morning air. Letting his arm slide around her waist, Hawke took a step back.
"Kids are up?" she asked looking up at him.
"Yep," Hawke replied laconically.
"Daddy! Daddy!" Amelia's exuberant voice called, footsteps pounding up the path. Nicky loped a step behind her.
"Hey, Sweetie!" he exclaimed grabbing her as she threw herself into his arms and hefting her high. "What are you doing up?"
"We came to see you off," Nicky said solemnly, his eyes perceptive beyond his years.
Questioning Hawke's gaze flew to Caitlin. She shrugged in response, shaking her head.
The door slammed again as Saint John hurried out onto the porch. Hawke noticed he was moving pretty good, albeit a bit stiffly as he hurried up the path towards them. He raised an eyebrow at Caitlin.
She grinned back. "Couldn't ask for a better babysitter," she quipped.
"Better not let him hear you say that," Hawke retorted his lips quirking.
Gaining the rise, and spotting Hawke and Caitlin he slowed, pressing a hand to his aching side. "Thought I told you two to stay with me," he grumbled.
"Sorry, Uncle Sinj," the kids replied in unison. They didn't look particularly repentant.
"They were about to go, we couldn't wait," Nicky added.
Saint John looked at String. He shrugged and nodded agreement to the statement.
Turning back to the kids, Saint John reached for their shoulders to herd them back towards the cabin. "Alright," he said, "Then you've said your goodbyes. Come on. Let's get you back to the cabin before your breakfast gets cold." Obediently, they trudged back towards the cabin below.
"Take care, Cait and keep him out of too much trouble," Saint John tossed back over his shoulder as he followed Nicky and Amelia back down the path.
"Hey, Uncle Sinj," Amelia's lilting voice drifted back clearly to them. "How does cereal get cold? It's already cold."
Hawke stifled a laugh.
Cait merely rolled her eyes.
Sliding into his flight suit, Hawke was already reaching for his helmet when a faint sound tickled his hearing. Spinning towards it, he reached for his gun.
Nicky stood at the head of the path.
Subtly he slid the gun back into his belt. "Hang on a minute, Cait," he yelled shutting the cockpit door. Ducking the rotor blades, Hawke loped over to where his son stood.
"What's wrong, Nick?" he asked leaning down next to the boy, to be heard over Airwolf's trilling rotors.
The boy shook his head mutely in response, reddish brown hair falling in a hank over his eyes. Instead, he threw his arms around his father's neck - the strength in his hug almost choking. Stumbling, Hawke knelt down next to his son, gently disengaging the clinging arms.
Dark blue eyes searched the boy's face. "Nicky, what's wrong?" he asked, holding the boy by his shoulders.
Tears glistened in the boy's eyes, the same shade as the lake below. "Promise," he demanded.
"Promise what?" Hawke asked confused.
"Promise you'll come back."
Hawke started to grin.
The look the boy shot him, had it dying on his lips.
"Son," he said, tightening his grip on his shoulders, before pulling him close. "I always come back, you know that."
"Say it," the boy demanded, his voice tear muffled against String's flight suit.
He stroked the boy's hair silky beneath his fingers and held him close for a minute. "I promise, son." After a minute, he reluctantly let him go, patting him on the back. "Now you'd better get back down there before your Uncle Saint John starts hunting for you."
The boy nodded and trudged down the path reluctantly, pausing at the foot of the path for one last look.
Crouching, Hawke ran back to Airwolf. He swung up, the door whooshing shut behind him as he reached for his helmet.
"What was that all about?" Caitlin asked curiously.
String glanced over at his shoulder at her. "I wish I knew," he replied unease knotting in his gut even as he said the words. "I wish I knew."
Reaching for the collective, Airwolf climbed into the sky, the downwash from her rotors flattening the grass around them and snatching leaves off the trees. Hovering, Hawke took one last glance at the cabin before turning her on her own axis. "Turbos, Cait," he called. "We have a helicopter to catch."