REUNION is an original story, inspired by the U.S. T.V. series AIRWOLF.

Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Donald P Bellisario or any other persons or corporations holding rights to the television series AIRWOLF and its characters.

Chapter One.

Africa.

The Sisters of Charity Mission, The Badlands.

The Kingdom Of Zarundi.

Sunday – Midmorning.

"We're almost out of antiseptic, cotton swabs, thermometers," Sister Maud, a petite middle aged white woman, whose accent placed her origin from somewhere in the Midwest of the United States, with a round face and large, gentle brown eyes, emitted a soft little sigh of frustration.

"Thermometers, for goodness sake, doctor!" she threw her companion, another white woman of average height and build, an apologetic look. "What on earth can they be doing with them?"

"They're glass, Sister. Easily broken," the other woman responded somewhat distractedly in the clipped and precise tones of a cultured, upper class English accent, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she scanned the open supply cupboard before her.

It wasn't only thermometers she wondered what they were doing with, for it seemed that the strangest things seemed to be dwindling in supply, the latest being a run on bedpans for crying out loud!

She knew that a lot of it could be put down to the natural curiosity of their patients, and suspected that the next time she went to the village, she would soon discover that almost every hut had one of her lovely shiny chrome bedpans, and that each family had found a unique use for it, with the exception of that for which it had been invented!

Hospitals in big cities, she was aware, wrote off the loss of such things as towels, toilet seats, lavatory paper holders and bars of soap. It wasn't so different out here, except that the things that went missing from the Infirmary quite often ended up around the natives necks as items of jewellery, or as trophies on their walls.

Sometimes it was amusing, other times, just plain annoying, and then there were times when she found herself marvelling at the ingenuity of these shy, gentle, isolated people.

Scavenging was their way of life, and it was quite often curiosity to see what else they could steal that brought them to her door with their aches and pains and illnesses.

The doctor never made a big issue out of it. Whatever brought them to the Infirmary was good enough for her.

You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Here that old adage was certainly true.

The cupboard was practically bare, and she was trying to work out when she would be able to make the much needed, but also much dreaded supply run to Nairobi, and how much it would cost to replace all the precious drugs missing from the shelves before her.

Medical supplies weren't the only things that they were running low on, and she was overdue to make the shopping trip to Nairobi, but the clinic had been busy, and she had been putting it off.

She hated being away, and lately the trip seemed to be taking longer. She had a long standing arrangement with a shipping agent in Nairobi, who was supposed to make arrangements for their regular supplies of gasoline, paraffin, canned and dried goods, linen and medical equipment, and all that remained for her to do was to submit a list of the more unusual items that the community required to function, and the precious drugs that they needed to keep the Infirmary running on a day to day basis.

However, in the past few months, when she had arrived at the warehouse and checked the inventory, there had inevitably been something missing, or something that he needed just a little more time to source, and it was usually the most important thing that had caused her to have to make the trip in the first place, so that had meant that she had no choice but to stay until it could be located.

It wasn't that she worried that the Sisters couldn't cope, or that some disaster might befall the community. She knew that they were all perfectly capable of managing in her absence.

She hated being away because the place was her home, and she loved it, and beyond that, out there in the big wide world, she felt lost, insecure, uncomfortable and way out of her depth.

This was where she had always wanted to be, even when she had been forced to spend so many years away, in school, and then studying for her medical degree and serving her apprenticeship in various hospitals as a resident, gaining experience and training in other specialist areas.

Her heart had always remained here.

This was where she truly belonged.

Here she truly was making a difference, not just going through the motions, making a fat salary and playing at being a doctor.

Here she was on the front line of medicine every day, and she thrived on it.

"I'm sorry, doctor, I will ask Sister Eve to have a quiet word with the other Sisters, about being a little less clumsy," Sister Maud tutted. "If they had to pay for things," she mused.

The doctor gave a small sigh and bestowed the nun with a benign smile.

No, there was no other place like it on earth.

Home.

She was content here.

Always on the brink of some crisis or disaster, even if it was only running out of washing soda or thermometers, always having to juggle with the traumas that were the day to day running of their little community, and making certain that her patients got the very best in care while they were here, always living on her nerves, ever ready for the next major outbreak of illness or disease that would stretch their limited resources and their stamina, and test their faith, always bone weary at the end of the day, but always contented and at peace, knowing that no matter how hard they had been, she had made the right choices for the path that her life would follow.

Although she was somewhat distracted this morning, it didn't mean that she wasn't aware of what was going on around her, especially the tuneless singing and the asthmatic wheeze of the old hand pumped organ coming from the church across the yard, and Father Patrick Callaghan's fire and brimstone sermon, his abrasive Irish roar, undoubtedly making the small congregation of Sisters and Keoma natives alike, cringe and cower on the edges of their pews.

The smile grew a little wider.

She and the other Sisters who shouldered the responsibility for nursing the sick, and performed the other necessary duties that kept the Mission running as smoothly as a well oiled machine, had taken early devotion this morning, and had thus been granted a respite from the Father's good old fashioned Bible thumping and 'fear of God' style preaching this beautiful Sunday morning.

Fortified and uplifted, the doctor had joined the middle aged nun, Sister Maud, to set about going through their routine inventory of the supply cupboards in the main ward, the dispensary, and the pharmacy where the more dangerous drugs were stored, making a note of the things that they were getting short of.

They had been at it for almost three hours and the list covered three pages of the doctor's lined note paper already, and with each new item added to the list, the doctor grew more and more concerned that she would not be able to put off the Nairobi trip for much longer.

It was always the same.

They were always short of something.

It got harder and harder for her to justify the time away from the mission, at least to herself.

She hated having to deal with the shipping agent, Burt Davis, the bank, her legal advisors and Church officials in Nairobi. The only pleasant part was that she got to sit at the controls of the wonderful old Dakota aircraft she had rescued from a scrap yard in Chicago and had rebuilt practically with her own hands over the years she had spent away from Zarundi, and savoured the feeling of freedom being up there in the clouds always gave her.

Unfortunately she could not manage to haul everything on her own, so Father Paddy accompanied her, acting as her chaperone, as well as helping her to physically move supplies, but the down side to that was that she was forced to listen to him constantly griping because he hated being away from the Mission every bit as much as she did, and which he used to cover his terror of flying.

He also had an annoying habit of sticking his nose in where it wasn't required, and putting other people's noses out of joint with his abrasive manner, which made life very difficult for her and resulted in her having to sooth more than a few ruffled feathers to get people back on side.

Later, after the mid day meal was eaten and cleared away, she would join Sister Eve, the community's Sister Superior, to inventory the supplies for the kitchen and the convent.

No doubt about it, she was going to have to bite the bullet and go to Nairobi in the next couple of days.

Oh well.

When the lists were prepared, she would run through them again and pick out the items that were not on their regular order, then get on the radio to Burt Davis in Nairobi, to request them, and then it would be up to him to organise everything so that it was ready when she and the elderly priest arrived to collect it.

She ran her eye quickly down the list, and knew that there was nothing that they could do to make it any shorter. Everything on it was essential to survival, no luxury items, and there was no way to make the supplies they did get stretch any further.

Everyone was very careful and used things sparingly, but things did get broken or wore out and needed to be replaced, and they all had to eat, even if their diet was limited and bland, due to the climatic conditions and lack of suitable storage facilities.

She had been through it with the Cardinal only last month, explaining that they were being as efficient and economical as they could be, but when it came down to it there were no more corners that they could cut, and stay healthy.

Besides which, she was the one who was actually shouldering most of the running costs, especially for the upkeep of the infirmary and the medical supplies and equipment required to keep it running,

The main house, her family home, naturally, was also her responsibility and she also contributed to the maintenance of the convent buildings, schoolroom and outbuildings, and most of the equipment, from her own funds, the Church really only taking responsibility for training, housing, feeding and clothing the Sisters.

She didn't quibble about her contribution, after all, it was only money, and what else would she be spending it on anyway?

She saw it as a way of recompensing the people for the fact that her ancestors had been plundering the Continent of it's riches for over a century, but it seemed that every time she saw the Cardinal, the Church was trying to find some way of reducing their contribution to the budget.

From time to time, it still crossed her mind that they were mad at her, punishing her, but then she told herself that it was ridiculous, that even though things hadn't quite worked out the way that they had all planned, they hadn't really lost anything of vital importance.

Indeed, from her point of view, they had all gained so much more.

The Cardinal knew that she would do anything to keep the Mission and the Infirmary running, it was her whole life, her dream, and she knew that he would do anything to maintain the order of nursing Sisters, as it was one of the few remaining in Africa, and one of the last places the Church had to send the young women who swelled its ranks not purely because they had a religious vocation, but also wanted to help those who were sick, and less fortunate than themselves.

She was just scribbling down the items Sister Maud had listed when she heard something unusual and out of place, instantly recognisable to her as the sound of an approaching aircraft.

Her keen hearing and pilot's brain told her that it wasn't the constant steady drone of a fixed winged plane, but the irregular thwack, thwack beat of a helicopter's rotor thrashing the air, but even to her keen, experienced ear, there was something odd about it, an animalistic whine or scream, and it was getting closer.

She and Sister Maud shared a concerned glance, and then, with her heart beating rapidly in her chest, leaving the Sister to continue with the list, and to guard the precious drugs left in the cupboard, the doctor went rushing out into the dusty yard.

The noise was deafening and she immediately brought her hand and forearm up to cover her face to protect her eyes and mouth from the storm of dust and debris being kicked up, but not before she caught a glimpse of Father Paddy's congregation tearing out of the church, terrified and wild eyed as they sprinted for the safety of the village, several miles away, the Sisters, their skirts hitched up around their ankles, rushing after them, trying to calm them and persuade them to return to the safety of the church, and the good Father himself, face like thunder, storming out of the church, ranting and raving and waving his fist angrily up at the reason for the sudden exodus from the morning service.

The doctor saw it too, and couldn't help standing there with her mouth open in astonishment and awe.

It was indeed a helicopter.

However, even for an experienced pilot like herself, it was like no other helicopter that she had ever seen, sleek and shark-like, no, more like a majestic Orca with its black and white livery, hovering and swinging gracefully.

The noise was deafening, the downwash almost knocking her off her feet, and yet, she couldn't take her eyes off it.

"What the devil!" Father Paddy fetched up beside her, breathless, red faced and fuming, but she knew that that was a cover for his genuine anxiety and concern for his flock.

"Are we being attacked?" he demanded to know, as the beautiful, powerful helicopter continued to sweep over the compound, then sank even lower, kicking up even more dust as it began to turn around in a slow, wide, lazy circle.

"I don't think so," the doctor responded, having to raise her voice to make herself heard over the din, watching in appreciation and fascination, shielding her dark green eyes for a moment before glancing back at the chopper.

"Then what does he think he's doing? What is he doing here?" Father Paddy demanded his cassock and vestments flapping around his stocky body, whipped up by the downwash.

"Ruddy young hooligan!" he railed, waving his fist at the hovering chopper. "Ah Be Jesus! Look at 'em go!" he waved his hand around the yard. "Doesn't he realise that it will take us months to persuade them to come within a hundred miles of the place again!" he blustered, watching in horror as the last of the Keoma natives scattered to the four winds, no doubt convinced that the good Father's sermon had conjured up some demonic fire breathing monster.

The doctor tried to conceal her amusement at his bluster, knowing that he was exaggerating.

They would be back soon enough, when someone got sick, or they needed food, or a new trinket, but he was right to be worried, for they were a timid people, shy and distrustful, and it had taken years of perseverance and friendly persuasion, to get them to the point of coming to the Church on Sunday, not to mention tireless diplomacy, infinite patience and more than a little 'horse trading'.

All those years of love and patience and devotion could just have been destroyed by the reckless act of some hot headed young maverick.

Except that the doctor didn't think it was that at all.

Squinting against the brightness of the sun and the dust storm being kicked up all around her, she watched the huge, magnificent helicopter as it turned in a wide circle around the yard, sending nuns and livestock scurrying for any cover they could find, then wobbling slightly, side to side, up and down, turned back the other way.

It was a very beautiful machine, like no other that she had ever encountered, but it wasn't a pleasure cruiser. She was built for speed and stealth, and heaven knew what was lurking behind the compartment doors she could see in the white under belly ...

"Maniac!" Father Paddy continued to yell at the chopper, but it was a futile waste of energy for it had spun around again now, tail rotor pointed in their direction, so that there was no way that the pilot could see the elderly priest's objections. "Go joy riding some place else, why don't you, you godless young thug!"

The doctor knew that the manoeuvre she was watching required skill and control, stamina, physical strength and dexterity, and she knew from her own experiences in a cockpit that it also required delicacy and quick reflexes.

The pilot at the controls of this chopper was no greenhorn on a joy ride. He was skilled and experienced.

This was not high jinx, or a stunt.

This pilot had a purpose.

Only a fool would do something as crazy as buzzing a populated settlement like this, just for the fun of it.

Something was wrong.

She could feel it.

"What the devil does he think he's doing!" Father Paddy continued to rant and rage, face flushed and dewed with perspiration, his rheumy blue eyes glittering with anger, when not shaded by his forearm.

The doctor watched as the chopper began to rise and turn, gaining height and speed now as it moved away from the main Mission buildings, still wobbling and juddering, just a little, engines screaming and whining.

"Well, can you believe that! What the devil did he hope to achieve!" Father Paddy blustered in outrage and astonishment now. "Can someone tell me what the devil that was all about!"

"To get our attention, Father," the doctor used the back of her hand to mop up a tear caused by the dust storm, as it slide down her cheek and then her long, delicate fingers to push a stray tendril of her short mouse brown hair back behind her ear. "And I would say that he succeeded."

"But why? To what end, doctor?" Father Paddy frowned, dusting down his clothes now, then looked up at her quickly, a dark, suspicious expression on his face now, and she could quite clearly see that his mind was filled with notions of all the wickedness that men were capable of suddenly being visited upon them.

"Because I think he's in trouble," she told the priest, reaching out to lay a reassuring hand on his forearm now.

True, the helicopter hadn't looked as if it were damaged, at least not externally, but that didn't mean that there wasn't a malfunction with instrumentation.

There could have been an electrical failure, or even a fire in the cockpit.

The doctor put herself in the pilot's place for a moment, and knew that she would have done exactly the same thing in his position, and that answered the priest's question about why here.

This was the only inhabited place for hundreds of miles in any direction, the last place where it could be possible to raise the alarm, and get assistance.

"I think he has a big problem, Father," she continued. "And he needed to make enough commotion to get someone curious, or angry enough to go after him," she reasoned.

"What? You're not?" his eyes grew wide with panic now. "You can't!"

"Why not? It is what we're here for, isn't it Father? There are people in that helicopter, and they could need our help."

"But .… But …."

"C'mon Father, I could use a little of your muscle, if nothing else. Don't just stand there …."

"Are you out of your mind!" he reached out for her arm as she began to move away from him now. "Think child! They could be drug dealers, rapists, murderers!"

"Or they could be ordinary people, sick people, Father, people who need our help," she reasoned gently, and saw the shame flash through his eyes, briefly, for his cynicism and lapse in faith in the goodness of human nature.

"One of these days, my girl, that good heart of yours will get you killed."

"Not while you are here to watch over me, Father. Now, are you coming along or not?"

"Someone has to be responsible for your immortal soul!" he mumbled, hitching up his cassock skirts to hurry after her as she made her way quickly toward the rickety old wooden shed where they housed the flatbed truck that functioned as supply truck, ambulance and fire truck when the need arose.

"I must be crazy," he snorted as they rushed into the shed.

"Look on the bright side, Father, if they're alive, you'll have some new warm bodies to attend Mass, and if not, you'll be able to administer the Last Rites!" the doctor grinned as she yanked open the driver's door and slid inside. "I'd say that that makes for a 'win win' situation all around, wouldn't you?"

"Wicked child!"

"I have my moments, Father," she grinned, reaching out to turn the key in the ignition, the old engine protesting loudly, forcing her to stomp on the gas pedal and pump the choke a couple of times before the spark plugs caught and the ancient engine rumbled into life.

"Then I look forward to hearing you next confession!" he managed a wry half smile now, as she shunted the vehicle into gear and eased it out of the shed, sounding the horn to get the attention of a small group of Sisters making their way back toward the infirmary now that the show was over.

"Sister Ann," she called out through the open driver's window as the nuns came to see what she wanted. "Run to my office and fetch my medical bag, please. Sister Catherine, would you go to Sister Eve, offer her my apologies, then tell her that we could have casualties coming in shortly and ask her to please send to the village for some of the boys to help us, then both of you get back here as quickly as you can. I need you to come along and give Father Callaghan and me a hand."

Both nuns nodded and hurried away as quickly as their skirts and their vows would allow, while the doctor kept the truck's ancient engine idling, watching the confusion still going on in the courtyard beyond as several of the Sisters chased various terrified and rebellious goats and chickens and geese, trying to round them up and secure them in their pens, from whence they had escaped, and tried to smother a smile.

"I hope you're right about this, doctor," Father Paddy sighed heavily, mopping his brow with a tattered linen handkerchief, catching his breath now.

"I can't see any other reason for doing what that pilot did," she told him pointedly. "It's what I would have done too, if I were in trouble and had no other way of communicating it."

"There's that word again, trouble! I don't like it," he sighed heavily again and turned to regard her with an expression of deep concern etched into his weather beaten, lined face. "We're very vulnerable here, doctor. We're taking a great risk."

"We do that every time we walk into the village when there is sickness, Father, but neither of us has ever let it stop us from giving the care and assistance they need," she reminded him.

"Nevertheless, child, I can't help thinking it's a bad omen. A machine like that can have no good purpose."

Drumming her long, delicate fingers against the steering wheel, the doctor had to silently concede that he had a point.

Politically, the whole Continent of Africa was a tinderbox, and the prospect that any one of the current governments could produce such a machine terrified her.

A country equipped with a fleet of machines like that could seriously alter the balance of power in the region, and that could threaten the security of the smaller, independent nations, like Zarundi and some of her other close neighbours.

Zarundi was very small, and fortunately, not very significant as far as the rest of Africa was concerned, possessing no natural resources to plunder and no political rivalries, unlike their neighbour to the east, Kembala.

The doctor wondered if that was where Father Paddy's thoughts had strayed, to the precarious political situation to the east and the worrying development of Soviet intervention in the already uncertain climate.

Their mission was located in The Badlands of Zarundi, a remote, arid desert, hostile and barren, boxed in on three sides by choking jungle, making it practically inaccessible by foot expect by those more intrepid of explorers, and the local tribesmen, and they had few visitors from the world beyond their borders, however that did not mean that they did not have any contact with the rest of the world at all.

There was always the radio, which enabled them to make contact with places like Nairobi and Johannesburg in the case of a dire emergency, and then there were newspapers and magazines available to the doctor when she made the trip to Nairobi, and there was always rumour, supposition and outrageous gossip too, supplied in copious amounts by Burt Davis, enjoying the fact that he had a captive audience while they went through the crates and boxes and packages he stored for her.

The doctor usually took most of what came out of Burt's mouth with a healthy pinch of salt, but sometimes, he managed to let something drop that she found informative or interesting.

In general, she did not let the goings on in the rest of Africa worry her too much, because their little part of it was resource poor and had been ignored or simply overlooked by her more prosperous neighbours for years, but the news that the Russians were actively involved in backing Joshua Mendofa's campaign to become President of Kembala had disturbed her greatly, especially as the man's opponent, Robert Nimbani, was a distant cousin of the Keoma tribe's King, and had often visited the village to pay his respect to his royal cousin.

She had met him, once or twice, and had found him to be a very charismatic man, who genuinely cared for his downtrodden people, and it had been obvious to her that if the man had a chance to become their leader, he would serve the people of Kembala well.

Zarundi was fortunate to have a stable, peaceful political system and that it had nothing that the rest of Africa would be interested in claiming, and she knew that the rest of the world probably had no idea that there even was such a nation.

The Keoma were a simple, peaceful people who had a hard enough time existing from day to day, constantly battling against the threat of famine and disease, she dreaded to think how much more difficult her own work might be if the political climate ever changed, destabilized, and she was forced to work under the threat of civil war.

"So, where do you think it came from?" Father Paddy asked on a deep sigh, reaching out now with his right hand to lay it down atop hers on the steering wheel, stilling her drumming fingers.

The doctor shrugged absently.

There had been no markings that she could recall on the pristine black and white livery of the beautiful, majestic helicopter. No Nationalistic symbol to indicate her country of origin, and no designation number.

As an experienced pilot, she found this surprising as every civilian aircraft was required to carry a designation for identification purposes, and military aircraft usually carried some symbol identifying the nation, or body they represented, also for identification purposes, especially in battle conditions, making it easier to differentiate between friend and foe.

"I don't know, Father, but I think we can both guess," she sighed softly. "He came in from the east," she recalled and raised an eyebrow. "How's your Russian?"

The elderly priest actually gulped as he turned back to stare at her, open mouthed, and she suddenly realised that the thought hadn't even entered his mind.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Father," she reassured, immediately regretting making his thoughts turn to the troubles in Kembala. "Remember, we're all God's children."

""Humph!" he growled.

"They are human beings, and they could be sick, or injured, or even dying."

There was an edge to her voice now that indicated that she was losing patience with his lack of faith in human nature and his always seeing the negative. She could not understand how he could continue with his ministry with such a cynical attitude.

She would have said more, but was distracted by the return of the Sisters, Ann and Catherine, both a little breathless and flustered as Ann passed her medical bag to her, and which she slide down into the footwell in front of Father Paddy, and then waited as both ladies scrambled up with as much dignity as their skirts would allow, onto the back of the truck.

Father Paddy must have seen the look on her face, and come to his own conclusions.

"Child, I know you think I am a cynical old wreck, but I have so many lives to consider here," he reminded her softly.

"Me too, Father," she acquiesced as she waited for the ladies to settle themselves in the back. "But the simple fact is, that pilot made an obvious and determined effort to get our attention, to request our assistance, and I for one can't ignore that," she engaged the clutch slowly now and eased the truck out further into the yard, scattering the scrawny chickens and cockerel who strutted around in the shade, clucking and crowing in protest at having been disturbed, again.

"Says you, I say they could have had an altogether more sinister motive for all that commotion."

"We'll soon see, Father. What is it you are always telling us? The Lord works in mysterious ways …."

"Indeed he does," the elderly priest sighed in exasperation, and his expression told her clearly that he was still at odds with his Maker, even after all this time, over His decision to bring her here, to disrupt his previously orderly, placid, hum-drum existence, with her wilfulness, determination and bloody mindedness, her compassion, devotion, loyalty and goodness, challenging him as no other individual ever had.

And he loved it, thrived on it.

She tested his faith on a daily basis, and she questioned his every thought and word, but in a positive way.

Through her, he had found a fresh perspective on life, and to his vocation and his faith, making him really think for the first time in years, and re-examine his reasons for entering into the Priesthood all those years ago, and his hopes and ambitions.

Father Paddy silently thanked God daily for his infinite wisdom in guiding her here, to reawaken his passion and his drive, for pricking his conscience and inspiring him to be a better man, not just a better priest, and giving him a new lease of life, in not allowing him to become jaded, or to rest on his laurels.

The elderly priest knew that he wasn't perfect, that he was still inclined to look on the dark side, prone to cynicism and intolerance and impatience, and that he probably always would be, for he did not aspire to Sainthood, just to doing the best that he could with the tools the good Lord had given him, but since she had arrived, these things had been tempered with good humour and a genuine drive to make life better for the Keoma people.

He was enjoying being a priest again, for the first time in years, and he was really beginning to see the difference.

He loved her too, dearly, for she was a real joy to be around, a constant source of inspiration and amusement, and as well as being a wonderful breath of fresh air amongst the staid, rigid, solemn Religious community.

He also knew that she was the best damned thing that could ever have happened to the people of the Keoma tribe.

She was a wonderful doctor, quiet, patient, ready to listen, gentle and sensitive to her patients feelings as well as their medical needs, but she was also thorough and dedicated and an intuitive diagnostician.

As a young woman she was compassionate, thoughtful, quick witted, devoted, determined, fiercely intelligent, as you might expect from someone with the intellect that enabled them to obtain a medical degree, but in his experience most doctors he had met over the years had proved to be arrogant, insensitive, overbearing, over educated twerps.

She was a genuinely warm, sensitive, and caring human being with a wicked sense of humour and the ability to laugh at herself, but she was also stubborn, feisty and wilful, unyielding, and unwilling to back down, or listen to reason, stopping at nothing to get what she wanted if she believed it was right for her patients, and she was brave too, fearless, allowing nothing to get in her way when it came to healing the sick.

She had won many hearts since she had been here, and if he were honest, he could not envisage a life without her here.

He considered them all to be very fortunate that she loved it here, and that she was content to live out the rest of her life here with them, although, there were times when he couldn't help thinking that it was a shame that she hadn't found some young fella to share her life with, to pour out all that love and affection and devotion to, and raise a brood of beautiful, intelligent children of her own with, instead of always having to be content with caring for other peoples.

They were all much better human beings for her being in their midst, a constant source of inspiration and admiration, and even Sister Eve had been moved to admit that she had proved to be the perfect role model for the younger nursing Sisters, with her willingness to go the extra mile, or stay up all night to sit with a sick child or a dying tribal elder, and then work a full day in the Infirmary and clinics without having had any sleep, without complaint, and her genuine disappointment, frustration and grief when despite all her efforts, her knowledge, care and prayers, she lost a patient.

Of course, she wasn't perfect either, but she aspired to be, constantly striving to be better, and she was her own fiercest critic.

He knew there were times that she struggled with the demons of depression and melancholy, and lack of self confidence, and he knew that there were things in her past that troubled her, but even though he was her priest, she did not often confide in him, and he knew next to nothing about her life before she had joined them here.

One thing he did know. She belonged here, more than he ever would, despite the fact that the Mission had been his life and his home for close to ten years.

He had worked under three other doctors during that time, seen dedication and devotion above and beyond the call of duty from all of them, but he had never known anyone quite like her.

The place was in her blood, and she had a genuine affection for the Keoma people, and he had quickly learned not to try to get in her way in all matters pertaining to the medical care of her patients.

She also had some influence when it came to the purse strings, and getting Cardinal MacDonald to agree to her suggested improvements.

Over those ten years, she had spent time with them during her summer vacations from medical school, and he had watched her grow up, growing in confidence, seeing a compassionate, mature, studious and genuinely caring young woman who was deeply touched by the plight of the Keoma people, and who really listened to what they had to say about what the Mission and the Infirmary needed, and saw to it that they got all the equipment they required.

Over the years, she had been the one to instigate the building of the schoolroom, and had put the wheels in motion to upgrade the aging, struggling electrical supply system, had started the project to find new water supplies and build the new well-head, irrigation and sewer system to the convent, and then she had set into motion the improvement of the medical facilities for the Infirmary and seen to it that they had the most up to date equipment and drugs to function properly, dragging the mission well and truly into the twentieth century.

She had finally made the move to stay here permanently two years ago, when she had finally completed her last specialist residency in surgery and knew that she now had all the qualifications and experience that she needed to provide the Mission with all the medical skills it might require, and she had transformed the place, adding two new operating rooms and starting up clinics to immunise the children of the outlying villages but, he conceded silently and a little regretfully, he knew little more about her today than he had that first day, when she had arrived, all fired up and eager to get started on building things up.

What he knew of her, he had gleaned from watching her and working with her, but mostly she was still a closed book to him, and he was deeply sorry that she still could not find it in her self to open up to him and confide in him, either as her priest, or as her friend.

He had come to both like and respect her deeply.

All in all, in another life, had he chosen a different path, the priest knew that she would have been a daughter that he would have been very proud to claim as his own, but as things stood, he had to be content to have her blessed friendship.

"So," he asked, drawing in a deep breath as he recognised the twinkle in her lovely deep green eyes and the determined tilt of her chin, and knew that he would not be able to talk her out of this insanity, wishing that he could summon up one half of the excitement and exhilaration that she was obviously feeling at the prospect of this new challenge, instead of this heavy feeling of unease and trepidation in his chest.

"Any idea where we're going?" he arched an eyebrow inquiringly.

A smile began to form slowly on her lips now, and it illuminated her otherwise quite ordinary and unremarkable features, bringing with it a rare beauty that never failed to fill his old heart with warmth and pride and real affection for her.

She raised her right index finger to touch the tip of her nose then used the finger to point through the windshield at the expanse of arid, barren flatland that stretched as far as the eye could see beyond their boundary fence.

"Thataways," she grinned and pressed her foot down hard on the gas pedal.

"Oh terrific, hang on back there ladies, we're off on a mystery tour!"

This comment received a few nervous giggles from the nuns in the back of the truck.

"Whoever these people are, I hope they come to realise just how lucky they are to have landed in our backyard."

"I'm sure you'll see to it that they do, Father," she continued to grin as she guided the truck through the open gateway and out into the unforgiving desert.