THE EYES OF THE BEHOLDER 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.

CREDITS:

The author would like to acknowledge the use of the following songs which have only enhanced this work:

I'll be Seeing You – Words by Irving Kahal and music by Sammy Fain from the 1938 musical Right This Way.

Beautiful Dreamer – Words and music by Stephen Foster, 1862.

Up Where We Belong – written by Buffy Sainte-Marie, Will Jennings and Jack Nitzsche, from the hit 1982 movie An Officer & A Gentleman starring Richard Gere and Debra Winger.

Stuck In The Middle With You – Joe Egan and Gerry Rafferty – 1973.

I Only Want To Be With You – Hit for Dusty Springfield in 1964.

Ready To Take A Chance On You – From the 1978 movie, Foul Play, starring Chevy Chase and Goldie Hawn – Music by Charles Fox, lyrics by Norman Gimbel and sung by Barry Manilow.

I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do …. Abba from the 1975 album "ABBA"

Why don't We Try A Slow Dance …. Barry Manilow from the album 'One Voice' released in 1979.

If I give My Heart To You – By Jimmie Crane, Al Jacobs and Jimmy Brewster, 1954 – Performed by Doris Day.

I'll Never Stop Loving you - From the movie "Love Me Or Leave Me" (1955) By Sammy Cahn and Nicholas Brodzsky performed by Doris Day.

Time After Time - From the film "It Happened in Brooklyn" (1947)

(Jule Styne / Sammy Cahn) - Performed by Frank Sinatra.

Note from the author:

THE EYES OF THE BEHOLDER starts in early February, 1984 and is set between the Season 1 episode DADDY'S GONE A HUNTIN'and the Season 2 opener, SWEET BRITCHES, as per the dates they were originally aired in the USA.

Prologue

Russia - Somewhere In Siberia.

Tuesday 14th, February, 1984.

General Vladimir Sevchenko's face was set in a deep scowl as he made his way down the dark, dank, narrow corridor of the cellblock, trying hard to not allow the two men accompanying him to see him cringing at the sickening, agonising cries that echoed off the stark, damp walls.

He still could not work out which of his superiors he had offended and what it was he could possibly have done that had landed him here in this wretched, freezing, Godforsaken wasteland.

More importantly, he could not work out what he was going to do to get himself out of this wretched, freezing, Godforsaken wasteland ….

It had been made clear to him at the beginning that he would not be allowed to leave until the project was over, the mission completed.

Yet despite numerous promises from the egg heads running the project, he doubted that they were ever going to be ready.

Damned civilians ….

Draining his funds and his resources, but showing nothing in the way of results for it.

Scientists it seemed did not work to the same schedules as the government and the military.

They had their own ideas about how long a thing should take.

It already seemed like an eternity since he had been put in charge of this special operation, but he had had to relinquish most of the work and control of it over the past few months, to the doctors and the scientists. They did not seem to understand the pressures he was under from his superiors, who were also under pressure from their superiors, and so on ….

Right to the very top at the Kremlin ….

And in the meantime, Sevchenko was left to bide his time and contemplate how much longer he could stand the God-awful climate …. Before his health would deteriorate completely and the only way he would finally be able to leave would be feet first, in a wooden box.

The phone call just over an hour ago from General Alexei Putin, had left Sevchenko feeling even more like a condemned man ….

Condemned to roam this freezing white hell for the remainder of his days ….

However, maybe …. Just maybe …. There was a small light at the end of the tunnel ….

Aside from the precious information from America and Libya, the telephone conversation had contained, it had also left him in no doubt that patience at the Kremlin was fast running out.

The time table had just been changed ….

Along with the rules of the game.

Word of the debacle at Omryklot a few days before had soon filtered down through the ranks ….

The upper echelons no doubt in apoplexy over it …..

While the lower forms of life in the military held their breath and waited for the inevitable fall out ….

Which had just dumped its self all over Vladimir Sevchenko ….

And now, he was going to dump it all over those egg head scientists ….

The Americans had gained the upper hand once too often ….

Now it was time for the Motherland to let those upstart Americans know her superiority.

Even if it meant his having to remain here for another two months ….

However, he doubted that the scientists currently running this project would be amused by what he had to tell them.

"Wait here!" He barked out the order to his escort as he came to the end of the narrow corridor. "Allow no one else to enter or leave." He ordered and the two men snapped to attention, positioning themselves, one on either side of the hallway, weapons raised in readiness.

Sevchenko turned on his heel and taking the right branch at the inter section, marched down the corridor, still trying not to cringe as the sound of blood curdling screams ricocheted off the walls.

At the end of the corridor were a row of thick, steel doors with only a small window with reinforced glass at eye level to allow visitors to look inside the cells.

As he peered in through the glass, Sevchenko saw the bare light bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling, and in it's full glare, seated in an old fashioned black leather chair with a headrest, the kind that once populated dentists offices the world over, handcuffed and strapped into the seat, was a man whose face was swathed in bandages. His head was completely covered, save for two slits for his eyes and two electrodes which were secured to either side of his forehead, and electrical wires trailed away to a machine in the far corner where his every brain impulse was being monitored and measured by two men clad in creased white coats.

A projector was set up behind the man in the chair and it was casting eerie pictures against the bare concrete wall opposite him. As each picture changed, Sevchenko knew that the voltage would either be increased or decreased, depending upon the importance of the image being projected and what it was supposed to mean to the bandaged man in the chair.

Sevchenko could not help thinking that it was all so very old fashioned. After all these years of practice, surely they could have come up with a better way of brain washing a man, in these enlightened times.

However, he was aware of the effectiveness of pain as a stimulant.

Of course, there were also the drugs.

Quite an extensive cocktail from which to chose, even mix together, if one knew precisely what one was doing ….

With these latest developments, Sevchenko knew that they were going to have resort to drastic measures ….

Maybe even hypnosis ….

Never the most reliable of methods of programming a subject ….

Still, needs must ….

Sevchenko rapped his knuckle against the glass square once, gaining the attention of one of the men in the white coats inside the cell, who were scrutinising the results from the EEG machine.

The man looked up, his expression becoming one of exasperation as he noted the General, beckoning to him to come outside into the hallway, but after barking out an order to his assistant, Dr Jorge Dimitriov let himself out of the cell and closed the door firmly behind him.

"Good day to you, Comrade General …." He greeted Sevchenko cordially, although he was irritated at the interruption. The procedure was at a critical stage and he did not want to miss a single reading, result ….

"Comrade Doctor …. I bring greetings from Moscow …." Sevchenko announced. "And with them, new orders for you."

"New orders?" Dimitriov gulped, his expression growing suspicious.

"Yes, comrade …. The situation has changed …. And it will require you to change your procedure …."

"Absolutely not …. We are at a critical stage …. He is almost programmed …."

"Well that is where you could have a problem …. You have programmed him to be the wrong man …."

"What? No …. We were assured that St Clair was the easiest target ….The co-pilot …. Of course, physically Gordon would have been a closer match …."

"St Clair is dead."

"Dead …." This expelled on a deep breath.

"Dr Moffett and all his crew, including St Clair, stole the helicopter out from under the Imperialist American's noses and took it to Libya …. However the Americans sent someone to get it back …. Someone who is obviously much more clever and tenacious than Dr Moffett. As you can imagine, Comrade Khadaffi was not …. Amused …."

"But if the helicopter is back in American hands …."

"Did I say that it was, Comrade Doctor?" Sevchenko's lips curled upward in a cruel smile.

"Then …."

"Let us say that it was repatriated by someone with an ulterior motive of their own."

"Who?"

"I wondered when you would get around to asking …."Sevchenko sneered. "Your new target is …. Stringfellow Hawke …."

"Hawke …."

"And you have a new target date, Comrade Doctor …. The Kremlin gives you just two months to programme him and get him ready to ship out."

"Two months …. It is impossible …. Physically he is all wrong …. We gave him St Clair's face …. Background …. It will take at least two months just to de-programme him and re-programme him with the little information we currently have about this …. Hawke …. No Comrade …. Absolutely no …. We cannot proceed with this individual …."

"There is no time to find another subject, Comrade Doctor."

"But …. You know the trouble we went to, to get the right man …. The correct height, weight, physical conditioning …. These things were all critical elements in the selection of the subject …." Dimitriov blustered.

"He is close enough …." Sevchenko insisted.

"Not to mention the fact that all our current data on this Stringfellow Hawke is more than two years out of date …." Dimitriov continued, undeterred. "The surgery required to alter his appearance will need several months to heal completely …. May leave scars …. " Dimitriov protested vehemently. "Also …. I cannot guarantee that the reversal of the procedure will not destroy his mind …. Perhaps even kill him …."

"That is not my problem, however …. I suggest that you try very hard not to let that happen, Comrade …." Sevchenko advised with a weary sigh. "I also strongly suggest that you intensify the procedure and get the illustrious plastic surgeon Andropov back here as soon as you can …. Allow him to get a little …. Creative …." Another cruel smile curled at Sevchenko's lips. "You will be provided with all the information you will need to proceed …. And we shall see if the good comrade Doctor is as good as he thinks he is …."

He knew of the surgeon's sadistic reputation and had no doubt that they could put it to very good use in the next two months.

Frankly, Sevchenko didn't give a damn if they churned out Frankenstein's monster swathed in bandages …. As long as they had someone half ready to perform the mission, the rest could be covered …. Or fudged ….

"Moscow will not tolerate any further delay …. The Americans must learn that they have made fools of us once too often …. They have to learn that what they can possess, we must also possess …. By any means we can."

"But …. But …."

"Better save your breath, Comrade Doctor …. You have your orders. Time is marching on …. Oh, and I have been requested to inform you that failure is not an option …. "

Sevchenko turned on his heel and marched away back down the corridor, leaving the threat hanging in the air ….

Knowing that if the scientists did not pull this off they were all as good as dead ….