Disclaimer: These characters and original scenario belong to the copyright holders. I'm just getting them off the shelf to let them play for a while.

As so many fan fiction authors have said, major characters shouldn't die. So Dominic survives the bombing in "Blackjack." But I like the 4th Season characters too. However, certain questions beg to be answered. How did Saint John come back sane? And if Stringfellow Hawke survives, where did he go? Where did Cait, Le Van, and Tet disappear to? There is a sort of timeline to my stories in my mind, but this might be somewhat outside the timeline.

Episodes mentioned here include "Echoes from the Past," "HX1, "Where Have All the Children Gone?" and "Horn of Plenty."

Doctor of Illusion

On Sunday afternoon, Saint John Hawke knocked on the door of a suburban home in a nearly new subdivision in the Valley. It was a tidy pale yellow ranch house with brown trim. Bright-colored flowers grew under the front window and around the brick entrance steps. Ellie McNeal opened the door with her three-year-old son close behind her. She looked up into the blue eyes and lined face of the tall man she had loved almost sixteen years before in Da Nang. "Saint John," she said, as she stood back so he could walk in. "Saint John," she said, "I was so surprised when you called. You'd think I would have heard that you were rescued. You'd think it would have been on the news."

"No. We kept it pretty quiet. I couldn't have dealt with it, you know, reporters, attention."

He walked ahead of her into the living room. He looked pretty much how she would have expected an ex-prisoner of war to look, too thin, skin tanned to leather, a little stooped. "Where were you? Why didn't you come home years ago?"

"It's a long story, Ellie. If you have a little while, I'll tell you about it."

"Oh. Of course. Please, sit down. Would you like some lemonade?"

"I'd love it."

"It's regular American lemonade, not that salted stuff we had in Da Nang."

"Good. I always liked that better."

She turned to the little boy who was staying close behind her. "Saint John, this is my son, Joshua."

Hawke squatted down and extended his hand and the little boy reached to shake it. His large hand enveloped the little one. "Nice to meet you, Joshua," he told him. Ellie noticed it was an Asian-style squat, feet flat on the floor, a way of sitting. He was as thin as those Vietnamese villagers, but it didn't look good on a rangy blonde American over six feet in height.

Joshua repeated, "Meet you." Then he hid behind his mother.

"Ellie, I am so sorry for your loss. How long has it been since your husband passed away?"

"Thank you. Arthur died just after tax season last year, so it's a little more than a year now. He had a heart attack. String met him, when he came to see me."

From the sofa, Saint John looked around the room, picture window with linen drapes, light beige walls, comfortable brown furniture, and family photographs on the wall. A framed poster for a Grateful Dead concert hanging over the sofa broke the formality of the room. A crocheted afghan was draped over the arm of the recliner on the other side of the end table at the far end of the sofa. Toys spilled out of a bright blue, plastic crate in the corner.

Ellie walked in, with Joshua behind her like a shadow. Her hair was blonde, hanging full to her shoulders, far more stylish than she had worn it in Da Nang. She had aged well. No, better than well. He took the tall glass of lemonade from her and set it on a coaster on the coffee table. She stood by the overstuffed chair. "Saint John," she started to say, as he said, "Ellie." He laughed self-consciously. "You first."

"Saint John, I am so happy you're back. No, I am amazed and happy. String came to see me while you were still MIA, following his latest lead on you. I'm sorry. I told him to let it go, that you were gone."

"String never stopped trying to find me." He sipped the lemonade.

"He surprised me when I saw him last year, before Arthur… I remembered him as your kid brother. I wasn't ready for how worn he looked."

"Uh, Ellie… it's worse now. He was in the hospital when I was rescued. There was a, well there was an accident at Santini Air. A helicopter blew up. Dom and String are lucky to be alive."

"Oh, right. There was something about it in the news. I was still dealing with the aftermath of Arthur's death. I should have gone to see them. How awful. Are they all right?"

"They're both out of the hospital and they're both flying again, easy stuff so far, but they're getting there. That's all that matters to them."

"I never understood that," she said. "I knew you. I knew String. I knew Mace. You were all obsessed with flying."

"Yeah, we are." He fiddled with his glass. "Your son is beautiful."

"Thank you." They both looked down.

"You said you'd tell me about what happened, if you can bear to talk about it. You've probably had to tell it over and over, haven't you?"

"Just to everyone at the VA."

Oh, well, you don't have to."

"Ellie, it's okay. I've waited a long time to talk to you. A long time." He drank half his lemonade, then said, "My chopper was forced down. Mace and I were captured, but we got separated. I was hurt, but the VC just tossed me into a prison in a tunnel. There were a couple of years being moved from prison to prison. Then I was on a farm where I had to work until I got so sick that I couldn't stand up. After they'd beaten me and I still couldn't get up they put me in a clinic. I worked there as a sort of medical orderly for a while.

"Then I was given to a village in the northern part of the delta that had been raided repeatedly, maybe by the Viet Cong, maybe the army, maybe both, but at least half the men had been either killed or were marched off and never seen again. For about seven years I was a slave there, in the rice paddies or the vegetable gardens, except that after a while, the villagers started treating me decently. They still locked me up at night and made sure I couldn't get away during the day, but I got to be a part of the village. I tried to escape several times, but I got caught – I'm pretty conspicuous there – and things would be bad for a while. But then we'd be back to normal, or what I got to think of as normal.

One of the old men found out I could play chess and we used to play sometimes in the evening. I'd sit behind the bars in my hut and he'd make my moves for me. I made toys for the kids, dolls out of rice straw for the girls, bows and arrows for the boys out of sticks. Someone came up with a basketball and I rigged a basket and taught the boys how to play. There was a French radio broadcast of the Moon mission that String was on, so I knew he'd survived the war. An old Buddhist monk would come to talk to me sometimes after the evening meal. He'd sit outside the bars on the hut window and we'd talk about, oh, lots of stuff. I was fluent in Vietnamese by then. I asked him if the war was over, and he said he didn't know.

"Eventually the local commandant sold me to a warlord in Laos. In a weird way, that may have saved my life. The government in Hanoi claimed that there were no more POWs. If they had found me, they might have killed me to save face. In Laos I worked on an opium farm. About two years ago I was sold to a mercenary. I was rescued by our cousin Jo Santini and a couple of her friends while String was in the hospital, after they got word where I was being held. They rescued me because String begged them to."

"I'm amazed that you survived. Saint John, I really am amazed that you could survive all that." She stood up, her eyes starting to fill with tears. "I waited around Da Nang as long as I could."

"Ellie," he said.

She was pacing, but realized that it was upsetting Joshua. "Let me find something for him to do," she said. "Joshua, where's your truck?" She sat down on the carpet next to the toy bin. The little boy rummaged for a moment with her help until they found a plastic dump truck. A few more moments produced a little truck driver, and some plastic bricks. He sat down next to the toys and put the driver in the driver's seat and started to pile the bricks in the back. He made truck noises and looked busy. She got up with the ease of practice.

She turned to face him. "Saint John."

"Ellie?"

"Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know. That last night in Da Nang. It was a bad scene."

"It's haunted me ever since," she said. "I played it over and over in my mind. Do you remember? I asked, 'Do you love me?'" She closed her eyes. "I was drunk. You were lost two days later."

"I said, 'I'd love you at home.'"

"You're home now."

"I know."

"Should we remember, Saint John? Can we get past that?"

"Ellie, I'd like to find out." He stood.

"So would I."

He found he was smiling on the drive back to the townhouse he shared with Mike Rivers in Van Nuys.

"Dom, could we talk for a minute?"

"Sure, String, what's up?"

Stringfellow Hawke closed the office door at Santini Air and started pacing, limp growing more obvious as he roamed restlessly around the office. "Well?" Dominic Santini prompted him.

"I've been so busy with, well, everything, that I screwed up my taxes again."

"String! You know better than that."

"Yeah, I do. I'll file for an extension and it should be all right. But I need an accountant and I can't go back to the people you found for me the last time."

"Oh, you mean that nice young woman?"

"Cait would not appreciate that."

"Right. Ellie is an accountant."

"I just wanted to clear asking her with you. Might as well keep it in the family. It's not that complicated, probably, but straightening out all those medical bills, what the Firm paid, what I paid…"

"I had to worry about that too. We'll get it settled. You'd better get ready for that charter. I'm picking up Le Van at school, right?"

"Or Cait, if she's done with that lesson in time."

"I sure hope some stunt work comes through. This nickel-and-dime stuff barely pays for the gas. I want to train Saint John, Jo and Mike and they're anxious to learn it."

"Well, with Mike and Jo off meeting her aunt and his parents, there are fewer of us around here to keep busy."

"Gotta pay their salaries, though. Let me make a few calls. Some of the studios don't realize that you and I are ready to work again. They read about the bombing, and I swear, some of the directors and producers have the attention span of a…"

Hawke changed into a pair of khaki slacks, blue shirt, and blue sweater. Dom insisted on either slacks and dress shirt or sweater or, if the occasion demanded it, a suit and tie when he piloted a charter.

Hawke met his party when their taxi dropped them off at the Santini Air office. They were a couple, a tall, East Asian man in a tweed suit and camel-hair topcoat, carrying a blue suitcase. The woman with him was blonde, considerably shorter, wearing sunglasses, and carrying a purse and a cosmetics case. She clung possessively to the man's arm. For a moment she looked familiar to String, but he couldn't think why. He ran the credit card to confirm the card they had called in to reserve the charter. They were Mr. and Mrs. Young Kim. Mr. Young, or was it Mr. Kim, explained that they were celebrating their twentieth anniversary and had planned a sight-seeing tour over Los Angeles before spending the night at a very exclusive hotel near Studio City.

Hawke thought it was odd that she chose to sit in the back while her husband sat in the passenger seat, but Young Kim explained that his wife was a little afraid of heights. The choice of a helicopter excursion seemed peculiar under the circumstances, but he'd flown much weirder charters. He welcomed them aboard, got them settled and buckled in, then lifted off. At least this was a short trip.

The two lovebirds cooed at each other and pointed out landmarks, so the first hint of trouble caught him by surprise. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mrs. Young Kim lunge at him at the same time that he felt something stab him in the neck. His vision blurred, then Hawke passed out.

He was on a leather couch in a room out of a dream of Freud or Jung. Bookshelves lined a wall. The rest of the room was paneled in what looked like walnut. Blinds were closed over the only window. "Mr. Hawke, if we could get back to the bad dreams you've been having since your rescue," said a woman's voice. He jerked his head around to see a woman in large, dark glasses and her dark hair piled on top of her head sitting with a pad and pen. She looked familiar.

"What rescue?"

"Mr. Hawke, I know that this was an especially severe flashback, but you have to work with me or the court will order you back into inpatient treatment."

"I don't have flashbacks."

"Come, come, Mr. Hawke. Or may I call you Saint John? Out of deference to your long captivity, you were missing in action longer than any other soldier in the Vietnam War who was recovered alive; we are trying to help you. But you can't tear up a bar without some consequences."

"My name isn't Saint John. That's my brother. I am Stringfellow Hawke." He was starting to get agitated, but it felt like it was through a quilt, muted, without edges.

"This delusion that you are your brother is very dangerous."

Hawke tried to sit up. His head swam. "What did you give me?"

"We had to tranquilize you to get you out of that bar last night."

"What bar? I don't usually go to bars. Neither of us hangs out in bars."

"Now, tell me about that bad dream. Describe the black helicopter."

"What black helicopter?" String asked, automatically. Airwolf was classified.

"Saint John," she said, voice very sympathetic, "you have to tell me about these nightmares so we can help you heal." She stood up and handed him a glass. "Your throat is dry. Have some water. It will be easier to talk."

He sipped from the glass and swallowed. "I am not Saint John," he repeated, but his vision started to gray, the room was swimming around him, and he passed out.

Cait brought Le Van back to the hangar. He started sweeping out the supply room. "Dom, when was String due back from the charter?"

Dominic looked up. "He should be back around four…" He looked at his watch. "He should have called in when he dropped his party off at Studio City."

"String doesn't miss scheduled call-ins."

He walked over to the radio. After a few moments of calling with no response, he turned back to Cait. "No answer. Maybe the radio is broken."

By five, the mood was getting very tense around the hangar. Dom had called Air Traffic Control and no accidents or incidents had been reported. Saint John was grim-faced when he returned from his cargo run to Irvine. Le Van looked frightened and Cait urged him to start work on his homework. He fiddled with his pencil but made no progress. Saint John phoned Jason.

Jason arrived at the airfield forty-five minutes later, annoyed with rush-hour traffic. "We have been doing something new," he told Hawke's family. "At least once a month we're trolling through online computer sources to locate any activity regarding Airwolf or anyone connected with her. We've had a couple hits concerning String."

"What hits?"

"I don't know yet. They might mean nothing, possibly having to do with lab tests or medical bills, or they're well-camouflaged. We're checking."

Saint John asked, "Who were the people he took up in the charter?"

"Let's look. String is pretty careful when he accepts a job." Dom opened the schedule and the payment record. "Mr. and Mrs. Young Kim. They paid with a credit card for a ride to Studio City. They came here in a cab."

"One way?"

"Yeah."

"Did you see them?"

"A tall Asian, maybe Korean man in a topcoat, and a short, blonde, female companion in sunglasses. They were lovey dovey and said they were celebrating their anniversary."

"We're tracking the credit card, to see if there's anything suspicious about it. And we're having trouble tracking those traces concerning String. Mrs. McNeal has some special expertise with financial matters and she worked with the Company in Da Nang. We've brought her in on this. She's arrived at Knightsbridge and is working with our computer system."

"I didn't know she worked for the Company."

"She has intermittently since Vietnam. She knew about String's contacts with the Firm when he was in Vietnam. My people are very good at what they do, but I'm hoping she'll bring a different viewpoint that might spot something. Meanwhile, I assume String was flying the Santini Air Jet Ranger?"

"Right."

"We have a search going for that. Dom, one more idea. I want you to make a list of the incidents with String and Airwolf where any of the perpetrators might have gotten away. I'll sit down with you in a few minutes so we can brainstorm about it. It's early morning in Manila but we've touched base with Archangel and he will fax us a list of anything he can offer."

"You got it."

Saint John and Cait sat with Dom and Jason. Michael's fax came in and they added it to the heap of paper they were compiling. "You and String were pretty efficient. Most of your bad guys didn't survive the encounter," Jason observed.

"So who does that leave us?"

"The people who ran that bogus stunt, Philip Maurice and Simon Sayes, are alive but should be in prison. I'm checking on that. Helmut Kruger is in an Israeli prison. His associate is hiding out in Switzerland with his Swiss bank account. He never initiated any of Kruger's arms sales and we don't think he's likely to be out for vengeance. Dunkirk and his associates are locked up and on the way to prison. Bogard is dead. We're checking on those organized crime figures that were caught fleeing the country with a lot of money after murdering several people out in the Mojave. Tranh Van Zung is still locked up and will be for life."

"You know, thinking back, when a group of East Germans kidnapped him, String said the fake doctor did not get on the cargo plane with the rest of them. That bothered him, because she was still out there."

"We'll look into that." Jason used his satellite phone to speak rapidly to his office. "That was Anastasia Zarcov. She is considered an international criminal. Even her old associates in KGB don't want anything to do with her."

It was dark outside the hangar. "Dom, Saint John, maybe you ought to go home. There isn't much more we can do tonight, or until we get some leads," Jason suggested.

"Is Ellie still at Knightsbridge?"

"Let me find out." Jason called the office. "Still there."

"I'll follow you back to the office. I want to sit with her while she's running her search."

"Fair enough." They walked out to their cars.

Ellie worked in a small office with a desk lamp lit but the overhead lights turned off. She was immersed in a spread sheet on the computer while making lists on a legal pad. Saint John sat close to her, getting up to bring her coffee and snacks. She stopped to call her late husband's parents who were babysitting Joshua, then got back to work.

Finally, Ellie handed Jason three pages of notes. "This name recurs five times," she pointed out.

He put on his reading glasses. "Young Kim," he read aloud. And then, "Doctor Anastasia Zarcov."

"Location for either of them?"

"I'm not sure, but this word keeps coming up." She pointed to a printout.

"Randsburg," he read aloud. "It's a ghost town. It's not completely deserted, but it's a pretty quiet. It's an old gold camp, now just some old buildings and a popular spot for rockhounds."

"Well, this Young Kim seems to have rented some property near Randsburg."

"This correlates with what my people found. I think we have enough information to put surveillance on the property. We have some assets at Ridgecrest. Why don't you two get some sleep and we'll let you know as soon as we know anything?"

"I can't sleep, Jason. String is in trouble."

"Come home with me," Ellie told him, a hand on his arm. "Don't be alone tonight."

Saint John wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Thank you," he said softly. "I will." He looked up.

"See you in the morning."

String awoke in a clean, institutional-looking bedroom. The man who he thought of as the 'orderly' was setting a tray with coffee and toast on a bedside table. "What?"

The doctor walked in as he swung his legs around to get up. He was too dizzy to finish the motion. "Steady, Mr. Hawke," she said. "You're still tranquilized."

"Why?"

"Because you had another episode last night."

"No, I didn't."

"I'm very concerned with your amnesia. Why don't you have a bite to eat and we'll try to help you sort out your memories today." She rested her hand on his hair and it stirred a memory. He reached for the coffee and recoiled. "You should eat your breakfast."

"I'm kinda queasy."

Hawke was dressed, or undressed, in a hospital gown. His feet and lower legs were bare. With all the scarring from the bomb explosion at Santini Air, he did not look very dangerous. He also didn't look like his brother. Well, he didn't feel very dangerous, either. But how could she confuse him with Saint John?

Drapes were drawn on the window. There was an institutional-looking plant in a planter near the window. The room did not look like the VA hospital or a Firm clinic. It occurred to him that he had not asked where he was.

The orderly, or whoever he was, reappeared with a wheel chair, accompanied by the doctor.

"I'd really like to get dressed."

"Why don't you drink your coffee and we'll help you get dressed."

Her insistence triggered something. Hawke realized that he ought to avoid the coffee. He didn't know why yet. "I might get sick. No coffee yet. Please."

The orderly produced his clothing. He managed to shrug into his sweater and pull on his slacks without any help. His socks were dirty so he shoved his feet into his shoes without. That was another odd note, a clinic where he had no access to clean underwear and socks. Hawke allowed them to push him into the next room in a wheelchair while he tried to figure out why he felt so strongly that he had to fight them.

Jason phoned Saint John at Ellie's home at six thirty in the morning. She answered the phone, sleepy-voiced, and passed it to him.

"We think we know where String is," he said. "We're getting ready to go in. Do you want to come along?"

"Absolutely." He felt her hand resting on the back of his neck. "Should I drive to Knightsbridge?"

"I'll pick you up. Half hour?"

"Right."

"Wash up," Ellie told him. "I'll make coffee and something to eat you can take with you." She gave him a quick kiss.

He was pleased he still knew how to wash up, shave, and get dressed in a few minutes. He had been keeping a change of clothes and toothbrush and razor at Ellie's home for several weeks. He was very glad of them now. "Take care," she called after him as he rushed out the door, after kissing her again. "Bring String home safe."

Saint John settled in the passenger seat of Jason's Mustang. "Did you let Dom and Cait know?" he asked.

"Yeah. They're waiting by the phone."

"So, what happened?"

"We think Anastasia Zarcov and her associate snatched String during the charter yesterday. She is a psychiatrist who specializes in mind-altering drugs, interrogation, and brainwashing. She participated in an elaborate plot to kidnap your brother and steal Airwolf, just a few months after he took Airwolf. She brainwashed him and tricked him into giving the location away. String escaped and blew up the plane most of the kidnappers were in, but she was not on the plane.

"Yesterday, they took him to what looks like an old house just outside of Randsburg. There's a barn on the property. The Santini Air Jet Ranger is probably hidden there. Her associate is North Korean, known to have something to do with organized crime. He can fly a helicopter. We have no evidence that she has anyone else with her."

"What does she want with String?"

"We think revenge, access to Airwolf, maybe both."

"What's the plan?"

"Zebra Squad and overwhelming force. We're going in, in an hour."

The doctor waited for the 'orderly' to settle String on the leather couch. His head was clearing but he pretended to be dizzy.

"Well, then," she said brightly. "Saint John, I think we were starting to make progress yesterday."

"You said I had another episode last night?" he asked, trying to place her. The drugs they had given him made thinking like peering through fogged glass.

"Yes, but it was minor. You don't recall it?"

"No." He looked around, carefully keeping his face slack and eyes unfocused. "Where did I have the flashback? I can't remember." He allowed his voice to sound distressed. She rested her hand on his hair, as she had in his room. And then he knew who she was. The revelation hit him, but he disguised it with what he hoped was a realistic sob. Doctor Holgate. Anastasia Zarcov. Three years before, she brainwashed him into thinking his brother had returned. He gave the kidnappers the location of Airwolf's hiding place. That gesture. She had used it then, just like that, a supposedly compassionate hand on his forehead. He knew she had not died with the rest of his kidnappers, but she had not bothered him in three years.

String had been abducted once more and brainwashed by John Bradford Horn. In that incident, he had cold-bloodedly shot Dominic, not realizing his pistol was loaded with tranquilizers. Did Zarcov know that? His vague memory of Horn's methods seemed different.

Hawke realized he was starting to breathe faster. He wasn't much of an actor. He moved his hands to cover his eyes, just to give himself time to sort out a plan. He pictured those moments before he shot Dom, pulling out the gun, aiming it, firing it three times. Over and over. He had dwelled on on it for months. Now Zarcov was after him, maybe to hurt someone he loved again. Hawke took a deep breath and that weird detachment he sometimes felt in a crisis settled over him, one of his greatest assets as a combat pilot. Events slowed down as if he were watching stop-action photography. There was work to be done.

Dom and a nurse had helped Hawke escape from Zarcov. Cait had helped him escape from Horn. But this time, String found himself alone with Anastasia Zarcov and her hired goon. He was going to have to help himself.

He recognized the 'orderly' as Young Kim, his passenger on the charter, was it the day before? Kim was standing near Zarcov. Under his jacket, Hawke could see the bulge of a shoulder holster. Between Kim and the couch where Hawke sat was a small table with a ceramic lamp on it. Well, Zarcov said he'd had flashbacks. It was time to have another. It would have to be a whopper.

Hawke started mumbling to himself. He moved his head from side to side. He said, "Snakes." His mumbling got louder, then, "Snakes in the jungle. Huey down." He sat up, then tucked into a crouch on the leather couch. "Snakes everywhere," he cried. He jumped to the floor, still woozy and maintaining his balance with difficulty, ran to the chair, and jumped onto it. "Snakes crawling up the sides of the chopper. Have to get away from the snakes." He rested his hand on the ceramic lamp as if to keep his balance, but as Young Kim advanced on him, he grabbed it and swung it down on his head, breaking the lamp. The man slumped to the floor and String jumped down after him. He pulled Kim's gun from the shoulder holster. He turned as Anastasia Zarcov rushed at him with a knife raised.

At the edge of his concentration Hawke was aware of the sound of helicopters. He raised the gun but wasn't fast enough. Zarcov plunged the knife just past his shoulder and into his chest. He staggered backwards as she jerked it out and raised her arm for another stroke. The shock took his breath. Blocking the knife with his left arm, he pivoted toward her and fired the gun. She fell backward. Kim was stirring. With right arm wavering and vision blurring, Hawke shot him. He was having trouble breathing. Somewhere in the building a door splintered. Voices. Then the door to the room burst open.

"Is she dead?" Hawke asked. His voice was a harsh whisper. He was holding his arm across his chest. Blood ran down his sweater and dripped from his arm.

Jason said, "Yes."

"Sure?"

"You got her."

Hawke collapsed, first to his knees, then crumpled over. Saint John ran to his side and knelt beside him. Blood covered Hawke's chest and stomach and soaked his sleeve. "String. String, hang on." He put pressure on the point in Hawke's arm where blood was spurting out. He propped String's head on his knee, then realized he was going into shock and eased his head back down to the carpeted floor.

The Zebra Squad team ran to Hawke's side. IVs were started as they loaded him on a gurney and lifted it into the helicopter. "You can ride with him, Major," one of the team told Saint John.

Saint John climbed in and sat next to Hawke as the flying ambulance lifted off. He slipped his hand under his brother's hand. "Just hang on, String." His hand came away wet with String's blood. The smell of blood filled the helicopter.

Hawke got his eyes open. "Sinj."

"I'm here, String."

"I can't do it anymore."

"You don't have to, String," Saint John said, not sure what String couldn't do. "We'll take care of it." The medic adjusted an oxygen mask over Hawke's face while Saint John held his brother's hand.

The surgery took forever, or at least seemed like forever. Cait and Saint John took turns pacing around the waiting room. Jason bought coffee for them from the vending machine. The surgeon walked out to talk to them after five hours.

"He's holding his own. We'll move him to Intensive Care when he comes out of anesthesia and you can see him then."

"How much damage did she do?"

"The knife hit a couple arteries, one in his chest and one in his arm. Collapsed his lung, which he certainly didn't need again. Torn up chest and arm muscles, but he didn't get his hands in the way so they're all right. I think we've repaired all of it. We're pumping him full of antibiotics. He's received four units of blood so far and we've just started a fifth. This is going to be a long recovery."

Dom stood up. "I don't know if anyone talked to you about it. This is the second time that woman messed with String's mind. He's going to need help to get over it and he's going to fight against getting help from a shrink."

"It's in his records. He's suffered a major trauma. A psychiatric evaluation and counseling would be standard procedure in a case like this, regardless of the attempted brainwashing. We'll see that we address the other issues, too."

"Thank you."

"The nurse will come to get you when he's settled in the critical care unit."

Dom emerged from the critical care unit shaking his head. Saint John took his turn. String's white face against the white pillowcase terrified him. A breathing tube was in his mouth. "You're safe, String. You're going to be fine. We're all here, Dom and Cait and me, just making sure you're all right." There was no response from the man in the bed. Saint John couldn't tell if he was awake or if he had heard him. He touched String's face, then held his shoulder for a moment. "See you in the morning."

Saint John asked Dom, "He said to me, on the way to the clinic, he said, 'I can't do it anymore.' What was that about?"

"I think that's what I'm afraid of," Dom said. "I think he's pretty close to a breakdown. Look what he's been through the last few years. You can only beat on the toughest board so long before it breaks." He looked at his watch. "It's after eight. Why don't you go get a bite to eat and some sleep and maybe he'll be awake tomorrow. We have to talk to Le Van, too. The poor kid's back at my house busy imagining things. I'll stay with String."

Cait said, "Dom, let me. I need to be with him."

"You'll have to wait outside the critical care unit between six a.m. and eight a.m.," Jason reminded her.

"Then I'll wait out here for one of you to come and I'll go home to clean up and get a little sleep. Tell Le Van that String is holding his own."

Dom kissed her cheek. "Take good care of him. We'll see you in the morning. I want to stop at the nurse's station before we go and make sure they're giving String enough stuff for pain."

"I checked on that already, Dom," Saint John told him. "He's on morphine for now. It's knocked him out. Let's go. I promised Ellie I'd come by and tell her how String is doing." Everyone knew that also meant that Saint John would stay the night with Ellie. He needed that comfort from her.

Jason brought Cait a sandwich and soda from the vending machine. Then he escorted her back through the double doors so she could spend the night next to Hawke in the uncomfortable vinyl chair. He found her a second chair and a blanket and pillow so she could sort of stretch out. The beeping instruments and hissing oxygen nearly drove her crazy. For a while she watched the monitors indicating his heartbeat and respiration. Then she held String's hand. Eventually she dozed off.

At least the breathing tube was gone, replaced by a cannula. His left arm was in a cast and a sling. The central line below his collar bone was partly visible above the gaping neckline of his hospital gown. Dom knew Hawke would be in pain, if he weren't thoroughly drugged. Hawke lay passively in the bed. He wouldn't meet Dom's eyes, or anyone's eyes. He did what the nurses and doctors told him, but mostly he slept. He slept too much. Dom bought a Los Angeles Times and read it to him, starting with the first section. He was getting hoarse by the time he got to the comics page. He started doing the crossword puzzle aloud. "Four down. What's a 7-letter word for a win? The second letter is 'i'."

"Victory," Hawke whispered. His eyes were blue slits in the harsh room light.

"You could have helped before this," Dom complained.

"You were doing all right 'til now." His voice was very thin.

Dom stood up and rested a hand on Hawke's right arm. "How do you feel?"

"No idea. I must be on a lot of painkillers."

"You are. But you're doing all right."

Hawke reached up to grip Dom's hand. "No I'm not. I'm hanging on by a thread. I want to start breaking things. I want to do what Cait said, after we shot Robert Villers down, and just start walking and never stop. I don't know what I want."

"Your doctors say that's normal, if that's any consolation."

"Dom, I don't know if I'm sane anymore."

"String, don't say that." Dom rested his hand on Hawke's head.

He recoiled. "Don't! For God's sake, don't touch me there!"

Dom lifted his hand as if he had been scalded. "What?"

"She put her hand on my hair." Hawke took a deep breath, winced, and started coughing. Finally he was able to catch his breath. He had clutched Dom's hand until Dom's ring cut into the adjacent finger. String looked down at it and unclenched his hand. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes there is."

"Who put her hand on your head?"

"Zarcov. That's how I recognized her."

"String, I had no idea. You're so banged up there aren't many places on you left to touch."

Hawke's short and bitter laugh was enough to start him coughing. When he could catch his breath, he said, "Don't make me laugh. It hurts. Dom, it's okay. You can pat my head. Thank you for being here for me. Again."

Three months after Zarcov had kidnapped Hawke, Marella landed Michael's chopper on the dock of Hawke's cabin. Hawke walked through the cabin door in jeans and a t-shirt, his bare feet were in loosely tied sneakers. His hair was wet. He must have just gotten out of the shower. Hawke waited on the porch, shoulders erect, looking alert and fit. But Michael hadn't seen the wary look on Hawke's face directed at him since well before the bombing at Santini Air. "Hawke," Michael acknowledged.

"Michael. Marella. Come in."

It was cool in the cabin. Hawke opened a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. All three settled on stools at the bar. "Where are Cait and Le Van?"

"They went for a hike with Tet, up that knob behind the cabin. Le needed some quartz for a school project and there's a quartz vein near the top."

"How does Fort Hood sound?" Michael asked.

"Fort Hood in Texas?"

"The Twenty-first Cavalry Brigade trains combat helicopter pilots there. I did what you asked. I found you a way to get back into the military. If you want the commission, you can go back into the army with a promotion to major. They're interested in your experience. They want you to help assess the training program and if necessary, to help reorganize it. How's your rehab coming?"

"Three-mile run today. I'm getting there."

"How about the arm?"

"I flew yesterday. Dom took over when my arm cramped for a few minutes, but I landed the ship. It's improving."

"Are you still seeing a counselor?"

"No, I'm done with that."

"Your decision or the counselor's?"

"Michael, I'm playing by the rules. The counselor signed off."

"All right. For you to go back in to the military, there are a few conditions. One, the White House doesn't want you in combat overseas."

"Why?"

"They flagged your file since you stopped World War Three, twice. You're their favorite renegade chopper pilot. They don't want you to get killed. That's besides the unlikelihood of allowing anyone with your colorful medical history to fly in combat."

"Oh, great. What else?"

"It's provisional. The Army, or you, can pull out with a month's notice for the first six months. They'd like at least a two-year commitment after that."

"Fair enough."

"And you'll have to pass a physical. They understand that there are special circumstances. As long as you can walk straight and fly their choppers, and I suspect you can do that, you'll pass."

"I was afraid that mental meltdown I had after Zarcov was finished with me would get me the equivalent of a section eight."

"It was a quiet and contained meltdown, and it isn't in your medical records. Remember, we treated you in a Firm clinic."

"Thank you. I really think I'm over it."

"Are you taking Cait and Le Van with you?"

"Le Van's adoption isn't provisional; he's my son. I've discussed my plans with him. He's concerned that we get housing that accepts dogs, so Tet can come along. And Cait and I will get married so she qualifies for dependent status. Not that she's very dependent. I hope we can find her a job with a flying service or she might go and enlist on me."

"I hope Marella and I can come to the wedding. But I think the Firm can take care of the flying job."

"Michael, no white. She's not one of your angels."

Michael raised his hands. "I know. The Firm can use another good pilot. Just a pilot, not an agent, if she wants it that way. It might be better if she doesn't work in my section, anyway, since I regard her as a close friend."

"I regard you as a friend, but I worked for you."

"You didn't even work with me. But I'm glad you see me as a friend, because for some reason, I see you that way. You can go in whenever you're ready, within the next three months. They'll need at least a month's warning when you're coming and to arrange to move you and your family. I'll get you the contact people, phone numbers and so forth. What are you going to do with the cabin?"

"It's Saint John's too."

"How about Dom? Does he know?"

"Neither of them knows, yet, although I'd be surprised if Dom hasn't guessed. A family meeting is in order, but I wanted to wait to see if I was going. At least both of them are busy, Dom with Toni, Saint John with Ellie." He paused to sip his wine. "Michael, thank you. How did you do it?"

"I have contacts at the Pentagon. They took care of it. The Twenty-first command staff wants you, for some reason. String, are you sure about this? You're not very happy following orders."

"I know how to be a good soldier."

"I know you do, but do you want to tell me again why you're doing this?" Michael took a long look at Hawke. There was a sort of remoteness about him. Already psychologically out the door. "Is Zarcov really what's bothering you?"

"Not entirely. Michael, after Billy Fargo launched that Space Guard missile with the nuclear warheads toward Washington, after Dom and I shot them down, what did you do?"

Curious, Michael swiveled on the bar stool to look closely at Hawke. "String, you saved Washington. On that day, I think you were the finest combat pilot in the world."

"It took the two of us. Airwolf wouldn't have held together long enough without Dom's expertise in the engineering station."

"That's what the Presidential commendation said, and it was deserved. Well, after I orchestrated the pretty formidable clean-up and made sure Billy Fargo and that vicious woman were safely in detention, I went home and Marella poured brandy for me until I calmed down. What did you do?"

"We nursed the Lady home and put her away in the Lair. Dom flew me back to the cabin and then he went to church. I sat on the porch and all I could see were mushroom clouds over Washington, one after another after another. I sat out there most of the night."

Michael nodded sympathetically. Those explosions had haunted his nightmares too.

"I have to go. I have to get away from Airwolf. At that meeting up at the cabin, I gave her back to you, to Jason, to the Firm or the Company, but I was sucked back in. I'm endangering the people I love with old enemies coming after me. I have a family to take care of, now. Michael, I have to go away."

Michael swiveled around on the stool and leaned back with his elbows on the bar. He closed his good eye and recited, "I set out to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me."

"What's that," Marella asked.

"The end of The Lord of the Rings," Hawke murmured.

"Frodo says that, before leaving Middle Earth with Gandalf and the Elves."

"Somehow I don't see myself as a hobbit, Michael."

"String, you are a hobbit. This cabin is your hobbit hole, Dom and Saint John your Shire. Dom is going to be pretty torn up by your leaving."

"Look out for Dominic for me, and for Saint John."

Michael reached out to grip Hawke's shoulder. "I will."