Chapter 5 - THE IMPOSSIBLE VECTOR
The tone of her voice was like a physical anchor dropped into a raging storm.
Over the main speaker, the chaotic, heavy gasping of the pilot suddenly paused. The deafening screaming of alarms inside the F-35 cockpit seemed to retreat into the background as the pilot caught the calm, steady rhythm of her command.
"Viper One-One, execute immediate hard-left bank, heading zero-four-zero," she commanded, her fingers flying across the trackball and keyboard to clear the automated safety locks on the tactical display. "Drop altitude to eight hundred feet. Snug the eastern canyon wall. You have a mountain ridge blocking radar tracking from the southern SAM battery. Do it now."
On the glowing radar screen, the green icon of Viper One-One hesitated for a fraction of a second, then executed a violent ninety-degree turn. The jet plummeted into the dark topographic shadow of the canyon wall, exactly as she had calculated.
Instantly, two of the pulsing red missile threat rings on the display flickered and vanished—their radar tracking lines broken by the sheer granite wall of the ridge.
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Behind her, Airman First Class Nash was still clutching the fabric of her black fleece, but his grip had gone limp. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes fixed on the radar screen as he watched the green track slice safely between the two lethal threat zones. The anger on his face began to crumble, replaced by a sudden, creeping wave of profound confusion and awe.
Around the combat station, four armed security operators had rushed down the aisle, their hands resting on their holstered sidearms, ready to intervene. But as they heard her precise tactical calls and saw the radar tracks shift, they stopped in their tracks, staring at the woman in the black fleece with deep, rising suspicion.
