Chapter 5
"F-16. F/A-18. F-35."
Mercer's voice snapped over the speaker. "This is insane."
Sloan stepped forward. "Colonel, she is unstable. Her record—"
"My record was sealed by cowards," I said.
That shut him up.
Riker did not blink. "Low altitude search over wooded terrain. Jammed comms. Hostile shoulder-fired missiles likely. Recovery bird inbound. What's your sweep?"
"Stay below ridge radar where possible. Split high cover and low search. Use terrain masking. Infrared scan on cold ground, not open sky. No straight lines longer than seven seconds."
"Comms collapse?"
"Guard frequency backup. Visual light code if close enough. Emergency squawk if I lose nav. Beacon drift check before trusting any signal."
"Fuel discipline?"
"Enough to fight out, not just fly in."
His jaw shifted. That was not a textbook answer. That was memory.
May you like
Sloan moved closer, his voice low and poisonous. "Rebecca, don't embarrass yourself. You had one good month eleven years ago, then you killed a man."
The hangar sucked in a breath.
