PART 4
“Viper Flight,” I said, “I’ll do my best.”
Another voice cut in.
Female.
Calm.
Combat-seasoned.
“Cargo 72, confirm aircraft type.”
“C-130J Hercules.”
A pause.
“Cargo 72, did you say you’re evading fighters in a Hercules?”
“Affirmative.”
Another pause.
“Copy that. Try not to die before we get there.”
“I was hoping for a more technical recommendation.”
“Fine. Don’t die aggressively.”
“That I can do.”
The next four fighters formed up ahead.
Classic bracket.
Two left.
Two right.
Coordinated timing so I couldn’t dodge one pair without giving the other a clean shot.
Smart.
Textbook.
And because it was textbook, I knew where the page ended.
“Ma’am,” Rodriguez said, “they’re setting up again.”
“I see them.”
“What’s the plan?”
“Make them embarrassed.”
“That is not a plan.”
“It is if they’re proud.”
They came in tight, disciplined, fast.
At the last second, I killed power to the number three engine.
The Hercules yawed hard.
The nose pulled right.
The entire plane staggered like a linebacker taking a punch.
I used rudder, differential thrust, and every ugly trick my old instructors would have pretended not to teach me.
The four fighters fired.
They missed.
Two of them came so close to crossing paths that both had to break wide to avoid each other.
A clean bracket turned into a traffic violation.
Rodriguez exhaled into the intercom.
“Did you just make two stealth fighters almost crash into each other?”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
“It counts to me.”
The fighters scattered, re-forming.
They weren’t laughing anymore.
May you like
I could feel it even through the radar.
The easy kill had become a problem.
