PART 5
“Cargo 72,” Viper Lead called. “Six minutes out. Status?”
“Still flying. One engine badly damaged. Ten bandits annoyed.”
“Annoyed?”
“They came in arrogant. Now they’re working.”
“Who the hell are you?”
I looked at the smoke trailing off my wing.
At the ocean waiting below like a receipt I didn’t want to sign.
At the ten fighters circling back to finish me.
“Nobody special,” I said.
And for the first time in six years, I knew that was a lie.
The second missile warning screamed.
Then the third.
Then the fourth.
Rodriguez muttered, “I would like to file a complaint with the sky.”
“Get in line.”
I punched out flares and dropped the Hercules hard, nose down toward a bank of storm clouds boiling low over the water.
The missile behind us followed the heat trail, hungry and stupid.
“Captain,” Rodriguez yelled, “that cloud has lightning in it.”
“So do I.”
The C-130 plunged into gray chaos.
Rain hammered the windshield.
The cockpit strobed white with lightning.
The air turned violent, slapping the aircraft from every direction.
For a second, the horizon vanished and all I had was instruments, instinct, and a plane too big to be doing what I was asking.
The missile chased our flares into the storm wall and detonated behind us.
The shock wave kicked the tail.
Rodriguez yelled something that definitely violated several Air Force values.
I ignored him.
Two fighters came through the storm after us.
That was their second mistake.
Fast jets love clean air.
The Hercules had been built for ugly.
I dropped below the cloud deck, skimming lower than any transport should over open water.
Spray streaked past the windows.
May you like
The damaged engine coughed and spat fire.
But it held.
