Page 127 of Viking

Dalton leans back, his tone dry. “Busy’s an understatement. If they scramble fourth-gen fighters, we’ll be threading the needle up there.”

“Welcome to the dance, Ghost,” Townsend says, his voice calm but with an edge that doesn’t exactly make sense since I’m pretty sure Dalton’s already been in serious combat. “We establish air dominance first. Saint, you’re lead air-to-air. Keep their fighters off our backs. Ghost, you’re on his wing. Viking, I want you running support. Both you and I will be fitted for ground attack as well as air-to-air.”

His tone leaves no room for argument, not that I have one. He’s in charge, and he knows what he’s doing. Doesn’t make me think this is any less of a suicide run.

Daniels steps back into the conversation, his laser pointer cutting through the air like a knife. “Once their defenses are neutralized, we’ll move on to the HVT. Your air support will be our shield if anything goes sideways.”

Sideways. I take a deep breath and press my lips together, my mind already running through contingencies. What happens if we’re pinned down? What happens if they’ve got something we missed? I blink, my pulse hammering in my ears.

Wade raises his hand, his voice low but firm. “What’s the extraction plan?”

Daniels gives a faint smirk, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Quick and clean. If all goes well, we’re in and out in under forty-five minutes.”

Wade doesn’t react, but I can tell he’s already calculating the variables. His arms are crossed over his chest, the black tactical gear stretching across his broad frame, every inch of him controlled. The kind of man who never walks into a room without knowing exactly how he’ll get out of it.

Daniels continues, his tone brisk. “Primary exfil is by bird—two Black Hawks waiting one click east of the target compound. Secondary fallback is ground-based, armored convoy staged five clicks out. You’ll have air cover the entire time.” He glances toward us. “That’s where these guys come in.”

Wade meets my gaze across the table. There’s no bravado in his expression, just quiet understanding.

Daniels clicks the remote, pulling up the satellite render of the target site. “H-hour is twenty-three-thirty.” He glances from Wade to Townsend. “You have until then to prep your teams.”

Wade gives a sharp nod. “Copy.”

“Yes, sir,” Townsend says.

Nothing about this is clean. And there’s no such thing as quick when the men you’re hunting were never meant to be found.

Spratly Islands Airspace

November 21, 2024

2336

Logan

The cockpit of my F-22 feels like home and war all at once. The seat cradles me like an old friend, but the hard edges of the controls remind me exactly where I am and my hands grip the stick firmly. My g-suit is snug around my legs and chest, keeping blood where it’s supposed to be as I prepare for high-g maneuvers. The helmet sits securely on my head, its visor reflecting the dim green glow of the HUD.

Outside, the night stretches endlessly, black and unbroken, a void that swallows everything. The faint outline of the horizon has long since vanished, leaving me with nothing but the smooth hum of the jet and the sharp clarity of my instruments. I glance at the HUD again. No new contacts. The soft glow steadies me, grounding me in the chaos.

“Raptor Flight, check in,” Townsend cuts in, his tone clipped and professional, no-nonsense.

“Ghost here, all systems green,” Dalton responds, calm and as unshaken as always. He’s reliable in a way that quells my nerves, too.

“Saint, good to go,” Wells chimes in, a little too chipper, his voice carrying an edge of tension he’s trying to mask.

“Viking, on your six,” I say, my voice even, though I feel the adrenaline building, sharp and electric.

I take a steadying breath, syncing my heartbeat to the rhythm of the jet’s engine.

This is what we train for.

It’s why we’re here.

The comms crackle. Colonel Daniels’s voice cuts in, sharp and authoritative. “Eagle Eye to Raptor Flight, we’re in position. Target is illuminated. Begin strike sequence.”

“Copy that,” Townsend replies.

I flick a switch and adjust my course. The ground below blinks into focus on my HUD as the targeting laser locks on to a fortified position. It’s textbook—clean, precise, almost too smooth. My instincts prick at the back of my mind.