Major Reed stepped closer, voice dropping to a hiss.
— I said you’re excused.
— With respect, ma’am, I’m reviewing the terrain. Grace’s fingers traced the valley contours without looking down. Entry from the northeast minimizes exposure to those ridge-line positions. Western approach is suicide—AAA coverage overlaps there.
Captain Blake Mitchell laughed—a sharp bark that made two junior officers glance over.
— Sweetie, this isn’t delivering spare parts to Bagram. Adults are talking tactics here.
He turned his back, dismissing her entirely.
The radio crackled again.
— Razor 6 to any station. We are taking incoming mortars. Repeat, mortars ranging in. We have casualties.
A deafening explosion consumed the transmission.
Lieutenant Connor Daniels strode through the door, flight helmet tucked under one arm, Apache pilot wings gleaming on his chest. He sized up the room in a single sweep, his gaze skimming over Grace and dismissing her in the same instant.
