— Valkyrie.
The tablet fell from Morrison’s hands, clattering against his harness.
— No. No way. You’re… you’re the Valkyrie?
She said nothing, lining up for another pass.
Morrison keyed the FOB frequency with shaking fingers.
— Harris. Commander Harris. You need to know—she’s 160th SOAR. Call sign Valkyrie. The Valkyrie.
In the operations center, Commander Ethan Harris dropped his coffee mug. It shattered on the floor, splashing hot liquid across his boots. He didn’t notice.
Major Charlotte Reed’s face drained of all color, her mouth opening and closing without sound.
Captain Blake Mitchell grabbed the edge of the tactical table to steady himself, his earlier arrogance evaporating like smoke.
— Say again. Harris’s voice cracked. Did you say 160th SOAR?
— Night Stalkers, sir. She’s got the tattoo. Dates 2006 through 2014. Call sign Valkyrie.
Lieutenant Daniels sat down hard in a chair, face pale.
— That’s… that’s not possible. Valkyrie is a myth. A story they tell in flight school about—
The radio from Razor 6 cut him off.
