In the A-10, Morrison finally found his voice again.
— Ma’am… I have to ask. Why? Why hide this? Why fly cargo runs when you could—
Grace’s hands stayed on the controls, circling the valley, watching for any remaining threats. When she spoke, her voice carried a weight that had nothing to do with radio distortion.
— After Objective Rhino, I did another three years. Good years. Hard years. She paused, adjusting trim. Then in 2014, we took a mission. Classified. It went bad. I lost my entire crew. Every single one. Helo went down. I was the only one who walked out.
Morrison said nothing.
— After that… I couldn’t. I tried to keep flying, but every time I strapped in, all I could see were their faces. Hear them on the intercom.
— So I resigned my commission. Took contractor work. Quiet work. Anything that didn’t remind me of what I’d lost.
She banked the aircraft.
— Came to Kandahar because it was supposed to be quiet. Rear-echelon stuff. Away from the fighting.
— But you volunteered today.
— Those were SEALs. Your brothers. My brothers. Didn’t matter what I wanted. Mattered what they needed.
