— Who authorized cargo personnel in operations?
— Daniels, not now. Harris snapped.
— Let me take the Apache. I can be on station in—
— Your bird’s down for maintenance. Major Reed interrupted. Hydraulic leak.
— Then what’s the holdup?
Daniels looked around, saw Grace standing quietly at the edge of the tactical table.
— Wait—was she volunteering for a combat sortie? His laugh was uglier than Mitchell’s. Commander, please tell me we’re not that desperate.
Grace’s hands remained flat on the table. She said nothing. But those who knew what to look for would have seen the way her fingers curved slightly—exactly the pressure you’d apply to a throttle under combat stress.
— Razor 6, sitrep. Harris demanded into the handset.
Silence.
— Razor 6, respond.
Ten seconds of static. Fifteen. Then weakly:
— We’re taking heavy fire. Lost two more personnel. Request immediate—
The voice dissolved into chaos.
Grace spoke without raising hers.
