done her job under circumstances that required it.
— Chief, Stone said between bites of toast, his intel officer’s curiosity clearly burning. I pulled the rest of your file last night. The parts that aren’t redacted. I mean… Objective Rhino wasn’t your only legend. There are mentions of operations in twelve different countries. Syria, Yemen, Iraq, Afghanistan, obviously. Pakistan, Somalia. One report said you flew into a firefight near Damascus, extracted a Delta team that was compromised, and did it with one engine out and your co-pilot unconscious from a head wound.
— Intelligence reports get things wrong sometimes.
— The report was written by the Delta team leader. He recommended you for the Medal of Honor. Called it the most incredible piece of flying he’d witnessed in 23 years of special operations.
Grace took a sip of coffee, using the moment to compose her response.
— The recommendation was downgraded due to classification requirements. Got a Distinguished Flying Cross instead. Happens a lot in special operations. The missions that deserve the most recognition are the ones that can’t be publicly recognized.
— Ma’am, Martinez spoke up, her voice tentative, fingers nervous on her coffee cup. Can I ask you something personal? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.
— Go ahead, Airman.
— Why… women? I mean, why were you one of the first female Night Stalker pilots? What made you want to push into special operations aviation when it would have been so much easier to just… not?
Grace considered the question, recognizing it as genuine curiosity rather than challenge.
— I didn’t set out to be “first” at anything. I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to be a trailblazer or make history. I just wanted to fly. Wanted to serve. The Army said I could do both, so I did.
She paused, choosing her next words carefully.
