— He still missed you.
— Barely. If I’d pulled two degrees less on that emergency break turn, he’d have put half a dozen rounds through the cockpit. We’d be having a very different conversation right now. Or no conversation at all.
She looked up from the report.
— Train your crews, Chief. Emphasize the difference between confident and complacent. Even the A-10’s legendary armor has limits.
— Yes, ma’am. I’ll add it to our next safety briefing.
Commander Harris appeared across the tarmac, walking with the purposeful stride of someone who’d made a decision and intended to follow through.
— Chief Whitaker. You have a moment?
They moved into the shade of a hangar where the temperature dropped from unbearable to merely oppressive. Harris looked like he’d spent most of the night awake—probably replaying yesterday’s events, probably imagining the alternative timeline where he’d stuck to his guns and refused to let her fly. That timeline ended with twelve dead SEALs and a commander’s career destroyed by stubbornness.
— Sir, if this is another apology, you already—
— It’s not. Well, it is, but it’s more.
