— You made three runs into that kill zone. Three times into fire so heavy it sounded like hail on a tin roof. You pulled out seventy-two operators that night while taking fire from every direction, flying a helicopter that should have fallen out of the sky from the damage it sustained. I was number forty-seven.
He met her eyes.
— You saved my life thirteen years ago.
Grace felt her eyes burning. She blinked hard, refusing to let tears fall.
— So three days ago, when I heard that call sign again, I knew. I knew absolutely we were going to survive. Because Valkyrie doesn’t leave people behind. Never has. Never will.
Fletcher reached into another pocket and pulled out something that caught the fluorescent light. A coin—gold and heavy, embossed with intricate detail.
— Chief Whitaker, this is our Team coin. We don’t give these to civilians. We don’t give them to other military personnel as favors or souvenirs.
