In the cockpit, Grace’s hands moved across the controls with surgical precision. Morrison watched her scan instruments—not the slow, deliberate check of someone following a checklist, but the instantaneous pattern recognition of someone reading a language they had spoken for years.
— Tower, Warthog ready for departure.
— Warthog, cleared for takeoff runway 27. Godspeed.
The throttle went forward. The A-10 accelerated, that distinctive rumble building to a roar. Morrison felt the rotation—exactly the calculated speed, no wasted runway.
And then they were airborne, climbing into the crystalline Afghan sky.
— Warthog, this is Hawk. Your vector is 035 for 47 clicks. Contact Razor 6 on Victor Hotel frequency.
— Copy, Hawk. Switching now.
But before she changed frequencies, Morrison heard Hawk say to someone in the tower:
— That’s not how contractors fly.
