I climbed directly into the fighter’s path.
“Reaper, what are you doing?” Overlord shouted.
I armed my last Stinger.
The fighter’s missile dropped from its wing.
I fired at the same moment.
For one suspended heartbeat, both missiles crossed the sky.
His missile streaked toward the extraction helicopter.
Mine streaked toward him.
Then I did the one thing no one expected.
I fired a Hellfire at the ground.
Not at the jet.
At the cliff face between the missile and the landing zone.
The explosion ripped half the ridge loose. Rock, dust, and fire erupted into the missile’s path. The enemy missile vanished inside the blast and detonated early, shaking the whole valley but missing the extraction bird by yards.
My Stinger found the fighter a second later.
The aircraft burst apart above the ridge, showering fire behind the rescue helicopter as it touched down hard.
Four down.
Two left.
Inside my headset, Ranger 7 Actual was laughing and crying at the same time. “Reaper, I don’t know who you are, but I owe you every beer ever brewed.”
“Get your people out,” I said.
The wounded were loaded first.
Then the others.
One soldier stopped at the ramp and looked up toward me. Even from that distance, through dust and rotor wash, I saw him raise one hand in salute.
I did not have time to return it.
The fifth fighter came from the sun.
I saw him too late.
Rounds hammered the Apache’s tail boom.
The whole aircraft kicked sideways.
Warning lights exploded across my panel. The tail rotor screamed. My controls went heavy, then loose, then wrong.
“Reaper is hit bad!” someone yelled.
The world spun.
Sky.
Rock.
Smoke.
Sky again.
I fought the aircraft with everything I had, muscles screaming, boots braced, teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. The Apache dropped toward the valley floor in a sickening spiral.
The enemy flight leader came over the radio one last time.
His voice was no longer amused.
It was personal.
“You should have run.”
I stared through the cracked canopy at his jet sweeping across my nose.
Then I understood.
He had finally come low.
He wanted to see me die.
That was his mistake.
I had no Stingers left.
My cannon was nearly empty.
The Apache was barely flying.
But he was close enough for my father’s final lesson.
When the weapon is gone, become the trap.
I let the Apache fall.
Overlord screamed my name.
“Riley! Pull up!”
I did not.
The fighter committed to the pass, diving after me, eager to watch the crash. At the last second, I yanked the nose up, dumped flares, and rolled the helicopter sideways across the mouth of the ravine.
The fighter punched through the flare cloud.
For half a second, his targeting system saw a sky full of false suns.
He jerked right to avoid me.
Straight into the path of the sixth fighter coming behind him.
They saw each other too late.
Two machines built for speed, pride, and domination met nose-to-wing above the canyon.
The collision turned the sky white.
The shockwave slammed into my Apache and threw me against my harness. My helmet cracked against the canopy. Pain flashed bright behind my eyes. The controls went dead in my hands.
For a moment, there was no sound.
No radio.
No rotor.
No war.
Only my father’s photograph floating weightless in front of me, cracked plastic catching the firelight.
Then the ground came up.
I do not remember the crash clearly.
I remember dust.
I remember metal screaming.
I remember thinking, absurdly, that Torres was going to be furious about the maintenance paperwork.
Then darkness took me.
When I woke, someone was dragging me through sand.
My ears rang. My mouth tasted like copper. Smoke rolled over the valley in thick black sheets. Every breath hurt.
“Stay with me, ma’am,” a voice said. “Come on, Reaper. Stay with me.”
I blinked and saw Ranger 7 Actual kneeling over me, his face streaked with blood and dust.
“You came back?” I rasped.
He grinned, though his eyes were wet. “You saved us. Figured we could return the favor.”
Behind him, the extraction helicopter waited with its ramp down. Soldiers were shouting. Someone had my father’s photograph in his hand.
The young soldier who had saluted me pressed it gently against my chest.