Page 71 of Aviatrix

I yank the stick back and shoot upward into the clouds. Then, I stall and drop again, spinning like a leaf in a storm. VAL stabilizes instantly.

“Quay!” Eli shouts.

“I’m good,” I reply, my heart racing.

The gray ship overshoots.

“Now, Eli! Take the shot!”

“Too fast. He’s gone vertical!”

“VAL, prepare to fire missiles,” I instruct.

“Weapons system disabled,” VAL reminds me. “This is a recon vessel, Captain.”

“Of course, it is,” I growl.

“Enemy craft disengaging,” VAL announces. “Retreat vector detected.”

“Copy that,” Eli confirms. “He’s pulling off.” I inhale sharply as he adds, “Nice work, Captain.”

“Same to you, Major.”

A tense silence settles. I try to unclench my fingers from the stick.

“VAL, status?”

“Minor exterior heat scoring. Structural integrity uncompromised.”

“Copy. Eli?”

“I’m here,” he says. “We need to find an alternate destination. Whoever that was could be tailing us.”

“What do you suggest?”

He exhales. “We divert. There’s a secure airstrip east of Tulsa. We regroup, get in contact with the General, and ensure we aren’t being followed. I’ll send coordinates.”

“VAL, plot course and get us there. Quietly if you can.”

“New course locked. ETA: fifty-eight minutes.”

As the enemy disappears into the horizon and the adrenaline fades, I realize I’m still shaking. But we’re alive. For now.

And I have a feeling that wasn’t a warning shot.

That was a test.

Next time, I might not be so lucky.

I let VAL take over, removing my hand completely from the flight stick as autopilot engages and confirms clear airspace.

Pressing my palm flat against my chest, I remind myself to breathe in and out.

That ship—whatever it was—felt too recognizable. Same sleek gray design as the ones that attacked the White House. It flew like it already knew what I’d do before I did it. Every dodge, every roll, matched in perfect sync.

I want to call it alien. That would be easier. But something primal, something deep in my gut, whispers otherwise.

That was no alien.