Chapter 5 - Taking Flight
The heavy rotors began to spin faster, the pitch of the turbine blades shifting into a deafening, high-frequency whine that signaled immediate departure.
“Major Drake, we need you in the air,” General Bradley urged, nodding toward the open cabin door of the lead Black Hawk.
I took one final look at the people gathered on the terrace. The quarterback was shivering in the mud, ruined and humiliated. The class queen was clinging to a railing, awaiting federal arrest. And the rest of the crowd stood in stunned, silent awe, watching the girl they had once called a reject step toward the center of global power.
I didn't gloat. I didn't smile. True strength has no need to dance on the heads of the defeated.
“Let’s move, General,” I said, turning my back on the country club for the last time.
I jogged toward the waiting helicopter, my boots hitting the soft grass with practiced ease. One of the operators extended a gloved hand, pulling me into the dimly lit, red-hued cabin. I took a seat on the nylon bench, buckled the heavy four-point harness, and slid a tactical headset over my ears.
General Bradley climbed in beside me, sliding the heavy cabin door shut with a solid, echoing thud.
Through the small reinforced window, I watched as the Black Hawk lifted smoothly off the turf. The massive downwash sent another cloud of debris and leaves swirling across the eighteenth green, knocking over the club's prestigious championship banners.
Down below, Brad looked up, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare of the spotlights, watching the aircraft ascend into the low-hanging clouds. In that moment, he finally understood the astronomical distance between our worlds. He was stuck in a high school memory that would never love him back, while I was flying toward the front lines of history.
The headset crackled to life with encrypted traffic.
“Flight lead, this is Darkhorse Actual,” the pilot’s calm voice echoed in my ears. “Airborne en route to Andrews Air Force Base. Airspace corridor cleared through Washington Center. ETA twenty-five minutes.”
General Bradley opened the leather portfolio on his lap, handing me a series of high-resolution satellite imagery depicting a rogue maritime vessel navigating international waters off the Atlantic coast.
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“The threat is real, Bethany,” the general said, his demeanor dead serious. “A hostile cyber-warfare cell has tapped into our eastern power grid switching stations. You’re the only operator who knows the architecture of their encryption protocols. The nation needs you tonight.”
I adjusted my headset, my eyes scanning the technical schematics with razor-sharp precision. The awkward girl from the library was gone. The soldier was home.
