Muscle memory.
Command instinct.
A part of myself I had spent years keeping silent.
I ignored the civilian microphone.
Reached beneath my seat.
My fingers found a concealed secondary control panel I had installed myself.
Protected toggle.
Encrypted multiband military transceiver.
A system capable of reaching the Carrier Strike Group’s secure tactical-command channel.
I flipped the switch.
A small green light appeared.
The Raptors kept waiting for my surrender.
Instead, I bypassed them.
Pressed the microphone key.
Drew one slow breath.
“Strike Command,” I said evenly, “this is Echo Actual.”
The channel went dead.
Not static.
Silence.
Three seconds passed.
Then the lead pilot came back over the radio.
Everything in his voice had changed.
The authority was gone.
The aggression too.
“Wait…”
His breathing sounded uneven now.
“Who… who did you say you were?”
I kept one hand on the yoke.
And for the first time that morning, the man flying the armed fighter sounded more afraid than I was. 👇
I did not answer the pilot first.
