Keating and Umeh hauled the tech in.
Shannon throttled up. And that was when she saw it. A glint. It was faint, wrong, and not on the ridge. It was coming from the sand. A thin silver wire was stretched across the valley floor. It was a makeshift trip line linked to something half-buried. An IED.
Shannon didn’t think. She reacted. “NOSE UP NOW!” she shouted.
Umeh jolted. “What…?”
“WIRE! IED! HOLD TIGHT!”
She slammed the collective forward, yanking them into a brutal, soaring climb. The trip line snapped beneath them. The IED detonated behind the tail with a violent roar, heat washing over the cabin like a furnace blast.
Touré screamed into the mic, “HOLY HELL, LT!”
Shannon held the climb, jaw locked, hands absolutely steady, refusing to let adrenaline steal her control. The helo stabilized.
Keating panted. “We alive?”
“We are,” Shannon said, voice tight but steady. “Everybody confirm.”
Umeh stared at her like he’d just seen a ghost. Or a miracle. “Johnson,” he breathed, “how the hell did you see that?”
Before she could answer, the tower finally cut through the static. “Three-One, we lost you for two minutes. Status?”
Touré grinned like a wolf. “Tower, Three-One just dodged an IED with reflexes not born of this Earth.”
Shannon swallowed. “Three-One returning with package intact,” she said. “We’re fine.”
Umeh whispered, “Not fine. Freaking Falcon over here.”
Touré barked a laugh. “Falcon? Oh hell yes. Look at those eyes. She saw a goddamn hair-thin glint from a moving bird. That’s not normal.”
Keating nodded vigorously. “Falcon for sure.”
Shannon blinked. “Falcon?” Dante called her Falcon after she told him her mom called her Millenium Falcon, but now…
Touré slapped the side of her seat. “Falcon,” she declared. “Because nothing—and I mean nothing—gets past your eyes.”
Umeh grinned. “It’s official.”
Keating raised both hands. “Lieutenant Shannon ‘Falcon’ Johnson.”
Shannon felt something warm bloom deep in her chest. She rubbed her left wrist.Dante.She slipped her fingers into the neck of her flight suit. A piece of silk ran between her fingertips. Her mom’s scarf.Mom, I’m still your Millennium Falcon.
“I’ll take it,” she said softly.
Outside, the desert wind roared. Inside, her crew cheered.
The desert cooledas the sun dipped behind the ridgeline, the day’s heat bleeding off the sand in long, wavering ribbons. Shannon sat on a battered folding chair outside the rotary-wing barracks, boots kicked out in front of her, a bottle of water sweating in her hand.
Chief Warrant Officer Gil Peters dropped into the chair beside her with a grunt, ripping his helmet off and shaking sweat from his hair. “You earned your keep today, Falcon.” He shot her a sideways look. “Didn’t think we’d be getting our money’s worth this fast.”
Shannon snorted. “I didn’t plan on almost losing the tech.”
“You didn’t lose him,” Neema said. “You read that terrain shift before any of us. I’ll take those odds any day.”
Behind them, Umeh emerged from the hangar, wiping grease from his hands. “Falcon saved more than the tech’s ass,” he announced loudly, planting himself on an overturned ammo crate.
Keating, who had stepped out of the barracks with two MREs, raised one like a toast. “She’s right. I enjoy my limbs. I’d like to keep them attached.”
