Jug reached down for the master arm switch and flipped it back and forth, hoping to disrupt the electrical signals being sent to his weapon system and prevent the missile from firing. Then he slammed against the side stick, trying in vain to move the jet’s nose in any direction other than pointed at the targeted helicopter. He pulled the throttle to idle, then, in a fit of panic, pulled it beyond the idle stop and cut off fuel to the engine.

But the engine continued producing thrust, propelling him north toward Santa Cruz Island. His nose remained fixed on the helicopter’s dim red and green position lights as it flew low along a ridgeline. And the X through the air-to-air missile on his stores page disappeared, letting him know the weapon was armed and ready to fire.

“Colt…”

Suddenly, he felt a subtle vibration in his seat as the missile fell free from his jet, and his breath caught in his mask. Less than a second later, the sky lit up with a bright flash underneath him as the missile’s solid-fuel rocket motor ignited and sent the weapon accelerating forward to its top speed of three thousand miles per hour.

“Missile launch!” Colt screamed.

Jug stabbed at the EMCON button, trying to silence all electronic emissions from his jet, but his radar continued providing updated guidance to the missile. Not that it would have mattered, because within two seconds of leaving his weapon bay, the missile had transitioned to an active state and was using its own onboard radar to guide itself to the target. There was nothing else he could do but warn the helicopter crew and pray the missile failed to complete its intercept and shower the Seahawk with blast fragmentation.

“Raptor Two Four,” Jug shouted over Cobalt. “Smoke in the air!”

Raptor 24

Navy MH-60R

Punky leaned forward at the edge of her seat as she felt the Seahawk nose up into a flare. The powerful rotor wash pushed dirt and lightweight debris away from the helicopter, then sent it skyward in a swirling vortex that temporarily blinded her. She rose off her seat and gripped the door’s frame, perching her body at the edge in preparation to leap to the ground the moment the helicopter’s wheels touched down.

“Raptor Two Four, smoke in the air!”

The panicked shout over the radio was met instantly by a surge in engine noise as the pilot reacted to the unseen threat. Punky acted on instinct alone and leaped through the door when she felt the helicopter’s downward movement reverse direction. The rotor wash hit her like a tornado and tossed her about like a rag doll as she plummeted through the darkness for the barren earth beneath her. They had been higher than she guessed, and the fall took longer than expected, but when she hit, her momentum carried her onto her side in an awkward roll.

When she came to a stop, she looked up and saw the helicopter pivoting away from the ridgeline as it dropped closer to the ground and raced for the safety of a narrow valley. She scrabbled to her feet and swept her hand back for her pistol, drawing and presenting it up the hill in one smooth motion.

The sound of an object streaking through the air overhead distracted her, and she looked up in time to see a blur arcing away from the helicopter and across the stars in her night vision goggles’ narrow field of view.

It missed, she thought.

Turning to look up the hill again, she spotted the flashing red lights of the antenna she had seen from the air, and she oriented herself on her mental map. Taking a hesitant step, she began slowly moving up the finger toward the ridgeline where she suspected TANDY would have positioned herself to hack into Jug’s jet. And if the missile she had just seen was any indication, the hack had been successful. There was no time to waste.

With each step, Punky felt an increasing dread as she raced against an unseen clock. She didn’t know what the woman’s ultimate objective was, and she didn’t really care. All that mattered was finding her and making her pay for what she had done to Uncle Rick. Her hesitant gait became a determined jog, and her legs screamed at the exertion of propelling herself up the hillside. But her eyes never strayed far from her pistol’s glowing front sight post as she pivoted left and right, searching the darkness for the woman she had come to kill.

Early thirties. Five foot two or five foot three. One hundred and ten to one hundred and twenty pounds. Shoulder-length black hair. Narrow face with almond-shaped eyes.

46

Devil 2

Navy F-35C