"I can tell," Elliot said, his gaze never leaving the screen.
The helicopter held its position. The ground team crept northwest, agonizingly slowly, hostile contacts closing in from two directions. Air support was twelve minutes out. The math was not good.
Elliot put his hand on Carver's shoulder. Carver stepped back without a word and Elliot took the headset.
"Viper Two, this is Sierra Ops actual. I need you to listen to me."
A pause. "Listening."
"Your position is not sustainable. You need to pull back to Echo-Six and wait for?—"
"I've got eyes on my people. I'm not pulling back."
"If you take a hit while you're circling you lose everybody. You understand that?"
The pilot was quiet for a beat. “I understand the math, Sierra Ops. I just don’t like the result.”
Elliot went still.
It was the cadence of it. The way the seriousness was softened by humor. He’d heard that before. He knew that voice from somewhere that had nothing to do with this room or this frequency.
He shot Okafor a look. “What’s the pilot’s name?”
Okafor shrugged. “Didn’t come through in the brief.”
Elliot turned back to the mic. "Viper Two. Please identify yourself."
There was nothing but static on the line. Then voices—clipped and urgent, multiple people talking over each other.
"Viper Two, identify yourself."
The static shifted.
"Captain Hudson Hale. 160th SOAR."
Elliot stood so fast his chair toppled over.
Hudson.
There was a beat of silence on the frequency.
Then everything happened at once.
An earsplitting sound tore through the feed. The screens flickered. Someone behind Elliot shouted something he didn't register.
"Viper Two." Elliot's hand tightened on the headset. "Viper Two, report."
Nothing.
"Hudson." The word came out before he could stop it. "Hudson, report."
Static.
"Hudson—" His voice broke.
Static.
Elliot was aware that he was still standing, pressing the transmit button with more force than necessary. He was aware of Okafor moving to the adjacent screen, of Carver frozen beside him, of the room having gone completely silent.
