Scene: Blackwood Royal Jet – Airspace over Western Corridor
B.A.M. General Soren Vask's POV
We were twenty minutes from Blackwood Air Command when the first alert hit.
A short, sharp ping on the tactical monitor.
> "Unscheduled drone signature detected. Altitude: thirty-five thousand. Directional lock—us."
I didn't blink.
> "Evasive," I ordered the pilot. "Raise shielding."
But Chris didn't move.
Still sitting in that chair. Calm.
> "Enemy?" he asked without looking up.
> "It's not one of ours."
I tapped into the defensive AI stream—screens flickered, scanned, locked in—
Three.
No—five heat signals. Small crafts. Moving in formation. High-speed propulsion, masked transponders. Ghost drones.
> "This is an ambush," I said coldly. "They knew our route."
> "Then punish the ones who made that mistake," Chris said simply.
A blast rocked the cabin.
Alarms screamed.
The jet tilted hard right—interior lights shifted red. Two of my B.A.M. commandos slammed into the wall but caught themselves. Trained. Always trained.
> "Right flank shielding breached! Countermeasures firing—"
I grabbed the wall rail and pulled to the cockpit interface.
The sky outside was fire.
Two drones had detonated.
But the other three?
Still circling.
> "Open the bay," I growled. "Deploy escort falcons manually. Don't wait for tower command."
The jet's underbelly split, and within seconds, Blackwood Falcons—sleek, AI-guided pursuit fighters—launched like wrath from steel.
> "Targets locked," one commando shouted.
> "Authorization: FLAME CODE BLACK," I barked. "No capture. Annihilate."
Outside the window, a sky duel erupted—missiles sliced across clouds, electric flares burst through the atmosphere.
Then the pilot cursed.
> "They're jamming long-range comms. We can't connect with Central."
Whoever planned this wasn't petty.
They didn't want to kill us for revenge.
They wanted chaos.
Suddenly, Chris stood.
He walked slowly to the cockpit glass, looked out at the fire-lit war in the sky… and smiled.
> "You see?" he whispered. "They're learning."
> "Orders, my king?" I asked, hand on sidearm.
> "Spare one drone," he said, eyes cold. "Let it retreat. Let it tell them something."
> "Tell them what?"
He turned slightly toward me.
> "That we weren't scared."
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Ten Minutes Later — Status Report
Two enemy drones obliterated mid-air. One collided with a Falcon. One fled.
Signal data intercepted and traced.
Source: Unknown Broadcast Hub – Western Isles.
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