The fluorescent lights in the briefing room buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the long steel table. The air smelled faintly of burnt coffee and gun oil... standard military perfume.
Captain Brooklyn Grant sat rigid, her posture perfect, eyes locked on the large monitor at the front of the room. Her squadron filled the chairs around her, faces still taut from being dragged back on short notice. James sat beside her, hands folded, calm as ever.
The doors hissed open. Two men in dark uniforms entered, their presence pulling the oxygen out of the room. The first wore the stars of a General, his jaw cut from stone. The second, a civilian in a pressed suit with no insignia, carried a folder so thin it might as well have been empty.
"Ladies and gentlemen." the General Pierce began, voice sharp, "this is a classified briefing. What you hear in this room does not leave it. Understood?"
"Yes, sir." the squadron echoed in unison.
The civilian placed the folder on the table but didn't open it.
"Operation Sky Sintel. Target: an advanced research facility operated by hostile insurgents, hidden in contested airspace."
His voice was smooth, almost rehearsed. "Intelligence confirms they're developing weapons capable of mass casualties. Your mission is to eliminate the facility. Clean, fast and decisive with an assistance from a foreign airforce unit."
A murmur rippled through the room. Brooklyn leaned forward slightly. "With respect, sir, what kind of research facility are we talking about? Bio-weapons? Nuclear material? We need specifics to plan effectively."
The civilian's smile didn't falter. "Specifics are above your clearance, Captain. What matters is that this facility poses an imminent threat to national security."
Brooklyn's jaw tightened. "And why pair us with a foreign unit? My squadron is fully capable of handling a strike alone."
General Pierce cut her off. "Because the order comes from higher than me. Cooperation is non-negotiable. You'll be joined midair by an allied squadron. Their role is support. That's all you need to know."
Her squad exchanged uneasy glances. James kept his eyes on the table, stone-faced.
Brooklyn pressed again, her voice calm but firm. "Sir, without clarity on chain of command, communication protocols could..."
"Captain." the general snapped, his tone slicing through the room. "You are not here to debate. You are here to execute. Understood?"
Brooklyn's lips pressed into a thin line. She forced out the word: "Understood."
The civilian leaned forward now, his gaze sweeping the squadron like a knife across throats.
"You will destroy the facility and return. Nothing more. Nothing less. Do not deviate from your orders."
He tapped the folder once with a manicured finger. "Coordinates will be uploaded to your systems before launch. That is all."
With that, both men turned and left the room. The door sealed shut behind them, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
James exhaled slowly. "Hell of a pep talk."
A few of the pilots chuckled nervousl but Brooklyn didn't smile. She kept her eyes on the blank monitor, her gut tightening. Something about the way the civilian had spoken itched at her instincts.
Still, orders were orders.
She stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "You heard them. Wheels up at 0600. Get some rest. You'll need it."
The squadron rose with her, some muttering under their breath, others already masking unease with practiced discipline.
Brooklyn lingered a moment as the room emptied. Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened monitor.. unblinking, sharp but uncertain.
She rubbed the back of her neck, then pushed it down. Doubt had no place here.
By the time she reached her quarters, the unease had dulled into exhaustion. She set her uniform aside, crawled into bed beside James and shut her eyes.
Sleep came heavy but not peaceful...