Vendetta Protocol: The Protocol War, #2

By Kevin Ikenberry

Hell hath no fury like a protocol scorned!

 

Training as a combat pilot on Mars, Kieran Roark is tantalizingly close to remembering the critical concept he was brought back to lead. With the military establishment, including his instructors, against him, his success hinges on finding the right ally, someone who is willing to risk everything.

 

Sixty million miles away, the Sleeper Program suffers a failure much worse than it originally appears. The second subject, a troubled young woman, attempts suicide. In the ensuring chaos, Kieran's original protocol finds a way to manifest herself in a human body. Believing Kieran dead, Mally seeks out everyone Kieran loves with vengeance on her mind.

 

As a shadowy foe presses toward Eart once again, the Terran Council orders the Sleeper Program terminated and sentences Kieran to death. The only person capable of saving him isn't really a person at all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theogony Books
• Release date: Nov 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781648555268

Book preview

NOVELS BY

KEVIN IKENBERRY

The Crossing

The Protocol War

Sleeper Protocol

Vendetta Protocol

Eminence Protocol

The Four Horsemen Universe

Peacemaker

Honor The Threat

Stand Or Fall

Deathangel

Fields of Fire

Harbinger

Redacted Affairs (with Kevin Steverson)

Redacted Vice (with Kevin Steverson)

Redacted Weapon (with Kevin Steverson)

Enforcer (with Quincy J. Allen)

The Guardian Covenant (forthcoming)

The Last Stand (with Chris Kennedy)

Vortex Stingray

Other Novels

Runs In The Family

Dereliction of Duty

Super-Sync

Chasing Red (with Nick Thacker)

For My Girls

CHAPTER ONE

A

formation of Marauder and Claymore tanks charged across the Martian soil toward a fortified enemy defensive line more than six kilometers long. God, I wish I was down there with them, I thought, instead of flying over it. The first thing I learned in flight school was to never be behind the aircraft and to always focus on flying, because aircraft tend to crash when pilots get distracted. The ground battle, exercise or not, was a huge distraction for me. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

A half dozen or so lifetimes ago, I would have been there, slinging metal toward far-off targets and racing into the heat of the ground battle. I remembered watching aircraft hit targets near me in Afghanistan and wishing that I had joined the Air Force instead. I didn’t have perfect vision then. The irony of finally being a pilot three hundred years and one death later was not lost on me.

In my first lifetime, aircraft had played a vital role on the battlefield. The high-flying interceptors were one thing, but the first time I saw an A-10 Warthog firing on targets so close I could have spit on them, I knew what I would have flown given the chance. Now, as an exocraft pilot, I loved hitting targets on the ground.

Close air support was only about 30 percent of the training I had to complete. This exercise was supposed to be about ground-combat coordination, but I knew better. The instructors would attack us before we could provide air support for the ground forces in our sector.

This air-to-air combat shit is for the birds.

One-on-one was a fair fight. When the instructors started piling on—and how they loved to do that—it went from constructive to stupid in one fell swoop.

Lead, Three. I’ve got six bandits at my nine on an intercept course. Northwest toward Pavonis Mons. The call was meant for me, and I shook my head before my wingman stopped speaking.

We can’t even get the terminology right, much less fight well enough to win.

By definition, a bandit was an airborne contact that had demonstrated hostile intent. An unknown, presumably peaceful—until proven otherwise—aircraft was called a bogey. While we all knew who was coming and what their intention was, we couldn’t assume anything. Streaking over the Martian regolith at five hundred knots, I nudged the control stick to the right and brought my velocity-detection sensors online.

Roger, Three. Track the bogies, and give me a good range, I replied.

Correcting and coaching my people through the exercise was the right thing to do, even if it brought another ass chewing from the instructors. The exercise should have been easy, given what I knew. I’d done that sort of thing before. Simulation or not, the objective of a war game was to win.

<>

In combat situations, Lily, my guidance protocol, sounded too much like Mally, my first protocol. Mally had been cold and calculating right up until she tried to kill me. I hoped this time around would be different. Lily gave me a significant advantage over my peers, but ultimately, piloting an aircraft and coordinating a ground battle were up to me.

Up against two-to-one odds, with a coordinated strategic missile strike inbound over two divisions of armored infantry, I was supposed to fight my aerial battle and monitor the one on the ground at the same time but not engage. I didn’t play by those rules. Hell, I’d been making shit up for the last two years.

Thanks, Lily. Get the division cavalry unit on button three. I need to tell them when to cross the line of departure.

<>

I laughed but had to refuse. The evaluators three hundred kilometers away needed to hear my voice and run it through their processors to ensure I had control of the situation. Button three, please.

<>

Lead, Three. Bandits are at twenty kilometers and have full active radar telemetry, Jenkins reported.

With a look to my left, I caught glints of sunlight on their wingtips in the distance. There was no doubt that Commander Bussot was among them and specifically targeting me. She’d been doing it for the last three months, and it was damned old.

Roger, Three. Active countermeasures on your port quadrants. Two, I want your countermeasures focused to starboard, I said.

Hirami, my other wingman, snapped in reply, Lead, Two. That will leave Three with minimal sensor coverage. Over.

I’m aware of that, Two. I don’t want someone sneaking up on the undefended side. Got it? Splitting my sensors was like turning a partially blind eye to one half of the sky. Our aircraft traded sensor information every picosecond, and while I could focus our attention as necessary, it played hell with situational awareness.

Hirami clicked his microphone twice. At least someone in my class understood how to accept an order.

Three seconds passed before Jenkins was all over my private frequency. You’re leaving me out here to die, Roark! Doctrine says we focus all sensors on the enemy!

I glanced to my left and saw him giving me the middle finger as we held the patrol route. Full sensor sweeps or not, the converging aircraft had done nothing to display hostile intent. We could not attack their aircraft or ground forces without provocation. The rules of engagement were clear, and breaking them was a serious offense, even in an exercise. I could have spent time explaining that to Jenkins, again, or I could act.

Ten kilometers. Intercept in ten seconds, Jenkins called. They’ve got missile lock.

<>

Fuck it.

Jenkins, break left. Now! I called. Hirami, on me. Up we go! I pulled back on the control stick, and the Falcon shot toward the stars.

Hirami was on my right wing as we turned over the top of the intercepting aircraft. The twin-tailed exocraft and its blue-gray camouflage pattern stood out against the butterscotch-colored terrain. Jenkins honored the threat and activated his weapons. He got off three solid shots before they took him out. Not bad at all.

Two, go low. I’ve got the high side. Let’s clean house. I snapped the exocraft into a tight left-hand climbing turn while Hirami went the opposite direction and descended toward the clouds. With any luck, I could sneak him under the remaining three fighters and get at least one to follow him.

<>

Dammit. I chinned the frequencies on the rim of my helmet. Victory Six, get your ass moving! Now! The longer the cavalry waited to advance from their assembly area to the objective, the more time the Greys had to fortify their defensive position. That I’d forgotten to give the ground forces their command would be a point against me. As long as some colonel didn’t make me write a simulated letter to a dead soldier’s family as a teaching point again, I was fine with any other outcome.

I didn’t stay on the frequency long enough to hear a response. Getting mad was useless. In this future, there was no such thing as initiative. People did only what they were told and nothing more. I tried to generate initiative nonetheless. Opportunities in a combat situation were fleeting. If the right person could take advantage of a seemingly minor development, it could change the course of an entire war.

Hirami, break off and go lower. Make them follow you. I’ll stay up top and pick off the stragglers. I knew the confidence in my voice, and my plan, would be lost on the young pilot.

Doctrine says we stay together, Lead.

I know what doctrine says! Trust me!

Hirami broke away.

I glanced over my shoulder and watched him arc down into the simulated cloud deck. Mars terrain and Earth clouds. Next thing you know, it will be raining frogs. Sure enough, one of the closing Intimidators dropped low enough that its gigantic two-tailed shadow played along the cloud tops. Bring it around, and get that guy before he punches the clouds.

Two, roger, Hirami called. He had a grasp of the plan, and that left the other two to me.

Where are the cavalry?

<>

I snapped the Falcon around and brought my sensors to bear on the mountain valley identified as the objective for the ground force’s mission. If they could defeat the Grey armored brigade and take the valley, the TDF would close off a major attack corridor and stand a chance of prolonging the campaign. With about five seconds of data, I had all the answers I needed. According to Fleet doctrine, I was supposed to direct everything straight at that objective without regard for life or limb.

Fuck that, too. Lily, relay to the cavalry to take route Charlie to the objective, and tell them to expect heavy resistance.

<>

I laughed. Because I can.

Splash one! Hirami screamed over the radio. On my display, the icon for an Intimidator disappeared. He’d shot one down, and it was out of the computer simulation.

Roger, Two, I called in response. I wanted to whoop and scream for him. The instructors had been as hard on him as they’d been on me.

<>

Two, check your six. I’m on the way. I swung the Intimidator’s nose back to the south.

Hirami clicked his microphone button twice. For a moment, I looked inside the cockpit. On my radar, his icon faded out.

Son of a bitch!

<>

Plot course to route Charlie, I said. With a shake of my head, I queued the radar for a full perimeter sweep and realized that I was between the two remaining enemy aircraft. One sat behind me at my six o’clock, and the other was diametrically opposite at my twelve—like a hound chasing prey toward the hunter.

I’m not coming out of this alive.

<>

Well, shit. I laughed. What’s the eight-percent chance of survival?

<>

The warning display blinked. A targeting cursor appeared. I clenched my jaw. I can’t fire head-on, Lily. That’s against ROE. Speaking out loud helped get my thoughts together. The rules of engagement governed every single decision a pilot faced in a combat situation. Things like escalation and force application were supposed to be the touchstones of ROE. More often, common sense and safety took over, and people responded appropriately. In training, though, it was a lot easier to manipulate the rules.

<>

I wanted to argue, but she was right. I was headed for another ass chewing from a commander who believed she knew everything. All thanks to an unrealistic training environment created by those who had no idea what a real operational environment looked like.

Target the aircraft at twelve o’clock. Full combat spread, three missiles. Confirm solution.

<>

Fire. Off my starboard wing, three Tracker air-to-air missiles streaked from their rails and accelerated to Mach 3 in less than a second. I watched their contrails streak toward the first Intimidator. The displayed plume of engine exhaust looked real enough to touch. To someone who’d played a lot of 8-bit video games, it was incredible technology.

<>

Full rear deflectors and combat countermeasures. I retarded the throttle by 20 percent. The chasing aircraft would overshoot if they did not slow down. Time to make my move. Throttles to zero. Target the aircraft and fire when you’re ready.

<> Lily sounded like a movie star, though not one from my own time. The lilt in her voice reminded me of Mally. My first protocol had been my friend, and even after all that had happened, I missed her.

<>

Bullshit.

<>

Training environments meant that everyone survived by the skin of their teeth and took the opportunity to explain why their actions were right. I wanted to vomit, but I’d had enough of the instructors’ bullshit once and for all.

Set me up on a collision course with the remaining bandit, Lily.

<>

I’m sick of unrealistic training, Lily. Lock in the course. The aircraft is yours.

Ten seconds later, my guidance protocol took over the aircraft and executed a turn that even with inertial dampeners would have knocked me out in a real-life situation. I felt the thrust from the engines through my back and saw the chasing exocraft in my screen before the screens and flight controls went black. The simulated fight was over. Displays powered down, and the realization that I sat alone, in the cockpit of an immense video game, washed over me.

<>

We won.

<>

Disengage, Lily. We’ll discuss surviving real engagements another time. Look up the term seeing the elephant.

<>

The cockpit simulator swung open, and I took off my flight helmet to rub my eyes for a long moment. When I heard Commander Bussot screaming as she moved down the row of cockpits toward mine, I knew it was going to be a bad day.

The commandant’s office looked out across the Elysium Planitia. It made staring over his head easier to do, and without a wall displaying awards and diplomas, the room was almost pleasant. To the northwest, the escarpment of Olympus Mons dominated the horizon. I’d been to the summit twice over the last six months, and taking Berkeley there was high on my to-do list for when she arrived in four months.

I’d managed to visit the commandant’s office only three times, but that was twice more than most of my classmates. I took a deep breath and refocused on Commander Bussot’s voice to my right. The male lieutenants in my class likened the attractive instructor to a predator in their stories about the officers’ club and what happened on weekend nights. Those who claimed to have bedded her disappeared from the class, transferred out of the flight program for performance issues. Still, my classmates hit the bars, and a few of them went after the Black Widow. Despite her opinion of me, I wasn’t that stupid. But that didn’t stop her from trying.

Furthermore… She took a breath, and I felt her eyes on me. Trainee Roark completely disengaged combat protocols and rammed my aircraft during Simulation Vectra.

Admiral LeConté glanced up from his files. He was older than General Crawley but only wore a single star. From his curled and clearly out-of-regulation mustache, I gathered he was a bit of a hellion, too. I hoped it would be enough to save my ass. Again.

Rammed your aircraft? He squinted at me. Stand at ease, Roark. I’d rather you watch me than the sunset.

I shuffled out of the position of attention. Thank you, sir.

Did you ram Commander Bussot’s aircraft?

I nodded. I did, sir.

The commandant studied me. And I’m to assume you were out of available weapons? There was a hint of a smile on his face.

No, sir. I was carrying a full load and had forty percent of my cannon ammunition available. I took a breath. I rammed the commander’s aircraft after I fired six missiles in a shooting solution with a kill probability of ninety-three percent and none of the missiles found their mark.

Bussot laughed and shook her chin-length hair. She did that a lot around senior officers and, I assumed, at the officers’ club, too. Maybe I’m just a better pilot, Trainee.

You had a chance of one-eighth of a percent to evade all six missiles at that speed. That’s either incredible luck, or the whole damned simulation is rigged against the students, I said.

LeConté’s smile faded. Is that an accusation?

Only that the training is unfair in that situation, sir.

Bussot snickered. War is unfair, Trainee.

It took everything I had to not deck her right then and there. What does she know of war? A few high-altitude skirmishes with pirates did not make her an expert on war. Respectfully, ma’am, weapons systems tend to work the way they were designed to fight—they’re not programmed to ensure that lessons are taught.

I saw her stiffen out of the corner of my eye, but the commandant raised a hand toward her. Commander Bussot? Would you give us a moment?

Certainly, sir. She smirked at me on the way out.

Bitch.

<>

The door closed behind me, and the commandant shook his head. You’re making this a habit, Kieran. The more you antagonize her, the worse it’s going to get.

Her training program is unrealistic and serves no purpose other than to build the ego of her and the whole aggressor squadron, sir. I shook my head. That’s not how war works.

He stared at me for a moment. Crawley shared your history with me, Kieran. From that, I can see why you’re constantly challenging the instructors and the doctrine. Frankly, we need more people to think and act like you do. Here, I can provide you some cover and keep Bussot and her cronies from preventing your graduation. Out there, I’m fairly powerless. You’ve got to play the game sometimes.

I nodded, but I knew the truth. I’d never played the game in my life. Either of my lives. I understand, sir. It’s just that tactically, everything is wrong.

Enlighten me.

That was the problem. Sir, I can’t enlighten you. I know that something is wrong with the way we fight, but I don’t know specifically what it is. Fleet and the TDF are both wrong. I can’t explain it. I haven’t recovered those pieces yet.

When I’d been walkabout, meeting a sleeper left most people wondering only who I was and not what I was thinking. I’d finally recovered my memory but wasn’t able to talk about it, which left me on the outside of most conversations. On another planet and fully integrated, I was lonelier than when I’d walked out of the Integration Center more than a year before.

The instructors, and your peers, are concerned that you’re too quiet and too serious.

I wanted to laugh. I’m the oldest trainee by six years, and I’m married. I thought maturity was something like a virtue.

He laughed. Yes, that’s true. I couldn’t give a damn about your personality quotients. I want you to be a competent pilot and tactical commander. That’s where Fleet officers need to excel. Having the situational awareness to fly an interceptor and coordinate ground forces makes you able to provide better close air support, not step in for a Terran Defense Force unit and guide them to mission accomplishment.

Helping the TDF to anything from the air requires initiative, and the TDF doesn’t believe in that. From the air, we can seize the initiative and make decisions that can help drive the TDF forward, but they have to give up their ‘finite control’ bullshit. Until that happens, the Fleet requirement to understand and fight ground operations makes no sense. The TDF won’t listen to us.

You can’t tell the Terran Defense Force how to do their job, Kieran. The commandant smoothed back his dark hair. There were touches of gray at the temples. Given genetic mapping, I wondered exactly how old he was. Our mandate is to provide what support we can when the scripted TDF maneuver plan fails.

Because they failed before?

He snorted. In a big way, but we call the Battle of Libretto a success. That’s another story. Look… He waved away whatever he’d wanted to say. You have a decent aptitude for air combat maneuvering and an excellent understanding of ground forces operations. I want you to level the two out by actually trying to be a fighter pilot for a change. It helps to learn a little more about those around you.

I’ll try, sir. There was no way in hell I was going to fall in with them. But a little fact-finding wouldn’t hurt. Maybe there was a way TDF and Fleet could work together in this environment where initiative didn’t exist. In my time, the armed forces had been able to do just that. I needed a tool. Something very particular. Something very old. Is there anything else?

Don’t ram any more aircraft, even in the sims. One day, you might have to fly your way out of a situation instead of giving up in frustration and taking matters into your own hands. He smiled. Doing otherwise makes you fly a desk, son. Don’t go doing anything like that.

And Commander Bussot, sir?

After this exercise is over, I’ll talk to her and check the sim logs. I’m guessing you’re right about the programming, but launching an official investigation right now would keep you out of flying, and Crawley doesn’t want that. It wouldn’t surprise me if your instructors were cheating, either. They talk about their kills like they earned them in combat. He shook his head with palpable disgust.

Lily? Look up the commandant’s service record, will you?

<>

Is that going to stop you?

<>

One last thing. A hint of smile returned to his face. Bussot has a nasty tendency to turn right in a dogfight, and altitude isn’t always her friend.

Inside information, sir?

Institutional knowledge. The kind of thing you get from talking to others. I suggest you stop worrying about your test average and do more of that.

The unisex locker rooms were almost empty by the time I made my way downstairs from the commandant’s office. I found my two-meter-tall wall locker and keyed in my combination. The doors opened, and a small bench unfolded. Getting out of my flight gear took forever. Even for the simulated missions, we wore the full anti-G compression suit with exposure-suit add-ons. I felt like a balloon in the damned thing, and it weighed enough that without genetic mapping, I wouldn’t have been able to carry the thing at all on Earth. Flying on other planets definitely had its challenges. Ducking my head down through the hard suit ring, I worked my way out of the suit’s rear zipper. As the cold air hit my back, I paused and stretched.

<>

I thought about staying hidden in the suit but knew it wouldn’t work. I pulled off the top and, bare chested, opened my eyes. Bussot stood in front of me, clad in only her gray underwear. She had the body for it, and I made it a point to look at her eyes.

Ma’am.

You’re right about the probability factor. The point of that exercise was to have no aerial or ground survivors. The ground force won because of what you did. She chewed on one side of her lower lip. Admitting even a shred of truth seemed to hurt her. Her blue eyes were at once innocent and aggressive. Everything about her screamed danger. Even if I had been single, I wouldn’t have taken the bait. I’m concerned about your unwillingness to follow combat doctrine, Roark.

I’d rather have a chance to survive, ma’am.

It’s not that simple in combat.

Don’t I know it. Then again, she’d never had a soldier die in her arms or watched helplessly as her soldiers died beyond her reach. Maybe it is, ma’am. I’d rather make sure my people come home with all of their fingers and toes than know that I accomplished a mission that looks good on someone else’s evaluation report.

She frowned. I don’t think you understand how serious this business is, Kieran.

First-name basis.

<>

Then get me out of this, Lily.

<>

Ma’am, I get it. I really do. I just want a fair shake.

The speakers in the locker-room ceiling clicked to life. Trainee Roark, you have a vidcall in booth three.

I tried not to let surprise cross my face. Lily was pretty damned amazing, thanks to Berkeley’s programming.

You’d better get that. Bussot smiled. Will you be joining the trainees at officer’s call tonight?

My presence has been requested, yes.

Good. Ramming my aircraft means you have to buy me a drink.

Are you fucking serious? I wanted to show her my wedding band, but I let my face go blank and coldly said, We’ll drink to fair training assessments, then.

She turned and walked away.

<>

Good. Maybe once she gets the hint I’m not going to make a pass at her, she’ll take me seriously as a pilot. I went to booth three and touched the screen. A retinal scanner snapped a picture of my eyes, and the terminal unlocked with a pleasant, smiling icon asking if I wanted to place a real-time call. There were some luxuries to Fleet service.

Call home. I waited as it connected. There was no answer. Through the video connection, I stared into the small office Berkeley and I shared in our Esperance home. The books on the shelves were more for me than her, and I wanted to be there, sitting in the afternoon sun, reading with my wife. I could imagine her asking me about all of the different slang terms from Elmore Leonard or if Stephen King was really that sick and twisted. We’d had a hell of a year since she saved my life, only to wind up separated again. When I told her that separation was part of military life, Berkeley smiled and shrugged. She’d known all along, but it wasn’t easy for either of us.

I keyed off the video connection with a sigh. We hadn’t talked in a couple of days. I knew she was busy with school and research, but I missed her. Seeing the house made it all the more real that I was sixty million miles away. At my locker, I finished getting out of my flight suit, threw on a clean one devoid of rank and patches—appropriate for a trainee—and closed the locker.

Bussot truly scared me. Her directness and brutality reminded me of Mally, as if my guidance protocol had survived and managed to find a body and had come back to torment me. I laughed at the thought as I stepped out into the main passageway. I imagined I could smell the Pacific on the breeze. It would be two years before I’d get the chance to surf off Sunset Beach again.

Lily? Please notify Berkeley I’ll be out late tonight, I love her, and I’ll call her tomorrow.

<>

Twenty-seven minutes later, Berkeley replied, Have fun. I love you.

It was enough for me. We’d been through too much to underestimate the little things, especially reminding each other that love could cross just about any distance.

CHAPTER TWO

Fog shrouded the Hokkaido Shrine as the bonshō rang and ushered in the morning crowd. The hollow sound from the great bell resonated deep in her chest for a second before it faded and echoed off nearby buildings. She towered over the others. The physical difference was more than enough to remind her she was not like any of them. She pulled her black hair into a tight ponytail and stared down at the ground between her feet, trying to make herself look smaller. There, that’s more natural. With her face bare against the cold, she exhaled a cloud of steam with every breath in the frigid seaside morning. The temperature did not bother her, nor did the throng of people around her. Chin to her chest, she sighed and spoke quietly in English.

My name is Amy Nakamura. She looked up as the breeze freshened, and a cloud of cherry blossoms fell across her vision like thick Himalayan snow. The recent memory brought a smile. Standing on the top of the world had been worth every ounce of effort it had taken. She’d been happy then, experiencing the wonders of a world she knew but did not remember. Before the dreams came. Before she’d learned the truth.

<> a smooth, deep voice said in her ears. Her protocol was a combination friend, traveler, and encyclopedia. She’d named him Rock when they approached Everest Base Camp eight months ago. How time had flown.

I’m late for integration.

<>

No, Rock. She tugged the collar of her yellow parka closer to her face and flipped the fur-lined hood over her head. I’m not going back just to die again.

<>

A cherry blossom brushed across the bridge of her nose, and she raised a hand to catch another one. The white flower settled into her palm like an angel. You said war isn’t imminent, Rock. That’s what the news says, too. I know better. The Greys are hitting the Outer Rim expeditionary colonies more and more. It’s a matter of time before they hit one of the actual colony planets. When that happens, everyone goes to war. It’s the same thing every single time.

<>

That doesn’t answer the question, does it? She stared up into the marine layer and saw a faint wisp of blue sky. A high-altitude aircraft shot across the tear. Her heartbeat accelerated, and she closed her eyes, longing to see the curve of the Earth from an aircraft. As quickly as the thought came, she shook it away. Flying was pain. Death.

<>

No, Rock. Please disengage. I don’t want to be disturbed right now.

<>

An ornately carved wooden bench sat by a still pond encircled by blooming cherry trees. Amy separated herself from the crowd and sat next to an old woman with a pink-and-blue scarf across her face. The water looked cold and uninviting. Maybe it was time to return and see what the next piece of this new life would be, come what may. Maybe she should finally become what her father so desperately wanted her to be.

She closed her eyes and tried to visualize his face. Instead, she saw him sitting in the right seat of their Cessna as she took the controls that first time.

No!

Another memory surfaced. Her first solo. The celebration with sake when she’d landed at the small mountain airport. Her father and the rest of the doctors in his department toasting her accomplishments well into the night.

Please. She squeezed her eyes shut and saw herself punching clouds in her sleek F-15E Strike Eagle fresh out of pilot training. She’d made a low pass over her alma mater during a homecoming football game, pushed the throttles a little too much, and broken a couple hundred windows.

The smile came involuntarily. She wanted to fly again. It would be fine, she told herself even as the visions changed—as they always did—from calm blue skies to a flak-filled mountain valley in the snow.

Not again. Please. The vision came stronger and enveloped her. Incomplete integration brought them. Until she reconciled her past with her new life, they would continue to debilitate her. I can’t.

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