Hammond and Strizen raced down the mountains as flashes of light and thunder erupted behind them. They did not turn back.
"Come on old man, keep up!" Strizen said, pulling ahead.
"Fuck you! You're old too!"
Milano listened to the radio chatter. "Mayday! Mayday. Bravo three is hit. Returning to carrier for emergency maintenance."
Another:
"Mayday! Mayday. Delta one is hit. Returning to carrier for emergency maintenance."
The voices were procedural and professional, calm and steady even though they were damaged.
He turned to Miher. "We have to abort the strike. I'd rather give up the mountains than lose a single FA-18."
Miher paused. He looked at the map. "Then we have to set up kill boxes on the foothills. If anything breaches past Phase Line Whiskey, we engage and turn it to ash."
Milano nodded.
"Abort the strike. Have all aircraft return to the Carrier. Alpha, Bravo and Charlier from 6-8 will proceed to Phase line Uniform. Set up kill boxes outside of Esponia."
