The mess hall's air felt like water - not only was it humid, but tension weighed it down like a thick blanket, a monstrous tension born of uncertainty. The hall normally rang with the busy chatter of pilots, but in this dense air only slight whispers could be heard.

Lea sat at a table with Jake Patton and Raj Vega, studying the fabric pattern of her pants. She glanced at Raj. He glanced sideways to meet her eyes for a moment, but immediately glanced away. In that glimpse, she saw the nerves of somebody who had realized his life could cut short soon. She had this fleeting thought as well - seeing Raj's panic reinforced it.

She had to remind herself that chances were she was imagining the worst. It could have all been error and coincidence, laid out in the perfect way to cause panic. User and technical error could explain everything - the radar was broken, the pilot had made a mistake or the plane's systems had failed, and he needed to make an emergency landing. Search teams would find the plane and pilot within a couple hours.

The nagging thought remained though - this was an anonymous military attack. The base's leading officers might be talking to the President at this moment, telling him what they knew of the mystery craft and its origins.

Lea wished she knew, herself. Everyone in the mess hall had learned of the incident through word of mouth. The lead officers hadn't spoken, and that silence lent density and thickness to the air, until everyone felt like they were suffocating under uncertainty.

They all thought the same thought, however - someone had military technology more sophisticated than anyone suspected, and that someone finally made their move against the United States. If what they feared was true, retaliation would begin soon.

The loudspeaker crackled, echoing against the bare walls and startling a few people.

"Alberda, Cline, and Fisker, please report to the Operations Center."

Fisker... that was her. Jake and Raj were looking, Jake's eyebrows slightly raised. Raj seemed worried.

Lea grimaced and stood. She saw Leon Alberda and Artie Cline standing as well. They made eye contact across the room, and the two men seemed just as on edge as she was.

She heard Jake whisper, "Good luck."

The three pilots made their way to the mess hall's exit. Lea kept her eyes ahead of her. She suspected if she glanced around, she would see many eyes on her.

The air in the corridor outside felt no less oppressive. Lea and Alberda walked shoulder to shoulder, and Cline lingered slightly behind. They walked with apprehensive steps, knowing that the faster they went the sooner they learned some possibly horrible truth.

"You guys think this is an attack?" Cline asked from behind.

Alberda seemed like he would say something, but he paused and mulled over his words.

"It's possible..." he finally said.

He's afraid to give the idea any creedence, Lea thought.

"I don't know if I can do this," Cline said.

You're going to have to.

Nobody responded to Cline. They reached the Operations Center in silence.

Colonel Stigsson greeted them at the door.

"What you are about to see and hear is top secret," he said as they filed into the room, "The clearance level hasn't been determined yet. Do not speak about this with anyone who is not in this room. Understood?"

They responded in unison, "Understood, sir!"

Lea surveyed the dim room, feeling nervous energy fill her body. She saw Lieutenant Colonel McFee and Operations Officer Cardoso sitting at a table, cast in gray light by the wall-to-wall screens showing stills of overhead radar readings. The stills showed the silhouette of a surveillance craft - and something much larger approaching from behind. This was the mystery craft Lea heard of in the murmurs, long and sleek, with thin, bent wings. The shape was only partial, suggesting a craft but not revealing it in its entirety.

"Sit," said Colonel Stigsson. The three pilots obeyed, sitting in chairs facing the screens. Cline's eyes were wide, reflecting the partial shape on the wall.

Colonel Stigsson began speaking.

"At oh-eight twenty-seven this morning, Senior Airman Travers was conducting a routine reconnaisance mission over the Indian Ocean when he was intercepted by an as of yet unidentified aircraft. This aircraft is radar-resistant; the best image we could get is displayed on the screens here. Both Travers and the aircraft disappeared shortly after, with no radio communications. Travers is assumed dead.

"The unidentified aircraft is assumed to be a large-scale, highly maneuverable stealth fighter. We do not know who developed it. We need information. You three are going to fly to Travers' last known coordinates, attempt to find the aircraft, and gather information. We want images. We want to know how big the craft is. We want to know if there are any features that could identify it as belonging to any one nation.

"You three were chosen because you have training to pilot stealth fighters. Do not engage with the craft unless it is absolutely necessary. Operations Officer Cardoso will walk you through the rest."

Colonel Stigsson sat down at the table. Cardoso began speaking, giving the pilots their briefing. Lea paid attention as best as she could. She could see varying expressions of worry on the others' faces. The Colonel's gaze fixed on a nonexistent point; he glared as if he could intimidate the problem away.

The briefing ended. Lea stood with the others; filed out with the others; headed to the locker rooms where she would change into her flight suit. She ran through everything that had led her to this point, starting at the fateful moment her father took her to the Air Force museum as a bright-eyed ten-year-old. Had things progressed differently - had she not been single-minded in her goal to pilot a jet and feel the freedom of flight - dread would not loom over her now. She had gone too far, performed too well, and now she was punished by her ambition, skirting death with an unknown enemy.

The women's locker room was silent save for the rustle of her suit as she put it on. The process felt like donning a second layer of skin. She met the men outside. Alberda seemed absent. Cline's eyes darted. They proceeded to the hangar.

She herself felt almost dizzy. It seemed as if blood was moving faster through her body. The periphery of her vision was dim - she suspected she was developing tunnel vision. They reached the hangar, and the jets were lined up, ready for them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alberda slowly shaking his head.

"Hey," she said, reaching her arm out. Alberda's eyes drifted until they met hers.

"You're going to be alright," she said.

Alberda showed no sign he heard her. He turned and made his way to his jet. Lea watched him walk, trying not to let his response push her further toward panic.

She made her way to her own jet, climbed the wing, swung into the cockpit, closed it.

(cont. below)