4. Boola Boola
Boola Boola
CARTER
Two years later…
“Casanova, check your six, you’ve got a bandit coming up behind you.” Tatum’s voice crackled through the comms in warning.
The sensors in my jet were blaring as I pulled on the throttle. “Copy, I see him.” I began a steep climb until the nose of my jet was pointed towards the endless blue skies. Bracing against the G-force, I maneuvered into a flip and dropped behind my target.
The sensors beeped in confirmation a moment later—target hit—which meant the skies were clear.
“Always going for the yank and bank.” Mike muttered over the comms.
I flipped my jet upside down, mirroring my wingman’s cockpit from above. “Aww, is Jinx upset because he can’t keep up?” I teased.
He flipped me the bird. “Show off.” I flashed him a toothy grin he couldn’t see from inside my helmet.
“Formation, fall in.” I called through the comms and proceeded to barrel roll off Jinx as our squad shifted into a tight V formation.
“Nothing but beautiful blue skies.” Ezra sighed contentedly from beside me in his own jet. “In fact, it’s the perfect day to join the Martin Baker Fan Club, don’t you think, Jinx?”
“Shut up.” Mike groaned.
“You make it too easy.” Tatum chimed, and I could hear the smug grin on his face from his own cockpit.
“Yeah, he’ll be the first one to yank that oh-shit-stick.” I agreed, knowing if one of us ever ejected, it’d be Jinx and we’d never let him live it down.
“Some of us aren’t fangs out twenty-four seven.” Mike complained.
I shrugged. “If you can’t keep up, just say so.”
“Seriously, you fly like a senior citizen.” Tatum added. “Hey Casanova, you think we should change Jinx’s call sign to Snail?”
“Sounds good to me.” I doubled down. “Or Grandma.”
“Actually, I amend my earlier statement—you go so slow, I doubt you’d even be able to pull the oh-shit-stick in time.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Mike complained, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. He was slow as hell and definitely deserved the rib, but he was always a good sport about it.
“Look alive. We’ve got a cluster incoming.
” I warned, that focused calm settling over me as my fingers moved over switches and dials with pure muscle memory.
The plane sensors blared, and all I could do was grin.
“Boys, I believe it’s time to party.” Cue thematic fight song because I fucking loved this shit.
We split off, falling into a coordinated set of movements, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
Sure, every flight started and ended the same way, but everything in-between was pure instinct.
I lived for those long minutes when I was slicing through the air at mock speeds.
It was a high you couldn’t get from anything else—it’s where I finally found my calm .
Nothing else pacified my nerves, quieted my mind, quite like the drag of my jet through the sky.
It was a heady cocktail, adrenaline, focus, muscle memory—something I craved, day and night.
The moment I’d taken my baby up for the first time, I’d found myself.
I realized being a pilot defined me as a person.
I loved it, and it didn’t hurt that I was damn good at it too.
I didn’t know if I’d personally use the word prodigy, but I’d certainly heard it thrown around when my superiors thought I wasn’t listening.
Honestly, the only thing I cared about was being the best. And I was. I’d always loved going fast, and in the sky, it was even better. It was pure freedom.
“Jinx, you’ve got one incoming on your six.” I murmured into the comms, barrel rolling away from my bogey.
“Yeah, I got it padlocked.” Mike replied.
Alarms blared in the cockpit as I danced through the sky like my life depended on it—because it did.
Focused breaths in-and-out, G-force increasing every second, anchoring into my seat, letting go of everything else, flow, instinct, foresight, and then my crosshairs locked onto my target.
The sensors blared in confirmation a moment later.
“Smasher, you got a couple bandits coming up on your three and six,” Tatum warned his wingman Ezra before he shifted into a set of complex maneuvers, repositioning around his own bogey.
“Headed your way, Smasher.” I dropped in and lured one of the bandits off Ezra and moved the dogfight away.
Maneuvering a series of tight rolls and climbs, I attempted to get the target into my sights, but every single time, just when I thought I had him, he’d slip out of the crosshairs again.
“Shit.” I hissed, blood thrumming, frustration pumping through my veins as the target kept up with me, move for move.
As rare as it was, I quickly realized my target was just as good as me, which meant it was down to whoever fucked up first. If I didn’t do something fast, the end of this flight was going to look very different from all the rest. “See how you like this.” I muttered, the ground blurring beneath me as I dropped low to cut through the mountainous terrain.
“You’re below the hard deck,” Tatum warned.
“Copy.” I continued my flight path.
“Casanova, get the hell out of there. I can’t get to you down there.”
“Almost there.” I murmured as the ground came closer with each alarming second—I snapped up in a quick maneuver, and the sensors beeped in confirmation a moment later. Target hit, but Jinx, my wingman, was still in trouble.
I sliced back up through the sky and dropped in, taking out the last bandit that was hot on his tail a mere moment later. Cheers sounded through the comms, and I grinned, heart pounding, high on adrenaline, knowing I was born for this.
As I brought my jet down, that familiar swell of disappointment settled in my chest. This was the worst part of flying—kissing the sky goodbye, at least until my next flight.
I climbed out of my jet and pulled off my helmet, raking a hand through my damp, sweaty hair, realizing my captain was headed my way, and he looked pissed .
“I should suspend you for pulling that bullshit.” He growled, and I straightened, for whatever reprimand was about to follow.
“But unfortunately for me, your impulsive stunts caught the attention of the suits. Long before today, it seems.” There was genuine pity in his eyes as he motioned me towards the hangar.
Oh shit.
A woman wearing a tight bun stared me down from across the table. “I’m curious why someone who could sit on a yacht drinking gin and tonics all day, decided to enlist.”
“Actually, I’m more of an old-fashioned kind of guy.” I countered, but she did not find that amusing. So I shrugged, “I wanted to serve my country.” And fly fucking fast.
Her eyes narrowed. “Bullshit.”
The corner of my mouth hooked up, knowing she was absolutely right. People usually ate the whole I wanted to serve my country shit up, but truthfully, my reasons were my own, and they were none of her damn business.
“Despite running away from your old life, you still own your family estate.” Her eyes twinkled, albeit coldly, like she was sitting on one of those proverbial aces, and I couldn’t freaking wait. “Not to mention you still maintain a foothold in the art world.”
I shrugged. “I have no heir to handle my affairs.”
“One might assume you intended to return to your old life.”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “I don’t.” Part of me wished I’d left Briar Rose even sooner. With caveats .
“Don’t you? You’ve continued to acquire land.” She tapped the folder on the table. “Half of Briar Rose, to be exact.”
My lips twitched. “Well, I would own the other half, but someone beat me to it.”
“Yes, we know all about Cade Blackthorn.” She hummed even more unamused. “But we’re not talking about him —we’re talking about you .”
“Well, you seem to know everything there is to know, so I’m not exactly sure what it is you need from me.” I gave her a lazy smile.
Her face remained impassive. “Some things you can’t know until you look a man in the eye.
” I shifted, an odd feeling washing over me.
“At present you live quite modestly and here on base, you’ve successfully maintained secrecy about who you are—I’m curious what exactly your motivations are, for your career, for your old life. ”
“I’m just here to protect and serve.” I gave her a flat smile.
She scoffed, thumbing through a folder on the table. “You have no surviving family, you indulge in the occasional one-night stand here and there but never with the same person twice. No girlfriend ?” She raised a brow, looking at me again.
I smirked. “Who’s asking?”
“That’s above your pay grade, Lieutenant .
” She bit out sharply, putting me in my place as she tapped the folder in front of her.
“You’re unattached.” It was a statement this time.
“You’re driven to be the best. Just impulsive enough to take the necessary risks that are required, and even worse—your risks usually pay off.
Today was just another one of those calculated risks, wasn’t it? ”
I sat forward, folding my hands on the table. “Risks required for what?”
“We’re recruiting you.” She said simply, and I raised a skeptical brow, waiting as she continued. “To a black ops task force.”
I chuckled and tapped the wings on my flight suit a bit obtusely. “I don’t know if you know this, but this is the Air Force, not the Marines.” She smiled thinly as I continued. “I’m a pilot , not a tactical officer.” And that’s precisely the way I wanted to keep it.
She gave me a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
“ Exactly. You’re not just impulsive, you’re smart, you think strategically—you’re always several moves ahead of your opponents, and your aerial skills are rare, unmatched, actually.
This covert task force targets remote locations that are only accessible aerially.
For obvious reasons, these high-profile assassinations can’t lead back to us, and we need someone with enough guts to get in, and enough brains to get back out. ”