I was back there—back in Oregon ten years ago, smelling jet fuel and rain, standing in that echoing hangar with my career still intact, with my name still unsoiled. I could see the faces of my squad, younger versions of us, laughing, unbreakable. They used to call me fearless.
Night Viper 9, they’d say. No one can touch her in the sky.
And for a while,continue reading …
