The silence on the radio was immediate and profound. I could almost feel Vance’s shock radiating through the cold air between our jets.
I didn't wait for him to recover.
I flipped the master arm switch for the jammer online. The dashboard lit up in a blinding sea of red warnings as the massive electronic warfare capacitor drew power from the jet’s engines.
“Now you know why they call me Ghost Widow,” I whispered.
I slammed the jammer activation button and pulled the flight stick hard into my stomach.
CHAPTER 4
The experimental Aegis jammer didn't just scramble their radar. It detonated a localized electromagnetic shockwave that tore through the air like an invisible hurricane.
Every single screen in my cockpit flickered violently as the massive surge of electronic noise erupted from my jet.
Outside, the Black Falcons’ perfect formation shattered instantly.
Without their targeting computers, without their fly-by-wire stabilization assistance, and with their headsets suddenly screaming with deafening, ear-piercing static, the six F-16s violently jerked in different directions. The pilots, flying just feet apart, panicked.
I hit the afterburner.
The sheer force of the acceleration slammed me deep into the seat, the G-force crushing the breath from my lungs. I shot straight upward in a vertical climb, tearing out of their kill box before they could visually reacquire me.
I flipped my jet completely upside down at forty thousand feet, hovering inverted above the chaos. Below me, the six F-16s were scrambling like scattered ants, their afterburners burning bright orange against the black ocean.
My radio hummed. The Aegis system had isolated their secure frequency and was forcefully overriding it. I wasn't just listening to them now; I was controlling their comms.
“My screens are gone! I have zero radar contact!” Captain Miller’s panicked voice screamed over the radio.
“Maintain visual! Form up on me!” Vance roared, his voice laced with the first hint of genuine panic. “Where did she go? Find her!”
I pulled the stick back, diving my heavy black jet straight down toward them like a bird of prey.
“I’m right here, Thomas,” I said softly, my voice projecting directly into all six of their headsets.
I blew past Vance’s jet at Mach 1.2, my wingtip slicing through the air less than ten feet from his canopy. The sonic boom rocked his aircraft, sending him drifting sideways.
I didn't have missiles, but in modern aerial combat, a pilot without instruments is a blind man walking on a tightrope. And I was about to cut the rope.
I locked my targeting laser onto Miller’s jet.
I wasn't firing a weapon, but the targeting laser triggered the threat-warning system in Miller’s cockpit. His jet began screaming the unmistakable, terrifying tone of an incoming missile lock.
“I’m locked! She has tone on me!” Miller shrieked, panic breaking his discipline. He dumped his flares, the sky lighting up with brilliant, blinding streaks of white phosphorus, and threw his jet into a desperate, high-G dive toward the ocean.
I didn't follow him. I immediately shifted my laser lock to Evans.
“Missile lock! Fox three inbound!” Evans yelled, deploying his chaff and breaking hard right, completely abandoning the formation.
Within thirty seconds, I had used nothing but a flashlight and a microphone to completely dismantle the Navy’s elite fighter squadron. They were terrified, blinded, and flying blind over a pitch-black ocean.
Only Vance remained, desperately trying to pull his jet upward to find me.
I brought my jet around in a tight, crushing six-G turn, my vision narrowing at the edges as the blood drained from my head. I fought through the blackout threshold, breathing in short, aggressive bursts to keep my heart pumping.
I pulled up directly behind Vance. The classic dogfighting kill position.
I locked my laser onto his tail.