Eagle Station

Together, they watched the black flying wing taxi farther down Runway 28, make a sharp left turn onto the airport’s longer main runway, and keep rolling — obviously heading for the taxiway to the NORAD base. As it got closer, its true dimensions were more apparent. The aircraft was roughly the size of one of Scion’s Gulfstream 600 business jets, though its overall configuration made it look more like a miniature B-2 Spirit stealth bomber.

Schofield turned to his guide. “I believe this is where you make yourself scarce, Warrant Officer McNeil.”

“Yes, sir.”

Schofield shook hands with the younger Canadian and then handed him a business card. It was blank, except for a telephone number. “If you ever get bored with service in the regular armed forces, ring that number,” he suggested. “We’re always on the lookout for able and discreet people.”

Five minutes later, he paced alongside the midsize jet aircraft as it slowly taxied into an empty hangar. Then he stood quietly off to the side, waiting while the hangar’s big doors rolled closed, sealing them away from any curious, prying eyes. The low rumble from its engines died away, leaving only silence.

Moments later, a hatch opened below the cockpit and a short crew ladder unfolded. Wearing a black flight suit, Brad McLanahan slid down the ladder. He turned lithely at the bottom and helped Nadia through the hatch. With his arms still wrapped around her slender waist, he set her down gently on the hangar floor, where she stood perched on the tips of her carbon-fiber running blades. For a moment, the two of them just stood there, entwined.

Schofield cleared his throat loudly.

Brad swung toward him with a grin. “Hey, Ian.” He took in the other man’s neatly pressed battle dress. “I’m sorry that I had to pull you away from your training exercise.”

“It was hard to leave all that lovely muck and mire behind,” Schofield said complacently. “But sacrifices must sometimes be made.”

They walked out from under the fuselage to join him. On the way, Brad proudly patted the aircraft’s black radar-absorbent coating. “So, what do you think of her?” he asked. “A beaut, isn’t she?”

“I thought this was my old friend, the Ranger stealth transport aircraft,” Schofield said carefully. He, Brad, and Nadia had served together on three high-risk covert missions over the past several years — the first to attack Perun’s Aerie, a cyberwar complex buried in the Ural Mountains, the second to hunt down and destroy Russia’s war robots rampaging inside the United States itself, and the third, just last year, to pull Brad himself out of enemy territory. All three missions had been flown using a Sky Masters — designed stealthy, short takeoff and landing (STOL) tactical airlifter, the XCV-62 Ranger. “But up close, this particular aircraft seems… well, bigger. Especially those engines.”

“Your grasp of the technical aspects of military aviation is, as always, eye-opening,” Brad said with a laugh.

“He means that you are right, Ian,” Nadia explained helpfully.

Brad nodded. “You’re actually looking at the XCV-70 Rustler.”

“Another of Sky Masters’ experimental prototypes?” Schofield asked.

“Yep,” Brad said. “Boomer set the design process in motion right after he read our classified after-action report on Perun’s Aerie. He figured some improvements might be welcome.”

Schofield nodded, remembering the risks they’d been forced to run, thanks to the older aircraft’s inherent limitations. While it was a remarkable machine for its day, the Ranger’s comparatively low subsonic speed, relative lack of maneuverability, and inability to carry any offensive weapons were serious disadvantages once things got hot. “I assume Dr. Noble and his design team succeeded?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Brad said with undisguised enthusiasm. “The Rustler’s just as stealthy and STOL-capable… but she’s got significantly more range and a hell of a lot more power. At least in short bursts.” He pointed to the aircraft’s four large wing-buried engines. “Each of those GE Affinity engines produces four thousand more pounds of thrust than the Rolls-Royce Tay 620-15 turbofans mounted on the XCV-62. Plus, they’re supersonic-capable.”

“But only at the cost of a considerable expenditure of fuel,” Nadia reminded him.

Undaunted, Brad shrugged. “Sure, there’s always a trade-off. TANSTAAFL, right? ‘There ain’t no such thing as a free lunch,’” he quoted.

Schofield nodded his understanding. Aircraft design was always a blend of compromises between speed, maneuverability, sturdiness, range, and, in this age, stealth. Significantly improving one aspect of a plane’s performance almost invariably entailed accepting somewhat weaker performance in other areas.

“The other good news is that we’re not going in unarmed this time,” Brad continued. He indicated two internal bays on the underside of the XCV-70’s fuselage. “Besides the usual array of defenses — SPEAR, flares, and chaff — we can carry offensive weapons, a mix of heat-seeking air-to-air missiles and air-to-ground ordnance.”