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“No. Syria,” the woman said flatly over the headset.
Billy wondered if she wasn’t a bit daft. Though as he’d listened to the detailed horrors of what had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, perhaps she was the only sensible one.
“Mr. Pilot,” she called out.
“You have a lot of pilots online at the moment,” Kiley remarked.
“The one who flew into Syria.”
Billy swallowed hard. “That would be me. Lieutenant William ‘Poet’ Blake, ma’am. I’m an A-10 pilot.”
“Yes, I knew that. You also flew the RQ-170 Sentinel over the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Yes ma’am. Even if I can never take it back.”
“You didn’t know. Why would you take it back? Everyone who saw it said you were very good.”
He opened his mouth, closed it. How was he supposed to answer that?
Command never wanted a real answer, they
