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It was a forty-five-minute flight to the Russian airbase at Tiyas and Elayne could only hope that she lived through it. Yes, Zaslon training included basic fixed-wing and rotorcraft flight practice—but very basic on rotorcraft.
Aircraft had always been one of her specialties. Because her father had been a submarine engineer for the Russian Navy, he’d taught her more about mechanics than any classroom could.
Zaslon had honed that for sabotage and attack of foreign military aircraft, but she rarely flew herself.
And definitely not in a highly responsive military aircraft like the Havoc.
It was so twitchy that a moment’s inattention had her skewing across the sky, stall warning buzzers bleating at her.
She’d almost crashed when she’d overflown the Toyota pickup that must be Holly and
