A/N - It may be pretty obvious by now, but I do not have a Beta. I do my best to check before I post, but can't replace having another person's eyes on it. Let's continue with Captain Swan. Same disclaimer as before.

Updated author's note - My writing starts receiving the loving attention of my beta around the seventh chapter. Hopefully you stick around for the improvement.


Chapter 2 - The Red Pill

"Trip to base, approaching target coordinates for the rendezvous point with friendlies. Expect phase two to begin at touchdown at nineteen twenty hours." I dutifully updated Command on my current status. I checked my instruments, still trying to get used to the layout of the panels after all this time.

The powers-that-be must really be chomping at the bits to get at this mysterious package we were here to pick up, as they authorized the use of two experimental crafts for this mission. The XJ-88 Silent Hawk was the latest attempt at an advanced infiltrator war bird, capable of performing long range reconnaissance and bombing missions if needed. The tech in this plane was light years ahead of my F22 Raptor. I guess desperation was a great motivator for innovation. It's a shame there's only two of these babies in existence right now, as they would make a real difference in our combat effectiveness.

I still have no idea what it was we were suppose to pick up. The briefing only mentioned the dimensions and weight of a missile shaped pod device which would attach to one of the missile slots on the under belly of the plane. Both me and my wing-man, Captain Mike Newton, were instructed on how to attach four of these devices - two per plane - that we were expected to find at a designated location deep within what used to be the Ozark National Park. We were to refuel at the rendezvous point and return to base with the secured pods in tow.

Simple enough, just a matter of bypassing the dozens of SAM sites and air patrols found in our flight path from Washington to Missouri. So far, through sheer skill - okay, maybe mostly that Swan family luck with all things aviation - we managed to dodge detection all the way to our target.

"Whoa, glad that's over, I've been holding it in since we passed Kansas!" Angela joked in the seat behind mine. She punched up the displays to scan for hostile activity and to run through the secure channels for a signal from the missile pods on the ground.

"Just don't short out the electricals," I responded dryly. "And don't make that face at me." I didn't need to turn around to know she was shooting me a dirty look for my comment.

"Hey I wasn't-" She was interrupted by a beep from her instruments. "Got it, three kilometers southwest," she notified me.

Angela might lack a filter at times, but she really was the best Combat Systems Officer I have ever worked with. Her husband Ben Cheney was evacuated from their home in Chicago by my mom. She was just as devastated by my mother's death as I was. We grew closer after that, sharing an almost sisterly relationship. There was no one else I trusted more to watch my back.

I put the jet into hover mode over the target area. Throttling back, I eased into a soft landing. Mike touched down just as skillfully next to me in a text book landing. I opened the canopy and unstrapped myself, grateful for the fresh air after the long flight. Stretching lightly, I climbed out of the plane slowly and carefully. Somehow, I still managed to miss a rung and landed hard on my butt.

Catcalls and clapping turned my attention to the other jet. I narrowed my eyes at the source. Mike Newton was developing almost as fearsome of a reputation as mine in the air, though he hasn't received the same level of media scrutiny. That was a good thing in my opinion, as it would only inflate his already bloated ego. There's no questioning the man's skills, but his attitude certainly left a lot of room for improvement. He swung his legs over the side of the cockpit and jumped, landing lightly in a crouch. He still had on his helmet. His call sign, Flash, embossed in white letters on the side. His CSO, Jessica Stanley, followed behind.

"As graceful as ever," he laughed. I glared at him and got up, wincing as I rubbed my aching tailbone. He stared shamelessly at my backside. "You want me to massage that for you?"

"Why don't you go massage yourself? I'm just fine," I shot back. He chuckled and backed off. I brushed myself off as Angela came up beside me.

"Want me to punch him in the taint for you?" She whispered. I gave her an amused look. Leave it to Angela to threaten a superior officer in defense of a friend. She always knew what to say to improve my mood.

"Now now, Angela, I can't condone violence against a superior officer. Besides, if anyone's going to punch him, it's going to be me," I said semi-seriously. She shrugged and pulled out a portable scanner to track the signal.

We followed the display to a plot of dirt that looked recently disturbed. As per our briefing, we found a couple shovels concealed in a nearby bush. We got to digging. Pretty soon my hair was plastered to my head from the sweat and my flight suit was more dirt brown than blue.

"Getting a little winded there, Trip?" Mike smirks, offering that trademark look that earned him his call sign. I avoid rolling my eyes at him, though just barely. Mike attributed his call sign to his combat style, while I secretly thought it's because he was all flash and no substance.

"Not everyone can spend all of our free time lifting weights in the gym, Flash," I retorted. Just then, I heard the telltale sound of the shovel hitting a hard surface.

"Bingo," Angela exclaimed excitedly. She raised her hand and I gave her a high five, happy my team hit pay-dirt first. It was petty to think that way, sure, but I couldn't really help it when it came to Mike.

For a while he was practically stalking me, suggesting that we get together. I managed to dodge him by saying that while fraternization policies technically did not apply as we were equal rank, it was not a good example to set for the squadron. That, and some well timed glares from my father, seemed to have quelled his libido. Although his alleged relationship with Lieutenant Stanley going around the rumor mill may have been a contributing factor as well.

We quickly uncovered the rest of the pods. I signaled to Angela, silently asking if she's got a good grip on the pod. She nodded back and braced herself. I counted off, "one...two...THREE!" and heaved with as much strength as I could mustard. God, this thing was heavy. What's in here, cement?

We shuffled slowly back to our jet with the pod between us. By the time we were positioned under the wing, my arm and leg muscles were screaming in protest. With one last burst of energy, we managed to lift the pod against the magnetic locks. I let out a heavy sigh in relief when the whirling sound indicated a good seal, only to groan at the thought of going back for the second pod. While I was certainly not weak for my five foot five, hundred and twenty pound frame, there was a reason why I was a pilot and not a ground pounder. I was simply not cut out for this type of exertion.

When the pain was finally over, we attached the fuel lines from the hidden supply trucks near by and took a small break while the tanks were filled for our return trip.

"Hey Bella, you worked out what's in these tin cans yet?" Mike asked with curiosity. He glanced at the attached pods. It seemed peculiar that "data" for the bio-agent would weigh this much. What did they do, pack an entire lab into these things?

I knew he was hoping that my Dad managed to slip more info to me after the briefing as to the contents of the pods. As if my father would break security protocols and the chain of command just to gossip. Ever since Intel confirmed the existence of the mind readers being employed by the vampires for interrogations, mission security has choked the flow of information at the highest levels. Mission briefings turned into need to know affairs, with only the barest minimum Intel being distributed to accomplish the mission goals. For this mission, Mike and I were even briefed independently and provided separate contingency flight plans. That way we could not compromise the entire mission if one of us was captured.

"Hell if I know, Mike. I'm just a delivery girl this go around." I replied tiredly. Frankly I was more interested in assessing the combat capabilities of the prototypes we flew than in this all important mystery package we were carrying back to base. We had a long flight route plotted for the return trip to avoid detection, and I wanted to keep my mind blissfully blank while on the ground so I would be mentally well rested and alert in the air later.

"Jeez Bella, all this cloak and dagger stuff doesn't make you the least bit curiosity? Don't they encourage independent thinking in officer training?" Stanley said, earning a chuckle from Mike. She attempted to take the bite out of her question by giggling, as if she was just trying to make a harmless joke. I narrowed my eyes at her, a little pissed that she was so bold with a superior officer. Guess those rumors about Newton might have some factual basis after all.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Lieutenant. And we just get paid to shoot at whatever Command points us at. Less chance to raise flags with those mind readers if they get their hands on you." Subtlety was never my strong suit. She blanched slightly and spoke only to Mike for the rest of our time on the ground.

We disconnected the fuel lines once the indicators hit the green zone and hovered away from the site. When we reached a safe altitude, I hit the afterburners to punch up our speed for the trip home. And while I meant it when I said I haven't thought about the contents secured under my wings, I did pray that Command wasn't exaggerating about the importance of this package. If whatever laid in these pods really did give us a way to exterminate the vampire threat once and for all, then maybe I would finally be able to fulfill that promise I made so many years ago in my dad's office.

##################

The sudden frantic wail of the alarms broke me out of my reverie. Angela's voice buzzed in my headset, "Captain, we're being painted!"

I scanned my panels and, with a sense of dread, confirmed her sit-rep. There, northeast of our location, a SAM site had picked up our profiles in the air.

We were screwed.

Angela's stressed voice came through once again. "We got bogies coming in hot at seven and twelve o'clock! Estimate time for intercept of nearest hostiles is two point five minutes!"

Fuck. I muttered to myself as I assessed our situation. The intercept vectors meant we couldn't outrun them. We had little over two minutes before we were forced to engage the hostiles at our twelve o'clock. There were two contacts in that group, and I was confident that we could take them one to one. The problem was that there were six bogies in the formation at our seven o'clock and they were going to close that distance before we could possibly finish off the engagement. I calculated the variables and the odds and came to a decision.

"Flash, we go full burn toward the two bogies straight ahead, that should cut down on our intercept time. You blow straight through them and maintain your speed, don't look back. I'll stay on your six and run interference, keep them busy until you are out of range."

"What about you?" He asked.

"I'll lead them south, outmaneuver them until we reach the forward base in Austin." I knew it was bullshit as soon as I said it, there was no way in hell I was going to make it all the way to Austin without being pushed to engage larger second group of enemy ships. I was hopelessly and hilariously outgunned and outnumbered. And that's not even accounting for the dozens of SAM sites forming a solid shield at the border.

Mike called me out. "That's a bunch of bullshit, Bella. You'll never make it. Your father will kill me if I don't escort your ass intact back to Forks. We take them together." I was genuinely surprised by the force in Mike's voice. He must have reached the same conclusions as I have, there was no way for both of us to make it out of here. He must have realized as I have that there was only one option to avoid a total disaster for our mission. I just wasn't sure if he was willing to accept it yet.

"Mike, you know there's only one way out of this." I forced myself to sound calm.

"If the content of what we are carrying is as important as the Brass says, we cannot, must not fail our objective. You are better at evasion tactics than I am, and I'm the better combat pilot," I said without hesitation, and he didn't correct me.

"You stand a much better chance of making it back once you slip these guys, and I can delay them longer here. This is why we are here, why we were chosen for this mission." I congratulated myself for being able to put that much conviction into my voice while being scared shitless.

For five heartbeats, only the slight electric hum in the headset lets me know our radio frequencies were still active.

Then Mike responded, "Godspeed Bella, and good hunting." And there was nothing more to say.

We punched our afterburners and our jets screamed across the sky, heading directly at the two bogies in front of us. As per my order, Mike didn't ease up on the burners as he streaked past the jets, breaking the sound barrier and accelerating hard to reach max speed. I on the other hand, jammed on my air breaks and went into a vertical climb, positioning myself in the cloud cover above the two hostiles turning to give chase on Mike.

As I reached the peak of my climb, I took a second to think about Angela, I had basically signed her up for a suicide mission.

"I'm sorry, Angela," I whispered. There was so much more to say to the woman who kept me sane the last three years, but we were out of time.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Captain. Whatever happens, I wouldn't want to be anywhere else but in this cockpit," Angela said calmly. "Now let's kick some vampiric ass."

As my plane dipped into the beginning of my dive, I closed my eyes briefly, taking comfort in Angela's words. Sucking in a deep breath, I said a prayer to see us through this and to get Angela safely back to her husband. I opened my eyes and let that familiar feeling of rage and blood-lust embrace me like an old lover. My mouth pulled into a wolfish smile, "Let's dance."

##################

This fighter was death incarnate.

Not only was I able to keep the two enemy fighters off Mike's six, I destroyed one outright and shredded the second enough with my guns to force it out of the engagement. I watched my radar as Mike's plane reached its max speed and fell off my screen. Nothing in the area could stop him now. And that's when the trailing bogies caught up to me.

Sweat dripped down my nap of my neck as I dodged and weaved. The world blurred as missile trails and tracer rounds streaked past my field of vision.

For five glorious minutes I was shockingly able to hold my own in the deadly dance across the sky. The prototype's agility allow for maneuvers which made it extremely difficult for the enemy to utilize their numerical advantage. A glimmer of impossible hope bloomed in my chest as I shot down one, then two, then three of bogies in the frantic dog fight. Angela and I acted as a single entity, calling out our attack plans and shouting warnings on enemy movement, dealing death to the leeches. We whooped with joy with every hit we scored, every missile we avoided or fooled with our electronic decoys. All the while the range estimate to Texan airspace kept dropping and dropping. Perhaps I shouldn't have written off our futures just yet.

We did not spot the incoming missile until it was too late.

Angel yelled out a warning and I attempted a last minute dive to avoid a direct hit. Unfortunately, this did not stop the missile from clipping my aft section, demolishing my primary engines and slashing part of my wings. We were too low to safely eject, so I desperately try to pull my wounded plane out of the dive toward the earth. The damage alarms blared in my ears, which barely manage to mask Angela's screams of terror. I engaged the secondary engines from the hover mode, using them to stop our plummet. Finally, after what seem like an eternity, the plane began to level out. I connected to Angela's com, "whew...that was clos-"

Bullets ripped through the cockpit, ricocheting off the interior and shattering the instruments and controls. Sharp bursts of pain beyond anything I have ever experienced exploded in my right shoulder and left hip as blood sprayed against my helmet, obscuring my view. I lost my grip on the flight stick and could not raise my right arm to retake it. Using my still functioning left hand, I wipe at my visor, leaving a murky streak in my field of vision. I clench my teeth as tried not to be overwhelmed by the battery of sensations - the roar of the wind through the exposed parts of the canopy, the wail of the alarms, and the burning in my right shoulder and left hip. I focused in on the altimeter, five hundred feet.

Oh my God.

I was going into shock and running out of time. With my remaining strength, I pulled down the landing gears and decelerated for conversion to hover mode. I blacked out before I could fully complete the switch. The last things I saw before my eyes rolled back were the trees tops blurring past my canopy as my plane rushed toward the earth.