Pursued

She knew how to follow a plan, damn it.

Josie keyed up the radio to talk to Wagner. Flying the modified Predator by remote was a snap—except when somebody was in the saddle. Even though he could counteract any of her control inputs, she still carried a lump in her throat thicker than her father’s sticky mac and cheese every time she piloted one of these flights. She’d rather strap her own tush to the rocket any day of the week than have someone else in danger. “Well partner,” she called over the radio to Wagner. “You ready to ride this bronco?”

“I would prefer that it not buck me off if you don’t mind,” Wagner chided through her headset. “But I am checklist complete and ready to go.”

Josie ran through her instruments one last time before the countdown. “Ten seconds to throttle up.”

“Copy ten,” the saddled-up Wagner shot back.

Josie checked her stopwatch and began counting down. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Going throttle up now.”

She eased the throttle forward. Since she sat in the remote control seat, there was no kick in the ass like in a T-38 or a U-2 to let her know the engine was running to full power. Wagner would get that punt. Only her instruments showed a steady climb as power increased. “Ready for brake release in three, two, one. Brakes released.”

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