Chapter 5 - The Price of Speaking UpThe next morning, I found Major Calloway waiting outside the simulator building.
He stood with his hands behind his back, watching maintenance vehicles cross the ramp.
When he saw me, he stepped directly into my path.
“Captain Hollis.”
I stopped.
“Sir.”
“I understand you've been asking questions about Lieutenant Sutter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That's interesting.”
He tilted his head.
“Most new pilots spend their first week learning the squadron. You seem more interested in investigating it.”
“Sir, I'm concerned about operational safety.”
“Operational safety.”
He repeated the words as though they were something unpleasant.
“That's a convenient phrase.”
I kept my voice even.
“It's also part of our responsibility.”
Calloway moved closer.
“Let me tell you something about responsibility, Captain. I've kept this squadron flying through personnel shortages, maintenance problems, and impossible demands from higher headquarters.”
“I understand that's difficult.”
“No, I don't think you do.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Every day, somebody wants a decision. Somebody needs another aircraft. Somebody wants more training. And every time there's a problem, somebody else wants to stop flying.”
He pointed toward the flight line.
“Those jets don't exist to sit in hangars.”
“No, sir.”
“They exist to perform missions.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then perhaps you should focus on learning yours.”
I took a slow breath.
“Major, I want this squadron to succeed.”
“Then stop trying to make it fail.”
The accusation hung between us.
For one moment, I remembered standing in the ready room while he dropped my father's wings into his coffee.
I remembered how desperately I'd wanted to say something that would wipe the arrogant expression from his face.
But anger wasn't going to help me now.
“Sir, I haven't accused anyone of wanting an accident.”
He crossed his arms.
“Then what are you accusing me of?”
“I'm reporting documented concerns. The investigation can determine what they mean.”
Calloway stared at me.
“Careful, Hollis. You're developing a reputation.”
I met his eyes.
“Then I hope it's a reputation for telling the truth.”
His expression hardened.
“You're dismissed.”
I walked away without looking back.
Inside the simulator building, Lieutenant Mercer was waiting beside Captain Cole Reyes.
Reyes looked at my face.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“That good, huh?”
I smiled slightly.
“Let's work.”
Over the next three hours, we practiced emergency procedures and communication failures.
Mercer was sharp.
Really sharp.
She could interpret complicated instrument problems quickly, and her spatial awareness was excellent.
But whenever a scenario required her to challenge a flight lead's judgment, she hesitated.
The first time it happened, I stopped the simulator.
“Finch, why didn't you speak up?”
She looked embarrassed.
“I thought you had it under control.”
“I deliberately gave you an unsafe route.”
“I know.”
“Then why didn't you say anything?”
She looked at Reyes.
He leaned against the simulator console.
“Answer her, Lieutenant.”
Mercer took a breath.
“Because you were the instructor.”
I nodded.
“And?”
“And I figured you knew something I didn't.”
“Maybe I did.”
I pulled up the terrain display.
“But what if I didn't?”
Mercer studied the screen.
I pointed toward a simulated ridgeline.
“If your flight lead is about to fly into terrain, you don't get bonus points for being polite.”
Reyes gave a short laugh.
“She's right. I'd rather have a wingman tell me I'm wrong than have two aircraft hit the same mountain.”
Mercer finally smiled.
We resumed the scenario.
This time, when I deliberately selected an unsafe heading, she spoke immediately.
“Negative, lead. Terrain conflict. Recommend climbing and turning left.”
I followed her recommendation.
The simulator recorded a successful recovery.
When we finished, Mercer looked almost surprised.
“That felt different.”
“What did?”
“Not waiting for permission to be right.”
I nodded.
“Remember that feeling.”
Afterward, Reyes caught me in the hallway.
“She's good.”
“She is.”
“Calloway doesn't think so.”
“Why?”
“He says she's too cautious.”
I looked back toward the simulator.
“She's cautious because nobody's taught her the difference between respectful disagreement and disobedience.”
Reyes folded his arms.
“That's been happening around here for a while.”
I studied him.
“You've noticed it?”
“Of course.”
“Then why hasn't anyone stopped it?”
His expression changed.
“Because it's complicated, Kendra.”
I waited.
Reyes sighed.
“Calloway isn't wrong about everything. When he took over, we were struggling. He pushed hard, and some things improved.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
“Because eventually he started treating every delay like a personal failure.”
He looked toward the flight line.
“And people started telling him what he wanted to hear.”
That was the problem.
It wasn't simply one arrogant major.
It was an entire system learning to keep the wrong man comfortable.
At lunch, the tension became impossible to ignore.
I entered the ready room and found several pilots gathered around the flight schedule.
One lieutenant stopped talking when he saw me.
Another looked away.
Then Pike stepped forward.
“Captain.”
“Lieutenant.”
He hesitated.
“I heard you're helping Mercer prepare for her evaluation.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Good.”
A pilot sitting nearby scoffed.
“Careful, Pike. You keep hanging around Nobody, and you'll end up on simulator duty too.”
The room went quiet.
I turned toward him.
“What's your name?”
He straightened.
“Lieutenant Harris, ma'am.”
“Lieutenant Harris, do you know why pilots train in simulators?”
He looked confused.
“To practice procedures.”
“And emergencies?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And to make mistakes where nobody gets killed?”
His smile disappeared.
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Then I suggest you stop using simulator duty as an insult.”
Nobody laughed.
I picked up my flight folder and walked toward the door.
Behind me, Pike spoke.
“She's right.”
I stopped.
Harris turned toward him.
“What?”
Pike's voice was unsteady, but clear.
“She brought Seven back because something was wrong. Maintenance confirmed it.”
The room remained silent.
Pike looked toward the other pilots.
“We made fun of her for doing exactly what we're supposed to do.”
For the first time, somebody had publicly challenged the joke.
Not me.
One of the men who'd helped start it.
I turned back.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Pike nodded.
I could tell it had cost him something to speak.
That afternoon, Colonel Benson informed me that my flight status would be reviewed through a formal evaluation rather than left indefinitely to Major Calloway's personal judgment.
I should have been relieved.
Instead, I found myself thinking about the mission scheduled for Vega and Mercer.
The latest weather briefing showed a developing storm system over the western mountains.
The route remained authorized under the forecast available at the time.
But its risk assessment required careful monitoring.
That evening, Mercer found me in the hallway outside operations.
She was holding a copy of the mission worksheet.
“Captain, can I show you something?”
“Of course.”
She pointed to a section near the bottom.
“The weather-risk rating changed.”
I examined the form.
The previous assessment had identified elevated risk due to possible convective activity near Glass Knife Pass.
The newer version classified the overall mission risk as moderate, based on an improving forecast.
“Who approved the revision?” I asked.
Mercer pointed to the signature block.
Major Brett Calloway.
I looked at the timestamp.
The change had been entered only twenty minutes after the weather office issued a new advisory warning that storms could develop earlier than expected.
“Finch, did anyone brief you on that advisory?”
She shook her head.
“No, ma'am.”
I felt the same cold unease I'd experienced when Tail Zero-Seven started vibrating beneath me.
I picked up the phone.
“Get me Colonel Benson.”
May you like
Because this time, I wasn't worried about a single aircraft.
I was worried about two pilots heading toward the same mountains that had nearly killed Eli Sutter.
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