Six fighter jets gave me thirty seconds to abandon my Apache.
My younger brother was trapped in the valley beneath them.
Command did not know Daniel was with Ranger Seven. The team’s personnel list had been sealed before the operation, but I recognized his voice the moment he called for help.
“Reaper, two wounded. Enemy closing from the north.”
I looked down through the dust. Six soldiers were sheltering behind a line of rocks. One was firing short bursts toward the ridge. Two others could barely move.
“Ranger Seven, this is Reaper,” I said. “I see you.”
“Alex?”
Daniel and I had not spoken in three years. Now he sounded close enough to be sitting beside me.
Six fast-moving contacts appeared on my radar.
“Reaper, return to base immediately,” command ordered. “Support is being redirected.”
The enemy flight leader opened a public channel.
“Apache, your soldiers will be dead before you reach them.”
“They are not your soldiers to threaten,” I answered.
He laughed. “You have thirty seconds.”
Daniel heard him.
“Alex, don’t do this because of me.”
“I’m not.”
I was trying to keep all six soldiers alive. I was also looking at my brother through the dust, and I could not pretend that made no difference.
Our father had flown training missions through this canyon years earlier. When Daniel and I were children, Dad drew its ridgelines on scraps of paper at our kitchen table. He made us describe them back to him until we could recognize each turn.
After his funeral, his flight notebooks disappeared. Daniel said he had sold them to pay our mother’s hospital bills. I accused him of selling the one thing Dad had left us.
Daniel told me I had no right to judge him when I had followed Dad into aviation and left him to manage everything at home.
That was our last conversation.
Now I banked toward the cliffs Dad had drawn. Five fighters followed me into the canyon. Their first missile struck rock, throwing dust across my canopy. I cleared the cloud and saw their formation break.
“Alex!” Daniel shouted. “The sixth jet isn’t following you.”
I checked the radar. He was right. One contact had descended toward Ranger Seven.
“Command, the team is being targeted,” I said. “I need cover over their position.”
“We’re working on it. Break away from those aircraft.”
I turned toward Daniel’s last known position. His voice returned, strained but clear.
“The sixth pilot knows where we are.”
A jet’s shadow swept across the rocks. Ranger Seven scattered as fire struck the far edge of their cover. My copilot, Lieutenant Hayes, called out the distance to our own support aircraft.
“Four minutes,” he said.
The six soldiers did not have four minutes.
Daniel came back on the radio. “Alex, I found something in our communications officer’s pack.”
“What?”
“Dad’s notebook.”
I looked at Hayes. He had heard it too.
Daniel read the name written inside the cover: Colonel James Riley. Beneath it was Dad’s old call sign, Ghost.
The notebook could not have ended up in that pack by accident.
“Why did your communications officer have it?” I asked.
“He never told me. I didn’t know it was here.”
A voice entered the public channel before I could ask more.
“Your father drew beautiful maps,” the enemy flight leader said.
He knew we had found the notebook. I stopped following the route Dad had taught me and climbed out of the dust.
Hayes looked across the cockpit. “What are you doing?”
“He’s waiting for me at the next turn.”
The lead fighters changed direction with us. I guided the Apache toward open ground where our approaching aircraft would have a clear view of them. Behind us, the sixth jet made another pass over Ranger Seven but did not strike the rocks directly.
“Daniel, where’s your team?” I asked.
“Still behind cover. Both wounded are alive.”
“Stay on the radio.”
“I’m here.”
The enemy leader spoke again. “Your brother should have stayed out of this.”
My chest tightened. He knew Daniel’s identity as well as mine. The notebook in the communications officer’s pack had helped someone find Ranger Seven and bring us both to the same valley.
“Who sent you?” I asked.
The pilot did not answer. His aircraft climbed as two American fighters appeared beyond the ridge. The contacts behind me turned away. The sixth jet followed them, disappearing into the haze before I could see its markings.
Hayes reported the route clear for the rescue helicopters.
I went back to Ranger Seven and held position while they came in. Dust rose around the rocks as the first helicopter landed. One by one, the soldiers carried their wounded teammates aboard.
Daniel stayed behind with the pack.
“Get on,” I told him.
“I have the notebook.”
“Then bring it.”
He boarded with the last wounded soldier. I watched the rescue helicopter lift and turn toward safety before following.
At base, medical staff took the injured soldiers away. Daniel found me outside the hangar. His face was streaked with dust. He held Dad’s notebook inside a clear evidence sleeve.
“I didn’t sell them,” he said.
I stared at him.
“After the funeral, a man offered to buy them. I refused. Later, they were gone.” Daniel looked down at the notebook. “Mom needed treatment, and you were angry. I let you believe I’d taken the money because I didn’t want to admit I’d lost them.”
“You could have told me.”
“I know.”
Investigators were waiting to examine the notebook and the communications officer’s equipment. Daniel handed it over but kept the memory of where he had found it. Neither of us knew how it had reached his team or who had told the enemy where to find us.
We sat outside the hangar until someone came to take his statement.
“I’m glad you answered the radio,” he said.
“I almost didn’t recognize your call sign.”
“You recognized my voice.”
“Yes.”
He stood when the investigator approached. Before going inside, he turned back.
“Mom still asks when you’re coming home.”
I looked toward the runway, where the rescue helicopter had landed with all six members of Ranger Seven aboard.
“Tell her I’ll call,” I said. “After we find out who took Dad’s notebooks, I’ll come see her.”
