YHZ-13 ... Beginnings Turbines idle. Heart resting. Eyes closed. Vents closed. Breathing slowly.

Crew playing cards. Rain drumming on her skin. "Yankee Hotel Zulu Seven, Yankee Hotel Zulu Nine, Yankee Hotel Zulu Fifteen this is Dispatch. Multiple broken card alerts in sector 12. Police band monitoring indicates AV3 crash into a night club.. Expect heavy burn casualties." "Dispatch this is Yankee Hotel Zulu Seven .. I copy your last. Request Gang Boss." "Yankee Hotel Zulu Seven this is Dispatch. I affirm Gang Boss. Report when Gang on top" "Zulu Seven, Roger, out." Slow night. Medic wins third straight hand. Solo-man regrets teaching him poker. "Yankee Hotel Zulu Four this is Dispatch. Two BCAs in Sector 36 DMZ . No reports from Police band monitoring." "Dispatch this is Yankee Hotel Zulu Four, I am in the air en route. Expect on top in one minute." "This is Dispatch, thank-you, Roger, out." "Dispatch this is Yankee Hotel Zulu Three. I am RTB. Fuel is Bingo minus 10. Mini-gun dry. All other stores correct. Small arms damage to 30% of Bird. Request armorers and techs on the pad." Mind's eye stirs. Radio tunes. Note to self; Pilot Zulu Three has nice voice. Investigate. "Yankee Hotel Zulu Three this is Dispatch. Roger, Wilco. Break. Personal traffic to follow. Your wife phoned; she says to pick up a racy flick on the way home." "This is Zulu Three, Roger, thank-you, Wilco, Out." Control surfaces ripple. Frown. Damn. "Dispatch this is Yankee Hotel Zulu One. I am now airborne. Client is aboard. Medic isn't holding out much hope. Very good odds of a refund in the offing. We are cleared to Boom-tube to the Pillars." "Yankee Hotel Zulu One this is Dispatch. Report client status on arrival at Saint Mercy Hospiplex. Out." "Dispatch this is Yankee Hotel Zulu Four. On top. Looks like armored limo under attack by booster gang. BCAs are limo security pers on the ground outside. Intend to drop tear-gas CBU followed by one run with minigun and then extract." "Yankee Hotel Zulu Four this is Dispatch. Roger, report on extraction." Eyes open. Cold sweat. Bad feeling in the guts. Heart warms. Turbines spin up from idle to stand-by. Status light in cabins switched to yellow. Solo-boy notices. Cards put away. "Yankee Hotel Zulu Eight this is Dispatch. Admin traffic to follow.."

Heart racing. Let go tie-downs. Eyes wide. RADARs sweep local air traffic and GPS shows path to Zulu Four. Breathing steady. Vents open and warming. "FLASH! MADAY! MAYDAY! MAYDAY! This is Yankee Hotel Zulu Four. I am going down! I'm going down! I just took a Stinger in the starboard pipe. Dear God....<SCREEEEEEEEEETCH>" Status light red. Crew strapped in. Leaping into the oil-covered sky. Heart pounding. Turbines at full standard power. Focused. Eyes sweeping ahead for others in sky with her. Darting between skyscraper mansions and man-made mountains. "Dispatch this is Yankee Hotel Zulu Thirteen.. I am airborne and en route Zulu Four. Requesting Alert Five backup." "Yankee Hotel Zulu Thirteen this is Dispatch. Roger your backup request. Be advised we have TTI personnel down. Bad guys unknown, weapons unknown, situation unknown. Proceed with caution. Break. Personal traffic to follow. Kick some ass and bring our boys home, Rade" "This is Zulu Thirteen.. Roger, Wilco, Out." Ears sharpen. Radio tunes. "New Halifax Traffic, this is TTI 13. Request Boom-tube from Sector 1 to Sector 36. We have a Bird down. I say again: we have a Bird down." "This is Traffic. Boom-tube granted. Stand-by for Tube opening. Best of luck with your people. Traffic out." Signal buffer pours into eyes. A glowing tunnel of rings opens in the sky. Others around her swerve around it. It is inviolate, hers alone. She plunges in, heart racing. Turbines at full military power. This is her own personal section of the sky, to do with what she wishes. She races through, eyes peering ahead. She resists the temptation to do a VIF-roll; due to the "extreme passenger compartment conditions" which result. Radar's and FLIR probe the raining sky. Crew doing equipment checks, complaining about the ride. Ears hear the keening of Zulu Four's homing beacon. She plunges out of the end of the Tube and down into the urban canyons. She dances through the sewer-grate steam clouds and hard-water fog banks. Grounders, people on the street watch her scream by, lights and sirens raging against the night. Banking, jinking, VIFing at 60 feet above the Street. She's almost there. Claws extend. Safeties come off the minigun and IFARs. She will be vengeance and deliverance. She is alive.