Through the rain‑streaked canopy, a shadow darker than the storm began to form. It was huge — the swept‑back wings of the Blackjack cutting through the rain like scythes, painted a ghostly anti‑flash white, illuminated only by lightning flashes. It flew with heavy grace, fighting the updrafts that tossed my lighter fighter around like a toy.
Five miles. I reached down and flicked the master arm switch to on. Protocol said to pull up on his wing, rock my wings, force him to turn back. But there was no protocol for a Category 5 typhoon and an unescorted bomber making a run at unarmed ships. I selected an AIM‑120D AMRAAM and commanded the weapons bay doors open.
I heard a heavy mechanical clunk. Then an alarm. Bay door fault. The dropping hydraulic pressure wasn’t
enough to force the doors open against the 100‑knot slipstream. The missiles were jammed. Trapped inside the belly of the jet.
