Walker had wanted to be a knight of the sky. Here was his opportunity. Under the Russians’ berserk jamming, the helicopter’s combat mission integration system, the target analysis system, the auxiliary target examination and classification system, the RealSight situation imager, the resource burst system, whatever, they were all fucking fried! All that was left was the two 1,000-horsepower T800 engines, still loyally churning away. Haney normally earned his spot with his electronic gewgaws, but now his incessant orders had gone silent with them.

Haney’s voice came through the internal mic system. “Attention, I’ve found a target. It seems to be to the left and front, maybe by that little hill. There’s an armored-car unit that seems to be the enemy’s. You … do what you can.”

Walker nearly laughed aloud. Ha, that bastard. What he would have said in the past was, “I’ve found a target at azimuth 133. Seventeen 90-series tanks, twenty-one 89-series soldier convoys, moving toward azimuth 391 at an average speed of 43.5 klicks per hour and an average separation of 31.4 meters. Execute the AJ041 optimized attack plan and approach from azimuth 179 at a vertical angle of 37 degrees.” And now? “It ‘seems’ to be an armored-car unit, ‘maybe by’ that little hill.” Who the hell needed you to say that? I saw it ages ago! Leave it to me, because you’re useless now, Haney. This is my battle, and I’m going to use my ass for an accelerometer and be a knight! This Comanche’s gonna fight like its namesake in my hands.

The Comanche charged toward its open target and launched all sixty-two 27.5-inch Hornet missiles. Walker watched rapt as his swarm of fire-stingered little bees buzzed happily toward their target, swamping the enemy in a sea of fire. But when he turned to fly over the results of the encounter, he realized that something was wrong. The soldiers on the ground hadn’t tried to conceal themselves. Instead, they stood in the snow, pointing at him. They seemed to be cussing him out.

Walker flew closer and clearly saw the destroyed armored car’s insignia for himself: three concentric circles, blue at the center, white in the middle, red on the outside. Walker felt as if he’d dropped into hell. He started cussing, too.

“You son of a bitch, are you blind?!”

But he still had the wisdom to fly away in case the enraged French returned fire. “You son of a bitch, you’re probably thinking of how to pin the blame on me in military court right this moment. I’m telling you here, you won’t get away with this. You were the one in charge of identifying targets, are you clear?”

“Maybe … maybe we’ll still have the chance to make up for our mistake,” Haney said timidly. “I found another unit, right across—”

“Fuck you!” Walker said.

“They’re definitely the enemy’s this time! They’re exchanging fire with the French!”