“Good. I know you will. Just think of this as just another sim ride. We’re wringing out a new weapon code, that’s all, nothing to it.”

But as soon as Tanaka uttered those words, he knew they didn’t ring true.

“I’m sorry, Greg,” Tanaka went on. “We’re not in the sim. We’re not wringing out a new software program. This is the real thing. The missile that we fail to defeat or we don’t see will kill us, not just crash the IPL or freeze the sim. I know you didn’t sign up with the company to go to war. And I know you agreed to do this mission on the ground—but now we’re in the air, and we’re surrounded by about nine hostile SAM systems that will shoot us out of the sky the instant they get a lock on us, and you’re having second thoughts.” He paused, looking at Wickland, who said nothing. “Am I right?”

“Zero...”

“It’s okay, Gonzo,” Tanaka said. “We use these call signs and dress up in cool flight suits and pretend we’re Tom Cruise and Anthony Edwards in Top Gun, but the truth is hammering us in die head right now—that we’re in deep shit, that we could die any second up here; and if we do, no one will know what the hell we’re doing up here. We’ll be dead, and that’s all.” Wickland remained silent, but he turned to his aircraft commander, his chest inflating and deflating as if he was having trouble breathing all of a sudden.

“Gonzo, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Tanaka said. “This is the general’s fight, not ours. We’re the crew members aboard this plane, but we’re not sworn to fight and die for whoever the company is doing all this for. We signed a contract to fly planes for Sky Masters Inc., not get our asses shot at by a thousand Libyan SAMs. So if you want to break out of here, we will.”

Wickland’s mouth opened in surprise. “You will?”

“Damn straight,” Tanaka said. “I realize we’re not in this to save our country. We’re doing this because we like flying planes and building cool weapon systems and watching them work. So if you say so, I’ll call the general right now and tell him we’re aborting the mission.”

“You will?” Wickland repeated, stunned.

“I said I would,” Tanaka said. “We’ll climb out, avoid all the SAMs and intercept radars, get out over open ocean away from all other air traffic, head toward the Scotland refueling anchor, and call for gas to take us home or land at our facility at Glasgow or Lossiemouth.”

“We’ll catch hell for doing that. ...”