The radar screen pulsed violently now—five new contacts moving fast from the northeast, low over the ruined skyline. The spectrograms showed irregular wingbeats, jagged flight paths. They weren't drones. They weren't aircraft.
They were alive.
"Spectre Actual to Command!" crackled the voice over the priority channel. "We've got multiple airborne hostiles inbound! Five large contacts—closing fast! We do not have enough air-to-air ordnance to engage!"
Thomas's heart sank for half a second—but only half.
"Stay defensive," he snapped into the mic. "Deploy countermeasures. Warthog One, divert and assist. You are cleared to engage hostile air targets."
"Copy that, Command. Redirecting," came the pilot's calm response, even as the urgency thickened in the air.
On the external cameras mounted along the Spectre's fuselage, the shapes became visible—monstrous silhouettes slicing through the heavy clouds.
