Page 54 of Viking

She looks up at me with glassy eyes, closing her small hand around the metal key and bringing her knees to her chest. “What way?” Her eyes tell me what she wants me to say, that she’d say it back. But I can’t do that to her. I can’t tell her I love her as I walk out the door to go who knows where for only God knows how long.

So instead I say, “Like I have something to lose.”

She nods, arms tightening around her legs like she’s holding herself together. She probably is. The forlorn expression on her face tells me that she may be physically here with me, but mentally, she’s with Lincoln. Helping him pack his bag. Making him promise to be safe. She’s there. Almost exactly ten years ago. The last time he deployed. The last time she saw him alive. I clench my jaw, grimacing as I tear my fingers through my hair. She doesn’t know it but I’m the common denominator.

“I’m sorry we haven’t had more time,” I say, leaning down to kiss her quickly before turning back to my bag. She doesn’t register the kiss.

“Logan,” she says, her voice icy now, a contrast to the warmth it usually holds. Her eyes lock with mine, hazy with ghosts of her past. “How will I know if something happens to you?”

I close my eyes, leaning my head back and taking a deep breath.

Lila’s not my next of kin, and I know what that means. She wouldn’t be notified unless I made arrangements.

She has to be remembering. The goodbye. The apprehension. The knock. The memorial. The flyover. The flag. The agony. I stop packing and sit down next to her on the bed, pulling her small, stiff frame into my chest.

“If something happens to me, someone from my squadron will be in touch with you,” I say gently. “Likely Townsend. I’ll tell him before we leave. But listen,” I add, tilting her chin up so she has to look at me. “Nothing is going to happen to me. You hear me? Our story is just beginning. I’ll be back.”

I plant a kiss in her hair, but the tension in her body doesn’t ease.

***

The ride to the base is quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound. My knuckles grip the wheel so tightly they ache, and my chest feels like it’s caving in. Lila’s face keeps flashing in my mind—the way she tried to hold it together for my sake.

I don’t deserve that kind of grace.

The image of her standing in my doorway, a blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, green eyes shining with tears she wouldn't allow to fall, is forever burned into my brain. She kissed me, and watched me leave.

I wish I had Alinna’s or Ivy’s number.

She shouldn't be alone.

When I pull into the lot, I zip up my green flight suit, dropping my phone in my pocket. My boots hit the pavement with purpose, and I stride toward the briefing room with my deployment bag slung over one shoulder.

Inside, the room is already buzzing with activity. Townsend is standing at the head of the room, his posture straight and commanding, his tone sharp as he addresses the team. Ryan and Dalton are seated in the second row, their faces serious and focused. A few high-ranking officers are off to the side, their expressions grim. The pilots from Charlie are here as well, but they won’t deploy for a month.

“James,” Townsend says as I step inside.

I drop my bag by the door and move to the front. “Major,” I reply.

Townsend clears his throat, commanding the room’s attention. “Here’s the situation. As of zero four hundred this morning, one of our forward operating bases near the Spratly Islands came under heavy fire from hostile forces. This isn’t just a minor engagement—it’s a calculated offensive. They’re targeting key assets and supply routes, attempting to disrupt our strategic foothold in the region. The base is still under our control, but it’s a tenuous hold at best.”

The map shifts, zooming in on the South China Sea, with the outpost and surrounding waters illuminated on the screen. Red clusters of enemy forces close in on the blue perimeter around the base, tightening like a noose.

Ryan leans forward, his brow furrowed. “What kind of resistance are we looking at?”

“Significant,” Townsend answers bluntly. “Surface-to-air missile sites, air-to-air combat, and heavy ground fire. Intel suggests they’ve got anti-aircraft artillery stationed near those key supply routes. You’ll be flying into contested airspace, engaging both air and ground threats. Expect the worst. This will not be a cake walk.”

The room is silent for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in.

“How long will they need us?” Dalton asks.

Townsend’s jaw tightens. “The mission length is indefinite. We stay until the base is secure, or until the brass decides otherwise.”

“Which means awhile,” Ryan mutters under his breath.

Townsend’s eyes land on me, and for a second, the weight of his authority feels personal. “James, your experience flying under these conditions will be critical. You’re leading the second sortie team.”

I nod, my voice steady. “Understood, sir.”