“Further, based on your reckless flying, I am going to recommend that your skipper convene a fee-nab when you get back to Fallon to determine your suitability to continue flying as a Naval Aviator.”

Worse than the potential for prison time and a boot from the Navy, a FNAEB, or Field Naval Aviator Evaluation Board, was a death knell. One of the potential outcomes from the board was being stripped of his wings and losing his entire identity as a pilot. Everything he had worked so hard to achieve could be taken from him with a simple up-down vote from three senior aviators.

“Lieutenant Bancroft, do you understand the gravity of the situation?”

Colt studied CAG for a sign he was anything but one hundred percent serious. Seeing only fierce determination in the face before him, he nodded. “Yes, sir. I do.”

“Very well,” CAG replied. “Then, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Colt took a deep breath to calm his fraying nerves. He still didn’t know how to describe what had happened to him over the Mobile Bay, but he needed to convey the severity of the situation. “Sir, I almost died tonight.”

CAG’s face softened slightly as he heard the tremor in Colt’s voice. “What do you mean, son?”

Colt shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s something wrong with the jet’s software.” He paused, again remembering the impotence he felt when his connection to the jet was severed. “Just as I arrived on station, my PCD flickered, and I lost control of the jet.”

CAG rolled his eyes. “You lost control? Like, you departed?”

Again, he shook his head. “No, sir, I’m saying the jet wouldn’t respond to my commands. It rolled in on the ship on its own, and I couldn’t pull out of the dive. I couldn’t stop the roll. I couldn’t stop the dive. Nothing I did worked.”

“So, how’d you recover?”

Colt glanced over at the Black Knights’ skipper and saw a worried crease on his brow. He was certain the lieutenant colonel was questioning the safety of his fleet, but he wasn’t willing to stand up to Footloose and recommend grounding the Joint Strike Fighter. He looked back into CAG’s face and saw the concern that had been etched there slowly fading away. He was losing his sympathetic ear.

“I don’t know what I did,” Colt replied honestly. “I wish I could say it was my knowledge or skill that saved me, but I’m afraid it was just dumb luck. All I know is that the jet rolled in on the ship on a kamikaze attack, and I was helpless. We almost lost a guided-missile cruiser tonight.”

Saying the words out loud shaded the events in a completely different light. The possibility of crashing and being lost at sea was an inherent risk of his chosen profession. But taking out a strategic asset and critical component of the carrier strike group made it seem targeted. It was almost as if nothing that happened had been random or could be explained away as a simple glitch.

He saw CAG’s jaw harden, and he knew his time was up.

“You disobeyed a direct order. You put our greatest asset at risk, and now you want me to cover up your reckless flat-hatting by grounding my entire fleet of F-35s? Well, I’m not buying it.”

Colt held his breath.

“Go directly to maintenance control and complete your paperwork, then straight to your stateroom. I’m grounding you and confining you there pending a review of the maintenance data.”

Colt exhaled through pursed lips, though he knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. His entire fate rested on a report generated by a jet that had already betrayed him. Without concrete evidence validating his claims, CAG would likely take him to mast. Or, worse, he would recommend a FNAEB to have him stripped of his wings.

CAG turned to the Black Knights’ commanding officer. “Skipper, you will accompany me to maintenance control so we can get to the bottom of this.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

CAG gave Colt one more appraising glare. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”

Colt’s stomach dropped, but he performed a parade-worthy about-face and marched out of CVIC on unsteady feet.

6

Long Beach, California

NCIS Special Agent Emmy King sat at a waterfront brewery and stared over the railing at the empty slip in the yacht club where TANDY’s boat should be moored. She ran a finger along the side of her glass, rubbing away the condensation that had collected there while trying to ignore the man sitting across from her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him. After all, her father’s best friend had been part of her life for as long as she could remember. Rather, she didn’t like how he reminded her of things she’d just as soon forget.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.

Emmy took her eyes from the yacht club and glanced up, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

The young woman, who was probably a junior or senior at Cal State Long Beach, started to walk away to check on her other tables, but Rick Cole stopped her. “Actually, we’ll have another round.”

The waitress smiled at Rick and said, “Certainly.”