He stood near the edge of the MOA Complex airstrip, eyes scanning the parked aircraft under the rising sun. A row of Black Hawk helicopters gleamed under the maintenance lights, their rotors still, their engines silent. Beyond them, the ground crews moved with quiet focus, checking fuel lines, tightening bolts, logging preflight diagnostics.
Phillip approached from behind, sipping coffee from a steel thermos. "You're up early."
Thomas gave a small nod. "Felt like flying."
Phillip blinked. "Wait, what?"
"I have flying skills," Thomas said, turning to face him. "I really wanted to try out my skills even though I don't have any experience."
Phillip raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You want to fly a Black Hawk?"
"Just one round. Sightseeing."
"We're not exactly in a tourist zone."
Thomas offered a slight smirk. "Call it high-altitude recon."
