Expert training dulled Bradford’s instinctual reaction to wheel like a barracuda at flashing metal, but he did round the mains forward to bring the Jack Rabbit to a contemplative hover after 300 meters. In the first two days following their initial incursion patrols had picked up a handful of refugees—even less combatants. Every effort since had been bust.
Considering all the possible options Bradford realized he’d have to investigate on the ground. “Crap.”
“[Bradford’s call sign to ‘base’]”
“[This is ‘base’, Continue]”
“See my vector?” Bradford gave the operator time to swig some coffee to wash down the donut he’d heard in her voice. “Body on the ground 300 meters backline. Port. Returning to investigate on foot.” Bradford waited while the operator came to the same conclusion why he was exiting the aircraft personally.
“Understood. Human?” Bradford thought a moment.
OK thats all I could write before I got totally sucked in figuring out the radio chatter.