Chapter 2 - The Engine That Started Screaming
"V-047..."
The voice repeated my forgotten call sign through the cockpit radio.
Nobody moved.
Not the captain.
Not Mark.
Not even me.
For forty years, I had convinced myself that voice was gone.
That the people who knew that name were gone.
That the woman who answered to that call sign had disappeared forever.
But the radio had just proven me wrong.
The captain slowly reached for the communication panel.
"Identify yourself."
Static filled the cockpit.
A long, painful silence followed.
Then the voice returned.
Older.
Distorted.
But familiar.
"Tell Evelyn Carter that some ghosts refuse to stay buried."
Mark looked at me.
His face had completely changed.
The arrogance was gone.
The joke was gone.
Now he looked like every young pilot looked when they realized they were standing beside someone they didn't understand.
"How does someone on that frequency know your name?"
I didn't answer.
Because I was asking myself the same question.
I stared through the windshield at the two fighter jets flying beside us.
They moved perfectly with our aircraft.
Silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
Forty years ago, those jets would have been a sign of protection.
Today, I wasn't sure if they were there to save us.
Or to make sure we didn't escape.
The captain looked back at me.
"Mrs. Carter."
I looked at him.
"How do you know that call sign?"
I held the silver pin tightly.
The metal felt colder than it should have.
"Because I was the person who used it."
Mark swallowed.
"You were a pilot?"
I looked at him.
"Not exactly."
The captain frowned.
"Then what were you?"
That was the question I had spent my entire life avoiding.
I looked down at my hands.
Hands that had held control yokes.
Hands that had repaired engines.
Hands that had signed documents that were later erased.
"I was someone who flew when nobody wanted anyone to know I was flying."
Before they could ask more, the aircraft shook violently.
The entire cockpit moved.
Warning alarms exploded across the panels.
The captain grabbed the controls.
"Engine two temperature rising fast."
Mark immediately started checking the systems.
"Fuel pressure dropping."
The captain's voice became sharper.
"How fast?"
Mark looked at the numbers.
His expression changed.
"Too fast."
I watched them work.
Fast.
Professional.
But scared.
The difference between a good pilot and an experienced one was knowing the exact moment when fear entered the cockpit.
I could see it.
They weren't afraid of losing control.
They were afraid they didn't understand what was happening.
I stood up slightly.
Mark noticed.
"Ma'am, you need to sit down."
I ignored him.
"The engine isn't failing."
Both pilots looked at me.
The captain stared.
"What?"
I pointed at the display.
"It's not mechanical failure."
Mark shook his head.
"The sensors say—"
"The sensors are reading the result."
I stepped closer.
"They aren't showing you the cause."
The captain looked uncertain.
"Then what is the cause?"
I looked at the numbers.
The vibration pattern.
The temperature changes.
The fuel response.
A memory returned.
A different cockpit.
A different aircraft.
A younger version of myself sitting in a seat almost identical to this one.
"Someone is forcing the engine to shut down."
Silence.
Mark stared at me.
"That's impossible."
I looked at him.
"Forty years ago, people said the same thing when I told them what was happening."
The captain turned back to the instruments.
"Are you saying someone is interfering with the aircraft?"
"I am saying this isn't an accident."
Another violent shake interrupted us.
The lights flickered.
The passenger cabin lights dimmed.
Somewhere behind the cockpit door, people started screaming.
The captain reached for the radio.
"Flight 718 declaring emergency. Requesting immediate assistance."
Static.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Mark looked confused.
"Why aren't they responding?"
I looked at the fighter jets.
"They are."
The captain looked at me.
"What?"
"They are listening."
Mark looked through the windshield.
"They haven't sent any message."
I shook my head.
"They don't need to."
The captain stared at me.
"You know something."
I didn't respond.
Because I did.
And I knew exactly how dangerous that knowledge was.
The silver pin in my hand wasn't just a symbol.
It was a warning.
A reminder.
A piece of a past that powerful people had tried to erase.
Forty years earlier, I had been part of a program that officially never existed.
A program created because some aircraft problems couldn't be solved by technology alone.
They needed people who understood the sky differently.
People who could feel when an airplane was sick before the instruments noticed.
People like me.
But the day that program ended, everyone involved disappeared.
Some retired.
Some changed names.
Some were told never to speak again.
And one person made sure my name was removed from every aviation record.
Commander Thomas Hale.
The man whose voice had just spoken through the radio.
The man who had supposedly died in a training accident in 1986.
The man who had made me promise I would never use V-047 again.
Mark noticed my expression.
"Who was that voice?"
I looked at him.
"No one you should know."
The captain stepped closer.
"Mrs. Carter, we don't have time for secrets."
He was right.
The airplane was still losing stability.
The engine was still getting worse.
And the fighter jets were still silent.
I took a deep breath.
"My name is Evelyn Carter."
They waited.
"Forty years ago, I was not an engineer."
Mark leaned closer.
"What were you?"
I looked at the controls.
Then at the sky.
"I was the pilot assigned to aircraft nobody else could bring home."
Neither man spoke.
The captain slowly sat down.
"You were a test pilot?"
I nodded.
"Among other things."
Mark looked at the silver pin.
"But that symbol..."
"It belonged to a unit that doesn't exist anymore."
The cockpit went quiet.
Then the radio suddenly crackled.
A different voice came through.
A younger voice.
Military.
Controlled.
"Flight 718, identify the woman inside your cockpit."
The captain grabbed the microphone.
"Who is this?"
No answer.
The voice repeated.
"Identify the woman."
Mark looked at me.
The question wasn't directed at the aircraft.
It was directed at me.
The captain lowered his voice.
"Why would fighter jets need to know who you are?"
I didn't answer.
Because I already knew.
They weren't protecting us.
They were confirming something.
The radio crackled again.
This time, the voice said one sentence.
"V-047 was never retired."
My heart stopped.
Because that wasn't possible.
The world had buried that call sign.
I had buried it.
But someone had just brought it back.
The captain looked at me.
"What does that mean?"
I looked at the cockpit door.
Then at the silver pin.
Then at the fighter jets outside.
"They found me."
Mark's face tightened.
"Who?"
I didn't get a chance to answer.
Because at that exact moment, the cockpit display showed a new message appearing across the emergency system.
A message that wasn't sent by the airline.
A message that wasn't sent by the military.
It was signed with a name I hadn't seen in forty years.
May you like
And beneath it were three words:
"Welcome back, Evelyn."
