“You’re up, Mav,” said Captain Hollis from the command deck, her voice crackling through his neural link. “We’ve got three bogies inbound over the Bering Strait. Su-57s. They’re testing our northern gap.”
“One down,” Mav said. “Two to go.” pc mav
Mav exhaled. The PC-MAV hummed beneath him, its six variable-configuration rotors folded flush against a fuselage no bigger than a compact car. In stealth mode, it was invisible to radar, heat, and sound. In assault mode, it could pull 18 G’s—enough to turn a human pilot into jam if they weren’t careful. “You’re up, Mav,” said Captain Hollis from the
