Sabrina
Copyright© 2026 by The Outsider
Chapter 35: Sandstorm
15 October 2025 – Above the Nevada Test and Training Range, Nye County, Nevada
Sabrina pushed the Raptor into another tight turn and flew southeast. A quick glance over her shoulder told her the F-35A was still behind her and looked like it had gained on her. Sabrina flipped her fighter into a flat, crooked Immelman, dove low, and tore northwest over Jackass Flats.
The sand-covered terrain ripped past before changing to the rising rocks of Yucca Mountain. Sabrina kept the hill to her right as she wove through valleys between other nearby peaks. She pulled through a hard right at Timber Ridge, blasted through the Pahute Mesa Airstrip airspace, and flew north-northeast toward Tonopah.
The Lightning II appeared in the distance, at a higher altitude over Timber Ridge, and closing from Sabrina’s ten o’clock. Capitalizing on the agility of her F-22A, she maneuvered into a crooked, twisted, rising corkscrew, juking and jinking in three dimensions as both aircraft closed at close to Mach 3.
Sabrina selected a venerable AIM-9C Sidewinder missile using muscle memory, locked it on, and switched to the 30-millimeter cannon. Sabrina simulated firing a wall of lead in front of the F-35 before twisting into another distorted Immelman after she passed it. Three warnings sounded in rapid succession over the joint radio channel. The tones ended as the Raptor settled three hundred yards off the Lightning’s tail.
“‘Your time is gonna come... ‘“ Sabrina sang from an ancient 1970s song after keying the mic. The Lightning wagged its wings and slowed.
“Jesus Christ, where did you learn to do that?”
“Here and there,” she answered. “I’ve spent a few hours in simulators.”
”’A few hours,’ she says...” A snort. “Do you sleep in the damn things?”
“Only one seat in them, Hammer, so no. There’d be no room for my hubby.”
Another laughing snort sounded over the radio. Then, “Guards Fifteen, returning to Nellis.”
“Talon Two, returning.”
Sabrina settled onto Hammer Kladivo’s wing, allowing him to take the lead. The two stealth fighters landed in formation and then taxied to different areas. The pilots met up in the 65th’s building close to the flight line.
“Feel free to let us beat you one of these days, Raikou,” Captain Marek Kladivo growled as the younger female pilot appeared before him.
“And where’s the fun in that, Hammer?” Sabrina replied with a smile. “Plus, I’ve only been here a week, so you guys are still learning my tricks.”
She’d beaten every fellow pilot in the 65th Aggressor Squadron she faced in contests so far.
“You’d better watch out when we do, Stormy,” Marek smiled back, using his variation of Sabrina’s callsign.
She liked it, but he was the only one to use it, so ‘Raikou’ was the name still widely used. Her custom Mark V HMDS still drew looks, comments, and questions.
“Pfft! Like you guys can outfly me!” Sabrina caught the slight slip in his smile. “Sorry, Mark. I barely know you, and here I am insulting you.”
Hammer’s smile regained strength. Marek ‘Mark’ (Hammer) Kladivo was the descendent of Czechoslovakian pre-World War II immigrants, about Sabrina’s age, a graduate of Purdue University, and a product of their AFROTC detachment. He knew she’d just been teasing him.
“I know you didn’t mean to insult me, Sabrina. I wish I could say that for others I’ve encountered. You have to be the most naturally skilled pilot I’ve ever met, and that doesn’t account for your Raptor training. My fighter pilot ego took a slight hit, but you’re better than I am, as today proved.”
“It’s our first contest, Mark. Remember? I just got here. That’s hardly a large sample size.”
“Sabrina, I’m guessing you barely broke a sweat during our flight, even when pulling eight Gs. I sweated my ass off trying to keep up with you and make counter-moves. We’ve got similar flight times since commissioning, but you’re miles ahead of me. I’m damn good, but I wish I could be as good as you.”
“Says the guy who smoked half a Weapons School squadron last year.”
“Well ... not all at once...”
Sabrina pushed Hammer’s shoulder, throwing him off-balance for a moment. He gave her a brotherly smile, remembering when his little sister used to do the same thing growing up.
“So, are you trying to beat every 65th Guards Fighter Aviation pilot?” Kladivo asked, using the made-up name of the 65th.
“Gonna do my best, Mark. It depends on whether I can get to everyone before I go to TPS.”
“When’s that?”
“Dunno,” Sabrina admitted. “I’ve been wait-listed four or five times now. It feels like they’re afraid I’ll file some sexual discrimination lawsuit because I’ve gotten a bad review on something there.” Mark raised his eyebrows. “Not a chance. Either I’m good enough for that school, or I’m not. I wish they’d make up their mind, though.”
“Maybe they’re trying to find enough pilots to keep up with you?”
“Yeah, okay!” she laughed. “I’m not the best out there, Mark, even if I’m the best here!”
“Seriously, what’s next?”
“To help Tiger Bengali build Delta Flight into a kick-ass force before we help you terrorize Weapons School and Red Flag pilots.”
Sabrina and Tom drove by their house the following week. The contractor had finished all their planned work. They repainted the interior and exterior, replaced the master bedroom carpet, and repaired the damaged kitchen cabinetry. The last item Sabrina and Tom waited on before they could move in was the installation of third-generation solar panels.
“I’m shocked no one around us has panels on their roofs,” Tom said as they toured the inside of their soon-to-be residence.
“It is surprising, given the amount of sun this area gets.”
“The rapid increase in panel efficiency over the last few years may have made people wait for a plateau. The fact that they can now be easily recycled is great.”
“Installing the Neptune’s Forge 106HHR will also help lower our electric bill.”
Neptune’s Forge Model 106 Household Recycler was their latest offering. It was as small as two filing cabinets side by side. It would recycle household gray and black water, reducing water and sewer bills while providing the household fusion the company was famous for. Both had grown up in homes with similar products, so recycled drinking water from a Neptune wouldn’t faze them.
“That’s the other thing I can’t believe people here don’t have!”
“Inertia is hard to change. The lack of rainfall is part of it.”
“I guess so. Are we sticking with Southwest decor or something else?”
“Seaside decor wouldn’t really work, would it? Maybe ‘Southwest Light?’”
“We can do that. What do you think your chances are this year?”
“As good as they’ve been the last few,” Sabrina replied with a shrug. “They might be trying to get good people in there before they have too much time in service.”
“That will eventually include you, you know?”
Sabrina and Tom hosted their parents for Christmas at their new house in Nevada. Lights hung from the house’s soffit, candles shone from each window, and an imitation Christmas tree stood in their living room. Two guest rooms were set up since the garage still had plenty of storage space. The sixty-degree weather outside made everything feel off for the New England natives.
“This doesn’t seem natural...”
“Dad, don’t forget Adriana grew up in Hawaii,” Sabrina reminded her father as they sat outside on the patio. “I’m sure there wasn’t a lot of snow at her house at Christmas when she was a kid, either. She’s probably more used to this kind of weather than the weather in Chicago.”
“Where’d you get the tree?”
“Target, Dad. Not a lot of real trees for sale in parking lots around here, and we can take this one with us, wherever we wind up. Real trees dry out within hours.”
“Cheeseburgers, everyone?” Tom asked as he stood next to the grill.
“Don’t forget the bacon!” John Jones called from next to Jeff.
“Dad, I forgot the bacon on your burger once. When I was twelve!”
“Still not a perfect record, kid!”
“How do you find work at your new squadron, Sabrina?”
“I just follow the street signs, Mom.” Keiko shook her head at her daughter’s reply to her question. “It’s fine, Mom. Tiger Bengali is a great boss, and I get along with almost everyone there.”
“‘Just about?’” Anne Jones asked.
“Two pilots tried to pick Sabrina up when we stayed at the Bellagio, Mom,” Tom explained.
“That must have been a sight to see!” John crowed, smiling at his daughter-in-law. “How many parts did you chop them into?”
“They’re still intact, Dad,” Sabrina replied. “We only use simulated weapons during training flights.”
“I’m sure they cringe whenever they see you.”
“Only a little.”
“Tommy, have you found a job yet?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m at the Legal Aid office on base again. I still like working there, instead of someplace in the normal civilian world.” Tom took a drink from his beer. “We’ll start preparations for tax season after New Year’s.”
“Tax Day’s not until mid-April,” Jeff reminded him.
“I know, Dad, but we have to be ready before the end of January. There are some people who file their returns as soon as their W-2 comes out at the end of January.”
Tom’s father and Sabrina’s father were some of those people.
“So, Sabrina, what are you and Tom doing in your off hours?” Anne asked, taking the focus off the fathers.
“Teaching Tommy how to fly, Mom.”
Anne sat upright.
“Gotta try to keep up with the little lady, Mom,” Tom added.
“Good luck with that,” Tom’s father snorted before sipping his cocktail.
“Tom’s gotta start somewhere, Dad,” Sabrina pointed out to her father-in-law.
“Yeah, and you’re only, what, Sabrina, fifteen years ahead of my youngest?”
“Okay, yeah, but the instructors at his flight school are pretty good!”
“What are his chances of getting access to the Raptor?”
“Uh, fairly slim, Dad,” Tom answered for his wife. “The Cessna 152 is a nice little aircraft, though. It’s still faster than driving from airport to airport.”
“Still, Tommy,” Anne said, full of worry.
“Mom, flying is also safer than driving to and from the airport for the lessons.”
Anne still didn’t look convinced. She looked at her daughter-in-law, then back at her son. Tom smiled back.
“You don’t think I’ll be a good pilot, do you? Sabrina’s way out in front of me, natural-skill-wise – and always will be training-wise – but I’m learning. It’s another experience we’ll share.”
Four months later, Sabrina wrapped her G-suit around her hips before zipping the legs closed. She looked over her survival vest for the necessary supplies, even though she had inspected it yesterday, too. There is no room for complacency given the speed of her aircraft. Her Mark V MHDS checked out just fine, also. She walked out of the women’s locker room and into the hall. First Lieutenant Gary Takami waited for Sabrina. He stiffened when he saw her.
“Chill out, GTO,” Sabrina said, calling him by his callsign. ‘Gito’ on the radio.
Takami had been with the 65th since the start of the new year two weeks ago and was still getting to know his fellow squadron mates. Like Sabrina, he was ‘Sansei,’ or third-generation Japanese-American. Unlike Sabrina, he didn’t speak a word of Japanese.
“Come on, Ryōki, time for briefing.” She waved down the hall toward the briefing room and began walking.
“’Ryōki?’ What’s that?”
“Wingman. I could call you a noob if you want?”
“I’ll pass on that, Ma’am.”
“Raikou.”
“‘Raikou?’”
“‘Thunder God’ or, in my case, ‘Goddess of the Shitstorm.’” Takami gave her a sidelong glance as they walked to the briefing room. “I have a bit of a reputation.”
“I guess so!”
“Step inside the briefing room, so we can hear what damage we’re supposed to inflict today.”
Sabrina and Gary sat together since they would be together on a two-aircraft flight today. Flights Bravo and Delta would provide the adversary aircraft for Red Flag Class 26-1. Major Deirdre ‘Rusty’ O’Reilly gave the briefing as the senior of the two flight leaders. The flaming redhead went over flight patterns, tactics that mimicked Warsaw Pact force tactics, call signs, communications plans, altitude restrictions, and length of training.
“Your head spinning yet, Gary?”
“Only after the first ten seconds.” The briefing had been thirty minutes long.
“Tell me what you heard.” As shocked as Gary said he was, he heard and remembered everything. “You got everything. Now let’s go execute our portion of the plan.”
Sabrina and Gary Takami flew northwest to their assigned area under the call signs ‘Warhawk Three’ and ‘Warhawk Four.’ Their targets appeared on the radar fifteen minutes later. Barely.
“We wouldn’t have missed them even if they weren’t yapping so much,” Sabrina remarked to her wingman.
Their adversaries flew into the training area, seemingly disregarding potential danger.
“So, who is that?”
“Four aircraft from Japan’s 301st Tactical Fighter Squadron. They’re from Misawa Air Base in Aomori Prefecture and fly F-35As.”
“I don’t speak Japanese. Does it always make people sound so full of themselves?”
“Nope. Those pilots are full of themselves. They sound like they think the F-35 will keep them hidden from radar and that their Japanese will keep their intentions secret.”
“Little do they know...”
“Right. Follow me as briefed.”
“Warhawk Four, Wilco.”
The Raptors twisted low along the terrain, using it to mask themselves further before popping up behind the foreign planes. Someone from the 301st must have been paying attention because they broke into two flights of two before the Warhawk flight reached them.
“Stay with me!” Sabrina barked to Gary before diving after the left-hand flight of two.
The two Japanese craft didn’t stand a chance against Sabrina and were quickly eliminated. Sabrina led Gary back to the other two Lightnings. Anticipating their maneuvers and eavesdropping on radio transmissions allowed her to guide Gary into position. He racked up his first training kill on the wingman as Sabrina eliminated the flight leader. The swearing from the Japanese was epic.
“Warhawk Three to Sentry. Red Flag flight Juliet Four has been eliminated,” Sabrina announced quietly.
“Sentry copies. Warhawk Three and Juliet Four, return your flights to Nellis.”
The two F-22A and four F-35A aircraft returned to the southeast, weaving into Las Vegas airspace. The Raptors landed on Runway 03 Left before the Japanese planes landed on 03 Right. Sabrina led Gary to the flight line canopy reserved for their fighters. They shut down the aircraft, checked in with their crew chiefs, and walked to the NTTR building for debriefing.
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