The Last Transmission

7 — The Unforbidden Flight

Mike opened his mouth to respond, but the African raised his hand, silently asking him to wait—he wanted to speak before his superior returned.

His voice dropped to a low, grave whisper, barely audible against the hum of the radars.

“Hamilton… listen carefully. Reynolds isn’t as loyal as he pretends to be.” His eyes locked onto Mike’s, dark and tense. “Neither he nor the other high-ranking officers at this base. There’s something they don’t want us to know. Something tied to those objects you saw in the sky—and to the invasion itself.”

Mike frowned, keeping quiet, attentive to every word that followed.

“Are you saying… they’re working with them?” he asked under his breath, barely moving his lips.

The African leaned closer.

“I can’t say for certain. But I’m convinced they know far more than they admit. Every mission we’ve been given in recent months—it hasn’t been about defense. It’s been about covering something up.” He paused, swallowing hard, his body trembling with nerves as if even speaking this truth could seal his fate. “And now, sending you to the Bermuda Triangle… Hamilton, that’s no coincidence. That place has always been linked to disappearances, strange phenomena, UFOs… It’s not a myth.”

A chill ran down Mike’s spine. He remembered the reports he’d read in his youth—rumors of planes and ships that never returned, broken transmissions, radar echoes from nowhere. Distress calls that were logged into the system but never answered.

The African continued urgently:

“Accept the mission. Don’t resist now. Reynolds trusts you, and that trust is the only chance we have to uncover the truth. But you must be careful. He mustn’t suspect that you’re on guard. I’ll help you as much as I can… as long as Reynolds isn’t breathing down my neck.”

The pilot clenched his fist around the folder with the coordinates, his eyes locked on the man before him.

“And what exactly do you expect me to do out there?” he whispered.

The African’s gaze sharpened, full of determination.

“Do as I say. Work with the men you trust. Ally with me, and let me guide you. Ignore anything Reynolds orders you to do. No matter the cost. If there’s something out there… if you find out Reynolds or his people are involved, remember this: your duty isn’t to them. It’s to your squadron, to your family, and to the truth.”

Silence stretched between them. Both men breathed heavily, as if aware that every word spoken could mean the difference between life and death.

Then, footsteps echoed down the corridor. Reynolds’s voice returned, sharp as ever.

“Hamilton, your partner is ready. Time to take off.”

The African straightened abruptly, turning back to the control screens as if nothing had happened, as though their conversation had been erased from reality. Mike, however, felt the weight of the mission crash onto his shoulders. He tucked the folder under his arm and drew a deep breath, bracing for what lay ahead.

He knew he was stepping into a game far more dangerous than anything he had ever imagined.

And the Bermuda Triangle was only the beginning.

But what mysteries would reveal themselves once they were airborne?

Would Mike return to base alive and whole?

Would his plane be the first to make it back in record time after flying into that dark, haunted region?

They reached the runway, where five planes waited—military green, each marked with five white stars on the fuselage and American flags painted across their wings.

Beside his jet stood a woman with chestnut curls tied into a loose side ponytail. She was striking, young—perhaps around thirty—and clearly new to the team, for Mike had never seen her at the base before.

She wore a green military jumpsuit, the same standard issue Mike and the other pilots used for missions.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Hilary Milton,” she greeted warmly as Mike approached, extending her hand. Though he wasn’t thrilled about being assigned a partner when he had always flown solo, Mike knew he had to hide his discomfort. If he wanted to uncover the truth behind this mysterious invasion, adaptation was no longer optional.

“Mike Hamilton. Let’s get moving. We’ve got no time to waste,” he replied, shaking her hand before pulling away.

Reynolds smiled in a way that sent a shiver down Mike’s spine. He had never seen him behave like that before—and now, after the warning from the man in the control room, he couldn’t look at Reynolds the same way. The trust between colleagues was gone.

Without further words, Mike and his new partner climbed into the plane. Naturally, Mike took full control—no one else would ever handle what was his. Hilary settled into the co-pilot’s seat. They agreed that in the event of an emergency, she would assume control—but only if Mike was incapacitated.

Pride had always been Mike’s signature. He had earned his reputation through effort and dedication, never leaning on anyone. And he had no intention of letting anyone else take the credit when this disaster ended.

At last, the plane took off.

Minutes into the flight, the silence between them grew heavy, uncomfortably so—even if they were strictly there for work.

At times, Hilary tried to start a conversation, but Mike was too absorbed in the sky, the mission, and the endless questions crowding his mind. Friendship had no place in a moment like this.

Hours passed before the silence was finally broken—through the communicator. The African’s voice cut through the static:

“Mike, be very careful, and pay close attention. You’re about to enter the Bermuda Triangle. Once you’re inside, we might lose all contact. That area is infamous for silencing planes and ships, for making them disappear. I can only wish you luck. You have the exact coordinates to guide you back to base—but don’t forget your mission. Investigate as much as you can. Reynolds is demanding detailed intel. Record everything—photos, videos, anything. Just don’t return empty-handed.”

And just as he had warned, three minutes later, Mike and Hilary lost all contact with the control base.

Now, they were utterly alone—flying into the unknown.