Natasha sacrificed herself to save the world. To save HER world. Y/N couldn't accept her love was gone. She couldn't move on. Reliving that day over and over. Can Y/N find a way to rewrite history? If she rewrites history, her and Natasha may never...
A/N - I'm sorry for the delay. I am back in school, so I will do my best to keep updates flowing as much as possible, so I made this one a little longer. I hope you enjoy it.
Afghanistan - 2007
"Morse, do you copy." Maria's voice rings through my headset as I race through the skies.
"I copy but a little busy." Panic is in my voice, and the grip on my controls tightens as adrenaline courses within me as I race through the clouds, pushing my F22's speed and agility to the brink. The thunderous sound of the engine fills my ears as I weave in and out of the clouds, trying to evade the enemy fighter jets.
"I need your coordinates." I've been under Maria's command for nearly three years, but we've developed such a strong friendship, so I know her voice is slightly worried. There were five of us patrolling the sky, but we ended up getting separated when several Afghan fighter jets came out of nowhere and ambushed us.
I thought I was finally in the clear. I was about to spin back toward base when my heart skipped a beat when I noticed a group of enemy fighter jets closing in. Their menacing shapes cut through the horizon.
"Shit," I shout in my comms as I swiftly maneuver around their machine gun fire barrage.
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Relentlessly, I dart back and forth as they attempt to lock onto me. Their shots whiz past my aircraft, narrowly missing my wings and cockpit. My dashboard lights alert me that one of them has locked on target. Within seconds, alarms start going off as a missile is launched towards me. Pushing my controls forward, I push my F22 into a step-nosedive as the missiles grow closer. I deploy my flares at the last second. The missiles explode, creating a cloud of smoke. I try to use the temporary cover to put as much distance between the enemy and me as possible.
Despite my efforts, it is no use. A jolt shakes the F22 violently, and I can feel the impact of enemy fire rip through the cockpit, triggering warning lights and blaring alarms. My heart sank. Without any hesitation, I pull back on the ejection lever. The hatch blew open, and with a jolt, I was forcefully propelled out of the doomed aircraft. Debris from my F22 whizzes past my head and descends rapidly toward the ground, consumed by raging flames as my parachute deploys, catapulting me upward as the wind grabs hold.
Several moments later, the ground and trees rush toward me. Branches break and tear at my sleeves, skin, and parachute. I come rushing to a halt when the branches finally hold and grasp onto my parachute. The deafening sound of the crash still echoes in my ears as I struggle to detach myself from my parachute and the trees. Their branches twist and tangle together, creating an intricate web of obstacles as I dangle above the ground. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting dapple shadows on the forest floor, adding an eerie ambiance to the already tense situation.
Adrenaline still surges through my veins as I finally free myself, plummeting toward the unforgiving ground. As I fall, my eyes dart around, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The terrain beneath me combines rocky outcrops and dense forests with a hint of desert-like dryness in the air.
