PROJECT: CAYRO

Captain Edwards:

August 22, 2025

08:30 EST

Commissioned Officer Quarters

Langley Air Force Base, VA.

Early on the morning of August 22nd, I stood before my full-length mirror, adjusting the final details of my dress uniform. The new captain’s rank, freshly pinned, caught the light from the overhead fixture, casting a subtle gleam across the polished metal. It was a small but significant reminder of the weight of the day. Satisfied that everything was in place, I gave a final nod to my reflection, turned on my heel, and headed out the door of my apartment.

The crisp morning air greeted me as I approached my prized 2010 Ford Mustang, its metallic blue paint sparkling under the early sunlight. I had poured countless hours into restoring this car, each detail meticulously attended to until it was as perfect as the day it first rolled off the assembly line. As I opened the door, the scent of the leather seats mixed with the morning dew—a comforting, familiar aroma.

Sliding into the driver's seat, I took a deep breath, letting the engine’s low rumble resonate through me as I started the car. Between the morning traffic and a quick stop for my usual coffee—black, no nonsense—I made the twenty-minute drive to the Air Combat Command building. The excitement simmered just beneath the surface, held in check only by the rigid discipline ingrained in me. Today wasn’t just another day; it was the day I would officially step into my new role.

I pulled into the front parking lot of the Air Combat Command Headquarters, arriving nine minutes before zero nine hundred. The Colonel was already there, standing beside his imposing black H1 Hummer, as if he'd been waiting for me all along. Stepping out of my car, I straightened up, delivering a sharp salute.

“Good morning, Sir,” I said, my voice steady, though my mind was already racing ahead.

“Mornin’, Captain,” he replied, his voice as rough as gravel. “Change of plans. We won’t be holding our meeting inside today. Instead, we’ll head to the flight line. I want you to see your new unit in action.”

I hadn’t expected that, but I didn’t let it show. “Roger, Sir,” I responded, masking my surprise.

“You can ride with me, or follow in your own car,” he offered, already moving to climb into his Hummer.

“I’ll follow you, Sir,” I answered, preferring the familiarity of my own vehicle. I wasn’t about to relinquish control on a day like today.

“Good man. See you there,” he said, rolling up his window and pulling away.

I quickly got back into my Mustang, the engine purring to life as I followed the Colonel through the base to the 152nd headquarters. The drive was short, but it gave me a moment to steady my thoughts. Command of an airship? That wasn’t something that happened every day, especially not to someone so freshly promoted.

When we arrived, I parked in the spot marked with my name—my new parking spot, as the sign bolted to the building made clear. I followed the Colonel with brisk steps, catching up just as we approached the flight line. My eyes were immediately drawn to the massive airship stationed at the end of the runway, parked on its own landing pad, which looked freshly laid, as if in preparation for this very moment.

Airmen were bustling about, loading cargo and ordnance into the ship’s weapon bays. It was a scene of controlled chaos, the kind of organized efficiency that spoke to the seriousness of the operation.

“Well, Captain, what do you think of your new command center?” the Colonel asked, his voice cutting through the noise as we moved closer to the ship.

I hesitated, searching for the right words. Commanding an airship hadn’t even crossed my mind when I received my promotion. “Honestly, Sir, I didn’t expect to be put in command of an airship,” I admitted, my tone reflecting the awe I felt.

The Colonel nodded, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Not many newly promoted captains do. But you’re an exception. Consider it one of the perks of your promotion. I handpicked you for this job because I needed someone who wouldn’t second-guess their decisions—someone who could take command without hesitation.”

His words sank in, and with them, the full weight of what this command meant. This wasn’t just a promotion; it was a test, a challenge, and an opportunity all rolled into one. As the realization settled in, I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face.

“Thank you, Sir. I’m honored to be the one you chose for this position,” I said, my voice steady with conviction.

As I stood there, I let my gaze drift upward, fully taking in the imposing sight of my new command. The Death Reckoning was a marvel—its design an embodiment of raw power and purpose. The ship's shape, reminiscent of a B-2 stealth bomber, tapered into an arrow-like form, every inch of its surface coated in radar-absorbing black paint. It exuded a menacing elegance, like a predator waiting to strike.

I walked closer, drawn to the ship’s massive front, craning my neck to take in the bridge. Unlike most aircraft where the viewing canopy was perched atop, the Death Reckoning’s bridge was positioned near the bottom, designed for a commanding view of the ground below. The ballistic glass panes, towering three decks high, offered an unobstructed view of the skyline—a design meant to intimidate and dominate. Just above the canopy, bold white letters declared the ship’s name: U.S.A.S. DEATH RECKONING. The name alone was a promise, a declaration of the ship’s purpose.

Unlike sea-faring vessels, which bore the names of states or revered figures, airships like this one were christened with names meant to inspire fear. The Death Reckoning was no exception. My eyes traced the outline of the two gas pods hovering above the ship, similar to the SAF’s Autumn, but that’s where the similarities ended. From my vantage point, I could see the four magnetic rail cannons on the port side, each one a testament to the ship’s lethal capabilities. I knew without asking that the starboard side would be similarly armed.

As I approached the ship, I observed the airmen—my airmen—methodically loading ordnance into the weapon bays. The Death Reckoning was more than just a ship; it was a weapon, and a formidable one at that. Even though it was only half the size of the Autumn, it was clear that this vessel was built for one purpose: to bring the fight to our enemies. It was living up to its name, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride and anticipation.

“So, what do you think, Captain Edwards?” the Colonel’s voice cut through my thoughts as he came up behind me.

I didn’t hesitate. “Well, I hope it can take on the Autumn,” I replied, though deep down, I was more confident than my words let on.

The Colonel chuckled, a knowing smile on his face. “The Death Reckoning is the newest ship in the U.S. Air Force’s arsenal, equipped with the most advanced technology in airframe combat. I had this beauty pulled out of mothballs after the Air Force brass decided that bigger was better. They deemed the Death Reckoning too small for a mobile command center, but for our purposes—being small and fast—it’s perfect. After bringing her out of mothballs, I personally oversaw the reinforcement of her airframe and ensured she was outfitted with the best technology the Air Force could muster.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “Her design allows her to maintain flight without the gas pods for up to six hours, thanks to her six GE Next Generation Adaptive Propulsion jet engines. Combine that with her onboard hydrogen fuel system, and this ship can even achieve geostationary orbit. Her sole purpose is to take down the SAF and their precious Autumn. So, if you’re doubting me, Edwards, I suggest you reconsider.”

His tone was firm, almost challenging, as he turned to face me.

I met his gaze, straightening my posture. “Negative, Sir. I’m not doubting you,” I assured him, though internally, I was reeling from the revelation. This ship could go to space? The realization struck me with renewed awe. This was more than just a command—it was a weapon of unprecedented power.

The Colonel gave a curt nod, satisfied with my response. “You have twelve hours to prepare for launch. Your office on board has all the intel on the SAF’s whereabouts. Review it carefully. You’re going to intercept them and get me my subject,” he ordered, his voice brokering no argument.

“Yes, Sir,” I responded crisply, snapping a salute.

As the Colonel walked away, I turned back to face the Death Reckoning, feeling the weight of my mission settle onto my shoulders. This was it—my command, my challenge, and my responsibility. Whatever the SAF thought they could achieve, they hadn’t reckoned with the Death Reckoning—or with me.