She looked back at the AN-45. Its metal skin was scarred and its engines were smoking, but it stood tall against the white horizon. It was a relic, yes—but a relic that still knew how to fly when the world needed it most.
As the AN-45 roared to life, the vibrations felt like a heartbeat. Mila pushed the throttles forward, feeling the plane fight the frozen slush of the runway. They lifted off just as the asphalt ended, clawing into a sky the color of bruised steel. an-45 Mila
"She'll make it because I’m the one asking," Mila replied, pulling her goggles down. She looked back at the AN-45