The Bell Boeing V-22 Osprey was pretty neat. A tiltrotor aircraft which meant the propellers at the tips of its wings could tilt between horizontal and vertical, it was capable of vertical takeoffs and landings in pretty much any terrain that could physically support it and quite a few that couldn't. It could carry a surprising amount of cargo or troops for its size, fly quite far especially with aerial refueling and it looked pretty swell with those odd twin-tails.

It was also pretty damn slow for a plane. Faster than a helicopter - who isn't? - but slower than most commercial flights, let alone any proper military planes. For someone with my speed flying on it was the equivalent of walking instead of riding on a Japanese bullet train. That was the main reason I'd gone ahead with the kids to "scout", not that I'd ever tell them. Who uses something that slow to move around when they can get anywhere much faster, or make their own transports?

Problem the first, neither the reporters nor the soldiers making up their escort were willing to fly Air Maya, either being carried along or using my newly patented Sky Bubble. They preferred a too-loud, too-cramped, six-hour trip instead of maybe two minutes in a sub-orbital slingshot with all the nasty effects of acceleration nullified.

Problem the second, this was actually the fastest conventional way for people to get from the US to Devon Island. Most planes couldn't land on the island and the only available landing strip was too close to the station that had gone dark to be trusted. Helicopters were even slower, and the less said about the speed of naval vessels the better.

Problem the third, with magical terrorists being a thing everyone was worried about attacks and any conventional plane was something even a newbie super or some idiot with a rocket launcher could shoot down. Thus they were asking me to play escort. As in, fly by their side with nothing else to do for six freaking hours when the need for it would not exist if I used my powers. Because the plane had been declared off-limits to power use. How was I supposed to protect the passengers then, fight off any attackers and hope nothing they did actually hit? Not that I could intercept them early, because I was supposed to remain within a thousand feet of the craft.

"Yeah, I'm not doing that," I told the gal imperiously insisting that I consign myself to indescribable boredom. "These orders stop me from doing my job in the dumbest way possible." Plus what to her would be six hours in a cramped aircraft to me would be several subjective days of doing fuck-all.

"Right, that's insubordination then." Seeing her too-serious facade twisting up first in indignation and anger then satisfaction under those military fatigues clued me in that something was wrong. "I'll have you arres-

"You can't be serious," I said, looming a little over the much smaller, dark skinned woman. "I don't take orders from you," from anyone that dumb, really, "and resorting to empty threats won't change that. Stop wasting everyone's time."

"Listen here you upjumped tr-"

"Hold that thought," I said as she froze instantly and completely mid-sentence. Before any other idiots could make a mess of things, I flew off the hangar, left the military airstrip near the borders of Canada behind and reached the vacuum of space in a few seconds. From there it was a matter of half a minute to do a sub-orbital skip all the way to Nevada, descend upon Area 52 and fly into the General's office.

"The Captain was directly assigned by you, wasn't she?" I asked without preamble. To his credit, the old man did not react to my sudden arrival beyond raising an eyebrow at me. It was the same expression of challenge I tended to use, identical down to the exact fraction of an angle his head was tilted.

"You couldn't have used the phone?" he asked.

"Getting here was faster than waiting for the staff to connect me." It was an exaggeration, but only by the barest of margins. "Plus this way there's no option of people saying you are 'busy' or you not picking up."

"That this is factually true or so close it makes no difference has quite a few people losing sleep at night," Rinaker told me, closing his eyes for a second or two then opening them up to glare mildly. "You do not want to scare them any further."

"Then some people should stop being idiots and some others should stop meddling," I retorted. "That Captain was staring at me as if she was seeing a useless recruit she could play like a banjo. When that didn't work, she became irrational. She either had a problem with me, or no clue how to handle supers." I crossed my arms and returned the glare. "I wouldn't have minded if her orders hadn't been entirely useless, a danger to civilians and she hadn't repeated them several times while acting as if I was filth she needed to scrape off her shoe."

"That does not surprise me. Marcia developed a... distaste for supers during the invasion when the rest of her unit gained powers." General Rinaker admitted, sounding tired. "I'd hoped this mission would help her get over it one way or another."

"Well, it didn't." I shrugged. It was no skin off my teeth, unless this conversation lasted longer than three minutes. "Now about the Osprey?"

"What about it? You didn't blow it up to make a point, did you?"

"Nooo..." but I'd keep the idea in mind for future altercations. "It's just so damn slow and the stupid reporters won't use one of my transports."

"They don't want to fly in a literal water bubble maneuvering at a hundred-plus gravities with the only thing between them and instant death being the attention span of a hyperactive former cheerleader?" the old man mock-asked with a smirk. "Gee, I wonder why."

"Fine, fine, they can do things the boring way as long as it's not so damn slow." My eyes lit up as I thought of the possibilities, arms fidgeting as if reaching for that plane two thousand miles away. "I want to enhance the plane," I stated in no uncertain terms.

"How's that any different than the water bubble?" he reasonably argued, falling into my trap.

"Because I did it before and nothing went wrong," referring to my last trip on a plane with him. "And because the reporters won't realize until it's too late."

xxxx

I got back to the remote airfield near Canada with at least a minute to spare, walking in with a spring in my step. Some guy that hadn't been there before was talking on the phone with the Military Police, while several other soldiers were getting things ready for the trip and actively ignored Marcia the idiot. A couple of the bravest reporters - a freckled twenty-something guy that looked way too pretty for his own good and a slim brunette that was maybe thirty years old and had a no nonsense attitude - were examining the still immobile, super-hating Captain. 'Aversion', my perky little backside.

"Ah, the woman of the hour," the female reporter greeted me with as I approached. Her eyes flicked to the immobile Captain and back. "Can we have a few words before the mission starts?"

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"Nope!" I told them after making sure none of the approved recording devices were active and all the ones that had been smuggled in were turned to slag. Then I broke the forcefield surrounding the idiot.

"GAACK!!!"

She promptly fell to her knees, gulping down breath after breath as if she'd just come out of a deep dive. Well, the forcefield had barely allowed her to breathe for the past four minutes or so, though it had lacked the other adverse effects of diving with limited air supply. It had also been made to collapse as soon as the woman lost consciousness, just in case the General had not agreed to my proposal quickly enough. The idiot did not know that, of course, which was why her distaste and imperious superiority had been replaced by abject terror. As for the two reporters, they were looking from me to the woman in apprehension.

"May I have your attention please!" I demanded and everyone in the hangar, from the group of reporters, to the escorting troops, to the refueling and engineering crew did just that. "It has just been made clear that at least some of you were not adequately informed about this mission and its potential risks. To avoid misunderstandings in the future, I will now brief you on the basics. You may pay attention at your discretion."

Everyone did pay attention at that, though their reasons were less than clear. Certainly most of the reporters had already been keeping me under observation when they thought I was not looking and most were currently interpreting the exchange between me and the Captain and reaching various conclusions. Guessing their thoughts from their reactions was interesting but not particularly useful, so I went on the moment I was sure they were listening.

"First, this is a mission to an active warzone. Every location with confirmed supernatural activity and any hints of wrongdoing is automatically considered such. Pay attention to your surroundings, do not split the group, do as the closest super tells you. That means me. We'll also be using an advanced craft to get there more quickly and safely." There were a few mutters, mostly of surprise from the replacement pilot, a bit of worry and only one or two snorts of incredulity or dismissal. So far so good.

"Secondly, enemy presence has been recently confirmed. This is no longer just a photo op. If you are a war correspondent consider yourselves warned. If you are not a war correspondent, consider turning back now. Either way, while we will put considerable effort into keeping you safe we can't actually guarantee your safety." Aaaand... none took me up on the offer of abandoning the mission. There are even a few indignant mutters and that old woman looking down on who she saw as a kid. Eh, no skin off my teeth.

"Third, nobody can tell you what to expect. Monsters and powers are unpredictable. New threats developing mid-fight is a frequent occurrence. If there is any doubt, err on the side of caution. If under threat run back to the Osprey if you can, hide if you can't. Do not take chances. If I tell you something is dumb you actually listen." I pointed at the hyperventilating idiot. "Out there, something innocuous-looking could kill you instantly if you dismiss it as harmless, so don't ignore anything unusual or act as if you know best. Any questions?"

Predictably, they all tried to talk at once. They were reporters after all. That's why I gave them the silent treatment until they calmed down and started talking like normal people. Enchanting the Osprey took time, after all.

"Where are the three young supers we came to film? Won't they be flying with us?" asked one middle-aged man from the back.

"They went ahead to ensure the landing site remains secure." More like sitting under the force dome ensuring said security and told to stay out of trouble for half an hour. But they didn't need to know that so I moved to the next question.

"Shouldn't we be getting bulletproof vests and helmets for this?" a younger, more nervous guy nearly stammered. He was the one who'd reacted the most at the mention of monsters.

"That would be counter-productive. Their weight and rigidity would slow you down and no body armor ever manufactured could stop any but the weakest monster attacks." Maybe enchanted gear would have, but my enchanting was too slow to provide significant protection to even half the group in the time we had. "That is why remaining alert and running from threats is important." Needless to say, the guy didn't take the news well but he still did not quit. Some people took unreasonable risks for their job and yes, I was aware of the irony of me saying that. On the other hand I had come back from getting nuked once, though it had taken me months to get over the trauma.

"Have there been any news from the research station? They have been out of contact for a week by now," asked the oldest female reporter, a middle-aged woman with a serious, even grim expression, flinty brown eyes and hair tied in a practical bun. With her practical denim attire, complete with usable pockets, she actually seemed to be taking this seriously rather the usual feel-good operations the press preferred.

"No, not at all. From what we can tell, the station has been abandoned." I'd actually scanned the place with Force Awareness till I was confident enough to leave the kids within a few miles from it. Since this was the kids' turn to show their stuff though, I wasn't going to share the juicy bits. "When we get there, my team members will scout ahead while we observe from a safe distance."

There were quite a few more questions after that, taking up the full ten minutes I'd allotted to the "interview" while I got the actually important bits done. Quite a bit slower than I would have liked, especially with Forced Acceleration making everyone seem to move and act at a crawl, but I'd promised Rinaker to not half-ass the enchantments or skimp on safety features. When I was finally ready, I had the soldiers load up the craft with our reporter cargo while I sat in the cockpit with the pilot.

"Hey there, Captain Addams, is it?" I greeted him as I got in. "Did General Rinaker brief you?" There was a brief pause as he stared - everyone stared the first time they met me, I was mostly filtering out their initial reactions by now - then he swallowed nervously and nodded. "Great! I'll guide you through the alterations so you won't have to do it by trial and error." Now he was really nervous for some reason.

"No need to worry, just follow my directions and everything will go perfectly..."

xxxx

"It is so quiet!" the pilot marveled as we rose to the sky at a decent rate.

"It is, isn't it? The forcefield that makes it tougher also muffles the sound," I explained, rather happy at how the Maya Osprey 0.8 was turning out. "Now watch your altimeter and speed indicators; it's time to switch to horizontal."

"What?!" He did check his gear and blinked. "Five hundred knots? That's definitely a malfunction, the Osprey can't fly that fast." He still made the transition to horizontal flight with ease that came from long experience, then tried to find what was wrong. Too bad that several other indicators were significantly off.

"No, it's correct. I just upgraded the engines." And they were working perfectly.

"Upgraded them how? It's now saying we're going Mach two at thirty-five thousand feet! Turboprops are physically incapable of something like that!"

"Yes, it was an interesting puzzle." As it turns out, the way propellers provided thrust meant they dropped in efficiency the faster they turned until air resistance became prohibitive. Actually turning them faster with a force effect would have ruined the engine's internals, which were kinda needed in far too many ways for the craft to function. "The solution was to make the turboprop part not actually matter. Instead of producing thrust by interacting with the air, there's now a force effect providing thrust proportional to the prop's rotations per minute. Said thrust is a lot higher than what the prop would give and air resistance is not an issue, which is how we're going faster." Of course, the engine itself still needed air to function, which is why an air compressor effect fed it at higher altitudes.

"But... that's not..." the pilot sighed. "Ma'am, could you just tell me how the... Osprey handles? I'm... trusting you that it won't explode because the General asked me to, but I'm not comfortable with it."

"Don't worry, it's simple. Forty newtons per rpm, air resistance beyond the craft's max weight is negated." I pointed at the speed indicator. "Above half power it's like we're a missile with increasing acceleration, to a max of one gravity and no max speed. We just hit Mach seventeen, by the way."

"And what if we want to slow down?" Well, at least he was still thinking instead of panicking.

"There was a reason I didn't negate air resistance entirely..."

In the end, it took us another ten minutes to finish what would have been a six-hour trip because the pilot wanted to take things slow and avoid crashing into mountains.

Eh, the collision invulnerability would have handled it.