Land of the United Free!

Arc One / Chapter Twelve | Encounter.

    Above the island of Hawaii, 3 thousand meters up from sea level, the rumble of engines from the F-18's and RC-135s echoes far and wide. Two squadrons of the same composition, soar at speed to different headings. One is heading North Western, while the other is heading South Western.

    One of them, squadron name: Griffin, is being lead by McCain Douglas and his F-18. The formation that follows him is Sky Eye, one of the two flights assigned to scout far and wide for anything, either lost ships, or lost land territory.

    "Baron, how copy?" McCain's wingman spoke through the radio.

    "Loud and clear, what do you need?" He replies, looking over to the plane of his wingman.

    The sun shine through openings in the cloud, letting sun-beams pierce through the floating vapor. The flight zoom by underneath one such sight, letting the pilots see a sight of nature as they prepare to climb to a higher altitude.

    "How do you like this so far?" The wingman asks, referring to the scenery around them.

    McCain looks over to the nearly endless sea bellow, the clouds rushing past them as they zoom across. McCain thought for a second, letting his radio crackle as his wingman awaits his response. The subtle noise of the wind whipping around his aircraft gave him a sense of ease as he listens longer.

    McCain then smiles, seemingly satisfied of what is around him, "Nothing better then flying." He finally responded before switching his radio to communicate to all of the aircrafts, "Alrighty, all aircrafts, ready to climb up to angel of five thousand meters, do not break formation."

    A collective noise acknowledgement responded to his orders as the entire formation stiffen their flight path, ready to the climb.

    McCain watches the clouds zoom by one last time before ordering the entire flight to climb.

    The flight of aircrafts, one by one, angles their noses slightly up as all of them begin to raise in altitude. McCain's Hornet is first to be consumed by the cloudy sky, then his wingman, then the rest of the flight.

    All McCain can see is the darken white of the clouds, as they peirce through it at speed. The wind became stronger as the avionics show their altitude raising to 4.7 thousand meters, nearly reaching the target altitude.

    5 thousand meters above sea level. The sea of clouds, a near perfect example of the tranquility of nature, is rudely disturbed by the rumble of engines as McCain is his flight immerge from the clouds, shooting up higher then they anticipated.

    "We overshot the target altitude, everyone slowly descend to five thousand meters," McCain quickly spoke, attempting to correct their overshoot.

    The flight soon comes to a massive opening, clouds spread as far as the eye can see, letting the pilots once again see the beauty of the world they inhabit. This also allows them to descend to 5 thousand meters.

    McCain let's out a brief sigh before checking on his radar, trying to find something that may need his attention. Which is none at the moment, meaning he can focus on flying his bird while not worrying of anything that may catch them while their pants are down. For a while at least.

——

    McCain's eyes are not deceiving him, nor did his ears.  In front, an unmistakable outline of a shore of an island looms closer into view. The radio is also cluttered – no, it is in complete disarray, but not lost. The unrecognizable screams layer over one another as thunderous roars of cannons and gunfire a like, pounding in a rhythmic beat.