Night Wing

001

A black F-22 Raptor sliced through the nigh sky with an F-18 clinging to its tail like a shadow. Commander Dax Morrigan banked hard left, the world titling beneath him as he tried to shake the persistent enemy. The man wasn't a stranger to air fights, the odds always in his favor as his skill was unmatched to any other aviator in his generation. Air combat was where he thrived and few pilots alive could match him in the dark. 

He rolled inverted, then eased back into position behind the other jet. The radar sang in his ears as he didn't hesitate to fire the kill shot. A single missile spiraled toward the ocean in a trail of fire. Dax watched the pilot eject, parachute blooming against the flames and muttered a curse under his breath. For a split second, his finger hovered over the trigger again but the fight was over and with an exhale he redirected to return to the command. 

Back on the carrier deck, Dax barely climbed out of the cockpit before he spotted Admiral Simpson cutting through the crowd of deck crew. The man must have choppered in while Dax was airborne which was never a good sign. 

"Admiral Simpson." Dax said, flashing a grin as he shook the older man's hand. "Didn't expect to see you here, sir." 

Simpson nodded, his expression remaining serious. "I'm putting together a special assignment. You're returning to TOPGUN by the end of the week. The rest of the team is still being selected, but you're a non-negotiable. We need someone with your...skillset on this one." 

Dax's grin widened, "Of course, sir." As the Admiral walked away,  Dax leaned against the cool fuselage of his jet with his arms crossed. 

If the best aviators were being recalled, there was only one person he cared about seeing. Their rivalry went all the way back to basic training, beating him against was going to feel good. 

"Hey, man! Team is going up for another patrol, wheels up in five." Jace, better known as Sparky, jogged over. A half grin was already plastered on his face. 

The younger man was pure energy, practically vibrating as he climbed into the backseat of the F-22. Dax has known Jace since high school; the kid ditched following his older sister into a standard navy track just to fly with him instead. He was the only person who could break through Dax's rough exterior, his ride of die. 

"Ready, Spark?" Dax called. 

"Ready!" Jace replied, then launching into his usual pre-takeoff routine. "Ladies and Gentlemen, please ensure all trays are in the upright, locked position and call cellular devices are turned off...we are ready for take off." Dax rolled his eyes but he was smiling as the F-22 road down the deck and leapt into the sky. 

The special unit Jace and Dax were apart of was an elite joint operation between Navy and Army, trusted with the missions that no one else could handle. Counter terrorism, night ops, in and out undetected, death in air or on the ground. 

Jace's sister had never forgiven Dax for "stealing" her little brother and dragging him into the dangerous world of black ops. Their relationship has been strained ever since, with few words spoken between them in years. 

"We're heading straight for enemy territory over that canyon pass." Jace reported through the comms a short while later. "I've got a bad feeling." 

"We'll be fine, Sparky." Adams called from his own jet pulling alongside. "We're the best aviators out here, just keep your eyes on those little screens of yours." 

Dax veered away from Adam with a scowl. "Ignore him, we're good but not invincible. Stay sharp, Spark." The ocean gave way to rugged mountains below as they stayed high and dark. The team flew in loose formation like ghosts in the night.