Chapter 2: The Sound of Thunder and Bad Decisions
Chapter 2: The Sound of Thunder and Bad Decisions The dawn mist hadn’t even cleared the end of the runway before the noise started. It wasn’t a low rumble; it was a physical force, a high-frequency scream that rattled the rivets in the hangar doors and set off car alarms two counties over. Salty sat strapped into the thirty-degree reclined seat of the F-16 Fighting Falcon, his helmet visor lowered, staring through the crystal-clear glass of the bubble canopy. The Pratt & Whitney engine behind him was howling through its startup sequence, the digital displays flickering to life in a soft, green glow. He adjusted his oxygen mask, took a breath that tasted like pure tactical air, and rested his hand on the side-stick. Off his starboard wing, looking like a heavily armored building with jet engines slapped on top, sat Ye Olde Large Lad in The Warthog. Through the glass of his own cockpit, Large Lad gave a thumbs-up that looked like a bunch of bananas wrapped in leather. The...