The sun was just beginning to set over the landscape. Seagulls seemed to float stationary high above the ground. Their cries were the only other sound heard next to the wine of jet aircraft sitting idol on the tarmac; waiting to be launched.
At one end of the runway, two F-15 Eagles increased the thrust to their twin turbofan engines, released the brakes and roared town the runway. The vibrations the thurst made could rattle a house up to a mile and a half away. They steadily gained speed as they raced down the two-mile-long runway.
At the other end, sat a teenager in faded blue jeans, white sneakers and an unbuttoned demin jacket that exposed a black t-shirt. He also wore a pair of dark and aerodynamic polarized sunglasses on top of his light blue baseball cap.
He sat on top of his father's silver 1969 Chevelle SS Coup. The car was as dusty as his wavy brown hair was frizzy from sitting at the end of the runway all afternoon, watching fighter aircraft and bombers take off and land while commencing training exercises. The car was well maintained through the years.
It took his father through college, into the Air Force Academy, as well as dropping his only child off at the boy's elementary school. The paint still shimmered briliantly in any light. And if the car had any mechanical troubles, the teenager's uncle was just a walk across the street from the young man's rural home.
The teenager's father died a freak accident while on a Sortie overseas. His mother demanded details, but the military wouldn't say any more. The young man didn't want to assume conspiracy, but the 18-year-old understood why the military couldn't say more. Perhaps they were testing some new weapons system or flight controls. Whatever happened, he just believed that it was a simple accident.
The roar of the jets engines grew louder. His brown/green eyes watched the two aircraft lift off the runway and raise their landing gear. The young man watched intently as the fighters screamed over him. The car shook as they continued to fly away into the night sky. He watched the orange glow from the afterburners slowly disappeared from the rear of the aircraft as they cruised away.
As another pair flew overhead, nearly startling him, he felt something in his pocket vibrate. He reached inside his jeans and grabbed his cell phone. The front screen read "NEW TEXT MESSAGE: Mom."
He opened his phone and read "You've been accepted". He smiled to himself, put his phone back in his pocket, and watched the next pair of F-15s fly over him. Like his father before him, Grant Warner was going to be a fighter pilot.