A/N: So this chapter was really fun to write. I especially had fun trying to write out radio-speak. Believe me when I say this is a really simplified dialogue you may hear between the tower and pilots in the pattern. And if you happen to be a pilot, I apologize in advance if I fuckered it up, but in my defense, balancing a purely jargon-heavy language and putting it into a story that anyone can follow was insanely difficult! Phew! And this chapter is a big nod to a particular movie that may or may not have contributed to my own personal love for Aviation.
Chapter 23: The Maverick
The meeting concluded smoothly once it was established under no uncertain circumstances that Stinger would be going and he would be participating. The rough framework of a plan came together without further altercation. Stinger would call Edwards and make contact with his staff and get a gauge on things back at base. He would also contact Reed Richards and make a case for utilizing the nullifying weapon. If things didn't work out the diplomatic way...well, suffice it to say the Autobots did not condone Plan B.
Plan B would entail the Trine attacking the base outright and stealing the weapon. Starscream had made it abundantly clear the weapon would be obtained one way or the other. Acquiring it would ensure they didn't have to start from scrap. Doing so would take time and time was a precious commodity that they did not have.
In the meantime, Optimus would dispatch small teams across the US to help combat the Decepticons. Small teams did not put the larger Autobot force at risk to succumbing to Doom's power, or so they theorized. All were fairly confident that Doom would not make his move until it appeared as if the United States were on the verge of collapse. Such a scenario would underscore Doom's importance as a savior and he needed to solidify the sentiment that all alien invaders needed to be terminated. As the news reels ran nonstop, it seemed that the superpower was holding its own...for now. Sending in Autobot reinforcements would hopefully stall the fight long enough for Starscream and crew to get the nullifier and determine its viability. Would it be strong enough as is? Or would they need to modify it? The only two who could possibly answer that question were Dr. Richards and Starscream himself.
If they made it that far, then things grew slightly more tenuous. They would need Doom to reveal his location or more preferably, the location of the Allspark. Once they had him triangulated, Skywarp would do his thing, nullifier in tow, and hopefully neutralize the power of the relic. No one wished to destroy the ancient gift of Primus, but all were prepared for that eventuality should it get down to it. Ideally, they would end Doom while his power was interrupted. But no one knew better than the Trine and Stinger, just how hard killing Doom could ultimately be. There were too many unknowns, too many variables when it came to engaging the dictator.
In the unlikely event they did get Doom and the Allspark remained intact, no one wanted to discuss what would happen to the relic. Some bridges were best crossed when you got there.
Stinger felt exhausted, but he would never admit it. Not after the dressing-down he gave Prowl. One phone call. That was all he needed to do and then he could rest for a few hours. Warp had given him a lift, seated on his left intake, to the recreation hall. There the black Seeker had grabbed a cube of energon and left him with Carly and Maria. Skywarp then departed for his temporary quarters with Thundercracker after a brief wink and wave to the pilot's daughter.
None of the Seekers felt particularly warm to the idea of socializing further with the Autobots. Stinger also suspected he wasn't the only one that felt exhausted.
"Hello Colonel."
"Hey, Dad."
The girls' voices drew his mind back to the present. "Ladies," he acknowledged with a tired grin. "Sorry for my long absence. Duty calls," he said to Maria, patting the top of her hand.
"We figured. I mean a lot is going on right now," Maria said. "So what's the plan?"
"For you? You're staying put...No buts!" He added, barring any argument. "And that's a consensus from all four of us," he gave his daughter a lopsided grin and allowed his eyes to track back in the direction that Skywarp had disappeared.
"What! Seriously? Them too!?" she cried indignantly. Maria prepared to argue her case, but before she could utter a word, Stinger placed a gentle finger over her lips. His next words rocked her to her soul.
"Maria, I am not leaving you behind because I think you cannot handle it. You have more than proved your capability in the face of adversity ten times over for someone your age. I am asking you to stay behind because there is a strong likelihood that I may not come back from this mission."
She stared at him dumbstruck, so he continued hastily before she could mount a rebuttal.
"Maria, if we fail, if this plan doesn't work, I'm gonna need you to stay with Carla. I will need the both of you safe and secure with the remaining Autobots so that you can mount a resistance."
"No!" she shook her head vigorously, "No! Don't...don't talk like that! Dad!?"
Carly wrapped an arm over her shoulders but the teen didn't even notice. Both young women were looking at him with a mixture of horror, disbelief, and shock.
"Maria," he took her hand in his and held it tightly, "I'm not gonna sugar coat this. It's way too serious. You need to be mentally prepared for what may happen. This plan isn't foolproof and actually quite a bit can go to Hell in a hurry, but it's the best we can do with the time we have. If we fail, I will at least die knowing that you and Carla were safe from this madman. Stay with her, Maria," he pleaded, his voice nearly cracking with urgency, "She has fought against Doom for most of her life. The two of you together," he shook his head, hands trembling with pent emotions, "the two of you will make it. I know you will. And if any of us do survive the initial push, we've agreed to rendezvous back here, Autobot or…" he swallowed thickly, "or Seeker."
Tears began to streak his face and suddenly Maria was in his arms giving him a fierce embrace. How cruel fate was to finally give him his daughter to only tear them asunder again?
"You guys will make it," she vowed fiercely. "I know you will. You've beat him before and you can do it again...and all these plans? They'll just be bad memories."
She clung to him, tears streaming down her cheeks as well. The thought of losing her family, after all they had gone through? The thought of never seeing Skywarp again? Or the stolid Thundercracker? Even obnoxious Starscream? It terrified her. Never before had death appeared to loom so close as it did right then. The imagined loneliness clung like a lingering stench. Why? Why did it have to be this way? Memories of her mother flooded unbidden into her mind, mixing with those of her father, both pleasant and not so pleasant, with Skywarp and their tenuous friendship, with Carly and Spike, Inferno…sadness and regret thickened her throat and sent even more hot tears flowing down her cheeks.
And her father? He wasn't even healed! His skin still held a pale, sickly pallor and his flesh had begun to hang loosely on his frame, further evidence of undernourishment and harsh treatment. How did he expect to pull off a mission like this! If the enemy didn't kill him, he'd push too hard and then possibly…
They remained in each other's arms for a few minutes longer, until finally he pulled away. "I have things I need to do before this ball gets rolling." He looked over at Carly. "Thank you for being a friend to my daughter. I'm quickly realizing just how few friends my family and I actually have in this world."
"You're welcome, Sir," Carly returned graciously.
He stood to his feet, wobbling slightly under the exhaustion and pain. He touched a light hand to his daughter's cheek and brushed the remaining tears away. "I love you, my Maria."
"I...love you too."
Chief Master Sergeant Allen Davis worried the click tip of his pen as he re-read the WARNO for the fifteenth time in as many minutes. Still, no matter how hard he stared or how much he squinted his eyes, or how many times he re-read the typed words, the message never changed. He slammed the paper back down on his desk and took a drought of tepid, watery coffee and pulled a grimace. Not enough coffee grounds.
And he was only two years from retirement! Leave it to the Decepticons to go and fucker up all his careful planning! He had hoped to ride out his final two years in relative peace. In fact he and his wife had planned a vacation later this year to scope out retirement properties! Unfortunately it was looking as if Megatron and his Decepticons wanted to kick-off an intergalactic war for keeps this time. Belize would have to wait according to this most current set of orders from the Pentagon. The metal megalomaniac had launched a full-scale attack on three major Army installations, had dispatched three of his aerial combatants to bomb NORAD, and was currently trying to lay siege to DC. The only good news (if one could call it that) in all this hogwash was that Megatron's primary air support fighters, the Decepticon's Aerial Elite, were MIA. Normally, he would be relieved. Those three flying ass-pains had shot down more planes and caused more damage to infrastructure than the US deficit or so it seemed; however, current reports did not have them sighted anywhere. And that was even more disturbing. Granted the black one, (Sky Warp, maybe?) may have been responsible for the destruction of Guantanamo Bay (and the inadvertent death of the SeDef), but those reports had yet to be confirmed, not to mention the death of Castlehoff and the details therefore was being kept super-hush-hush. And then all of a sudden Megatron gets froggy and decides to make his play? Damn! The world had gone to Hell in a handbasket in a hurry!
Suddenly, the SIPR phone on his desk rang with astounding volume. The grizzled chief nearly leaped from his seat at the obnoxious and antiquated telephone ring.
He reached for the receiver and barked a greeting. "Chief Master Sergeant Davis."
"Chief!? Oh, it's so fuckin' good to hear your voice!"
"What the-! Kesinger!? Is that you!?" The chief's eyes grew round and bright at hearing his superior's voice after such a sudden and prolonged absence. Damn! Wasn't he on some sort of top-secret TDY mission? "I thought you were on some super-secret squirrel TDY trip?" he voiced his musings.
"I….was." Beat. "Let's just say I've wrapped up what I needed to and I'm heading back to base due to...recent events."
"Roger, Sir." As the most senior NCO on the installation, Davis had been Kesinger's right-hand man up until the Colonel left on TDY. Not much had happened honestly, until the Decepticons suddenly got froggy and decided to mount their major offensive on every major military target in the United States. Sure the XO had handled things rather smoothly, but Davis couldn't deny the fact that he wanted Kesinger back and in control. The Colonel just...had a way with the men. They liked him, no, not even liked. They loved him. And would damn near do anything he asked of them. Since Kesinger's departure, life in the 213th Fighter Wing had continued as normal, but the smiles were no longer there. The enthusiasm, absent. The daily ongoings, mundane. Kesinger's prolonged absence had had a noticeable and negative impact on the morale of their unit. But with him returning and just in time to oversee this new WARNO? Things looked to finally be a little more up and up.
"Davis, I'm set to arrive tomorrow, but there are some things you need to be aware first of all," Kesinger's voice took on a cryptic tone.
"Don, anything. The guys haven't been the same since you left and we just got our WARNO today for mobilization. You couldn't have planned to come back at a better time."
"Listen, Allen. What I'm about to tell is top secret. And the only reason I'm telling you now is that this line is secured, both inside and out." Strange vernacular. Every SIPR line is secure. What does he mean by that?
"I've had some major developments on this mission. Developments I haven't been able to formally report as yet and frankly I don't know that I can." Jesus, Don. What did you get yourself into now?
"OK? Can you be more specific, Sir?" Davis was never keen on the ring-around-the-rosy game and Kesinger generally wasn't one to beat around the bush.
"Look. Is Dr. Richards still on station?"
"Uh...yes. He is," Davis replied. This conversation was getting weirder and weirder.
"Good. That makes things a little easier. All right, listen up, Allen. I can't stress to you enough how important this is." There was the sound of a deep inhale on the other end of the line, as if Don were preparing for the world record free dive. Finally, he spoke. "I'm flying in tomorrow with...three apolitical dissidents of the opposing alien faction. Do not. I repeat. DO NOT fire on us or meet with hostile intent. These guys are willing to…assist the United States Air Force with air superiority against their uh...former...faction."
Allen held the receiver for so long that Kesinger began to wonder if they'd been disconnected. "Allen? Allen? Chief Davis!?"
"Sir. You mean to tell me that not only are you returning tomorrow, but that you're flying in with...within...with…"
"That's right. Chief. I'm flying in with the Decepticon Aerial Elite and I swear on a stack of Bibles if you guys shoot at us, I can't guarantee that they'll not level the place. Just getting them to agree to not fly in guns hot was an act of Congress, so let's try and not fuck this up….and before you say anything else, No, I'm not being held hostage. This is real. This is genuine. These three have decided to...uh….no longer be a present party to current Decepticon forays. Now I can't go into any more detail, but trust me, Allen, clear the runway for us and all will be explained tomorrow. And I'm asking not only as your Commander, but your friend, please trust me on this and do not report it until you've heard what they have to say."
"All right, Don. I'll...trust you but, Jesus Christ, man! It's damn near treasonous! And if shit goes sideways know that every drop of blood spilled will be on your hands! And how do I get these jokers to not blab when they catch first sight of your entourage landing, eh? If you're bringing who you say you're bringin' everyone on base will recognize those jets!"
"You let me worry about that. Issue a gag order. Something. I don't care how it gets done, but ensure we have the runway at 0630 and there's an empty hangar. Also, get Dr. Richards there. No exceptions. See you tomorrow." And then the line went dead.
Chief Master Sergeant Davis stared at the receiver before gently placing it in its cradle. He reached over and drained the remainder of his cold coffee. Belize and those warm ocean breezes were looking to be further and further away.
Dawn over southern California could be a beautiful affair. The air became crisp and cool, holding no indication of the stifling heat that could commandeer the daylight hours as early as 0900. The sky had faded from a blanket of navy blue into streaks of soft periwinkle. Hints of lavender, rose, and gold touched off against the fading blue background. A few high cirrus clouds danced in the upper wind currents of the lower stratosphere. The dawn appeared peaceful...well, peaceful for anyone other than Edwards Air Force Base.
The military was no stranger to drills, mock-ups, and practice exercises. On the contrary, the military thrived off such scenarios. If it was a feasible possibility that barely skirted the edges of known reality, one could assume the military had an exercise scenario that addressed such issues.
As such the airmen and women of Edwards found themselves in full-battle rattle, preparing the installation as if a full-on assault were about to take place. Given current world happenings across the nation and a powerful alien enemy laying siege to the capital, more than three-quarters of the wing were convinced an assault was going to happen. So, getting full, serious, and concentrated effort from all personnel with minimal gripes and complaints was not too difficult for Chief Master Sergeant Davis.
By all appearances the base appeared ready to receive Megatron himself should that bastard show his faceplates. A cautious, but hair-trigger atmosphere enveloped every man and woman. Davis and other base leaders had ordered the installation to DEFCON 3 readiness-level. One, in part to accommodate their WARNO and two, Davis felt a whole lot better knowing the base would be ready to reciprocate fire if in fact the three jets due in were acting under less than honorable pretenses.
Up in the air traffic control tower, the chief paced nervously from one large floor-to-ceiling window to the other. He clutched the latest issue of Military Times in an increasingly tighter and tighter roll, more to focus his nervous energy than any shred of interest in reading it. His presence made the traffic controllers antsy on a good day; seeing their figurehead as frothy as a latte didn't improve the atmosphere. He had informed the controllers that they would be receiving air traffic that corresponded with "very-important people" arriving and he wished to be present when radio contact was made. Unorthodox, but hey, he was the chief and he could damn near do what he pleased with impunity.
How in the hell the Colonel was going to fly with not one, but all three infamous jets right up to their door just as friendly as you please like the next door neighbor requesting to borrow some sugar, was far beyond him. Rumors encompassed his commander. For instance he knew Kesinger had been involved in some sketchy dealings with Latveria, Behind Enemy Lines-type shit if the ANN (Airman News Network aka rumor mill) was to be believed. However, that mission had been sealed to all but the highest approval authorities. Whispers from those who had been stationed in Ramstein at the time said he'd collaborated with one of the Decepticon jets for technology and secrets. Others said he had been part of an elaborate plot to destabilize the country in an attempt to allow rebel forces to stage a coup. And still others claimed he was a Con sympathizer, an insider feeding them military information.
Davis never put a lot of stock in the rumors though. He treated them cautiously. Rumors could hold a grain of truth, but they should never be taken at face value. Kesinger had never, ever led his unit wrong in the years he'd been in command. He had made fair, impartial and often difficult decisions, but the welfare of his men while meeting mission had always been one of his top priorities.
An underlier, a spy, or even a self-serving asshole would not care so deeply. However, the rumor about him having some sort of connection with a Decepticon jet was beginning to hold a little more water after the phone call he received. Davis could only pray to the All Mighty and any other deities above that may be listening, that his commander wasn't in trouble and this wasn't some elaborate side-plot the Decepticons were executing while attentions were focused on Washington and NORAD. This whole thing absolutely reeked of Decepticon machinations and it had twisted his intestines into knots so tight he'd been unable to eat for hours.
And the Elite? Despite having the base on one of its highest priority defense conditions did not ease his nerves one bit. These three jets in particular had been known to annihilate whole squadrons. The power of their weaponry so fearsome that often one blast could incinerate an airframe before the pilot had time to eject. And if the poor soul ejected within a hair's-breadth of time, he was often vaporized by a follow-on shot. The video evidence was not pretty. But with all that said, Kesinger's wing did have the lowest fatalities when it came to engaging the enemy...another tenuous connection perhaps? Or was Kesinger just that well-versed in the enemy's battle tactics his pilots stood a fighting chance? After all, Kesinger had been one of the best pilots in the Air Force at the time of the initial invasion and he was one of the precious few men to have dog-fought the Seekers on numerous occasions and was still alive to tell of it. That most certainly was not rumor.
The crackle of the radio startled Davis out of his deep musings, the sound so abrupt and unexpected he dropped the newspaper.
'Edwards Tower, this is Stinger 2-1-3. Copy?' Several traffic controllers exchanged nervous glances with the chief. He nodded once in acknowledgement. They were about to enter the point of no return.
'Stinger 2-1-3 we read you loud and clear. Over.'
'Edwards Tower, this is Stinger 2-1-3 flight of three, request entry bearing 180 landing at runway 27.'
'Stinger 2-1-3, Descend to 5,000 feet and fly heading 2-7-0 to make your approach.'
'Roger, Tower. Turning to heading 2-7-0 for approach.'
A slight staticky fuzz enveloped the transmission and it almost sounded as if another voice were on the same frequency, albeit, it was metallicy and unclear.
'zzzz...No!...zzz….Abzzzzl….utely….not!' The fractured voice of Stinger 2-1-3 hot-miked over the frequency. The controllers exchanged puzzled glances before keying the mike.
'Uh...hot mike. Hot mike,' one of the controllers advised with no small amount of puzzlement.
'Awe! zzzzz...No...fun! I'm gonna...zzzz….anyway!' The metallicky voice whined...petulantly? What in the hell? What was going on up there?
'Warp! zzzz….I'm…..warnzzzzing...you!'
'And juszzzzzt…..what are you….gozzzz….to do about it? Small fry..zzzz!'
The radio frequency erupted into more static and no further transmissions were received.
"What do you think that was about?" one of the airmen voiced out loud. He was met by several shrugged shoulders as a response. Collectively, the group of airmen looked to the chief as if he were somehow in on the strange transmission.
"Don't look at me," he huffed, "I know about as much as you lot at this point."
'Edwards Tower, Stinger 2-1-3 flight of three, I have the numbers.'
'Stinger 2-1-3, maintain heading 2-7-0 to intercept the localizer. Cleared runway 2-7, Descend 2,500 feet AGL until established.'
'Edwards Tower, Stinger 2-1-3 maintaining heading 2-7-0. Cleared runway 2-7. Descending 2,500 feet AGL until established.'
Ever so faintly a small dark blip in the sky appeared. The blip moved quickly and soon dissolved into three separate, smaller blips, each one so close to the other they appeared connected. Chief Davis had resumed his newspaper-rolling and currently had it twisted in a death grip. Tensions within the tower were damn near palpable.
"Stinger 2-1-3, Edwards Tower, you are cleared to land runway 2-7.'
'Edwards Tower, affirma-WARP! I SWEAR TO GOD!' The heightened voice of the pilot squawked in alarm. 'Don't you DARE!' The voice warned furiously, all semblance of radio traffic etiquette abandoned. The windows began to hum with engine vibration from the approaching flight.
Outside of the tower, the fast approaching blips became the recognizable shapes of two, grey Air Force F15 Eagles. No bright, lurid red. No cerulean blue. No obsidian black and purple. For the briefest of moments, the chief allowed himself to believe that maybe...maybe this was going to be a normal morning after all! That is he allowed that thought until the trailing aircraft abandoned the runway approach altogether.
The first two landed with textbook perfection, the grey paint bright and gleaming under the desert sun. Davis caught a glimpse of pilots? In the cockpits as the two jets taxied by tower, just like any other F15 Eagles. But that couldn't be right, could it? Kesinger had said the Aerial Elite would be with him…And wasn't this a flight of three?
"Uh! Chief! That's NOT authorized!" one of the airmen squealed in alarm, pointing desperately out the window just before ducking under a desk.
Davis didn't have time to ponder the oddity for long.
The windows of the tower exploded into a thousand pieces as the third aircraft buzzed the tower in a move straight out of an 80s action movie. Davis's eyes grew wide in shock and terror as he joined his junior enlisted on the floor, taking what little cover he could from the shower of glass. Paper, plastics, and other office detritus flew around the now unenclosed space. The roar from the engines made his ears ring painfully and the frightened shouts of his enlisted only added to the bedlam. Fucking Idiot!
Several long, ear-ringing minutes went by before anyone moved. Davis stayed down on the floor long enough to regain some semblance of his hearing and take notice that the engine noise from the three visiting aircraft had finally ebbed from their taxiing roar to that of a pre-shut down thrum.
"Sergeant! Take control here!" Davis bellowed as he struggled to his feet, glass tinkling off his uniform like oversized glitter. "Take account of any injuries and seek treatment! I'm heading down to the runway to knock some heads off and end a few careers!"
"Yes, sir!"
Down on the runway, things were slightly less catastrophic, but the atmospheric tension was equivalent to a box of sweating dynamite. Heat waves still shimmered off the turbine exhausts on all three aircraft. The canopies had been opened and the pilots within were making a show of removing their helmets.
One aircraft, the notorious third, differed from the other two in that it appeared to be a Strike Eagle, a two-seater fighter. It also appeared slightly different in that one occupant was angrily gesticulating to the other and the guy doing the gesticulating was Col. Kesinger. The pilot currently receiving the verbal lashing appeared nonplussed despite the growing number of maintenance techs, security cars, EMS vehicles and other gawpers drawn by the low fly-by and its aftermath. In fact, once his helmet was off the guy seemed to be ignoring the Colonel despite being a lowly Lieutenant!
Davis strode up to the conglomerate of airmen and took control. "All right! All right! The lot of you! Leave! I'll take care of this! Now get outta here! Yes...Yes! I know we'll have to conduct an investigation for the damages! Now get! We'll take care of that once we get these aircraft moved off the runway! Now Get! Get! Get!"
Slowly the crowd dispersed with only a few malingering EMS workers and security officers standing by. Given the readiness status over the installation, Davis figured this was the closest they would get to privacy until they got to the hangar, especially after recent shenanigans!
"What the fucking hell was that!?" the chief seethed angrily, his words hissing out behind clenched teeth. It was hardly professional or respectful speaking to his superiors in such manner, but given what had just occurred when he himself was still in the building, the normally placid chief was in a rabid fervor.
"Someone here wanted to play Top Gun despite my orders not to!" Colonel Kesinger rounded on the unabashed Lieutenant. The pilot had the audacity to grin at both fuming senior officers, the lips widening as he took note of Davis's darkening countenance.
"And it was soooo worth it! I told you I could do it better than the movie!" he replied smugly while crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides, you aren't my Commander. You can't tell me what to do. He does!" The LT gave an arrogant toss of his head in the direction of the other two jets.
Davis was just about to get up close and personal to the cocky sonuvabitch, when the other two pilots walked up. The cocky SOB was a big guy himself and that probably didn't help his seriously over-inflated ego, but the other two pilots were nearly as tall; the three collectively could stare down both he and Kesinger with ease. However it wasn't just their physical presence that affected Davis. An invisible yet strangely tangible air of danger hung between the three newcomers like a malignant cloud. Their presence and bearing alone were so strong, Davis felt himself take a subconscious step back under the scrutinizing glares. Something was off. Something didn't feel right. A quick glance at Kesinger didn't give him the reassurance he sought.
His commander still appeared irked but had relaxed a good bit now that the other two unknown officers had walked up. He should be furious! An LT didn't disrespect rank and protocol and certainly not as blatantly as he had. Davis watched as Kesinger looked at one of the pilots and snapped, "Is he always this hard to handle?"
"Try living with him for a few million years and let me know," the other replied in a high caustic tenor, his features curling into a mocking leer. "I don't so much as control him as...redirect him. It's actually quite nice watching someone else deal with his buffoonery for once. Maybe we will keep you around for the long term. I like the idea of someone else assuming sparkling-sitting duty." The speaker crossed his arms and smirked despite Kesinger's glowering face.
Said pilot rolled his eyes heavenward as the subject of the latest buffoonery playfully punched his shoulder. The colonel groaned in pain from the gesture, but smiled tightly. "You are such an asshole!" Ratchet's miracle elixir worked well, but even science took time and he was still very, very sore.
"And who would you be?" a deep, baritone voice questioned.
Davis realized it was the one other newcomer who hadn't spoken yet. His voice mirrored his bearing perfectly...deep, powerful, and edged with a faint disdain. Of the three other men standing by, this guy was the largest. Davis immediately got the impression he was a no nonsense kind of character. Fortunately, he need not answer the question, for Kesinger did it for him.
"Guys, this is Chief Master Sergeant Davis. My right-hand man when it comes to getting things done around here. And also facilitator for today's meeting. Chief, these are the...uh...VIPs I mentioned to you," Kesinger's voice had lowered to a whisper to prevent any inadvertent listeners-in.
It took a moment, but all the strange pieces were finally clicking into place. The auburn-haired pilot shifted his stance and the old chief's eyes just happened to sweep across the tailfins of the parked jets. They seemed to be marked like normal Air Force aircraft. On the vertical fins themselves were two letters followed underneath by a two-digit numeric. One read "SS01", the second "TC02" and the third "SW03." Why did those letters feel so familiar? Then, as if to drive the point home, auburn-hair narrowed his eyes and nodded. The grey paint on aircraft "SS01" flickered like a mirage, giving the chief a brief but undeniable snatch of the scarlet enamel underneath.
Chief Davis's breath hitched in his throat and he paled significantly. Kesinger had told him true. Starscream's Trine had arrived on Edwards Air Base. His eyes traveled back to the three "men" standing before him and he gave a small, hesitant smile. His anger immediately evaporated. All things considered, he reckoned that having a blown out Air Traffic Control Tower wasn't half as bad as it could have been.