Author's Note: This is a perhaps the most important A/N I have included in a story and therefore needs to be upfront. This is a follow-on story to Gold Wings. Unlike Gold Wings, this story is rated M for a reason. Gold Wings included rough language and as much realism as I could while maintaining its rating. This story does not hold back, as the final date/time of the prologue reveals, this story deals with a very emotional time in American history and the events which followed it. The characters in this story are service members who are angry and have zero filter while expressing that anger. There will be comments and phrases said by these characters that reflect that anger and are very inappropriate. I am not endorsing their language, but I am trying to describe as real of a story and depiction as I can. So, this is the disclaimer of the language, whether vulgar or offensive, that will be uttered by those that "visit violence upon those that would do us harm."

Prologue

I hurt myself deeply, though at the time I had no idea how deeply. – Haruki Murakami

0745L, 19 September 1999, NAS Fallon

"It's just a test program. The Marines have been using pilots and NFO's as FACs for years." The Navy captain looked at the mustachioed lieutenant commander across from him. The dark-haired pilot was the Navy's leading fighter pilot. With eleven and a half air-to-air kills to his name, LCDR Percy "Demon" Jackson's reputation circulated throughout the service, as did rumors of his mustache. The captain could now confirm those rumors. Forward Air Controllers worked with ground forces to coordinate close air support for the men "in the shit."

"So, because the knuckle draggers do it, big Navy wants to put a Hornet driver through the JTAC pipeline?"

"Pretty much."

"Alright sir, I'll do it."

0815L, 15 December 1999, NAS Fallon

"Viper Zero-1, Viper Zero-1, Demon on red."

"Demon, have you loud and clear on red." The pilot of the inbound F/A-18F Super Hornet spoke with a high-pitched drawl. Percy knew she grew up in Savannah, Georgia. Her backseater was from Harlem.

"Viper Zero-1, standby for gameplan."

"Demon, standing by."

"Line 1 – IP Razor. Line 2 – two seven six. Line 3 – seven point two nautical miles." The close air support nine line was a preset format given to everyone connected with the operation. It was always given in three transmissions of three lines.

"Line 4 – Four one seven eight feet. Line 5 – Enemy armor. Three T-72 main battle tanks. Line 6 – Three niner dot one seven north, one one eight dot four zero west." Percy paused and then kept speaking. "Line 7 – laser. Line 8 – southeast, two-five hundred. Line 9 – Egress at pilot's discretion."

"A-firm, Demon. Requesting permission to prosecute."

"Viper Zero-1, cleared hot."

"Copy, Demon. Viper Zero-1 committing. Thirty-four seconds out." Percy waited for twelve seconds before his ears picked up the roar of the Boeing plane's twin General Electric F414-GE400 turbofans. Over 30,000 pound-feet of thrust hurled the 44,000 pounds of aircraft and ordnance forward.

"Demon, request laser." Percy reached forward and flipped the switch on the laser designator. The wing mounted AN/ASQ-228 ATFLIR targeting pod sensed the laser and latched to it. "Demon, laser lock. Launch in five, four, three, two, launch." Two GBU-12 Paveway II laser guided bombs dropped from the Super Hornet's hard points and their guidance systems began to adjust the fin positions. The Lockheed Martin designed weapons flew for just seven seconds before the two five-hundred-pound bombs struck the mockups of the Soviet era tanks. The senior chief beside him looked up from his binoculars.

"Good fucking shot, sir. That's the final test. Graduation is in two days."

"Thanks, Senior Wright."

0602L, 11 September 2001, Fallon, NV

"Percy!" The shout brought Percy in from the garage. He had been using the weight rack for a morning workout.

"Zoe, what's wrong?" The Iranian born Navy Reservist did not speak. She raised a hand and a single finger extended toward the small TV mounted under the kitchen cabinets. The ABC morning news showed a pillar of smoke rising against an easily recognizable skyline. "What the fuck…" Percy's voice trailed off. Zoe turned up the volume and a reporter's voice filled the room.

"Just minutes ago, an airplane struck the North Tower of the World Trade Center. And… Oh my God is that…" The reporter's voice trailed off and soon the broadcast revealed why. A fireball erupted from the South Tower as a second plane plowed into the building.

"Holy fuck." Percy felt Zoe's hand slide around his waist. The reporter did not know what to say. Neither did either of the people watching the broadcast. Zoe leaned toward him.

"One's an accident, Perce, two…" she did not need to say more, Percy knew what she meant.

"Two's on purpose." Zoe nodded as they continued to watch the broadcast. Their suspensions were confirmed thirty-two minutes later. Thirty-seven minutes later the phones started to ring.