Duke Mitchell. Callsign Jett. A twenty-five-year-old U.S. Naval Aviator. And a gosh darn risk taker. His mama, may she rest in peace, said that he was a cat with nine lives. Duke believed her. With the number of accidents he'd had in the past thirteen years of his life, he was surprised he was still alive and kicking.

But we don't have time to get into that mess, because right now, Duke was fighting for his life.

"Oh shoot!" Duke jerked the stick to the left, "Smoke in the air, Viper! Steer left!"

"Roger, veering left." Viper's calm voice answered.

"Badger, status!" Duke called back to his RIO.

"Everything's good back here. Oh shoot! Oh shoot!" Badger yelled, "Jett, missile lock!"

"I see it." Sweat prickled at Duke's brow as he expertly steered the F-4 Phantom II, "We're going up!"

Jett jerked the stick upward and the F-4 nosed its way up into the sky. A missile flew past them and into the sky.

Badger cursed, "That was close."

Duke nodded, letting out a momentary sigh of relief. "Repositioning to target." He informed him.

Duke turned the plane and they set their plan back on course. "Due north, flying 1215 knots."

Jett's eyes traveled down to the knobs and buttons in front of him.

"Target time, 2 minutes." Badger informed him.

Despite what was happening, Duke smiled. It was time to go and blow up some things.