Comhroinn Fuaime

He nudged the throttles forward, the twin GE F110 engines answering with a deep, visceral rumble. The Tomcat surged, breaking formation with the S-3 Viking tanker they’d been babysitting. “Kennedy Strike, Devil 201, be advised we are departing the tanker track to investigate bogeys at our twelve o’clock. Will maintain comms.” The radio hissed. A burst of static, then the clipped reply: “Devil 201, Kennedy Strike, copy. Maintain TACAN lock. Report VID.” Visual identification. The sacred ritual