Chapter 1

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"I've had about enough of this shit, Sparrow. Turn and burn this motherfucker. I'm gettin' a hard-on now, baby! Wooo-hooo!"

I love my job, Lieutenant Harry Styles thought with a grin as wide as the sky around him, slamming the yoke to the side and sending his beautiful F-14 Tomcat spinning like a barrel down a hill. This was what he had always dreamed of, what he had wanted for as long as he could remember. It had been his only dream, fostered by endless hours on his back porch as a child meticulously folding paper into planes that he sent soaring on the warm, summer breeze. More than the adrenaline, more than the challenge, it was the freedom that Harry had always chased above all else. Just like those little paper airplanes that had been swept away to travel the world...or at least his neighbor's back yard...Harry was lost to the wind, happy to let it take him wherever it so desired. That same beloved symbol of freedom was now resting in metal form as a charm around his neck on the same chain as his dog tags, reminding him to never forget the childlike wonder that came along with following your dreams.

"Well, you better squeeze it, Craic. No time to fire off prematurely. I can't get a lock on this bugger," Harry called back at his RIO through his in-mask comm. Behind him, Lieutenant Niall Horan cackled like a demon from the darkest pits of hell. "Come on now, I just want to say a friendly hello," Harry muttered, attention now back on his radar and the F-22 in his sights.

"You're just jealous of my stamina, mate. Stop teasin' and get to pleasin'!" Niall hollered like this was the best damn moment in his entire life. In fact, every hop was the best moment in Niall's life...every moment was the best moment in Niall's life. He was always up up up, going ballistic at mach-two in a straight shot up toward the stars. As RIOs went, Niall was as wild as a hurricane, but as friends, he was as steady as the eye of the storm. That's why they worked so well together and had done so for the past six years since suffering through basic training together. They were both the very best at what they did, with an equal proclivity toward a little bit of mayhem and that steely dependence that kept them tied together toward the greater good.

"Highway to the dannnngerrr zooooone!" Niall sang out merrily, and if he wasn't strapped into his seat, he would be doing a spirited pelvic thrust as punctuation. Sometimes Harry thought that Niall had only joined the Royal Navy's flight school because he wanted a real life re-enactment of that trashy 80's American classic, Top Gun. At Niall's insistence, they probably watched it a solid two times a week by now and spent far longer than Harry cared to admit quoting it back and forth while on hops.

"Oh shit! He's going vertical!" Niall suddenly called, back to business.

"And so are we. He's mine."

"That's the spirit, bird brain! Go get him! Let's shove these missiles right up his arse!"

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep

Harry bit his lip and stabilized his plane in a vertical line down toward the ground as he tried to get a lock. He was getting really sick and tired of that damned incessant beeping. As Niall had said, albeit in much more decorative prose, it was time to finish this. "Come on, come on," he murmured to himself, sweat dripping down his neck beneath his helmet. He took a deep breath, holding it in his chest, and then -

Beeeeeeeppppp

"I've got tone!" Harry yelled, twitchy finger hovering right over the missile release, without pressing it. Not yet. Not this time.

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