[center][color=#4682B4][h1]Scott Valentine[/h1][/color][/center]

As the last of the squadron's planes slotted into formation, Scott spoke on the shared channel as he banked the Harrier out of the holding pattern and on course to the islands that were their target destination. 
[color=#4682B4]"All aircraft, follow your flight leads for the operation as briefed. See you on the other side and good hunting, over".[/color]
Scott separated in height and distance from Chevy's flight, the feet spreading quickly into miles with the vastness of the sky between them. As they flew, the formation of jets ate up the distance quickly. Even at subsonic speeds, they were still travelling at hundreds of miles per hour and Linosa was less than a hundred miles away, Lampedusa barely over that. He'd pulled his elements of the squadron down to low level, trying to sneak in below radar and disguise them with the ground clutter until Stingray launched her anti-radar attack on the frigate and Jefe did the same with the radar on Lampedusa. Scott kept his radar cold on the run in as part of this too. Any stray emissions would be picked up with ease, and would be a big red arrow pointed at their location. The much more powerful surveillance and tracking radar on the E-2 Hawkeye, Skywatch, orbiting distant from their location but with more than enough range and detail to pick up and track everything on the islands was feeding its' information directly to their planes for the meantime, and providing more than enough information for guiding them in on their intended course for the attack. 
He glanced downward, looking at the clock on the instrument panel, listening out for Stingray and Jefe to report in as they made their attacks, and the blips for the radars to wink out. [i]Come on, ladies; do you thing[/i] he thought to himself, gloved hand on the throttle tightening and a shift in his ejector seat of impatience and urgency coursing through him...

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