Caldre Strait — Dawn Patrol
The sea stretched endless and gray beneath the wings of the Ravenspear flight. Mist curled from the surface in lazy spirals, hiding reefs and rocks, but above it, the air was clear, sharp enough to cut.
Amalia tightened her gloved hand on the control stick as she led the formation. Above her, Rena's modified Hawkfire maintained a wide circling arc, its engine purring faintly. Below and slightly behind, Hartwell flew the first Ravenspear prototype, still bearing the rough patchwork from its test days.
Three altitudes. Three vessels. One message.
"Formation steady," crackled Rena's voice through the primitive radio link, distorted slightly by static. "Eastern horizon showing traffic. Civilian masts only."
Amalia squinted. Far in the distance, tall shapes bobbed at the edge of vision—merchant ships, likely bound for neutral ports. She adjusted her bearing slightly, keeping the formation loose, confident.
