The ocean below was a steel sheet, cold and endless. High above, the air was thin, sharp, and alive with tension. The F/A-18A Hornet roared at military power, its engines a deep, angry growl. On the HUD, the Su-27’s radar return burned like a warning flare—closing fast, weaving just enough to make it clear this wasn’t a casual flyby.

“Hornet One, you are weapons-free if threatened,” AWACS crackled in his ear, the words slow and deliberate.

The Hornet pilot’s jaw tightened under the oxygen mask. With a sharp roll, he slid into position off the Flanker’s wing, the canopy almost level. The Russian pilot glanced over, visor reflecting the pale morning light—then gave a lazy roll toward the Hornet, cutting close enough for wake turbulence to rattle the cockpit.

“Alright, you want to play games…” the pilot muttered, flipping the master arm switch. The HUD lit up with weapon lock indicators.

“Unidentified Russian aircraft, you are in violation of engagement protocols. Alter course NOW, or I will escort you by force,” the pilot’s voice was flat, the kind of calm that only came when adrenaline was already flooding his system.

The Flanker dipped its wing toward the Hornet again—closer this time.

The Hornet dropped half a wing’s length lower, nose tilting up to paint the Su-27 with a hard lock. Inside the cockpit, the faint growl of the missile tone filled the pilot’s ears.

“Last warning.”

The Russian didn’t answer. The next move would decide if the Pacific sky stayed cold… or went to fire.