Jack climbed into the cockpit, the familiar scent of oil and worn leather grounding him. As he throttled up, the deck vanished beneath him. To his left, the sea was a churning slate gray; to his right, a wall of anti-aircraft fire began to stitch the sky.

The battle wasn't just a map of dots and arrows anymore. It was the scream of dive bombers, the desperate "thwump-thwump" of the flak guns, and the sight of a Zero pulling into his six. He pulled a hard bank, the G-force pinning him to his seat, and for a moment, the Pacific was upside down.

"Miller! Get that Wildcat prepped!" the deck chief roared over the drone of warming engines.