With the Ghost fully suited up, he and Katie made their way to Hangar-1, where Mr. H had completed his last check and preparations. "She's all ready... but Ghost... this is one bird is nothing short of a nightfury-nightmare. Are you sure this is the right way?" H asked with worry in his words that left his lips. The Ghost simply smiled and gave his former mentor a thumbs up. "This... H... is the only way. It's time the "Holier-than-thou citizens of Chicago-Sanctuary and the Tribals scattered in the Grey, lead the meaning of "helpless fear or helpful guardian", so yes... this is the only way". Said the Ghost, climbing into the cockpit of what would become to known as "The Vanta-Clad Reaper" to both tribals and sanctuarians alike.
"CLEAR!" Shouted the Ghost as the H and Katie pulled open Hangar-1's doors. The four-propeller blade nose cone began to spin. The Ghost hot-dropped the magneto and that Stallion-51 engine came to life with a vengeance... all twelve, liquid-cooled, V-aligned cylinders. As the warbird trundled out of the hangar, the Illinois Valley's afternoon sun revealed this fear-incarnate warbird in all her glory. It was a P-51C Mustang, armed to the teeth. From her six .50 caliber machine guns, to her dual, under-wing mounted, .50 caliber gun pods, this Mustang had risen from the grave, not as a phoenix, but as a soldier of the Grim Reaper itself. This nightmare warbird was painted Vanta-Black, with a metallic flake-infused royal crimson tail, stabilizers, wing tips, with the name "Vanta Reaper" paint on both sides of her nose. It was truly, a vanta-clad, nightfury-nightmare.
The Ghost throttled up as he taxied up to the head of Runway-1. "Katie, take the Autowa back to Ottawa leading H. He'll be driving an AV Fuel tanker. I don't have to tell you what happens when AV Gas gets hit with bullets. Now then...", the Ghost clasped on the oxygen-rebreather mask and came across H's radio. "Am I clear for takeoff, ground control?" H stood on the nerf-bar of the AV Gas Tanker. Lifting the radio up to his face, H gave the Ghost of Ottawa the order the twenty-five-year-old, Redtail-obsessed, young man been awaiting his for most of his life. "Ghost of Ottawa, Vanta Reaper is clear for takeoff... happy hunting, kid."
Hearing the "clear for takeoff", the Ghost punched the throttle past maxium into "war emergency power". Vanta Reaper ripped down the concrete runway as the ASI (air speed indicator) Needle came to life. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! CLIMB!" Yelled the Ghost, pull back on the control stick. The warbird's ASI Needle crossed the necessary threshold for lift... and left the ground. The Vanta-Reaper was airborne, with the Ghost of Ottawa at her controls. As he retracted the landing gear, soaring into the Illinois-Sky, a small smile crept onto his face. The Ghost had flown before, but that wasn't his reason for smiling... "You are living proof that our sacrifice, wasn't in vain." Said the Ghost, repeating the words a Tuskegee Airmen, or commonly called a "Redtail", black veteran of World War Two had told him in the summer between his sixth and seventh grade years of school on a trip to the nation's former capital, on the steps of the National Air and Space Museum.
"Bear witness Redtails... I shall pay tribute to your legacy... and the legacy of Archie Melvin... my hero." Said the Ghost as he pulled Vanta Reaper into the sky, heading back toward the "Friendly City", otherwise known as Ottawa, Illinois. "Today...", started the Ghost, "...I let loose... all of this pain."