Elena Martinez looked like any normal passenger on flight 847. Nobody knew the quiet woman in seat 14C used to fly the most dangerous war plananes in the world. But when her famous call sign reached the A-10 pilots flying nearby, everything changed. Two military jets left their training mission to honor the best fighter pilot who ever lived.
Before you watch full story, comment below from which country are you watching. Don’t forget to subscribe. Elena. Martinez adjusted her seat and glanced out the small window of flight 847 as the Boeing. 737 climbed steadily through the afternoon sky. The routine flight from Phoenix to Denver carried the usual mix of business travelers, families heading home, and tourists.
She wore simple blue jeans and a plain gray sweater. Her dark hair pulled back in a casual ponytail. To anyone looking, she appeared to be just another passenger making the 2-hour journey across the American Southwest. The flight attendant approached with the beverage cart, offering the standard smile that came with thousands of hours of customer service.
“Something to drink, ma’am.” >> “Coffee black, please,” Elena replied politely, accepting the small plastic cup with steady hands. Her voice carried no hint of authority, no indication that these same hands had once gripped the stick of an A10 Thunderbolt 2 through some of the most dangerous combat missions in modern military history.
In the seat beside her, a middle-aged businessman typed furiously on his laptop, occasionally sighing as he reviewed what appeared to be quarterly reports. Across the aisle, a young mother tried to keep her toddler entertained with coloring books and crackers. Two rows ahead, a college student dozed against the window.
earbuds blocking out the steady hum of the engines. Nobody paid Elena any special attention. Nobody asked about her destination or her profession. Nobody knew that the quiet woman in seat 14C carried a call sign that was whispered with reverence in every A10 squadron across the globe. They called her Reaper 6.
And for 8 years of active duty, that name had meant salvation to hundreds of ground troops pinned down by enemy fire. Elena sipped her coffee and tried to read the paperback novel she’d picked up at the airport, but her mind kept drifting. Tomorrow, she would start her new job as a civilian flight instructor at a small airfield outside Denver.
After 22 years of military service, including those 8 years flying the Warthog in Afghanistan and Iraq, she was finally ready to teach people how to fly for the joy of it rather than the necessity of war. The transition hadn’t been easy. For months after her retirement ceremony, she’d found herself listening for the radio chatter that never came.
Her hands unconsciously reaching for controls that weren’t there. The civilian world moved at a different pace, operated by different rules. Here, people worried about flight delays and lost luggage, not incoming mortar rounds and wounded soldiers crying for air support. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, came the announcement over the intercom.
We’re currently cruising at 37,000 ft and we’ve been cleared for our descent into Denver International Airport. We should be arriving right on schedule. Flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for landing. Ellena glanced at her watch. Right on time, just as the captain had promised. In the military, timing had meant everything. Being 30 seconds late with close air support could mean the difference between bringing soldiers home alive or in body bags.
She’d never been late, not once in over 400 combat missions. The descent began smoothly, the familiar sensation of reduced engine power and the gentle forward tilt of the aircraft. Elena had flown this route countless times during her service years. Though always in the cockpit of military transport planes, or her beloved A10, this was her first time as a passenger on a commercial flight over this particular stretch of airspace.
As they descended through 25,000 ft, Elena noticed something unusual through her window. Two dark specks in the distance moving in formation at a lower altitude. Her trained eye immediately recognized the distinctive silhouette of A10 Thunderbolt Decus. The twin engine attack aircraft were unmistakable.
with their straight wings and the massive GA8 cannon protruding from the nose like a deadly finger pointing at the ground below. She watched with professional interest as the two warthogs maintained their heading, probably conducting a training exercise in the restricted military airspace that bordered the civilian air corridors.
Elena knew these skies well from her years stationed at various bases throughout the region. The pilots down there were likely young, eager, running practice missions that would prepare them for the real thing overseas. The businessman beside her looked up from his laptop and followed her gaze out the window.
Military jets? He asked with casual curiosity. A10s? Elena replied simply. Tank busters. Best closeair support aircraft ever built. The man nodded without much interest and returned to his reports. He had no way of knowing that the woman beside him had personally put more ordinance on target from that exact type of aircraft than any other pilot in recent memory, or that her precision strikes had turned the tide of dozens of ground battles.
Elena continued watching the distant aircraft as Flight 847 descended through 20,000 ft. The A-10s appeared to be conducting standard formation flying, probably working on their tactical approaches and communication protocols. She could almost hear the radio chatter in her mind, the clipped professional exchanges between pilots and ground controllers that had once been the soundtrack of her life.
Suddenly, something changed. The lead A-10 broke formation abruptly, followed immediately by his wingman. Instead of continuing on their original heading, both aircraft began a climbing turn that would bring them closer to the commercial airliner’s flight path. Elena frowned. That wasn’t standard procedure for a training exercise.
In the cockpit of flight 847, Captain Jim Rodriguez was monitoring the routine descent when his radio crackled to life with an unexpected transmission from Denver approach control. United 847. Be advised, we have military traffic requesting information about your passenger manifest. They’re asking specifically about an Elena Martinez.
Do you show that passenger on board? Captain Rodriguez exchanged a puzzled glance with his co-pilot, Karen Wong. In 30 years of flying, he’d never received such a request. Denver approach United 847. That’s an unusual request. Can you clarify the nature of the inquiry? United 847. The request is coming from Buckley Air Force Base.
They have A10 aircraft in your vicinity conducting training operations. The flight lead is asking if Elena Martinez is aboard your aircraft. Co-pilot Wong quickly accessed the passenger manifest on her tablet. Captain, we do show an Elena Martinez in seat 14C. I don’t understand why the military would be asking about a specific passenger.
Captain Rodriguez keyed his microphone again. Denver approach United 847. We confirmed passenger Elena Martinez is on board. What’s the nature of the military’s interest? There was a pause. Then the approach controller’s voice returned with a tone of obvious amazement. United 847. I’m being told by Buckley Operations that your passenger, Elena Martinez, is a retired A-10 pilot with the call sign Reaper 6.
The A-10 flight lead is requesting permission to suspend his training mission to render honors. In the cabin, Elena felt a familiar chill run down her spine as she saw both A-10s changing course more dramatically now, clearly deviating from any standard flight pattern. something was happening and her instincts told her it had to do with more than just a routine training exercise.
The intercom crackled to life again, but this time, Captain Rodriguez’s voice carried a note of uncertainty. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re receiving some unusual communications from air traffic control regarding military aircraft in the area. There’s nothing to be concerned about regarding the safety of our flight, but we may experience a slight delay in our approach as we coordinate with military traffic.
Elena’s stomach tightened. She’d kept her military service private since retirement, traveling under her real name, but never advertising her background. The airline didn’t know. Her fellow passengers didn’t know, and she’d assumed it would stay that way. But somehow, the A-10 pilots operating in this airspace had learned of her presence.
Through her window, she could now clearly see both warthogs climbing toward the commercial flight’s altitude. This was definitely not a training exercise anymore. The aircraft were being flown with the precision and purpose she remembered from combat operations. Every movement deliberate and calculated in the lead A10, Major Brett Harrison couldn’t believe what he just heard from air traffic control.
Elena Martinez, call sign Reaper 6, was aboard the civilian airliner currently descending through his training airspace. Every A-10 pilot knew that name, knew the stories, knew the legend. “Gunfighter 2, you copy that transmission?” Harrison asked his wingman over the tactical frequency. “Rogger, gunfighter lead,” came the immediate reply from Lieutenant Sarah Kim in the second aircraft.
“Reaper 6 is aboard that United flight. I can’t believe it.” Harrison had studied Elena Martinez’s combat record during his initial A-10 training. She’d flown more close air support missions than any other pilot in the history of the aircraft. Her precision with the Gau8 cannon was legendary. Her ability to deliver ordinance danger close to friendly forces without causing fratricside was unmatched.
She’d saved more ground troops than any other pilot, earned more commendations for valor, and established the tactical doctrines that every current A-10 pilot still followed. Buckley base gunfighter lead requesting permission to suspend training operations and render honors to Reaper 6 aboard United 847. Harrison transmitted to his controlling agency.
The response came immediately from the base operations center. Gunfighter lead permission granted. Coordinate with Denver approach for proper separation. Be advised this is being monitored at wing level. Make it count. Harrison felt the weight of the moment. He was about to fly a tribute mission to one of the greatest combat pilots who had ever strapped into an A-10.
Every maneuver, every formation position, every radio call had to be perfect. Back aboard flight 847, passengers were beginning to notice the military aircraft outside the windows. Conversation stopped as people pressed against the glass, pointing at the two warthogs now flying in close formation with the commercial airliner. “What are those planes doing?” asked the young mother holding her toddler up to see out the window.
I think they’re escorting us, replied an elderly man across the aisle, his voice filled with wonder. “I was in the Navy 50 years ago, and I’ve never seen anything like this during a commercial flight.” Elena remained silent, but inside she was fighting a mix of emotions. Part of her was deeply moved that active duty pilots would honor her service in such a dramatic fashion.
Another part was uncomfortable with the attention, the public nature of what should have been a private transition to civilian life. The businessman beside her had completely forgotten about his laptop. “Ma’am, you seem to know what those aircraft were. Any idea why they’re flying with us like this?” Elena looked at him for a long moment, then made a decision.
Their A-10 Thunderbolt 2 is also called Warthogs, and I think they might be honoring a veteran who’s aboard this flight. Really? Someone famous? Someone who served? Elellanena replied quietly, not ready to reveal more. In the cockpit, Captain Rodriguez was receiving a steady stream of communications from both Denver approach control and the A-10 flight lead.
What he was hearing was beyond anything in his experience as a commercial pilot. United 847 Denver approach. The military flight lead is requesting to speak directly with passenger Elena Martinez if possible. They want to coordinate a formal tribute flyby as you approached Denver International. Co-pilot Wong looked at her captain with amazement.
Jim, who is this woman? I’ve never heard of the military stopping a training exercise to honor a passenger on a commercial flight. Captain Rodriguez shook his head. I don’t know, Karen, but it must be someone pretty significant. Approach United 847. We’ll see if we can arrange communication with the passenger in question.
A few minutes later, the lead flight attendant knocked gently on Elena’s seat. Miss Martinez, I’m sorry to disturb you, but the captain has asked me to speak with you privately. Could you come forward to the galley area? Elena’s heart was pounding as she followed the flight attendant toward the front of the aircraft.
Other passengers watched curiously, clearly sensing that something unusual was happening. In the galley, the flight attendant spoke in a low voice. Ms. Martinez, I don’t fully understand what’s happening, but air traffic control has informed our captain that there are military aircraft outside specifically because of your presence on this flight.
The pilots are requesting to honor your service. The captain would like to know if you’re willing to speak with them over the radio. Elena closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of her past catching up with her present. She’d hoped for a quiet transition to civilian life, but it seemed the Brotherhood of Military Aviation had other plans.
Yes, she said finally. I’ll speak with them. A few minutes later, Elena sat in the cockpit jump seat wearing the captain’s spare headset. Captain Rodriguez had tuned to the frequency being used by the A10s, and Major Harrison’s voice came through clearly. Reaper 6, this is gunfighter lead on guard.
Ma’am, it is an absolute honor to be sharing this airspace with you today. Elena keyed the microphone, her voice steady despite the emotions churning inside her. Gunfighter lead, this is Reaper 6. The honor is mine. Major, you boys are flying some beautiful formations out there. Ma’am, we’ve got clearance from Denver approach to conduct a formal tribute flyby as you approach DIA.
If you’re amenable, we’d like to escort you home. Elena looked out the cockpit windows at the two A-10s holding perfect formation with the airliner. Their gray paint schemes and distinctive profiles bringing back a flood of memories. These young pilots were doing something unprecedented. using their training time to honor her service in a way that went far beyond normal military protocol.
Gunfighter lead, Reaper 6. I’d be honored by your escort. What followed was 15 minutes of the most precise formation flying Elena had ever witnessed from the cockpit of a civilian aircraft. Major Harrison and Lieutenant Kim positioned their A-10s in a perfect escort formation, one on each side of the commercial airliner, maintaining exact spacing and altitude as Flight 847 made its approach to Denver International Airport.
The air traffic controllers at DIA had never seen anything like it. Word spread quickly through the control tower, and soon every controller off duty was crowding the windows to watch the unprecedented tribute. The two military fighters escorting a commercial airliner looked like something from a movie, not the routine afternoon traffic they were accustomed to handling.
Inside the cabin of flight 847, passengers were pressed against every available window. The young mother was explaining to her toddler that the airplane was being protected by special guardian planes. The elderly Navy veteran had tears in his eyes as he watched the formation, understanding better than most the significance of what he was witnessing.
The businessman who had been sitting next to Elena throughout the flight now realized that the quiet woman who had correctly identified the military aircraft was clearly much more than she appeared. When she returned to her seat, he looked at her with new respect. Ma’am, I don’t know what you did in your service, but watching those pilots honor you like this, it must have been something extraordinary.
Elena smiled softly. I just did my job, same as they’re doing now. As flight 847 lined up for final approach to runway 16R at Denver International, the two A-10s executed a perfect breakaway maneuver. Major Harrison rolled his aircraft inverted and pulled up and away from the airliner in a climbing spiral, followed immediately by Lieutenant Kim in an identical maneuver.
The formation break was executed with such precision that it looked choreographed. The two warthogs separating like dancers at the end of a performance. Reaper 6, Gunfighter Lead, came Major Harrison’s voice over the radio one final time. Thank you for your service, ma’am. It was an honor to fly with a legend. Gunfighter lead Reaper 6.
Fly safe, boys. Bring everyone home. As the A-10s disappeared into the distance, returning to their training airspace, flight 847 touched down smoothly on the runway at Denver International Airport. The passengers erupted in spontaneous applause, though most of them still didn’t fully understand what they had just witnessed.
During the taxi to the gate, Captain Rodriguez made an announcement that would be remembered by everyone aboard that flight for years to come. Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve been flying commercial aircraft for 30 years, and I have never experienced anything like what just happened. We were just escorted to Denver International Airport by two United States Air Force A10 Thunderbolt 2 aircraft in tribute to one of our passengers, a retired military pilot whose call sign is Reaper 6.
While I don’t know the details of her service, the unprecedented honor shown by those young pilots tells us everything we need to know about the caliber of person we’ve been privileged to fly with today. The entire cabin turned to look at Elena, who was still sitting quietly in seat 14C, her paperback novel forgotten in her lap.
She stood slowly, her face composed, but her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Thank you all for sharing this flight with me,” she said simply. and thank you for your patience with the delay. Sometimes the past has a way of catching up with the present. As the passengers filed off the aircraft, many stopped to shake Elena’s hand or simply nod their respect.
The young mother thanked her for her service and told her daughter to remember this day. The elderly Navy veteran saluted crisply, one warrior honoring another across the decades and service branches that separated them. Elena was among the last to leave the aircraft. As she gathered her small carry-on bag, Captain Rodriguez emerged from the cockpit.
“Ma’am, I don’t know what you did during your military service, but I want you to know that today was one of the most moving experiences of my career. Those young pilots didn’t just honor you.” They honored everyone who has served.” Elellanena nodded, unable to trust her voice for a moment. Finally, she spoke. “Captain, they reminded me why I was proud to serve.
Sometimes we forget in the transition to civilian life that what we did mattered. Today they made sure I remembered. As Elena walked through the jet bridge into Denver International Airport, she felt a sense of closure she hadn’t expected. For months, she’d struggled with leaving behind the identity that had defined her for more than two decades.
She’d worried about becoming just another civilian, anonymous and forgotten. But today, two young A-10 pilots had reminded her that legends don’t fade simply because they change uniforms, the call sign Reaper 6 would live on in the stories told in ready rooms and briefing halls, in the tactical manuals that bore her innovations, and in the lives of the soldiers who had gone home because she had been overhead when they needed her most.
The terminal buzzed with the usual activity of travelers rushing to catch connections, families reuniting, and business people checking their phones. Elena moved through the crowd unnoticed. Once again, her moment in the spotlight over. But as she approached the baggage claim area, she noticed something unusual happening around the large windows that overlooked the airfield.
A crowd had gathered, all pointing and talking excitedly about something outside. Elena approached cautiously and saw what had captured their attention. The two A-10 Thunderbolts were performing a ceremonial flyby of the airport, executing perfect tactical maneuvers in the clear Colorado sky. They flew in tight formation, rolled inverted in unison, then separated in opposite directions before coming back together in a diamond formation that would have made the Thunderbirds proud.
“Did you see that?” an excited teenager asked his father. “Those military jets have been flying around the airport for the last 10 minutes. Someone said they were escorting a commercial flight that just landed. The father, a man in his 50s wearing a baseball cap with military insignia, watched the display with knowing eyes.
Son, that’s not just any flyby. That’s a tribute formation. Someone important was on that flight. Someone those pilots respect enough to use their training time to honor. Elena found herself standing next to them, watching her former aircraft dance through the sky with the grace and precision that only came from countless hours of training and an intimate understanding of the machine.
The sight stirred memories she’d been trying to keep locked away since her retirement. She remembered her first solo flight in an A-10. The nervous excitement of handling 30,000 lb of aircraft designed for one purpose, delivering devastating firepower and support of ground troops. She remembered the first time she’d heard her call sign used in combat when a desperate infantry platoon had called for immediate air support, and she’d responded within minutes, silencing enemy positions with surgical precision.
The memories flooded back in vivid detail. There was the mission over the mountains of Afghanistan when she’d spent 4 hours orbiting a remote outpost, providing continuous close air support as enemy forces tried to overrun the position. She’d made 17 attack runs that day.
expending every round of ammunition and returning to base with her aircraft so shot up that the maintenance crew had declared it a miracle she’d made it home. There was the night mission in Iraq when she’d guided a trapped patrol through hostile territory using only her, targeting pod and night vision equipment, coordinating their movement with ground controllers while engaging enemy positions that threatened to cut off their escape route.
That mission had earned her the distinguished flying cross, but more importantly, it had brought 12 soldiers home to their families. She remembered the faces of the forward air controllers she’d worked with, the voices that had become as familiar as her own family. They were the ones who painted targets with laser designators, who talked her onto objectives, who trusted her with their lives and the lives of the troops they protected.
Some of those voices had gone silent over the years, lost to the brutal mathematics of warfare. But she carried their memory in every mission she flew afterward. “Ma’am, excuse me,” came a voice behind her. Elena turned to see a young man in his 20s, wearing a military uniform with Air Force insignia. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was on duty at Buckley when the call came in about your flight.
Are you Elena Martinez, call sign Reaper 6?” Elena hesitated for a moment, then nodded. The young airman’s face lit up with recognition and respect. Ma’am, I’m Airman Firstclass Rodriguez. I work in base operations and I was the one who coordinated with Denver Approach when Major Harrison requested permission to honor you.
I just wanted to say thank you for your service. My older brother is Army Infantry and he served two tours in Afghanistan. He’s told me stories about A-10 pilots who saved his unit more than once. When I heard your call sign today, I knew I was dealing with a legend. Other people in the area began to take notice of the conversation.
Word spread quickly through the crowd that the woman standing among them was somehow connected to the military display happening outside. Elena found herself surrounded by curious travelers, veterans recognizing a kindred spirit and civilians who simply wanted to understand what they had witnessed.
An elderly woman approached with tears in her eyes. My grandson is serving overseas right now. He’s with the Marines in the Middle East. Are you the reason those planes honored our flight today? Elellanena nodded gently. I served with the Air Force for many years. Those pilots out there are continuing the mission, protecting people like your grandson.
The woman grasped Elena’s hands. Thank you. Thank you for watching over our boys over there. A middle-aged man in a business suit pushed forward. I was on your flight sitting three rows behind you. I had no idea we were traveling with a war hero. What you’ve done, the service you’ve given to our country. I don’t have words.
Elellena felt overwhelmed by the attention. This was exactly what she’d hoped to avoid in her transition to civilian life. But as she looked around at the faces surrounding her, young and old, military and civilian, all united in their respect for service and sacrifice, she realized that perhaps anonymity wasn’t what she truly wanted after all.
A local news crew had somehow gotten word of what was happening and arrived with cameras rolling. The reporter, a professionallook woman in her 30s, approached Elena with a microphone. Ma’am, I’m Rebecca Chen from Channel 9 News. We understand that you’re a military veteran who was honored today by Air Force pilots during a commercial flight.
Can you tell us about your service? Elena looked at the camera, then at the crowd that had gathered, then out the window where she could still see the A-10s completing their tribute display. For months, she’d been running from her past, trying to become someone new. But standing here, surrounded by people who understood the value of service, she realized that she didn’t want to hide anymore.
My name is Elena Martinez. I served in the United States Air Force for 22 years as an A-10 pilot. My call sign was Reaper 6 and I flew close air support missions in Iraq and Afghanistan. Today, two active duty pilots honored that service by escorting our commercial flight and performing a tribute flyby. I’m deeply grateful for their gesture.
” The reporter pressed for more details. “Can you tell us about your combat service? What made your career so significant that active duty pilots would suspend their training to honor you?” Elena paused, choosing her words carefully. “I flew over 400 combat missions during my career. My job was to provide close air support to ground troops who found themselves in dangerous situations.
Every mission was about bringing everyone home safely. The pilots who honored me today understand that mission, and they’re carrying it forward with the same dedication and professionalism that has always defined the A-10 community. As she spoke, Elena noticed more military personnel appearing in the crowd.
Word had obviously spread through the local military community about what was happening at the airport. She saw uniforms from different branches, Army, Navy, Marines, and Air Force, all coming to pay their respects to a fellow warrior. A grizzled sergeant major approached with a small group of soldiers.
Ma’am, we heard what happened today. We’re stationed at Carson, and some of us served in Afghanistan during your deployment years. We wanted to thank you personally for the times you and your squadron kept us alive over there. One of the younger soldiers stepped forward. Ma’am, my platoon was in the Coringal Valley in 2018. I remember hearing Reaper 6 on the radio during a firefight.
You stayed overhead for 6 hours making gun runs and coordinating medevac helicopters. You saved my whole squad that day. Elena felt the familiar tightness in her throat that came whenever she met ground troops whose lives had intersected with her missions. This was why she had served, why she had pushed herself to be the best pilot she could be.
It wasn’t for the medals or the recognition. It was for moments like this, meeting the people who had made it home because she had been there when they needed her. The crowd continued to grow as more people learned what was happening. Airport security had arrived to manage the situation, but they seemed as moved by the impromptu gathering as everyone else.
Even the TSA agents were taking pictures and asking for autographs. Elena found herself signing pieces of paper, airport napkins, and even a few military challenge coins that people produced from their pockets. Each interaction was brief but meaningful. A handshake, a few words of gratitude, a shared understanding of what service means. A young Air Force lieutenant approached nervously. Ma’am, I’m Lieutenant Parker.
I just finished A-10 training at Davis Mton. We studied your tactics in ground school. The Martinez maneuver is still taught as standard doctrine for danger close support missions. It’s an honor to meet you. Elena smiled at the mention of the tactical innovation that bore her name.
It had been developed during a particularly difficult mission when she’d needed to deliver ordinance within 50 m of friendly forces. The technique had been adopted throughout the A-10 community and had since saved countless lives by allowing pilots to provide effective support even in the most constrained tactical situations. As the afternoon wore on, the crowd gradually began to disperse.
People had flights to catch, families to meet, lives to return to. But the impact of what had happened would stay with them. They had witnessed something rare, a moment when the invisible bonds that connect, those who serve were made visible for all to see. The news crew wrapped up their interviews and headed back to the station to prepare their story for the evening broadcast.
Elena knew that by tomorrow her quiet transition to civilian life would be a thing of the past. But somehow that no longer seemed like such a bad thing. As the sun began to set over the Colorado mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, Elellena finally made her way to the baggage claim area to collect her single suitcase.
The crowds had thinned, the excitement had died down, and she was once again just another passenger collecting her belongings. But she wasn’t the same woman who had boarded flight 847 in Phoenix that morning. Something fundamental had shifted during the course of the day. She had been reminded of who she was, where she came from, and why it mattered.
Elena Martinez pulled out her cell phone as she walked toward the exit, ready to call a taxi to take her to her new apartment. Tomorrow, she would begin teaching civilian pilots how to fly, passing on the skills and knowledge she had accumulated over a lifetime of aviation. It was a different mission than the one she had flown in combat, but it was no less important.
She had one more call sign to earn, one more identity to build. But now she knew that she would always carry Reaper 6 with her, not as a burden from the past, but as a foundation for whatever came next. The quiet woman who had boarded flight 847 in Phoenix as just another passenger, had arrived in Denver as something more, a reminder that heroes walk among us every day, usually unrecognized, always ready to serve when called upon.
And sometimes, just sometimes, the sky itself opens up to salute them home.
