Avalanche

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Zoe Kazansky's pov... many, many years later

My heart is thrashing in my chest as I stare at my email inbox.

My breathing is as steady as I will it, and I know my parents are eagerly waiting downstairs to congratulate me or comfort me, based on the message I get.

It's the email where I find out if I'm accepted to Top Gun or not.

Yes, I did exactly what I promised my father all those years ago, that I would become a naval aviator, just like him.

And look at me now.

I've graduated from the Naval Academy two years ago, at the very top of my class.

In the meantime, I had just gotten back from a deployment in Sweden, while training with the Swedish and Finnish pilots there.

Now that I was back, I applied for the Top Gun program, and only the best of the best were accepted.

While I was confident in my abilities, it was enough to have me wait in anticipation for an answer.

I looked over at my alarm clock.

8:59 AM.

One minute to go.

Lots of things are running through my head right now.

If I was accepted, it would be a dream come true. But it would be stressful, especially since my father had now been promoted to Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky.

People either expected a lot from me because Iceman was my dad, or a little, because they thought maybe he'd been pulling all of these strings for me.

No pressure, right?

And if I didn't get accepted... that's not even a road I wanted to go down.

It all came down to: would I get the answer I wanted?

Of course I would.

I was Zoe Kazansky.

I was the best of the best, top of my class. There was no way I wouldn't be invited, I was just as good as my father had been.

I was Avalanche.

I leaned back in my chair, confidence was key when it came to flying. A friends of my father's, Maverick, once said so me, "You don't have time to think up there. You think, and you're dead."

So don't think.

Just do.

9:00 AM.

A small ding! showed an unread email. I clicked on it.

I smiled in assurance when I read the first paragraph.

"Lt. Zoe Kazansky,

      Congratulations on being accepted to the Navy Strike Fighter Instruction Program. You are formally invited to join us at Naval Air Starion Miramar in San Diego for the next 13 weeks, starting on June 14..."

❅

A fighter jet zooms over the road at the naval base, shaking the ground, and is immediately followed by a loud roar of its engine, helping the plane cut through the air.

My mother, Sarah Kazansky, scrunches up her face, she's never liked the loud noises, like the thrumming of an engine.

It's not surprising that I took after my father, because I find it all exhilarating.