Red Bull

thirteen

I WASN'T SUPERSTITIOUS OR ANYTHING, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to have a good luck charm for our mission today.

Maverick hadn't even chosen the members for the mission, and I was as jittery. Something about this mission brought out the worst in me, and I couldn't figure out why.

So, I pulled out a small conch shell my mother had given me when I was younger, she said in Hinduism, they were considered good luck. And I needed as much of that as I could.

I get ready, pulling my hair back and out of the way. I grab my gear bag, and slip into my green flight jumpsuit. I reach for my boots, which take forever to get on because of all of the ties. Lastly, I grab my helmet.

It's black, decorated with red lightning shapes, and 'RED BULL' is in bright red colors above my forehead. I take it between my hands, and I press my head to it.

"Come on Scarlett, you got this. It's just flying, it's just a mission." I whispered, trying to cheer myself up. It didn't work. It wasn't just a mission, not to me.

I was in a catatonic state, feeling numb more than anything, as I drove myself from the condo to Top Gun. If I wasn't anything but numb, I think I'd be a risk to the mission. But I had to move on, and I had to go on this mission. I had so much to prove, to myself, to others, and especially to my dad. I had to prove that I deserved to be here, that I was apart of the best pilots of the world.

I carried myself to the desk, sitting down next to Bob. I sat stiffly, and I didn't know where to put my hands, they sat in my lap, so nobody could see they were shaking.

Bob subtly grabs my hand, "Don't sorry. We'll be alright."

"Thanks," I whispered to Bob. My head turns to the head of the room once Maverick starts talking.

All of our training came down to this moment.

"It's been an honor training and flying with you. Each of you represents the best of the best on the planet. However, this is a very specific mission, needing a specific skill set, and my choices are a reflection of that and nothing else." Maverick selects his words carefully, he doesn't  want to offend anyone.

Admiral Simpson commanded, "Choose your two foxtrot teams."

"Payback and Fanboy. Red Bull and Bob."

WHAT THE—

I begin internally freaking out, and I imagine that Bob is reacting the same way. I'm a good pilot, and  Bob was an amazing Weapons Systems Officer, but I thought that Maverick would have chosen Harvard and Yale or Omaha and Halo over us. I give Bob a smile, and squeeze his hand softly. He does it back.

"And choose your wingman." Admiral Bates added on, trying to keep us on schedule for the mission.

Maverick has had his mind made up  for a while now. While Hangman was a good pilot, his lack of  communication and teamwork skills would be considered as a detrumemt to the mission. So I'm not suprised when Maverick says, "Rooster."

Admiral Bates says, "The rest of you will be on standby on the carrier, for any reserve role that's required. Dismissed."

Everyone stands up, and I let go of Bob's hand to do the same. I swear I see a small frown on his face, but it's as gone as fast as it came. I shrug.

"We did it partner," I say to Bob, and I hold out my fist for a bones. He participates in my childlike request with ease.

"We did it Scarlett." He says, pushing up his glasses.