Siren In The Sky // Bradley Bradshaw

Chapter 7

The alarm blares through my room. Groaning I bury my head further into Bradley's chest. When it continues to ring I irritably nudge him. "Turn it offffff." He finally wakes up and reaches over to thankfully cease the worst sound in the world. Once it's off I let out a sigh and snuggle back into the sheets. Poke. I ignore it. Poke. My eyes flash open in annoyance to a grinning Bradley. "Seleneeee," he sings. "Baby, we gotta get up." I shove him away and turn away from him. "Go away," I mutter. He begins peppering kisses all over my shoulder and neck making me smile. Moving onto my back I look up at him. He's propped up on one elbow and the sheets have fallen around his waist.

"Good morning," I sigh out. "Good morning sleeping beauty," he teases. His head lowers and gives me a long kiss. I could get used to waking up to him. "I've got to head back to my place to get my uniform," Bradley says starting to get out of bed. "Noooo." I wrap my arms around him to keep him from leaving. So what if I'm needy? Sue me. He chuckles. "I have to, and you need to get ready. We have to be on base in a little over an hour." He says it like he's talking to a baby. "Fine," I grumble unhooking my arms. "I love you." My face immediately lights up with a smile. "I love you too." With a quick kiss he parts. 

Stepping onto base the atmosphere is different, intense. A pit forms in my stomach as we take our seats in the briefing room. There are no smiles today. "Good morning." Warlock starts. "The uranium enrichment plant that is your target will be operational earlier than expected. Raw uranium will be delivered to the plant in 10 days' time. As a result your mission has been moved up one week in order to avoid contaminating the target valley with radiation." One week? We are still practicing phase one. I exchange a worried glance with Bradley. Seems our honeymoon phase is going to have to wait. 

"Sir, no one here has successfully flown a low-level course." Coyote points out. "Nevertheless, you've been ordered to move on," Warlock grimly states. I can feel the stress rocketing each pilot in the room as all of our bodies remain tense. Maverick makes his way in front of the screen. "We have one week left to focus on phase two. It's the most difficult stage of the mission. It's a pop up strike with a steep dive requiring nothing less than two consecutive miracles." 

The monitor behind him comes to life, showing the simulation. "Two pairs of F-18s will fly in a welding wing formation. Teamwork. Percise coordination of these aircraft is essential to both the mission's success and your survival." The screen shifts to the geography surrounding the plant. "As you know the plant rests between two mountains. On final approach, you'll invert directly into a steep dive. This allows you to maintain the lowest possible altitude, and the only possible attack angle." I lean forward in my seat, trying to get a better view. The inversion is so close it looks like we are almost going to hit the rocks.

"Your target is an impact point less than 3 meters wide. The two seater aircraft will paint the target with a laser bulls-eye. The first pair will breach the reactor by dropping a laser-guided bomb on an exposed ventilation hatch. This will create an opening for the second pair." What I'm hearing is that if Strike and I are in pair one, we have to line up the laser on a tiny ass hatch that's already on a tiny ass target. And that's only miracle number one.

"The second team will deliver the kill shot and destroy the target. That's miracle number two. If either team misses the target the mission is a failure." I lean back into my seat while fisting my hands. My nails digging into my palm helps to relieve the anxiety. Even if we manage to hit the target, how do we get out of the valley?

"Egress is a steep high G-climb out to avoid hitting this mountain." I furrow my eyebrows as I watch the two digital planes on the screen. "A steep climb at that speed, you're pulling at least 8 G's." Hangman interjects. Mav turns to him. "9, minimum." The stress level on an f-18's air frame is 7.5. How can we do 9? Bradley voices my thoughts. "That's the accepted limit," my dad responds. "To survive this mission you'll pull beyond that, even if it means bending your airframe." I see cyclone wince at the thought. If this weren't a serious situation, I might even laugh. 

"You'll be pulling so hard you'll way close to 2,000 pounds, your skull crushing your spine, your lungs imploding like an elephant sitting on your chest fighting with everything you have just to keep from blacking out." We get it, it's hard. No need to word it like you're writing slam poetry. "And this is where you'll be at your most vulnerable. This is coffin corner." My dad ladies and gentleman, the most dramatic naval captain on the planet. He named it coffin corner? That's fucking encouraging. 

"Assuming you avoid crashing into this mountain, you'll climb straight up into enemy radar while loosing all your air speed. Within seconds you'll be fired on by enemy SAMS. You've all faced sustained G's before but this- this is going to take you and your aircraft to the breaking point." This is a suicide mission if I've ever seen one, and I've seen many. But, I didn't have something to fight for then like I did now. My eyes land on Bradley, who's already looking at me. It seems our thoughts may be the same. I need to be on this mission. I need to protect him. 

"Sir, is this even achievable?" Pheonix asks. "The answer to that question will come down to the pilot in the box."