Come Home || Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

2.

"Attention on deck!" We all stand up at the order as Admiral Simpson and Rear Admiral Bates appear in front of us.

"Morning. Welcome to your special training detachment," Bates greets. "Be seated." Our chair scrape across the hangar floor as he begins the class. "I am Admiral Bates, NAWDC commander. You're all Top Gun graduates. The elite. The best of the best. That was yesterday." The excited energy fades as he speaks. "The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are few, but you can be sure we no longer possess the technological advantage. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box." Jake turns around, giving me and Natasha a glance. She sticks her middle finger up, rubbing it against her temple. "Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named mission leader. The other half will remain in reserve." Jake turns and looks at Rooster. "Your instructor is a Top Gun graduate with real-world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master. His exploits are legendary." Everybody turns in their seats at the sound of footsteps approaching and I'm unsure of how Bradley is gonna take the news. "And he's considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced." Jake looks back and sees Mav approaching, remembering their interactions from last night. "What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death. I give you Captain Pete Mitchell. Call sign: Maverick." Admiral Bates steps aside as Mav takes the podium in front of us.

"How come you forgot to tell me he's the instructor?" Bradley whispers. I turn to him and give him an apologetic look.

"Good morning." He smiles out at us all knowingly. After a moment of silence, he holds up the F-18 handbook. "The F-18 NATOPS. It contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I'm assuming you know the book inside and out."

"Damn right."

"Damn straight."

"You know it." With a small toss, the book lands itself in the bin beside the podium. A few of the pilots glance around confused.

"So does your enemy. But what the enemy doesn't know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, push beyond. Today we'll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you're made of. Get suited up." Everyone pushes up out of their chairs and separates to find their gear.

"He is not happy to see you," I mutter as Mav walks beside me.

"Not at all."

***

"Good morning, aviators. This is your captain speaking. Welcome to basic flight maneuvers. As briefed, today's exercise is dogfighting. Guns only, no missiles. We do not go below the hard deck of 5,000 feet. Working as a team, you have to shoot me down, or else," Mav speaks over the radio as I sit back and watch.

"Or else what, sir?" Payback asks.

"Or else I shoot back. If I shoot either one of you down, you both lose." Jake twirls a model plane around in his hand.

"This guy needs an ego check."

"We'll see to that!"

"What say we put some skin in the game?" Payback offers.

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Whoever gets shot down first has to do 200 push-ups." He laughs.

"Guys. That's a lot of push-ups."

"Well, they don't call it an exercise for nothing, sir," Fanboy says.

"You got yourself a deal, gentlemen. Fight's on, let's turn and burn." Mav is not gonna go easy on them, especially not with Bradley up there. I know he doesn't think Bradley is ready for this, just like he doesn't think I am.