stranger • robert "bob" floyd

01

A steady hand brushed methodically down the chest of his service uniform, dusting off invisible debris. Dane's eyes darted quickly along any face that made its way close enough to the building.

He tossed a hand up, catching the time on his wristwatch before dropping it down beside him. He took one last draw from his cigarette before stubbing it out, leaving the base's smoking area in favor for entering the foyer.

He found that he didn't have to wait long to find the man he was looking for. He hadn't met him in person, but from the photos that decorated any given space of Admiral Kazansky's, he was certain he had the right man. Speaking of said photos, the Captain was eyeing a few that decorated the hall.

"Captain Mitchell," Dane murmured in greeting, causing the elder man to turn around. The captain quickly met Dane's given salute, moving a few steps closer.

"Good morning," Maverick smiled politely. "I'm sorry, I don't believe I've..." He led on, tilting his head slightly in question.

"Commander Dane Cyrus, sir." He quickly explained, matching the given niceties.

"Commander?" Maverick raised his brows, impressed at the somewhat quick climbing of ranks the other must have accomplished.

"Yes, sir." He nodded. "I thought I'd introduce myself as we're set to get to know each other more over the course of the following weeks." He spoke professionally.

The captain's brows furrowed instantly, a breathy and confused laugh escaping his lips. "Know something I don't?"

"Oh," The other man's eyes immediately widened. "I thought," He paused, hands gesturing to a nearby set of conference doors. "I'm sure the admiral will explain it all, sir."

Maverick nodded easily, leading the way. His closed fist politely rapped at the door.

Admiral Bates—who Dane was unfamiliar with in comparison to his closer relationship with Admiral Simpson—was the one who answered. He nodded to both pilots, stepping to the side in allowance of them entering. The two quickly saluted either of the admirals before Bates moved to sit down.

"Captain Pete "Maverick" Mitchell." Admiral Simpson began, eyeing the captain. "Your reputation precedes you."

"Thank you, sir." Maverick replied, hands clasped in front of him with Dane doing much the same from across the room.

Simpson titled his head to the side in both amusement and incredulity. "Wasn't a compliment." He slowly remarked, silent for a moment.
"I'm Admiral Beau Simpson. I'm the Air Boss." He explained quickly. "I believe you know Admiral Bates." He gestured toward the other man seated beside him.

"Warlock, sir." Maverick greeted. "Must admit, I wasn't expecting an invitation back."

"They're called orders, Maverick." Bates remarked. Maverick smiled sheepishly, eyes darting to the floor.
"You two have something in common." Bates continued, looking to the air boss. "Cyclone here was first in his class back in '88."

"Actually sir, I finished second." Maverick smiled. "Just want to manage expectations."
Cyclone sighed, to which Maverick's smile slowly dropped, turning to look at Dane in an attempt to gauge the other man's reaction.

"We'll get to the commander's job in a moment." Bates murmured quickly, tapping an index finger on the tablet in front of him. The screen in front of the room displayed a blueprint of a building housing some form of radioactive material Dane had deduced, indicated by the glaring white symbol on each container.

"The target is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty." He explained as more schematics popped up onto the screen.
"The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it become fully operational."