The Bradshaws: A TopGun Maverick Story

~Three~

The following day, the hangar carried a heavy sense of anticipation. Pilots were scattered across the rows, some whispering, others silent, each waiting for whatever came next. Rooster and Ghost sat side by side, shoulders squared, helmets balanced on their knees. Behind them, Daredevil—Brandy Bradshaw—leaned back in her chair with her arms folded, her sharp eyes roaming the room.

She didn't fidget. She didn't slouch. Brandy had inherited her mother's poise, the way Carole Bradshaw could walk into a room and command it without saying a word. There was a quiet steel in her, one that her brothers drew strength from even when they didn't admit it.

"Attention on deck!"

The room shot upright as Admiral Bates walked in, his presence demanding silence. His boots clicked against the floor with every measured step.

"Good morning," Bates began, voice firm but calm. "Welcome to your special training detachment. You may be seated."

Chairs scraped as the pilots sat down again, the echo filling the cavernous hangar. Daredevil raised an eyebrow, watching him with a level gaze.

"You're all Top Gun graduates—the elite, the best. But that was yesterday. The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field. Details are scarce, but you can be certain of this: we no longer hold the technological advantage."

The words dropped like lead in the room. A few pilots shifted in their seats. Ghost's jaw flexed, while Rooster's hand tightened around his helmet. Daredevil remained still, but her eyes narrowed slightly, as though weighing the weight of those words.

"Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box."

From their row, Phoenix and Daredevil both flipped Hangman the bird without hesitation. Hangman just leaned back with a grin, clearly enjoying the attention.

"Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be team leader." Bates let the words sink in. Hangman turned his smug gaze toward Rooster and Ghost, but both Bradshaw brothers met it with cold stares of their own.

"Your instructor," Bates continued, his voice rising as heavy footsteps echoed closer, "is a Top Gun graduate. His exploits are legendary."

Brandy smirked faintly. Legendary, huh? Just how legendary are we talking?

"He is considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced."

The room shifted, every head turning as the figure finally came into view. Hangman's smirk dropped instantly, recognition flashing in his eyes. Ghost stiffened. Rooster's gaze darkened. Daredevil's chest tightened, though she kept her eyes down, refusing to look straight at him.

"What he has to teach you may very well be the difference between life and death," Bates finished. "I give you Captain Pete Mitchell. Call sign—Maverick."

The silence was suffocating. Ghost stared forward like stone. Rooster glared with fire in his eyes. Brandy's jaw tightened as she stared at the floor, her mother's restraint in every controlled breath she took.

"Good morning," Maverick began, holding up the NATOPS manual. "This contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I'm assuming you know it inside and out."

A few confident voices rang out: "Damn right." "Damn straight." "You got it."

Maverick smirked, raised a brow, and tossed the book into the trash.

"So does your enemy."

Brandy exhaled through her nose and rubbed her forehead. "Here we go," she muttered under her breath.