Cowboy Casanova

15

"Stand by... Attention on deck!" All of us stand, snapping to attention. Cyclone watches from the wings as Warlock steps to a podium to address us. There weren't many of us here. 13 to be exact. Rooster, Phoenix, Hangman, Coyote, Bob, Payback, Fanboy, Yale, Harvard, Halo, Omaha, and Fritz. We were the best of the best pulled from various Top Gun groups. The roaring sound of fighter jets flying by was intense but nothing we weren't already used to.

"Good morning. Take your seats." We all sit back down in our seats and I see Hangman spare me a look. He was sitting a couple seats in front of me, enough that I could stare at him without anyone noticing. "I'm Admiral Bates, NAWDC Commander. Welcome to your special training detachment. You're all Top Gun graduates, the elite, best of the best. That was yesterday." I saw a few people look my way and I smirked. It did good for my ego. "You've all spent your careers flying close air support for troops on the ground with little to no air-to-air threat." Bradley and Nat share a look and sit up as Warlock reveals the image of a new enemy fighter. "The enemy's new fifth-generation fighter has leveled the playing field," the admiral continued, now making my smirk fall. Since when did the enemy have fifth-gens? I sat up straighter in my seat and leaned in closer. "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." I saw Hangman look back at me and with a wink, I knew he still thought he was better than me. I needed to wipe that smirk off his face. "Half of you will make the cut. One of you will be named team leader. The other half will remain in reserve," Warlock said, eyes looking back a little toward the man walking into the room. "Your instructor is a Top Gun graduate with real-world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master." I turned my head, hearing the footsteps as the admiral continued his speech. There was a small smile on my face as he sent me a little wink. This would definitely be interesting. I turned back towards the front, not noticing how fast my heartbeat was. "His exploits are legendary." Everyone started to look back, seeing my dad. "And he's considered to be one of the finest pilots this program has ever produced." I scoffed a little too loud maybe, and my dad shot me a playful glare. My eyes went over to Hangman who looked like he might shit himself. And then my own smile dropped when I realized what could happen from this. "What he has to teach you may very well mean the difference between life and death. I give you Captain Pete Mitchell. Callsign: Maverick." And with that, everyone in the room looked at me. Hangman's head whipped the fastest, his face paling at the reality that he had fucked the instructer's daughter. His pride and joy. I sunk into her seat a bit, looking over at Bradly, whose face showed irritation. I was hoping that my dad would focus so much of his attention onto Bradley that he wouldn't notice how Hangman looked at me, or how I looked at him. Everyone turned back around as my dad made it to the podium, looking down at us. I could tell he was a little bit nervous. It's how he looked when I found out I got a letter back from the Navy. It's how he looked when he found out I made it in. Seeing the slight grin on my father's face made me smile and lean forward. It was weird being the teacher's daughter but if I wanted to go on this mission, I would need to pay attention. And maybe not make snappy comments about how I was the best here.

"Good morning." His eyes met Bradley's before meeting he looked back at me. Bradley was making him nervous. He didn't know how to act around him and Bradley was just sitting in the corner, sulking and being irritated. I wanted to slap him upside the head, remind him that it's been so many goddamn years since my father pulled his papers. He made it. He was here with the best of the best. The time for being angry is over. Long over. He looked over at Hangman, recognizing him from the bar and gave him a little smile. I knew Hangman was regretting sitting up front. He looked like he wanted to run for his life. Dad raised up the giant F/A-18 handbook for all of us to see. "The f/a-18 NATOPS." He hit the huge book with the palm of his hand, making a thump. "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." My peers called out confidently. That's when I saw that mischievous glimmer that I loved as a kid. Back then, it meant that Iceman and my dad were going to sneak me into a plane so that I could fly with them. Now it means something different as he looked nervously at the admirals before throwing the giant ton of papers into the trash can next to him. Some of the aviators started to get nervous, shifting uncomfortably.

"So does your enemy," Dad said coolly, resting his hands on the podium as he looked at his students, unsure if he could get his point across effectively. I gave him a small thumbs up and he smiled at me. "But what the enemy doesn't know is your limits. I intend to find them, test them, and push beyond." Everyone here clung onto his every word. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to get everyone's attention. "Today we'll start with what you only think you know. You show me what you're made of." I watched my dad step down from the podium, walking over to speak with the group of superiors. He dismissed us to go change. When I saw Hangman moving towards me, I grabbed Natasha and rushed us out of there before he would get to me. This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have with him right now. We made it to the locker room and I made her promise not to leave without me so that I wouldn't have people asking me tons of questions. She didn't need to know that I was most worried about Hangman's questions or anything he had to say, really. I opened my locker and slipped into my gear, tightening the straps so tight that I could barely stand up straight. I grabbed my helmet, my eyes looking over the silver color that went so well with the iceberg blue that the callsign I had been given so many years ago was written in. On the side of the helmet was an animated drawing of a banshee with white hair, a white face, and red eyes screaming what I could only imagine sounded like bloody murder. I fiddled with the helmet for a second before placing it underneath my arm, ready to go.