Mayhem || B. Bradshaw

Chapter 5

     LIZBETH HAD CHOSEN THE REARMOST DESK, her F-18 instruction book slung on top of it, with a notebook and a pen resting beside it. She didn't need it, she knew the NATOPS by heart, but she thought that looking prepared to impress their instructor didn't hurt.

     Especially when she had the tendency to piss off one too many instructors. And captains. And admirals.

      In front of her were three more rows of desks, the single flyers occupying whole ones, while aviators with WSO's were paired up and sharing. Coyote sat in front of her, with Bob and Phoenix in front of him again.

     Though, Lizbeth tried to not let her eyes wander over to the right line of desks, over to where Bradley sat. They had already managed to meet eyes enough times for the morning, and Lizbeth was still pretty uncomfortable after yesterday's events.

     "Attention on deck!" A woman called from the far left corner of the huge U.S. flag draped at the front of the hall. Lizbeth and the rest of the pilots stood up, following protocol.

     Two men entered, and Lizbeth knew very well who they were.

     Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson and Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates. Warlock was a man she had a deep respect for, but Cyclone... She bit her lip, retaining a grin. She should probably keep him at an arm's length. He wasn't that fond of her.

     While Cyclone took his position beside Hondo (an amazing Chief Warrant Officer Lizbeth had worked with before), Warlock walked all the way up to the instruction panel.

     "Morning," Warlock said, and Lizbeth couldn't help but let a smile of excitement erupt on her face. The mission preparations were about to begin. "Welcome to your special training detachment. Be seated."

     "I'm Admiral Bates, NAWDC commander," Warlock proceeded to inform them. "You're all TOPGUN graduates. The elite. The best of the best." Lizbeth's smile turned into a proud grin.

     "That was yesterday," Warlock's choice of words intrigued Lizbeth's curiosity, and she lifted an eyebrow with interest as he continued.

     "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."

     That's not good, Lizbeth pursed her lips. The Navy's pride and motto was to always be on top with the newest and best military gear.

     "Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man or woman in the box," Warlock continued, and Lizbeth witnessed Hangman sending a glance to Natasha, who responded with a well-hidden finger, before he glanced back at her as well. Lizbeth ignored him. She wouldn't let him get to her.

     "Half of you will make the cut," Warlock informed, catching Lizbeth's attention again. Only half of us, she nodded, but was determined to make it. She was flying that mission. "One of you will be named mission leader. The other half will remain in reserve.

     "Your instructor is a TOPGUN graduate," Warlock could tell them, and Lizbeth's interest perked significantly, "with real-world experience in every mission aspect you will be expected to master." Lizbeth's brows furrowed. She had met a lot of Top Gun pilots before, but still wasn't able to imagine who the instructor could be.

     "His exploits are legendary," Warlock said, and just then, Lizbeth heard the sound of approaching footsteps behind her, and she looked expectantly behind her to be met with the sight of the Top Gun graduate from yesterday.

     It took all her might not to snort.

     Hangman had participated in throwing him out. That serves him right, she smirked, and looked to the front row just in time to witness Jake's face when he realized the identity of their instructor. That made her day.