Mayhem || B. Bradshaw

Chapter 6

     LIZBETH WALKED OUT ON THE TOP GUN TARMAC, her helmet and equipment dangling from her hands while she found her plane seated to the left of Phoenix's. Just as she arrived, and did her obligated and necessary manual check, she saw Phoenix look in the direction behind Lizbeth in curiosity.

     Bradley and Maverick were having a small talk, and Lizbeth sighed as Bradley tensed under Maverick's gaze. She leaned against her plane, pursing her lips as the two parted their ways, with Bradley visibly affected by their encounter.

     Though, unfortunately, she noticed Hangman having his attention on them as well, and she shook her head. She knew he wouldn't leave it alone once he got a sniff of some drama.

     Sometimes she wondered why his callsign wasn't Gossip Girl. It sure would've fitted right to him.

     "Hey, Mayhem!" Lizbeth looked behind her to see Hangman leaning against his aircraft. Here it comes. "You know Rooster pretty well, don't you? I've seen you two chatting it off. What's the deal with him and Maverick?"

     "Mind your own business, Bagman," Lizbeth said, trying to play it off as nothing, but that was harder than she wanted to. Instead, her voice came off as slightly irritated, which only seemed to fuel Hangman's interest.

     Thankfully, he left her alone for the time being. Though, not without sending her an intrigued look.

     As soon as Lizbeth was done with her check, she and the others that were scheduled for later stepped inside the Gallery, which served as their waiting room.

     More than a whole wall was covered in photographs of the graduated Top Gun classes, and Lizbeth smiled. She was up there somewhere.

     The pilots settled around the couches, chairs and the soccer table, before they made sure to turn the radio up to the required volume, and patiently waited for the training to start.

     As soon as Maverick, Bradley, Payback and Fanboy had taken off, the remaining nine pilots swarmed around the radio on the counter to the sound of planes rumbling just outside.

     "Good morning, aviators," Maverick said through the transmitter. "This is your Captain speaking. Welcome to basic fighter maneuvers. As briefed, today's exercise is dogfighting. Guns only, no missiles."

     Lizbeth let out a long breath in the bar chair beside Phoenix, letting the adrenaline pump up inside her for when it was her turn.

     "We do not go below the hard deck of 5,000 feet." Maverick continued. "Working as a team you have to shoot me down, or else."

     "Or else what, sir?" Payback asked through the communication.

     "Or else, I shoot back," Maverick answered. "If I shoot either one of you down, you both lose."

     "This guy needs an ego check," Hangman commented as he studied one of the miniature planes. A rumble of agreement went about the boys.

     "And how do you plan to accomplish that, Bagman?" Lizbeth turned in her chair, raising her eyebrows challengingly.

     "By doing my thing," he smirked back.

     "I'm not so sure about that," she turned back towards the radio again with a sly smile. "I have a feeling that Maverick is above your lousy flying."

     "We'll see to it," Harvard and Yale shared a high five across their soccer board game, which was one of the many weaknesses of a naval aviator; the overly boost of confidence out of a challenge.

     "What say we put some skin in the game?" Payback's voice was on the radio again, and Lizbeth snorted.

     "You'll regret that, Payback," she muttered with a laugh.

     "What do you have in mind?" Maverick asked, and Lizbeth could hear the smirk through the radio. Her gut told her quite strongly that this was a fight the boys were going to lose.

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

     "What an idiot," Lizbeth shook her head while she heard Fanboy laughing in the background of the radio.

     "Guys," Maverick answered, though his voice didn't falter in its confidence. "That's a lot of push-ups."

     "Well," Fanboy spoke through the radio, laughter evident in his voice. "They don't call it an exercise for nothing, sir."

     "You got yourself a deal, gentlemen," Maverick agreed."Fight's on, let's turn and burn."

     To tell it short, the boys stood no chance. Maverick seemed to surprise them at some point, judging by what Lizbeth could hear through the radio, and shot down Rooster after a short two minutes, which gave him the burden of the push-ups.

     Lizbeth sighed at the sight of him going, with Hondo in full military-mode making sure that Bradley did it right.

     He had sacrificed himself, as usual. It had practically become his trademark to put others first, and now he got to pay for it. And to top it, there was no mistaking the resentment in his voice while he had spoken to Maverick during the fighting.

     Lizbeth didn't doubt it anymore. Maverick was the guy who had been Goose's best friend. The guy who had pulled Bradley's application.

     And possibly her father.

     She sighed as she sat down in her own aircraft, watching Harvard and Yale take a selfie while Bradley did his push-ups. Her gut told her that she would have to do good if she was going to prevent her or her wingmen from doing the same, but she was persistent on making it.

     Once settled, Lizbeth let all the thoughts and wonders pass to the back of her mind, focusing on the feeling of the left console and the control stick, letting the atmosphere increase her much needed adrenaline.

     The moment her stomach dropped as her plane lifted off the airstrip, a smile grew on her face, and she sped into their assigned training field with Harvard and Yale on her tail.

     "You ready for this, aviators?" Maverick's overconfident voice sounded through her ear, and she smirked while securing her mask.

     "Be ready for some mayhem, Captain."

     "We'll see about that," he answered. "Fight's on!"