Mayhem || B. Bradshaw

Chapter 11

     LIZBETH LET OUT A STRAINED BREATH as she turned proportionately to the navigation system, her speed at an average of 480 knots. She was pushed further and further back into her seat by each turn she took, feeling an unexplainable pressure sink deeper into her bones.

     "Halo, how are we?" Lizbeth asked through the comms, taking another turn past the simulated canyon walls.

     "Increase speed to 500 knots, we're three seconds behind and dropping," Halo answered.

     "Positive, Halo," Lizbeth answered, and she let out a grunt as she took a hard right. "Increase to 500 knots around the next corner, Omaha."

     "Copy."

     Lizbeth took a sharp left, and let her left hand push the console forward until her speed reached 500 knots. "Talk to me, Omaha."

     "Slight difficulty with maintaining speed, but managing."

     "Good," Lizbeth said, before taking another right. She breathed through gritted teeth, but held her stance. Her G's were up in five point six and increasing.

     "Two minutes to target, Mayhem," Halo reported. "We're still a second behind."

     "Increase speed to 510 knots," Lizbeth pursed her lips.

     "You sure, Mayhem?" Halo spoke, and both her and Lizbeth knew that Omaha had difficulty staying on course already.

     "Let's try," she answered.

     "Copy." Omaha said.

     The two aircrafts increased to 510 knots, and Lizbeth felt the pressure double as her plane sped up, but tried her best to ignore her pounding heart.

     "Status, Omaha."

     "Having difficulty with turns," Omaha said with a grunt, and Lizbeth could hear his frustration as he tried to turn.

     "Omaha, correct your course, you're closing in on the wall!" Halo reported with slight panic.

     "Decrease speed to 500 knots," Lizbeth said, gritting her teeth as she broke right.

     "Negative, Mayhem," Omaha reassured her. "We're fine."

     "We're not fine, decrease speed Omaha," Halo replied alarmed. "Watch your turns! Omaha, decrease speed!"

     The next moment, Lizbeth heard Omaha shout out in frustration together with a beep, and she knew that they had hit the wall. She let out an embittered yell and hit her fist against the side of the cockpit, before she slowed down her aircraft and turned around.

     "Why didn't you decrease your speed?!" Lizbeth asked annoyed, flying up beside Omaha and Halo on their way back to the Tarmac.

     "I thought we could make it," he sighed. "I'm sorry, Mayhem."

     "Sorry doesn't cover it," she said, fighting the frustration building up inside her. "Listen to the team leader next time, Omaha."

     Lizbeth landed on the Tarmac in a deflated mood, knowing that she and her team would get a rant from Maverick about this. And she was completely correct.

     Once Bradley and his team were done, who had actually made it to target, everyone settled in the briefing room. Maverick sighed as he walked up to the screens, starting with Coyote's team, before moving on to Hangman's and then Mayhem's.

     "Why are you dead, Mayhem?" Maverick looked her straight in the eyes. "Why is your team dead?"

     "It wasn't her fault, sir," Omaha answered for Lizbeth, lifting his head to look at Maverick. "I didn't follow the given orders. I thought we could make it."

     "That doesn't matter, she's responsible when she's the team leader." Maverick wasn't done with her. "Mayhem, why is your team dead?"

     "I thought it was given that when team leader orders, you listen," she said, throwing an irritated glance over to Omaha. "Clearly, it wasn't."

     "That's not an acceptable excuse." Maverick repeated, still training his eyes on her, "Why are you dead?"

     "I commanded to increase speed to 510 knots."

     "And why did that result in your death? Why did you fail?"

     Lizbeth sighed and diverted her eyes. "Omaha and Halo had already given signs of difficulty with staying on track with 500 knots. It should've been obvious that they wouldn't make it with 510 knots."

     "Is that an acceptable excuse in their funerals?"

     Lizbeth looked down, memories of her mother's funeral flashing before her eyes. "No, sir, it isn't."

     "Rooster," Maverick moved on, which Lizbeth took as a sign that he was done interrogating her. Her shoulders dropped as she let out a disappointed breath. She was better than this. "Why are you dead? You're team leader up there. Why are you, why is your team, dead?"

     "Sir, he's the only one who made it to the target," Phoenix stated. But Maverick didn't seem impressed.

     "A minute late. He gave enemy aircraft time to shoot him down." Maverick sighed. "He is dead."

     "You don't know that," argued Bradley, sitting straighter in his seat. Lizbeth pursed her lips, eyes flickering between him and Maverick.

     "You're not flying fast enough." Hangman chimed in. "You don't have a second to waste."

     "We made it to the target." Lizbeth could hear Bradley getting worked up, and she recognized the way his voice strained. He was on the road of breaking into an argument.

     "And superior enemy aircraft intercepted you on your way out," Maverick didn't help the situation as he stepped closer to Bradley with an irritated expression.

     "Then it's a dogfight."

     "Against fifth-generation fighters." Maverick lifted his eyebrows agitated.

     "Yeah, we'd still have a chance."

     "In an F-18." Maverick was close to yelling. Lizbeth tensed up in her seat, watching the scene unfold in discomfort.

     "It's not the plane, sir, it's the pilot."

     "Exactly!"