- } ghost { -

7.

Playing: Dead Or Alive
1:15 |——————•————————-| 3:52
"I'm a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride."
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— } "Time is your greatest enemy," Maverick began as he stood in front of the board, diagrams appearing to give a visual representation of the mission. I sit beside Coyote, folding my arms, my face neutral as I absorbed the details.

"Phase one of the mission will be a low-level ingress, attacking in two-plane teams. You will fly along this narrow canyon to your target." Maverick continued, his voice steady but sharp as he explained the dangers of the mission—the SAMs, the steep climbs, and the simulation we'd be running today.

"You'll fly around your nav system that simulates the canyon. The faster you navigate this canyon, the harder it will be to stay under the radar of these enemy SAMs. The tighter the turns, the more intensely the force of gravity on your body multiplies. Compressing your lungs, forcing the blood from your brain, impairing your judgment and reaction time." His words hung in the air for a moment before he added, "So for today's lesson, we're going to take it easy on you. Max ceiling 300 feet. Time to target: three minutes."

Maverick stepped back, crossing his arms as he let the information sink in. Then he continued with the next phase, pacing in front of us. "This is phase two," he said, his tone sharpening further. "The most dangerous part of the mission. A pop-up strike with a steep dive and zero margin for error. Your success depends on your precision, teamwork, and timing. Anything less, and you won't make it back."

"With a climb like that, we'd be pulling at least 9 Gs," someone muttered from the back.

"Minimum," Maverick cut them off, his voice firm. "Nine Gs minimum."

I furrowed my brows, leaning forward slightly. "But sir, the F-18's airframe can only withstand seven."

Maverick nodded, his gaze locking on mine for a moment. "You're right, Ghost. On paper, it can't. But this mission doesn't care about limits, and neither should you. Push beyond them, or you won't come home."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling on everyone. I didn't flinch, though. My mind was already working through the math, mentally calculating every maneuver, every risk.

Maverick continued, pointing to the screen. "The plant is nestled between two mountains. On final approach, you'll invert directly into a steep dive to maintain the lowest altitude possible and hit the only attack angle available. Your target is an impact point less than three meters wide. The first pair will breach the ventilation hatch with a laser-guided bomb, creating an opening. That's miracle number one. The second pair will deliver the kill shot, destroying the target completely. That's miracle number two. If either team misses, the mission fails."

My jaw tightened at the word "miracle." I didn't believe in luck—only skill and preparation.

"The pop-up strike will push you into a steep vertical climb as you escape the canyon," Maverick continued. "It's here you'll hit coffin corner, where you'll be most vulnerable to SAMs and enemy aircraft. This will test everything you've got."

As he walked us through the details, the mood in the room darkened. He wasn't sugarcoating anything, and I respected that. This mission wasn't for the faint-hearted.

"Today, we're simulating the course," Maverick said, pacing as he spoke. "Pairs will run through it. You'll have a three-minute window—more time than you'll get on the day, so make it count."

The first run was Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote. I watched as their attempt played out on the screen. It wasn't clean, and Maverick didn't hold back, pointing out every mistake in his typical blunt fashion.