The Bradshaws: A TopGun Maverick Story

~SEVEN~

[Bugler plays "taps."]

[Officer] Ready, aim, fire.
[Gunshots echo across the cemetery.]

Ready, aim, fire.
[Gunshots.]

Ready, aim, fire.
[Gunshots.]

The pilots stand together in their dress whites. Bradley, Brandy, and Danny Bradshaw are shoulder to shoulder, faces solemn. Bradley's jaw is tight, his eyes glassy. Brandy sniffles softly, clutching Danny's hand for strength, while Danny's expression is a mirror of quiet grief. Maverick stands apart, staring at Ice's casket as it lowers, the weight of loss carved into his features.

An admiral leans toward Maverick. "I can only imagine what you must be feeling right now. Take some time. Whatever you need."

"I appreciate that, sir, but there is no time. The mission..."

"I'll be taking over the training from here."

"Sir?"

"We both know you didn't want this job, captain."

"Sir, they're not ready. It was your job to get them ready."

"Sir, they have to believe that this mission can be flown. And all you've managed to do is teach them that it can't."

"Sir..." Maverick swallows. "You're grounded, captain. Permanently."

Maverick turns away. Bradley watches him go, fists clenched. Brandy leans into her twin and whispers, "He can't just walk away... not now."

Danny murmurs, "He's Maverick. He'll find a way. He always does."

Later, Maverick sits with Penny, the Bradshaws' grief lingering in the air.

"If you lost your wing man up there, you'd keep fighting," Penny tells him softly. "You wouldn't just give up. Those are your pilots. If anything happens to them, you'll never forgive yourself."

"I don't know what to do," Maverick admits.

"But you'll find a way," Penny says. "I know you will."

In the briefing room, Cyclone addresses the squadron. "Captain Mitchell is no longer your instructor. And as of today, there are new mission parameters. Time to target is now four minutes..."

The pilots listen tensely. Bradley sits stiff in his chair, Brandy exchanging an uneasy look with him, while Danny mutters under his breath, "We'll be dead before we get halfway there."

"Not if someone shows us how it's done," Bob whispers back.

Suddenly, alarms blip on the monitor.

"Who the hell is that?"

Maverick's voice crackles through the comms. "Maverick to range control. Entering point Alpha. Confirm green range."

"Uh, Maverick, range control, green range is confirmed. I don't see an event scheduled for you, sir."

"Well, I'm going anyway."

The squadron leans forward, breathless, as Maverick pushes his jet.

"Setting time to target: Two minutes 15 seconds."

Bradley mutters, "That's impossible."

Brandy's eyes widen. "He's doing it."

"Final attack point. Maverick's inbound."

Inside the jet, Maverick grunts under the g-force. The Bradshaws and the team watch the monitor, hands gripping the table.

"Popping in three, two, one."