The Bradshaws: A TopGun Maverick Story

~NINE~

Both of us were breathing heavily, dirt and sweat clinging to our faces.
"You all right?"
"Yeah, I'm good. You all right?"
"What the hell? What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here? You think I took that missile so you could be down here with me? You should be back on the carrier by now!"
"I saved your life!"
"I saved your life. That's the whole damn point."
"What the hell were you even thinking?"
"You told me not to think!"

We stood there, panting, neither of us able to look the other in the eye. The silence pressed in heavy—Brandy's absence hanging between us like a wound that wouldn't heal.

"Well... it's good to see you."
"It's good to see you too."
"So what's the plan?"

Alarms blared in the distance. We turned toward the sound.
"You're not serious."
"You've got to be shitting me. An F-14?"
"I shot down three MiGs in one of those."
"We don't even know if that bag of ass can fly."
"Let's find out."
"Danny!"
"Okay."

The alarm kept screaming. Shouts echoed overhead.
"There's guys up there."
"Yeah."
"There's more over there."
"Okay. Let's start running."
"Yeah. Run. Run."

We sprinted toward the hangar, Danny barking instructions as he threw himself into the jet.
"Once I give you the signal for air, flip this switch until the needle hits 120. When the engine starts, pull the pins and disconnect everything. Got it?"
"Yeah."

Systems roared to life, shaking the walls.
"Yes!"
"Once I'm up, stow the ladder."
"Okay."

Climbing into the cockpit, I shook my head, half in disbelief.
"Wow. It's been a minute, huh?"

Electronics crackled. The plane hummed.
"Oh my god. This thing is so old."
"Canopy?"
"Clear."
"Both runways are cratered. How the hell we gonna get this museum piece in the air?"

The wings slid out. Panic spiked in my voice.
"Why are the wings coming out? This is a taxiway, not a runway. This is a very short taxiway."
"Just hang on."

The jet thundered forward, slamming us back into our seats.
"Holy shit!"
"Come on, come on, come on. Needle's alive."
"Danny?!"
"That's it... come on!"

The jet lifted. Both of us gasped.
"Holy shit."

In the command center, officers scrambled.
"Sir, we're receiving a signal from Rooster's ESAT. Malfunction in telemetry."
"Have you lost him?"
"No, sir. He's supersonic. He's airborne."
"In what?"
"Overwatch reports an F-14 Tomcat airborne and on course for our position."
"...Can't be. It can't be. Danny Bradshaw."

Back in the cockpit, I fumbled with dead systems.
"Okay, get us in touch with the boat."
"I'm working on it. Radio's out. No radar. Everything's dead back here. What do I do?"
"Talk me through it."
"There's 300 breakers back here. Anything more specific?"
"...That was your dad's department. Or... Brandy's."

Silence hung like a knife, grief flashing through us both. Danny's voice hardened again.
"I'll figure it out."
"Tally two, five o'clock low!"
"Okay. Just be cool. If they knew who we were, we'd be dead already."
"Well, here they come."
"Mask on. Remember—we're on the same team. Just wave and smile."

We both waved awkwardly as the enemy jets closed in.
"What's that signal? What's he saying?"
"No idea."
"What about that one?"
"Never seen it."
"Oh shit! His wingman's moving into weapons envelope!"
"Listen. If I tell you, grab those rings above your head—the ejection handle."
"Danny, can we outrun these guys?"
"Not their missiles and guns."
"Then it's a dogfight."
"An F-14 against fifth-gen fighters?"
"It's not the plane. It's the pilot."
"You'd go after them if I wasn't here."
"But you are here."
"Come on. Don't think. Just do."