𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 7: 𝘕𝘰𝘵-𝘴𝘰-𝘧𝘶𝘯-𝘧𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨

Vibrating furiously, nailed to my seat, there's not much to do but withstand the unrelenting G-Force. The pressure on my chest releases as the plane levels off. I take a deep breath through my mask and hear Dash do the same. I scowl at the thought of him and I doing something in unison. That's what she did with me. When she was my RIO. Before I got shoved into her seat. Now I'm Dash's RIO, but that doesn't mean we're going to have what she and I had. There's no way I can get along with him. He's clearly full of himself and unsympathetic. He shows no mercy with two feet firmly planted on the ground.

Will he be the same in the clouds?

"Tower to Archer 1, come in, over."

"This is Dash, piloting Archer 1 to tower, over."

"Dash and Stirrups -" Ugh, our call signs are like a badly mixed meal. Too much baking powder. It makes me want to barf. " - your wingmen are Maverick and Goose, roger that?"

Dash's head tilts to the side, though I can't see more than the back of his helmet when he calls out, "You got that, Stirrups?"

"I got it."

My voice is taught, like a tight wound bowstring, which is ironic considering I'm in a jet dubbed Archer 1. Despite my frustration at having to cooperate with Dash, the notion of Maverick and Goose playing wingman for us is comforting and exhilarating. I thought this day was going to be terrible, but maybe Maverick and Goose will outweigh the challenges that come with my pilot. I cringe behind the protection of my mask and reluctantly swallow the bitter saliva that's built up in my mouth. Yuck, how can my own job sound so disgusting? It's almost worse than Dash's call sign. I sigh and shake my head, this is going to be good for me, being up in the air again...

But the flying?

Not so fun.

"This is Maverick to Stirrups, over."

My heart jolts, bumping into my ribs. I draw in a sharp breath, opening my mouth to reply -

"I'm the pilot, Maverick, in case you forgot, over."

Jerk, she grumbles.

"We RIO's exist too," Goose shoots back. "Over."

Dash hides his frustrated growl with a sigh. "No need to play 'Activist' with me, Goose. Let's just get these bogies out of the sky, over."

"Activist?"

"You should make a pamphlet," Maverick teases.

I smirk and chime in, "The Mr. Goose's RIO Rights Movement Pamphlet."

"Hey! She speaks!" Maverick exclaims. "I thought you went mute, Stirrups."

"That's because you boys run your mouths," I retort.

Laughter can be heard from Maverick and Goose's jet. Dash leans his head back and sighs at our banter. I sit up a little taller, my wounded pride empowered by Dash's exasperation. In the midst of my quiet laughter, I happen to peek at the radar positioned right in front of me. On the green glow of the circular screen, are two pale dots, one seemingly on top of the other. I chuckle. So Maverick and Goose are right beneath us? I shift in my seat, trying to get them in my sights but I knew it wouldn't be possible. They're in a blindspot. So I sit back and peek back at the radar, only this time, there's three dots. A third has joined us, and it's moving fast from behind.

"Uhhhh...boys?" I stutter, uncertain of how to phrase this.

My RIO clears her throat. Incoming bogie at 6 o'clock, she instructs