We Lied And Paid No Price

TOPGUN TRAINING FACILITY, NEVADA, 2003

I had worked so hard to get to Top Gun. All the trainees had, but I still struggled to contain my anger knowing some Navy Academy grads had gotten into the program after only a few years or months in the field, while I had spent eight years working my way up through the ranks of the military. I was twenty six, one year older than the youngest instructor. I knew her from the field and before reporting to the barracks, I stopped by her private quarters.

"Pheonix." I greeted her with a hug and looked around her room. She had jammed a mini-fridge under a mahogany desk and there was barely room for her bed. "Fancy."

"Grab a drink." She laughed and handed me a bottle of rum. She let me rifle through her mini fridge, looking for soda because I felt too mature to do shots with Pheonix before five. That was twenty-four year old behavior.

"Any of them as good as us?" I asked her, not to be arrogant but because we were the best.

"Jake Seresin." She answered, "Twenty-one years old, three months in the field, already shot down an enemy aircraft." She poured herself a shot and took it. "He's also an asshole"

I must have raised an eyebrow at this because she explained, "He left his wingman for dead. And his wingman did, in fact, die"

"I heard about that." I said, sipping my drink, "Is he really good or was it a lucky shot?"

"Haven't seen him fly yet," She said, "I guess we'll find out in practice."

The trainees were all hanging out in the barracks, waiting for the opening ceremony. Jake was sprawled out on his bunk playing something horrible on the harmonica. He was the youngest trainee, but everyone knew his name. They either admired him or hated him. By the end of Top Gun those who hated him would learn to admire his flying, and those who admired him would learn to hate his personality.

He caught me with those sharp blue eyes and offered his hand for me to shake...or high five. I couldn't tell. I shook it lightly. "Rooster." I introduced myself. Jake nodded, I could tell he already knew who I was.

"Jake Seresin, call sign ACE." Jake smirked, cocky, "Because I'm the best there is."

The men on the other bunks laughed. I leaned down and said, "I think most of us had that nickname in academy."

"Academy nicknames don't count!" Someone else shouted, backing me up.

"I heard you didn't make it into the academy." Jake said. The comment cut through me, but I didn't let it show.

"Academy isn't the same as the field,"

Jake shrugged, "I shot down an enemy aircraft my first month in the field."

"And your wingman got killed"

"He couldn't keep up." Jake said, completely remorseless. I should have realized then that he was a psychopath, but I decided to fall in love with him first. Pro tip: never fall in love with someone who doesn't care about killing other people, it will save you a lot of bullshit.

"I guess we'll see who comes out on top during practice," I said.

"Or" Jake said, in a tone that screamed danger, "We could find out now."

"You gonna steal a plane?" another pilot asked from the bunk above. His name was Robert something. Incredible pilot, yet completely unmemorable.

"We have three hours before the opening drills, and there's a private airport two miles down the road." Jake said calmly, like what he was suggesting was not absolute madness. "Some farmer. Has an F-14 Tomcat from 1986. I know him. Became friends on the drive up."

Jake pulled on his shoes and started leaving the dorm. I shrugged and followed him, while the other trainees stared at us. I hoped I looked chill. I was actually having a heart attack, but showing my fear felt like too much of a compliment for the bastard.

"You became friends?" I asked in the parking lot.

"Saw him flying so I stopped in to give him a few tips." Jake lit a cigarette. He always needed something in his mouth.

"And you became friends?" I asked again, "He liked you?"

Jake looked at me then pulled out his keys. His car was a "refurbished" Bentley from 1954 with a wooden top and no tail lights. "I've been trying to rebuild cars," Jake explained after releasing a puff of smoke, "This one's a bit of a work in progress. You might need to reach through the window to get that door open."

"We're taking my car." I said, dragging Jake to my trusty Subaru.

Jake put out his cigarette on my Subaru's hood. "Fine."

Psychopath.