Whiskey | Bradley Bradshaw

5

" Captain Pete Maverick Mitchell. Your reputation proceeds you."

Pete stands at the far end of the long, wooden table, in a room that sits empty, all except for him and two higher ups.

" Thank you, sir," Pete states with his arms held at his front.

" Wasn't a compliment," His superior corrects, " I'm Admiral Beau Simpson. I'm the Air Boss. I believe you know Admiral Bates."

" Warlock, sir" Pete says as he uses the call sign, " Must admit, I wasn't expecting an invitation back."

" They're called orders, Maverick," Admiral Bates quips, " You two have something in common. Cyclone here was first in his class back in 88."

" Actually, sir, I finished second," Pete corrects with a smile on his face, " Just want to manage expectations."

But the admirals do not reciprocate his smile, and so it soon drops from his face.

" The target," Admiral Bates starts, pressing a button on his tablet to bring up the imagery on the monitor at the end of the room" is an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant, built in violation of a multilateral NATO treaty. The uranium produced there represents a direct threat to our allies in the region. The Pentagon has tasked us with assembling a strike team and taking it out before it becomes fully operational. The plant sits in an underground bunker at the end of this valley. Said valley is GPS jammed and defended by an extensive surface to air missile array, serving a limited number of fifth generation fighters, which in turn, are backed up by a plentiful reserve of surplus aircraft. Even a few old F-14s."

" Seems like we're not the only ones holding onto old relics," Admiral Simpson quips.

" What's your read, Captain?" Admiral Bates asks.

Pete then turns around to gaze upon the monitor behind him and begins to analyze the threat and possible solutions for this particular mission.

" Well, sir," He starts, " Normally, this would be a cakewalk for the F-35s stealth, but the GPS jamming negates that. And a surface to air threat necessitates a low level laser guided strike tailor made for the F-18. I figure, two precision bombs, minimum. Makes it four aircraft flying in pairs, one look out. This is one hell of a steep climb out of there, exposing you to all the surface to air missiles . You survive that... it's a dog fight all the way home."

" All requirements for which you have real world experience," Admiral Bates adds.

" Not the same mission, sir," Pete states as the truth permeates his mind, " No... someone's not coming back from this."

" Can it be done or not?" Admiral Simpson asks, wanting to get straight to the point.

" How soon before the plant becomes operational?" Pete asks.

" Three months. Maybe less," Admiral Bates responds.

Pete exhales deeply.

" Well," He starts as he turns to face the higher ups, " It's been a while since I've flown an F-18, and... I'm not sure who I trust to fly the other four, but I'll find a way to make it work."

The two admirals share a look as if he's crazy.

" I think you misunderstand, Captain," Admiral Bate says.

" Sir?"

" We don't want you to fly it," Admiral Simpson starts, " We want you to teach it."

" Teach, sir?" Pete asks, as if hearing it again will make it go down better.

" We recalled 12 Top Gun graduates from their squadrons," Admiral Simpson states as he pulls their faces all up on the monitor, " We want you to narrow that pool down to six. They'll fly the mission," but has Pete sees a familiar face, his hesitation becomes obvious, " Is there a problem, Captain?"