Siren In The Sky // Bradley Bradshaw

Chapter 15

"You've got to be shitting me. An f-14?" Striker asks. "Hey! I shot down 3 migs in one of those," Maverick states defensively. The four of us are huddled along the treeline staring through the smoke wafting in the air. Every other plane is either destroyed or on fire. These two are all that's left. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go," I say and start walking. The other three quickly scurry after me. We try to move fast, and a little spread apart, so as not to draw attention to ourselves. I try my best to hide the limp, but Bradley stays on my left side to disguise it in case someone looks over. The adrenaline and freezing temperatures are bringing a certain numbness to my leg for the moment. Hopefully, it lasts long enough to make it back to the carrier. 

We make it to the first plane. Maverick hits a button and the old machinery weakly comes to life. I drag myself up the latter as best as I can without bending my leg too much and plop in the back seat. Jeez there's a lot of buttons. This thing is practically ancient. Bradley climbs into the front seat and throws his helmet on. I'm about to copy when my dad stops me. "Stay alive for me, okay?" He looks scared and vulnerable, something that I've never seen on him before. I give him a small smile and nod before sliding my helmet over my head. Maverick and Striker flip a switch and finish taking out the fuel pumps, allowing our engine to start. They leave us and head over to their plane as Bradley is tinckering with switches. "I have no clue how to fly this thing so bare with me." I chuckle. "I don't think I have much of a choice." 

We connect to the radio and wait for Maverick and Striker to join. It's weird being in the back seat. I don't like it, there's less control. "This is Maverick and Striker. Do you copy?" "Yes we copy," I answer. "Great, follow my lead. We're going home." Maverick pulls out first, and we follow. "Canopy?" Bradley calls. "Clear!" I holler back. He takes his queue to lower the cover, securing us in. Our planes are at a stop next to one another, staring at the run ways. "Both runways are cratered. How are we going to get this museum piece in the air?" Striker asks. I narrow my eyes as Bradley and Maverick give each other a side long glance. They must've talked about this earlier. They face forward again and push a lever. I look out the window to my side as the wings begin to extend. "Why are the wings coming out, Rooster?" I question in a demanding way. He doesn't listen and lights up the engines. 

"Um guys this is a taxiway, not a runway," Striker inputs worriedly. "A very short taxiway," I emphasize with just as much distress. Are these two on drugs? "Just hang on," Maverick mumbles. "Holy shit!" I fly back in my seat as we begin to speed down the uneven ground. There's two very large cylinder buildings connected by a bridge at the top ahead of us. "Guys-" They both ignore me and continue going. "Guys!" I say with more urgency. "Pull up!" Maverick yells at Bradley. The two of them pull back the sticks and we climb upwards. Oh my god. We're not going to make it. Striker has her hands over her eyes and we get closer and closer to the building. 

We just make it over, but loose the wheels. "There goes our landing gear," Bradley states. I begin to laugh in disbelief. "You two were planning that and didn't fucking warn us?!" "Yeah, a head's up would've been nice!" Striker inputs. "There was no time!" Maverick defends. "No time, my ass," I mutter. Once we're high enough, we level out. I switch on my ESAT. Hopefully, it transmits to the control room and they see that we're airborne. "Siren, Striker. Get us in touch with the boat," My dad instructs over the radio. "Workin on it," Striker grunts. Looking at the controls and screens around me, I groan in frustration. "Radio is out. No radar. Everything's dead back here." 

"What about you, Strik-" "Mav, tally two, 5 o'clock low." Regina spiels, cutting Mav off. I look in the direction she said they were coming from. Shit. Two 5th-generation fighters who look like their in a lot better shape than we are. "What do we do?" Rooster asks. "Everyone listen," Maverick starts. "Be cool. If they knew who we were, we'd be dead already. Put on your masks." The four of us clasp the masks over our faces, hiding our features. "Remember, we're on the same team." The fighters level with our height. This is bad timing, but my god do I want to fly that plane. It's beautiful. 

"Wave and smile. Just wave and smile." Following his instructions, I can't help but feel rediculous doing this. "This is a horrible plan," I mutter through my clenched, smiling teeth. The pilot does a signal I don't recognize. "What's that signal? What's he saying?" Bradley inquires. My dad just continues to motion our radio is down. "I have no idea what he is saying," he responds. The pilot does a different signal than before. "What about that one? Any idea?" Striker quizzes. "Nope. Never seen that one either." That seems to be all the reassurance the pilot needs to know we are most definitely not on the same team. The two fighters move into an attack formation. "His wingman is moving into weapons envelope," I comment.

We slide into our own formation, preparing for what's to come. "Listen up, you three. We can't out run 5th-gen fighters." "So it's a dog fight," I declare. Maverick ignores my words. "Those rings above you, those are the ejection handles. When I say, pull them." "Absolutely not," Bradley cuts in. "We're not ejecting just so you can sacrifice yourself." Striker pleads, "We can take these guys, Mav" He sighs. "In f-14s?" He says it like it's impossible. If I remember correctly, we've done the impossible about 8 times today. "It's not the plane, it's the pilot," I remind him. "You'd go after them if we weren't here," Bradley adds in. "But you are here." His voice gives way to his torn emotions. "Dad," I start. I haven't called him that in 10 years. "Don't think, just do."

"Fuck it."