The Top Gun Naval Fighter Weapons School is where the best of the best train to refine their elite flying skills. Filled with hot-shot pilots and a whole lotta whiskey. All in sunny Southern California. The graduates at Top Gun receive training from...
" Captain Mitchell is no longer your instructor. And as of today, there are new mission parameters. Time to target is now four minutes. You'll be entering the valley level at reduced speed. Not to exceed 420 knots."
The very first words spoken on the very first briefing of the day.
The class is unsettled. Unsettled by the news of their instructor, and unsettled by the news of the parameters. They had just gotten used to the old ones, and now they have to learn all new ones.
" Sir, won't we be giving their plane time to intercept?" Bob asks from the front of the class.
" Well, Lieutenant you have a fighting chance against enemy aircraft," Cyclone responds, " What are the odds of surviving a head-on collision with a mountain? You'll be attacking the target from a higher altitude, level with the north wall. Gonna be a little harder to keep your lase on target, but you will avoid the high-G climb out."
" We'll be sitting ducks for enemy missiles," Fanboy mutters to his wingman.
Whiskey and Rooster sit side-by-side in the plush leather seats, their boots pressed against each other. A small, seemingly meaningless gesture to anyone who looks, but not to all. Hangman turns his head ever so slightly and catches a glimpse. His jaw clenches, but he forces himself to look away. He must stay focused. He can't get distracted. Not now.
The pilots start to absorb the new information brought to them, turning it over in their minds in order to get on program as quickly as possible, but something brings their attention elsewhere.
The monitor at the front of the room begins beeping. It shows an aircraft out in the air... when none are on schedule for this time.
And there's only one pilot dumb enough to pull such a stunt.
" Maverick to Range Control. Entering Point Alpha. Confirm green range."
" Uh, Maverick, Range Control, uh, green range confirmed. I don't see an event scheduled for you, sir."
" Well, I'm going anyway. Setting time to target. Two minutes and fifteen seconds. Final attack point. Maverick's inbound."
Impossible.
Even the best pilot couldn't complete the course on time.
How the hell does Maverick expect to do it in less?
He passes the first checkpoint, and the clock starts. Everyone in the room gets closer and closer to the edge of their seats, watching carefully at the screen as Maverick flies the course.
And he flies it nearly perfectly.
He hits all checkpoints on time.
He climbs effortlessly.
He drops the bomb successfully.
And he does it without a scratch.
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