Beyond the Horizon | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Part One - The Letter

I get the mail every morning. It's nothing special, but it's become a routine. Something to look forward to every morning, very suburban. Bills, ads, all the like. But today, I received a mysterious letter.  There was no return address, no signature, no other ways of knowing who sent this to me. The only thing I could see was my own name staring back at me. Something like this really shouldn't have bothered me. It was probably spam, entirely disposable, meaningless. And yet it was the most daunting paper I had ever seen. Sitting on the couch in my living room, I'm debating if I should even open it.

"Clearly it's important. It's addressed to 'Dice', not 'Auriela'," I mumble to myself as a last convincing argument to open the letter. I'm disappointed in myself. I'm a Naval Fighter Pilot and I'm scared of a piece of paper? Running a hand along my face and releasing the tension from my body, a deep breath was all I needed to recompose myself and find some bravery in my bones.

Finally convincing myself and gathering what courage I can, I meticulously rip the side of envelope open, and read the first lines of the letter:

                                                                    "LT. AURIELA "DICE" CORTELL,

                                                   The Navy Fighter Weapons School would like to..."

"Shit..." I exhale, leaning back against the couch. I'd never really ever received any physical mail from the Navy, but I could only assume that they wouldn't give bad news in an email. My mind races as I overthink everything, wondering if I've already done something that's put me in a lot of trouble, or worse, something that's caused me to be discharged. I only graduated from Top Gun last year, and have since been stationed in Lemoore, flying with the VFA-97 "Warhawks" Squadron. Aside from my usual antics, I haven't done anything that should cause me to worry, but I can't help but feel like I might be forgetting something.

Nervously, I read on. And as my eyes continue to scan the words written across the paper, I realize that I had no reason to worry. Feeling relieved, I jump up from my position on my couch to check my continually beeping phone. I see my Top Gun classmate and best friend, Phoenix, is the source of the many notifications. Skipping the semantics, I call her eagerly.

"Phoenix, did you get one too?" I'm too excited to even bother greeting her.

She laughs before saying, "yeah, I just read it."

"So, what do you think? Are you going to go?" I could practically hear her grin from the other side. Just thinking about it is enough to bring a matching smile to my face. The idea of finally seeing each other and being able to fly together once again is enough to make my stomach flutter with butterflies of excitement. 

"I mean, do we have a choice?" I sigh in agreeance. "Does your letter say your position assignment?" Phoenix says to break the silence and to slightly redirect the conversation.

"I'm flying single," she makes a grunting noise in understanding, "I take it you're flying double?" I question.

"You know it. My Weapon Systems Officer is 'Bob'," the latter portion of that comes out sounding more like a question than a statement.

"God, is that his callsign?" I laugh.

"I guess we'll find out. I hope his weapon system skills are better than his callsign," Phoenix says jokingly.

In our days at Top Gun, Phoenix was my wingman. Through the rigorous exercises and coming to terms with the reality of the insanity of our lives, we became close friends. I few single alongside her double, of which she was the pilot. She flew with a backseater called Oreo. For reasons unbeknownst to us, the two were separated with Oreo being shipped out of country and Phoenix staying in Lemoore. The weight of being in Top Gun and being considered some of the best in the world was a confidence booster and a confidence diminisher. We made it through by the skin on our bones and graduated. But now that we're being called back for a special mission, worry plagues my mind more than the determination and confidence could balance.