𝘚𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 | A Top Gun Fanfiction

Chapter 40: 𝘛𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘦, 𝘎𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦

"I know you won't. You're a damn good pilot, Lt. Mitchell, but you're an even better man. Don't you forget it."

We spoke of things we hardly understood. Competing with ghosts, trapping yourself between the past and the present, flying with caution to come home to each other...It seemed so urgent that Maverick control himself back then. We were scared his creative aero-batics would cause an airborne collision, but we had no idea that it would be a freak accident that tore the Bradshaws apart. Neither of us knew that we'd diagnosed Maverick's future uphill battle through grief and survivor's guilt. We're only a little bit older than we were that night, but looking back, we seem so young. So completely absorbed with meaningless problems.

We had no idea.

He promised, I sigh. He promised me even then...he'd come home.

He wouldn't let me down.

"Iceman to Dagger Two. Stirrups, do you copy?"

"Copy."

"They're coming up on our flank," Ghost announces. "Oh! There they are!"

A jet crawls into my peripheral. I glance over my shoulder at Dagger 1 and give a brief wave. Iceman's clunky helmet nods. It isn't impossible to see through the canopy — that would be ineffectual. The glass is clear, but our shaded visors and the close proximity to the sun tends to warp your vision. It's like stopping down from a sharp image to one that's out of focus. Large, dense objects are mere hazy shapes. You can't pick out features, but colors and dimensions are clues of their own as to who and what you're looking at. It's sort of like that in the cockpit. Which means Iceman is causing himself unnecessary pain, hoping to see Ghost in the back seat.

I clear my throat. "So, got a plan, Iceman?"

"Was that a rhyme?" Slider laughs over the comms.

"Aw, thanks, you noticed."

Both RIOs laugh, and I hear myself join in. It hurts, thanks to how tense I am. At the same time, it feels good. The banter, the laughter...they're simple reminders that despite the higher stakes, we're equipped to handle them. We're Top Gun graduates. We're the best of the best, and we've busted our asses the past two years to get where we are now. The humorous 'rivalry' might've held more weight at the academy, but now it's just a nostalgic tool to ease off the tension.

It feels like old times.

"Iceman?" Ghost gently ropes him into the conversation. "Do you have a plan in mind, or do we need to strategize together?"

"I have a few ideas," Iceman begins. "But any contributions are welcome."

"Alright, let's hear it."

The skies remain vacant as we coast at a low speed towards our point of interception. Iceman launches into a calculated, straight forward presentation of his so called 'ideas.' Normally, I would've listened with bitter apprehension, ready to shut Iceman down at the slightest show of overly 'textbook' maneuvers. Today, perhaps for the first time ever, I take his strategy appreciatively, only allowing myself to be critical if a part of the plan jeopardizes the safety and execution of the mission. Amazing what happens when you let go of prejudice. I find myself nodding along to most of Iceman's thoughts. He's right, we want to stay marginally out of sight. Essentially taking a back seat to watch for any sign of a threat from the enemy MiGs. Just as I open my mouth to suggest we fly low — under their radars and away from the naked eye — Iceman beats me to it.

"The lower we are, the better chance we have of evading their notice. That gives us the upper hand if they get hostile or get too close to their target."