Zoe Kazansky's pov... many, many years later
My heart is thrashing in my chest as I stare at my email inbox.
My breathing is as steady as I will it, and I know my parents are eagerly waiting downstairs to congratulate me or comfort me, based on the message I get.
It's the email where I find out if I'm accepted to Top Gun or not.
Yes, I did exactly what I promised my father all those years ago, that I would become a naval aviator, just like him.
And look at me now.
I've graduated from the Naval Academy two years ago, at the very top of my class.
In the meantime, I had just gotten back from a deployment in Sweden, while training with the Swedish and Finnish pilots there.
Now that I was back, I applied for the Top Gun program, and only the best of the best were accepted.
While I was confident in my abilities, it was enough to have me wait in anticipation for an answer.
I looked over at my alarm clock.
8:59 AM.
One minute to go.
Lots of things are running through my head right now.
If I was accepted, it would be a dream come true. But it would be stressful, especially since my father had now been promoted to Admiral Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky.
People either expected a lot from me because Iceman was my dad, or a little, because they thought maybe he'd been pulling all of these strings for me.
No pressure, right?
And if I didn't get accepted... that's not even a road I wanted to go down.
It all came down to: would I get the answer I wanted?
Of course I would.
I was Zoe Kazansky.
I was the best of the best, top of my class. There was no way I wouldn't be invited, I was just as good as my father had been.
I was Avalanche.
I leaned back in my chair, confidence was key when it came to flying. A friends of my father's, Maverick, once said so me, "You don't have time to think up there. You think, and you're dead."
So don't think.
Just do.
9:00 AM.
A small ding! showed an unread email. I clicked on it.
I smiled in assurance when I read the first paragraph.
"Lt. Zoe Kazansky,
Congratulations on being accepted to the Navy Strike Fighter Instruction Program. You are formally invited to join us at Naval Air Starion Miramar in San Diego for the next 13 weeks, starting on June 14..."
❅
A fighter jet zooms over the road at the naval base, shaking the ground, and is immediately followed by a loud roar of its engine, helping the plane cut through the air.
My mother, Sarah Kazansky, scrunches up her face, she's never liked the loud noises, like the thrumming of an engine.
It's not surprising that I took after my father, because I find it all exhilarating.
I remember when I was a teenager, my mom would take me driving around the base waiting for my father to finish whatever meeting he had gotten himself wrangled into that afternoon.
Now, she's dropping me off to Top Gun.
"You know your father wishes he could see you off, but he's stuck at the appointment for that sore throat of his," she says, keeping her eyes on the road.
My father's has had this lingering pain in his throat, but I think it's just a cold or something.
I assured her, "It's okay mom, really. I'll be fine. And it's probably a good thing that Dad's not here, I don't want people to think he's the reason I got in."
Most people would.
"Zoe, listen to me. You deserve to be here. If anything, you've worked harder than all of these pilots because you're his daughter." My mom explained.
"Right mom. I'll see you in a couple of months, if I don't get shipped off again." I joke.
I was used to it. I was a navy brat.
"Your sister Stephanie says hi, and says good luck," she eyes me carefully. Me and Stephanie have never gotten along, it's something we never grew out of.
"Thanks, but I don't need luck." I tell my mother. It was the truth. I would be more than fine at Top Gun.
She parked the car, and got out, meeting me on my side as I got my luggage. My mom gave me a quick hug, mumbling, "Bye honey," trying not to cry.
"Bye mom. I'll talk to you later."
I grab my things, and wave as she drives off.
And now I was alone.
But I was sorta used to it being this way.
My gear bag resting on my suitcase, and I start walking down the sidewalk, pulling it to the dorm buildings.
Surprisingly, there a lot of people gathering here today, even though there's only 20-30 pilots in each Top Gun class.
Someone manages to bump into me. I lose my footing, and I start falling, bracing myself for the ground, until... I'm hanging in the air?
A tall, blond man has managed to catch me, I notice he's in the same tan naval suit as me, so he's probably one of my fellow classmates.
He has a cocky smile almost permanently etched onto his face.
He's hot.
I blush when I realize what position we're in. The man had caught me in a sort of dip position, like the one you do dancing with your partner. His large hand is holding mine, and his other hand is supporting me at the small of my back.
We're both awestruck and stuck in the moment to realize the world is still moving around us. Time didn't stop for us.
A black guy, probably one of his buddies, calls out, "When's the wedding?" He's clapped on the back by another and I glare at him.
Who does he think he is.
I look back to the man who's caught me, and I stare into his deep blue eyes.
What?
What am I feeling?
No, no, no. I don't do feelings.
Numb, Zoe, numb.
Remember? It's what keeps you in control down on earth, and up in your plane.
I clear my throat, standing up, signaling that he can finally let go of me. We've both been shamelessly staring at each other, but he seems more distracted than me.
His eyes widen when he's process what his friend has yelled at us. Moments too late. "Shut it Coyote!" He yells, and I chuckle. He turns back to me, "Are you okay?"
"I'm perfectly fine. Thank you." I say cordially. I have to be professional about this.
"You sure? You need any help?" The blond presses.
"Stop flirting with the girl and lets go! We want to be early to orientation." His friend, Coyote, yells again, and we both turn to glare at him.
I breath out, "Yeah I'm fine. Thank you...?"
"Jake. Jake Seresin." He declared.
"I'm Zoe," I pause to look down at time, I'm going to be late if I don't hurry. "Bye!"
After I make sure I'm out of Jake and his friend's sight, I curse.
Why couldn't people just walk normally?
I already made a fool of myself before even getting to the first day.
I know his friends will be making fun of our interaction, but little does Jake know, is that I'll not only be in his class, but I'll be the one he looks up to.
Why?
Because I know that I'm going to be first place in our class.
2 Kazansky's are gonna be on that Top Graduate Plaque.
❅
Once I've managed to drop off my luggage in my shared room, I head to the auditorium.
I'm barely on time, with seconds to spare, I grab a seat in the back.
Next time, I'll make it to the front row.
There's about 20 to 30 pilots, and I can only see two other women.
Here we are, the top 1%.
And we were all fighting for first place. Our egos wouldn't accept anything else.
A voice clears his throat, and we look at the officer who's speaking to our class, "Welcome to the Navy's Fighter Weapons School. Or as the students say: Welcome to Top Gun. I'm Commander Mike Metcalf, call sign Viper. Ladies and gentlemen, you are the top 1% of all naval aviators -- the elite, the best of the best. We'll make you better." He pauses, overlooking his pilots until he lands his eyes on me.
Viper recognizes me, he taught my father years and years ago. I'm surprised he hasn't retired yet.
He continues a speech he's probably given a thousand times, "Here, you'll fly at least two combat missions a day, attend classes in between, and evaluations of your performance. Now in each combat sequence you're going to meet a different challenge. Every encounter is going to be much more difficult. We're going to teach you to fly the F-18 right to the edge of the envelop, faster than you've ever flown before -- and more dangerous. Now, we don't make policy here, elected officials, civilians, do that. We are the instruments of that policy. And although we're not at war, we must always act as though we are at war. We're the tip of the spear. And you best be sharp."
Commander Metcalf points to the wall behind us. "In case some of you wonder who the best is, they're up here on this plaque on the wall. The best pilot (and their WSO) from each class has their names on it. And they have the option to come back here to be Top Gun instructors. Ladies and gentlemen, this school is about combat. There are no points for second place. Dismissed."
❅