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FOURTEEN
the saviours
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☆.｡.:*　　.｡.:*☆

"DO you see them?" Lynx asks.

     "No, not yet," Cosmo sighs, her hand pressed to the glass canopy. She scours the wintry landscape below, desperately looking for any sign of Maverick or Rooster, but she doesn't find them. They are flying low-level, barely scraping the treetops just so they can get a good look. It is incredibly ballsy... but that is the price you pay for love.

     Her blood roaring in her ears, she hopes and prays she'll find him down below any minute.

     Cosmo looks up and notices tall plumes of smoke rising, cutting through the snow-capped landscape. "Look, over there! Three o'clock! Smoke..."

     "I see it, I see it..."

     As they approach nearer, Cosmo also spots the flames engulfing the bottom of the smoke pit, where once an aircraft was. At first she dreads it being one of their F-18s, but then she observes the split-up chopper again. "I think it's one of their helicopters," she says. "Looks like someone took it down."

     "Is it me, or is that a parachute down there?"

     "It's hard to see—"

     BOOM!

     They are so busy looking down at the ground, that they don't get time to evade the white bird headed straight for them. It gets caught in the engine and coughs out a cluster of feathers. Moments later, the engine shudders and the jet starts to dip. This is not good.

     "Bird strike!" Lynx calls out.

"Shit, our left engine's on fire!" Cosmo glares at the red flashing alert on her monitor.

"Climbing..." The jet climbs upwards into the air, leaving the treetops further underneath them, as Lynx pushes various buttons in the cockpit to salvage themselves. "Throttling back. Shutting off fuel to left engine. Extinguishing fire..." The engine quietens with a whoosh, the flames subsiding and coughing out smoke.

Realisation hitting her, Cosmo warns him, "Lynx! It's on fire, don't start—"

"Throttling up!"

As soon as he does it, the right engine also bursts into flames, promptly sending them into a nosedive. The world spins around her in streaks of pristine white and grey — sweat breaks out on the skin of Cosmo's back at the deja vu of it all. Falling, falling, falling...

"We're on fire! We're on fire!" Cosmo cries.

"Shit, I can't control it!" Lynx helplessly tries playing with the controls to no avail. "It's no use, we'll have to punch out..."

This time, her pilot wastes no time in preparing to eject. Lynx levels out the plane as best as he can, while she reaches for her own ejection handle, pinning herself to the back of her seat. She braces herself — whatever world awaits them outside may not be a kind one.

"Eject, eject, eject!"

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

'Impulse' is not usually a word found in Bradley Bradshaw's vocabulary — but today, he leant into it. "Don't think, just do," Maverick told him, Impulse is what made him increase speed, just when he thought his fear would paralyse him. Impulse is what made him turn around and look for Maverick. Impulse is what then led Bradley to find him, shoot down the enemy helicopter, only to get pelted by enemy SAMs and scrape death with a hasty ejection.

Does he regret any of it? Well, the jury's still out on that one.

Bradley kneels down in the snow, bundling up his parachute and grimacing at the cramp in his neck. The patter and crunch of footsteps in the distance catches his attention — Maverick, in the distance, running straight towards him frantically. His arms cut through the air like blades propelling him forwards, knees high to combat the snow breaking his run. Bradley watches his sigh of relief turn into wisps of condensation.

     "You alright?!" Maverick hollers, almost at his side now.

     "Yeah, I'm good..." Bradley reassures him, "Are you alr— oof!"

     He is cut off by Maverick's gloved hands thumping his chest, knocking him right onto his back like a bowling pin. Any concern that Bradley was feeling for the man quickly vanishes, replaced with confusion that morphs into blind agitation. What is his problem now? "What the hell..." Bradley hisses, getting up to his feet — they both angrily toss their helmets into the snow with a huff.

     "What are you doing here?" Maverick demands.

     "What am I doing here?" he echoes the question, completely incredulous. Why are they in a yelling match over this?

     "You think I took that missile, so that you could be down here with me?" his captain argues, "You should be back on the carrier by now!"

     In utter disbelief, Bradley spells out the more pressing issue: "I saved your life!"

     "No, I saved your life. That's the way this works... what were you even thinking?"

     "You told me not to think," the Bradshaw boy snaps to point out.

     Maverick's mouth opens and closes, about to argue his point, before he truly considers what he's saying... he does have a point. He nods his head to the side, sheepishly admitting his losses. Suddenly they feel rather pathetic about bickering in the middle of enemy territory. The two men catch their breath and survey their surroundings while they cool off.

"Well..." Maverick says awkwardly, "It's good to see ya."

Bradley sniffs and replies, "It's good to see you too."

     The silence stretches out between them. Icy cold air nips at their skin, making them flush faintly pink from the cold. Alone, in amongst the towering fir trees, the younger pilot can't help but wonder what their next course of action is. They are stranded out here together, with no apparent means of contacting the carrier or their fellow team members.

     "... Can you hear something?" Maverick suddenly asks, lifting his head to the air.

     Bradley hesitates — yes, he can. His eyes follow the rumbling engine sound up into the grey sky above. "Look," he says, "up there!" The two men look up at the sleek jet starting to nosedive as it leaves long tendrils of flaming smoke behind. It plummets somewhere deeper between the forest and mountains with a dramatic CRASH, the burning debris crumbling and sending the smoke sky-high. But amidst it, two parachutes hover in the air, drifting down between the trees like a falling feather. It's too far away to tell exactly who it is...

     "Holy shit..." Bradley whispers.

     "It could be one of ours," Maverick says worriedly. "Let's go."

     They run forward in the snow, boots crunching beneath them. Bradley feels his stomach start to twist in knots, as a dreaded thought occurs to him — what if Celeste was one of them? No, he tries telling himself, she would stick to her guns and head back to the carrier. Whoever they find, they just hope the duo will be on their side and in a good condition. He trails behind Maverick nervously, trusting his direction.

     "Oh, thank God, they look alright..." Maverick sighs.

     Maverick parts, unblocking Bradley's view of the two pilots. They dust the snow off themselves and bundle their parachutes together. He instantly recognises the indigo helmet and her stupor from a mile away. "Celeste?" he calls out.

     In the distance, the WSO's head snaps up, eyes locking on him. "Bradley?"

     "Yeah, it's me!"

     "Oh my God, Bradley!"

     Her voice cracking in a mix of relieved glee and turmoil, Celeste starts charging through the forest towards him. Bradley runs to meet her in the middle, heart slamming against his ribcage in a million different ways at them both being here. As they get closer, he outstretches his arms, ready to hold her so close that he'll never let go again — instead he is met with Celeste's hands thumping against his chest. Surprised, Bradley staggers back, but manages to keep his balance this time. Is today 'Bradley Bradshaw the punching bag' day?

     "You idiot!" Celeste snaps, shoving him again. "What were you thinking, turning back on us?"

     "I'm sorry—"

     "You scared the shit out of me..."

      Her voice breaks, lip trembling slightly. Just like that, all the anger fades away. Celeste sucks in a breath of icy air and wraps her arms around him, holding the fabric of his shirt tightly in her fist. Bradley embraces her back, resting his temple on her shoulder for a few quiet moments. He wishes they wouldn't have to let go eventually.

     "I love you," she murmurs, her breath warm against the shell of his ear.

     "I love you too," Bradley's reply is muffled against her shirt.

     Soon, they both become aware of their surroundings. They break apart and he lifts his head, noticing Ryan standing a stone's throw away, whose hands rest on his hips as he awkwardly observes the affection. Bradley curtly nods to him in acknowledgement. "You alright, Kazansky?" he asks.

     "A little bruised, probably, but all in one piece," Ryan shrugs. "What about you, Bradshaw?"

     "Yeah, I'm good..."

     The four of them stand in a huddle to figure out where to go from here. Now having processed the fact that Bradley is alive, Celeste re-focuses her mind again. "That helicopter back there..." she turns around, pointing in the vague direction of where the fading plumes of smoke were. "Was that—"

     "Rooster took 'em down," Maverick interjects, stuck between pride and frustration. "They would've shot me down if it weren't for him. Then almost instantly, the enemy SAMs took him down."

     You're welcome, Bradley thinks.

     "What happened to you guys?"

     "Bird strike," Ryan and Celeste reply in unison.

     "Ah..."

     Silence stretches between them, snowflakes gently cascading around them. It's strange, how quiet and serene their surroundings seem here, only interrupted by their own aircraft and the knowledge of the mission. Maverick glances at the three youngsters with a sigh, knowing he has to get them all out alive... somehow. There is also the added pressure, or protectiveness, of them all being the children of his closest friends — Goose, Iceman and Gator's kids. Babysitting taken to a whole new level.

     But Bradley believes in him. At last, he finally believes in him. If anyone can pull this off, it is Maverick.

     "So, what's the plan?" Bradley asks him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Celeste lies on her front in the snow, cushioned between Ryan and Bradley, the latter staring through binoculars at the scene ahead of them. She waits her turn, but she needs no magnifying glass to know Maverick's plan is going to be ballsy as hell. He had led them through the forest to the enemy base, which was now sounding alarms and emitting smoke after their own tomahawks had bombed them. The four of them are crouched behind a snowdrift scanning their surroundings.

     When handed the binoculars, Celeste gets a closer look. Between the soldiers rushing around and large vehicles driving by, she hones in on the sight that Maverick seems to be fixated on — two F-14 Tomcats, parked in a large hangar. The old planes seem virtually untouched... and yet sitting there like a golden ticket.

"You saw those two jets parked over there, didn't you?" Maverick asks the three younger aviators.

     "You've gotta be kidding me... F-14s?" Bradley rebukes, realising what their captain is insinuating — they're going to sneak onto the base and fly them out of here.

     "Seriously, Mav? You want us to fly them?" Ryan adds incredulously.

     Celeste shakes her head with a reluctant sigh. "Well, if we can get to them without getting gunned down, I don't see us having any better ideas..." And not for a lack of trying, either.

     "I shot down three MIGs in one of those," Maverick points out. Granted it was thirty years ago, but still...

"We don't even know if those bags of asses can fly," says Bradley.

Not sure how he feels about the aircraft of his youth dubbed as a 'bag of ass', Maverick sighs and gets to his feet. Before any of the trio can stop him from going, he's already disappearing into the mist of snow and onto the tarmac. Eventually they follow him onto there, catching up as they trail nervously behind Maverick — Bradley, Celeste and Ryan like his three ducklings following their mother.

     "Look natural. Look natural."

     "Yeah, 'cause I love wandering into enemy territory in my free time," Celeste hisses, checking her surroundings all the time.

     "There's guys up there, Mav," Bradley notes the silhouettes through the thin dusting of snow.

     "Yep."

     "There's more over there."

     "How about we speed things up a little, huh?" Ryan mumbles. "Some time today, please..."

     "Okay... let's start running," says Maverick.

     "Yeah, run! Run!"

     The four of them pick up their pace, jauntily running in single file until they reach the hangar with the F-14s. For the boys, these are the jets their fathers would have flown in during their golden days of aviation. Ryan, in particular, seems taken aback for a moment to be standing in its presence — he has seen plenty of them before, but it suddenly holds a different meaning with the next-generation Kazansky standing before it.

     Maverick gathers them together and instructs them on getting the F-14s ready for flight. "Rooster, you'll be flying as WSO with me. We'll leave the base first, and Lynx and Cosmo, you'll follow behind us..." To this, the three of them nods in understanding, as there is little time to explain everything in depth. "Rooster and Cosmo — when you are given the signal for air, flip this switch until the needle gets to 120. When the engine starts, you're gonna pull out the pins and disconnect everything. You understand?"

     "Yeah," reply Celeste and Bradley in unison.

     "And once Lynx and I are up, stow your ladders."

     Everyone secures their helmets back on their heads. Maverick and Ryan race around to climb up into their seats, while Celeste and Bradley race to execute the pre-flight instructions they just received. To their utter relief, the whoosh of the engines starting fills the hangar. They disconnect everything and clamber up onto the wings and into the back-seats — immediately, Celeste is struck by how different the controls look back here, compared to the F-18s she is accustomed to.

     It's just a good thing Celeste has read up on F-14s, even out of boredom before.

     She peers forward to the pilot seat.

     "Everything good up there?" she hollers over the roaring engines.

     "Yeah! All good!" her pilot calls back, seeming satisfied that he got the jet started.

     From the back, she watches the Kazansky boy pat his heart again; why does he keep doing that? He keeps it there, before reaching into his breast pocket and pulling something rectangular out. He slots it delicately into a space in his cockpit — a photograph of Iceman carrying a young Ryan on his shoulders, both of them glowing with happiness. Celeste feels her heart tug at the sight.

     Lynx shoots Maverick and Rooster a thumbs up for good luck, watching them slowly go out onto the runway. All the pair of them can do now is wait for the first take-off, before they do theirs.

     "You know what this means, right?" Cosmo warns him. "By the time Maverick and Rooster have taken off, if they do, the enemy could surely guess what we're doing too and try and shoot at us."

     "I know..." Lynx sighs from the front. "But they can't get a good enough look at us anyway, right? I'd rather die trying, wouldn't you?"

     "... Absolutely."

     Just as Maverick's wings start coming out, Lynx starts carefully driving onto the runway... if you can even call it that. There is barely enough space to taxi before take-off. Cosmo grits her teeth as she watches Maverick, reckless as ever, ascend steeply to get over the wall, miraculously making it over only with a decapitated landing gear to show for it.

     Miracle number one... or is it one million? She's lost count.

     "Shit, okay, here we go... you might wanna hold on," Lynx warns her.

     Cosmo nods, clinging onto her seat and pinning her tailbone to the back of it before the acceleration can. She feels the tarmac rush under their wheels on this very, oh so very small taxiway as Lynx ramps up the speed. At just the opportune moment, he lifts off the ground, Cosmo holding her breath and shutting her eyes tightly as they look to collide in the wall...

     Nothing.

     She releases her breath. They are up in the sky, the enemy base behind them, and more importantly their landing gear is in-tact.

     "We did it! Holy shit!" Cosmo can't help but laugh... or cry. Whatever comes first.

     "And there's Maverick and Rooster, right over there," says Lynx. They fly closer to their fellow F-14, spotting their familiar helmets through the canopy. Cosmo and Rooster both switch on their E-Sats, so that they will appear on the radar to those back on the carrier. Time to head home.

     "Are you guys okay?" Maverick's voice comes through.

    "Yeah..." Cosmo sighs. "My life flashed before my eyes, but yeah."

     She hears Rooster's laugh through her headset, making her smile. "Now I just need to figure out how the hell to contact the carrier. All this is... uh..."

     "Not your forte?"

     "Exactly."

     "I would've thought it ran in your blood, Rooster," Maverick teases, with a hint of sadness in his voice. "That was your dad's job."

     "Don't worry, I'll figure it out."

     "Rooster, try playing with some of the breakers," Cosmo suggests.

"There's like three hundred breakers back here, anything more specific?"

"Figure it out!"

She hears him chuckle, and the faint clicking of him fiddling with the breakers in the back, until he goes eerily quiet. "Mav, tally two, five o'clock low."

Adjusting Rooster's words to fit her perspective, Cosmo presses her hand to the glass and peers down — her heartbeat lodges itself in her throat. Two enemy planes fly calmly beneath them. Shit, shit, shit. Did they know they took the F-14s? Were they here to kill them?

"What should we do, Mav?" asks Lynx nervously.

"... Okay, listen, just be cool," Maverick replies carefully. "If they knew who we were, we'd be dead already."

The four of them slide down their visors and attach their oxygen masks to obscure their faces; meanwhile, the two enemy jets rise to fly practically wing-to-wing with them. Just wave and smile. Each pair waves to the enemy casually, as if on the same team, and they seem to suspect nothing. In return, the enemy pilot all in black starts sending indiscernible hand signals to them.

     "What's that signal? What's he saying?" Rooster is heard asking.

     "No idea," Maverick deadpans, shooting a thumbs up for good measure, "I have no idea what he's saying."

     "What about that one? Any idea?"

     "No, never seen that one either."

     Cosmo watches from above as the jets move into formation. "Guys," she warns them, "his wingman is moving into weapons envelope." How the hell can they get out of this?

     "What do we do?" asks Lynx.

     "Alright, listen up..." Maverick tries to stay calm. "When I tell you, Rooster, you're gonna grab those rings above your head. Same goes for Cosmo."

     Recognising it from diagrams in books, Cosmo clarifies: "The ejection handle?"

     "Wait, are you serious?" Lynx questions him, "That's it?"

     She hears Maverick sigh. No, this can't be it. It would be so easy to punch out like this... but something in her wants to fight. Two times in the past week, she's had to eject and leave it all crashing and burning behind her. Cosmo yearns for a chance to prove herself — she's just itching for it, already calculating how they could out-manoeuvre these guys.

     "Mav, can we outrun these guys?" Rooster asks curiously.

     "Not their guns and missiles."

     "... Then it's a dogfight."

     "Two F-14s? Against fifth-gen fighters?" Maverick counters.

     "It's not the plane," Rooster replies earnestly, "it's the pilot."

     From the front seat, Cosmo hears Lynx inhale a deep breath. He glances at the photograph on his dash, steeling himself, then tightens his gloved hands around his controls. "Maverick," he says, "I'm all for doing this if you are. If... if that's what you think we should do, sir. Right, Cosmo?"

     "Right," she nods affirmatively.

     "You'd go after 'em if we weren't here... if I wasn't here," Rooster says.

     A beat passes. "But you are here," Maverick replies.

     "Come on, Mav..." Rooster encourages him. "Don't think, just do."

     There is a long, contemplative silence, during which Cosmo braces herself to enter the dogfight. Her skin bubbles with impending adrenaline. Suddenly Maverick makes the choice — he yanks the yoke hard, his F-14 jerking sharply and spraying one fifth generation fighter with bullets. With flaming wings, it plummets towards the earth, while the other enemies catch on and fight to react.

Now it's really happening.

They manage to out-manoeuvre the other tally on their tails, sending flares and missiles their way to throw them off; the air is shot with the energy of it all, Cosmo's instincts sharpened on a knife edge. Lynx is precise as he grunts against the force of the Gs, throwing everything he's got against the enemy. When Maverick is able to get a lock on his target, he takes a shot. But the fifth-generation fighter anticipates it — he almost seems to go weightless, suspended in the air as if in outer space as the jet spins and avoids the missile completely. Their jaws are left hanging in awe of their enemy's tactics.

"Holy shit, what the fuck was that?!" Rooster exclaims.

"Nothing we've been taught!" Cosmo despairs.

As the remaining tally get on their tails, another one suddenly emerges out of nowhere. Cosmo deploys flares just in time to distract it with flares. Could it only be a matter of time before more arrive? Maverick calls out, "I'm gonna drop down into the canyon! The terrain should confuse his targeting system."

"You go, we'll catch up!" Lynx tells him. "We can take this guy up here."

"But—"

"Mav, just go!"

A little reluctantly, Maverick and Rooster drops down into the canyon, soaring low-level in pursuit with the enemy jet. Lynx and Cosmo remain higher up in the air, dogfighting with the last tally. They battle with it back-and-forth, the sharp turns and desperate looping manoeuvres pushing forces on all of her body. They end up taking a few hits, dents peppered along their wings from bullets, but they manage to troop on.

"Alright, Cosmo, get me a missile ready!" Lynx calls out, trying to get into a good firing position.

"Copy, preparing missile..."

     "Shit..." he hisses, as the jet ahead of them changes course, "I can't stay inside this guy's turn."

     Cosmo looks up from her monitor and observes the scene. Suddenly, in a split second, she finds her mind flashing back — not to this wintry wilderness, but to the sun-beaten terrain where they trained in dogfighting just weeks ago. This manoeuvre feels all too familiar, except they were on the flip side of it, and it was Maverick who got the kill. She remembers the regret of her instructions to Quincy as their captain passed over their heads to slide into a firing position... Cosmo does not intend on making the same mistake again.

     That's it.

The precise timing and execution is incredibly difficult. But if they do pull it off...

     "Lynx, pull up high," she says.

     "What?"

     "Relax your angle, and then pull up high!" Cosmo repeats, louder this time. "Remember how Maverick got his kill, when he showed us dogfighting in training?"

     A beat passes. He digests the information. Without any verbal confirmation, Lynx reacts and does as she says; remembering and realising what she means. He waits for the opportune moment to slightly relax his angle of bank and pull up high. Cosmo pants and clings onto her seat as they come over the top inverted, watching the ground below them through their canopy — surely enough, there is the enemy below, most likely beginning to panic. But it is too late. Their speed falls a little from the climb, and their F-14 slides swiftly into a firing position.

Like a game of chess, Cosmo sees their check in plain sight.

They send the missile...

     BOOM!

Checkmate. The fifth-generation fighter goes up in flames, soaring into the mountainside. Cosmo can't help the gasp that escapes her lips — she can hardly believe that worked. Lynx even cheers loudly from the front.

"Holy shit... a High Yo-Yo, huh?" he says, of the manoeuvre they performed.

"I remembered what Maverick pulled on us," Cosmo chuckles.

"Well, good call. I hadn't thought of that one."

"Let's not forget you, Lynx — you're the one who did that... you did that!"

Indeed, she cannot think of anyone who could have executed that manoeuvre better, one of the most difficult ones to get right. As much as she loves Quincy, she could not imagine him having the same precision when it came to that. But when he applies himself, Lynx is a perfectionist in the air and rarely messes up a manoeuvre. Cosmo falls back in her seat, exhausted with relief for the both of them. They fly quietly along the canyon until they reach open water, where they re-join Rooster and Maverick.

"Hey, guys, I managed to get the radio on," Rooster informs them all from his back-seat.

"Good," replies Cosmo, tapping her blank screen in the F-14. "Mine's still out... probably old."

"Outstanding, Rooster!" Maverick cheers, "Get us in touch with the boat."

     They're going home... at last. Cosmo sighs, itching to be back on that carrier again. Rooster starts working on communication, only to stop when his radar begins bleeping. Someone is approaching them. But from where? Leaning against her canopy window, Cosmo squints into the distance — like a knife through their brief celebrations, the bogey is headed directly towards them.

     "He's on our nose," Maverick whispers softly. Another pause. "... We're out of ammo."

     "We've got your covered, Mav," Lynx assures him, "this is two against one."

     "Our ammo's pretty low as well..." Cosmo reminds him cautiously, glancing anxiously at how little they have left.

     The jet ahead of them drops a missile straight towards Maverick and Rooster. Luckily, they manage to deploy flares just in time, stopping the missile in its track. "We're out of flares, Mav!" Rooster cries, turning Cosmo's blood ice-cold. They have practically no defence left — apart from evading, their fellow F-14 is their only hope.

     "We've got one missile left," Cosmo informs him.

     "Let's send it," Lynx tells her.

     They get missile lock on the enemy, who's hot on Maverick's tail, but they evade their attack and pepper it with flares. Shit. Desperately, they follow behind and pelt the bogey with as much gunfire as they can — it takes a couple of hits, but nowhere near the number Maverick and Rooster take.

     "Lynx! Cosmo! Cover us!" Maverick despairs.

     "We're trying!" Lynx grunts back.

     Just as the enemy deploys another missile Maverick and Rooster's way, Lynx swoops their own F-14 in front to deploy their own flares. It successfully buys their friends more time — but there is a price to pay. Now in the enemy's line of fire, it pelts them with gunfire that splashes across their already-damaged wings. Warning signs begin flashing all over their monitors. And to top it off, they just ran out of ammo too.

     "Lynx, we're treading a line here," Cosmo warns him, "we only have flares left."

     But she knows they could be worse off... that's what is deepening the pit in her stomach.

     Lynx swoops in again to protect Rooster and Maverick from the offence, Cosmo slamming the button for flares — it coughs out a last splutter of them before abruptly stopping. Her heartbeat lurches into her throat. Cold sweat down her back, she punches it again and again, hoping this is all some cruel trick. But no. They have run out of countermeasures. All that is left to do is watch Maverick's jet get crippled by the bullets.

     Unless, the other alternative arises — throwing themselves into the line of fire to save their friends.

     "Agh, we can't take much more of this!" Rooster cries as they take another hit.

     "We can't keep up with this guy," Maverick decides, "we have to eject."

     "Wait, what?" Cosmo panics.

     "We need altitude."

     "Maverick, we can still—"

     Lynx's protest is cut off by Maverick starting the steep climb up to gain altitude. Helplessly, Cosmo presses her hand to the glass and stares at the ocean surrounding them, no one to be seen horizon-to-horizon. If they eject here, could they even get help? Or would the enemy pick them up first? Maybe none of them, and they would just float forever, until they sank below...

     "We... we can't eject, can we?" Cosmo asks Lynx.

     He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. "No. No way. We can't just bail out."

     There is little room for relief, even if it means this won't (with a bit of luck) be the third time she has had to eject in a fortnight.

     "Eject, eject, eject! Rooster, pull the handle!" Maverick commands him.

     "It's not working!"

     No, no, no. They cannot go. He cannot leave her. Not like this.

     "Are you sure we don't have more flares?" Lynx asks, but Cosmo is already punching the flares button desperately — through the blurs of tears being squeezed out of her eyes, she watches in horror as the enemy plane climbs altitude with them to gain missile lock... and they are mere spectators. She would gladly throw this jet in front of the missile. Hell, she'd throw her body in front of Bradley Bradshaw's if it meant he was alive.

     "I'm sorry, Goose..." Maverick's whisper through their headset sends a chill down their spines.

     The enemy deploys the missile.

     "NO!" Cosmo cries.

     BOOM!

     Bile shoots up her throat for a moment. Then it settles, her terror replaced with confusion. The explosion came from the enemy, the missile swarmed in the flames with it before it could even reach Maverick and Rooster. But who did that? Both F-14s observe the skies in anticipation of who their mystery hero was...

     ... Through the smoke, two F-18s swoop through in unison. Their own team.

     "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, these are your saviours speaking," Hangman's Texan drawl trickles through their headsets, smug as ever; but they have never been so glad to hear it. "Please fasten your seatbelts, return your tray tables to their locked and upright positions, and prepare for landing..."

     Everyone collapses into sighs of relief and laughter, Hangman and his wingwoman flying so they can all view one another through their canopies — the other pilot is Athena, radiant and fiery as ever in the pilot seat, commanding her job just as she has always meant to. In the back is her usual WSO, Tintin, who waves innocently at the others with a dimpled smile.

     "I've still got it, kids," the Romero girl says proudly, more conviction in her abilities than ever. Cosmo replays the image of her emerging from the explosion — a goddess, indeed like her namesake, through the flames.

     "Well, it was a team effort," Hangman tries to interject, with words no one ever thought they would hear from him.

     "But you let me take the shot, didn't you, Seresin?"

     "That... is true."

     "And here I thought Hangman didn't work in teams, let alone with Athena," Cosmo grins cheekily at them.

     "What can I say?" Athena brushes imaginary hair from her helmet, "I'm very persuasive..."

     "Hey, Hangman," says Rooster, genuinely for once, "you look good."

     "I am good, Rooster. I'm very good. See you back on deck..." Hangman and Athena split away, turning back in the direction of the carrier.

     It truly feels like the day is saved, but Cosmo won't quite let herself believe it until they touch the ground. After Hangman and Athena, their F-14 is the next one to land. She releases a breath once the carrier enters her periphery, the steel ship floating on the open water that glistens with sunset. The grind of tarmac rushing beneath their wheels as they land fills her with relief. Once everyone is landed, a swarm of crew and aviators run towards them cheering.

     "Sterling," her pilot offers her a hand out.

     Climbing down the ladder, Celeste takes Ryan's hand and gets down, collapsing straight into his arms for a hug — they are both still buzzing with adrenaline, whether it's the shock of it all or the relief of being alive. When she breaks away, she ruffles a hand through his slightly dishevelled blond hair.

     "Thank you," she tells him, "for working with me up there, and for... for taking care of me."

     "Likewise," he adds with a lopsided smile.

     For good measure, she adds: "Your dad would be really proud of you."

     The comment hits Ryan straight in the heart. She watches him swallow thickly, getting choked up at the sentiment. The Kazansky boy tilts his head up to the clouds, contemplative for a moment, before the pair get swamped by the excited crowd. Soon Celeste is getting pulled into embraces left, right and centre — one from Bob here, another from Phoenix there. Her saviours soon emerge, Luisa practically glowing after her success in the air. As for Hangman, he lingers in front of her, not quite sure how they should greet each other. They haven't exactly been 'buddies' in this process.

     Celeste just sighs. "Fine," she says, "get in here before I change my mind."

     They both laugh, Hangman welcoming her in with one strong arm for a hug; and it doesn't feel wrong. It is merely that Celeste is itching to know the well-being of one man, more than anyone else. Where is he?

     "Sorry, Hangman, I'm gonna have to steal her from you."

     That voice. Celeste grins before she's even looked at him.

     "She's all yours, Rooster," Hangman lets her go with a knowing wink.

     Turning around slowly, Celeste lays her eyes on Bradley standing there — the sun glistens against the beaded sweat on his skin, glowing in his eyes as he smiles triumphantly at her. He has taken off his helmet, leaving his hair more ruffled and prone to his more natural waves. Just the sight of it weakens her at the knees. How can she possibly resist that? Overwhelmed, Celeste launches herself into his arms, locking her lips with his. Bradley hums, surprised, then wrapping his arms around her and pulling her nearer. She swears the cheers get louder around them (and Payback definitely whistled from somewhere to tease them).

     They break apart, his face in her hands. Bradley raises his eyebrows at her. "What was that for?"

     "We made it," Celeste replies. "You're still an idiot though."

     "Oh, well, of course..."

     He starts leaning in for another kiss, but catches something in his eye. Bradley clears his throat and straightens up. What? Celeste turns around, spotting her father standing there like he's parted the seas just to find her — then he spots the two of them together. Oops... This moment might be more embarrassing if it weren't for the fact they had just scraped death. Reading the room, Bradley leaves, swimming through the crowds to talk to the other pilots and Maverick. Meanwhile, Celeste watches as her father approaches.

     "My baby girl..." Manny whispers, his lip trembling.

     "Dad—"

     He hugs her so suddenly, so tightly that it almost winds her. But Celeste squeezes him back, father and daughter rocking back and forth, overjoyed to have found one another again. She can't help let her mind draft home, to her mother who is probably worried sick about this mission, and Quincy... wherever he is right now. Has he been watching the mission? Or is he just at home? Either way, the remembrance of his absence leaves a hollow pit in her heart.

     "Quincy should been here," she says quietly.

     "He hasn't gone anywhere," Manny reminds her. "And he'd want you to enjoy this... this is your moment, sweetheart. You are exactly where you belong."

     "I know, Dad. I finally know."

     They both stand back and absorb the celebrations, cheers rippling through the air. Just a couple of metres away, Celeste's eyes fall on Maverick and Bradley hugging each other tightly. Good, she thinks, they needed this. Once their reconciliation is over, Bradley finds her in the sea of people again. Manny watches the boy he's witnessed grow into a fine young man walk towards them, yet still with a teenage nervousness.

     "Mr. Sterling—"

     "Forget it, Bradley," Manny squeezes his shoulder, while staring pointedly at him through his glasses: "We'll talk about this later..."

     "Oh, uh, o-okay?"

     Celeste shakes her head at her father, watching him go and leave the couple alone. She turns back to Bradley with a coy smile. "Ignore him," she insists. "You know, now this mission's over, I won't be living under his roof anymore, thank God."

     "And what's after that?" Bradley asks sincerely.

     "I have... absolutely no idea. As long as I'm walking off this carrier with you, I don't care. I'm all in."

     He sighs in relief. Celeste lets herself be pulled towards him into an embrace, Bradley kissing her temple on the way, and feels the rest of the white noise melt away. For once, she feels an overwhelming certainty wash over — the knowledge that she is meant to be here.

☆.｡.:*　　.｡.:*☆

AUTHOR'S NOTE

mission accomplished!! don't worry, i love a good happy ending if i can manage it, but i had to keep you guys on your toes for a while... speaking of which, it's crazy to me that we only have one chapter left. i'll say this in more detail in the last author's note, but thank you so much for the support with this fic — it has been so fun to write, and these characters are really dear to my heart. i'll be honest, i'm not 100% sure what the ending is yet, but i think it will come to me as i write it 😊

thanks again, and i'll see you once more in the final chapter!

──

published: august 29th, 2023