MAVERICK was in trouble again. He knew that all of his actions had consequences, and they were usually bad consequences. Since his first year at Top Gun, his reputation has been fluctuating between good and bad—pretty bad.

The pilot had a serious problem following explicit orders from his superiors. He obeyed them, of course, but in his own way. The problem with that mission's orders was the opposite sides that the classes and the mission itself had. They wanted Maverick to teach them in a safe way when, in fact, they would practically die in the real situation if they learned the necessary requirements in the collateral-free way.

He shouldn't have been surprised to be taken to Vice Admiral Simpson's office after landing the F-18 and paying for the two hundred push-ups—and thinking his body could handle the same workouts those young pilots had. Maverick was sure he would only sleep that night on muscle relaxers and plenty of pain ointment.

"The edge of the box is five thousand feet above ground level," said Cyclone, too calmly. "There is a parameter for the safety of pilots and of aircraft."

Maverick narrowed his eyes, seeing the change taking place in Cyclone. There was the reason for his codename. The veins in his neck were bulging, showing on his forehead with anger boiling inside him.

"Five thousand feet isn't just a rule, it's a law," he exploded. "As immutable as gravity."

"The edge of the box will be lower on the mission, Sir," he reminded her.

"And she won't change without my approval," he exclaimed. "Especially in the middle of an exercise. And that crucifix of yours? I could have killed you three! I never want to see that again."

Next to Maverick and in front of the Vice Admiral's desk, Warlock sat, now staring at the irresponsible pilot as if they'd gone back to when he was one of the students.

"What do you think you were teaching, Captain?" asked Warlock, extremely more controlled than his companion.

"That, although they are good, they still have a lot to learn," he replied.

"You're talking about the best pilots on the planet, Captain," Cyclone said, not believing what he had heard.

"And they've heard it their entire career," he said. "While dropping high-altitude bombs without any fighter fights, the mission parameters call for something they've never done, something they-"

"You have less than three weeks to teach them how to fight as a team," Cyclone cut him off. "And hitting the target"

"And come home," Maverick added.

He swallowed hard when he saw that his superior didn't agree. Here was one of Maverick's fears, one of his unanswered questions. He knew those young people would give their lives to save the country. He thought so, too. But then again, they were young, with long years of life ahead of them where they could make even greater accomplishments.

It was an intense exchange of glances. Warlock stared at Cyclone as if he expected him to readily deny it, and Cyclone stared at Maverick as if Cap had gone mad. Maverick wouldn't settle for anything less.

"And to go home, Sir," he repeated firmly.

"Every mission has its risks," Cyclone said, leaning back in his leather chair. Maverick had taken him by surprise, apparently. "These pilots accept that."

"Not me, Sir," he denied.

From behind the table, Cyclone sought Warlock's help. He was not successful. The Admiral might not put it into words, but he agreed with Maverick and didn't want Top Gun's best pilots to die. It would be a huge loss.

"Each morning, starting today, you will inform us of the instructional plans in writing," he declared. "And nothing will change without my approval."

"Not even the base of the box, sir?" Maverick asked immediately.

"Especially the hard deck, Captain!"

That was what Maverick had been waiting for. Coming to a meeting with him with nothing prepared was like declaring your own death. He returned, and he was preparing to be told that he needed to turn in everything he had written as future proof.

Maverick took the earthy red folder from under his arm, stretching it out onto the Vice Admiral's desk. Cyclone stared at him uncomprehendingly. In his eyes, Maverick was crazy, someone he didn't want around the base's precious F-18s.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Request to lower the hard deck, Sir, to practice low-level bombing."

If Cyclone's gaze could kill, Maverick would have been dead on the carpeted floor of his office a long time ago. However, Warlock wasn't impressed, and in fact, even seemed happy with Maverick's requests to teach pilots he preferred to identify as children. When he was leading the pilot away from Cyclone, before Vice had a heart attack, he said:

"You need to learn more about timing, Captain."

◈

HANGMAN AND COYOTE, unlike the other pilots, were hanging out in the entertainment room. It wasn't as if they had more things to do. After all, it looked like they had returned to academic life, but without homework.

They were wasting time. It was too early for the Hard Deck to be open. Most of the other pilots had temporarily retired to their quarters, and the others were wandering around the base, figuring out new ways to try to put themselves in the lead for the special mission.

Hangman had never taken the time to look closely at the photographs of all the other Top Gun classes before. They were old black-and-white photos, or they were yellowed with age, but one in particular caught his attention. He studied the photo, not believing what his own eyes were seeing.

"Hey, Coyote," he called. "Take a look at this here."

Coyote approached, crouching a little and trying to see what Hangman meant. It was very old, but he would have known that face from anywhere—most of his nightmares were about him.

"The man, the legend," he hissed, seeing Maverick young. "Look at him over there.

"No, no," Hangman denied. "Do they look familiar?"

Above Maverick was a man with a mustache that Coyote had seen countless times. Bradshaw. Not Rooster, but his father. Which meant they'd flown together, so that must have been the reason for the fights between Maverick and Rooster.

"I don't believe it," Coyote hissed.

"Now on the other side," he asked. "Do you recognize those three?"

One of them, of course, Coyote recognized. He was Admiral Kazansky at his best. It was so strange to see him like that, and on the rare occasions he actually saw him, he looked downcast. The Admiral was there, but the illness that took hold of him seemed to be winning.

"Who are these two?" he asked, not remembering their faces.

Hangman pointed to the names under the photo—Lindbergh and Schneider. Coyote chuckled, finding Hangman with a devilish smile on his lips.

"Dulce and Smoke," he sighed in disbelief. "You must be kidding."

"Damiana's parents," Hangman said. "They all flew together."

"And they died together," Coyote reflected as he shook his head. "Can you imagine being raised by Iceman himself?"

"Despite his fame and alias, Iceman is a really nice guy."

Hangman and Coyote turned, startled, through the door, finding Swan watching them from afar. Dammit, they should have realized sooner that they weren't alone. She approached them with relaxed steps, also looking at the photograph,

"Unlike Schneider, he knows how to show feelings."

"Did you know about them?" Coyote asked, pointing to the board. "What about Rooster's father?"

"Yes, she knew," Hangman answered for her. "She always knows."

"You have to promise not to say anything to anyone," he asked, looking mainly at Hangman. "You don't know the wounds you're going to poke if you do."

Hangman snorted, crossing his muscular arms as if he couldn't believe what she was saying.

"You don't even like Schneider," he pointed out. "And after Bradshaw made you cry, do you still care how they feel?"

"It's not just them I'm talking about," she denied, sighing wearily. "Jake, please. Promise me?"

He studied her for a moment. Coyote wasn't the best in situations like these, but the sadness on Swan's face was too obvious to miss.

"I promise you," he said, giving up.

Swan stood on tiptoe, kissing the corner of Hangman's face. She looked at the photo once more as she fiddled with her bracelet. Soon, she turned her back on them, walking away. The smile on Hangman's face prevailed, only diminishing when he noticed that Coyote was staring at him strangely.

"What?"

Coyote didn't answer, just gave him a smirk. He wanted to rub Seresin's face so badly that he had become a lovestruck fool.

━━━━━━

9.10.22

N O T E S

The notification must have appeared sooner for those who follow me. For those who do not follow me, I would like to inform you that there is a new story available on my profile! Yes, our baby, Robert "Bob" Floyd, has received his own story, Desperado.

Now, what did you think of the chapter? Rooster in the previous chapter... No spoilers, but I heard Swan scolded him in Chapter 10 of Love Above The Clouds!

❆ ✈ ❆

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