DAMIANA felt terrible when she arrived for Maverick's theory class the next day. Irony of fate or not, no available flight could take her to Washington, and, strangely, her request to withdraw did not even reach her superiors.

She was under the impression that Iceman had made sure no letters from her reached Cyclone. He knew her, and knew the chance of her trying to withdraw was enormous. Dami wished she could hate him for his influence in Top Gun, but she would never have the heart for it.

So she was sitting in one of the last rows of seats in the room. No other pilots had sat next to her, seeming to avoid her, but at least Fritz had sat in the pair of seats next to her. He'd offered her a small smile. Dami rolled his eyes, imagining that Bob's discovery of her last night should have reached the ears of every pilot who'd been on the Hard Deck.

"Time is your greatest enemy," Maverick began, pointing to the screen at the front of the room with a digital clock showing. "Phase One of the mission will be a low-entry attack on ALA's of two."

Maverick pressed the button that started the simulation video, pointing to the blue route the F-18s would have to take.

"You will fly through this canyon to the target."

Damiana squinted at small red patterns in the upper parts of the satellite image. Now she huffed, crossing her arms and flopping into the padded seat.

"Radar-guided surface-to-air missiles defend the area," he continued. "These SAMs are lethal, but they were designed to protect the skies above, not the canyon below."

"It's just that the enemy knows no one is mad enough to fly under them," Rooster hissed from his seat.

"And that's exactly why I'm going to train you," Maverick said. "On the day, your altitude will be a hundred feet maximum. If you go beyond that altitude, the radar catches you and you die.

The pilots looked at each other, concern crossing their features. At a very low altitude, flying between the canyons would be tricky, and yet in two? It was almost impossible to imagine that a mission like this would work.

"Its speed will be 660 knots at a minimum."

It would be suicide. That speed, when converted into kilometers, equaled about 1222.32 kilometers per hour. In F-18's inside a canyon with your ALA? How could that mission have been approved? Why was Damiana wondering that? She was there when they found out about the plant, and as a pilot, she always knew what would be required of them. Perhaps reality was harder to accept than just reading the requirements on a piece of paper.

"Time to target will be 2 minutes and 30 seconds," he declared. "That's because the fifth-generation fighters are waiting at a nearby airbase."

Even from the back of the room, Damiana could tell how uncomfortable everyone was. Those were the best pilots in the United States; they had already received decorations and many accolades in their careers... But they were always dropping bombs from high altitudes, never face-to-face with the enemy.

"In a melee, with these planes and you in your F-18's, you die," she said. "That's why you have to get in, hit the target, and get out before these planes have a chance to catch you."

Oh, how Damiana wished she could go back to her apartment in Washington, when her life was all about doing complex research and reporting, Friday night happy hour, and picking up her bills. She couldn't explain it, but each day at the Fightertown base, she felt that this life he was leading was getting buried in the past, as if it were far from his reality. Why did she feel this way? Dami never wanted to go back to Top Gun. If it wasn't for Ice, she wouldn't even have gone. After Bradshaw's harsh, truthful words, she must have been even more desperate to get back. Even so, she felt the urge for adrenaline starting to run through her veins more and more.

"That makes time your greatest adversary."

◈

BRADLEY, in one of the very few times this happened, felt insecure, as if he'd gone back to being that little boy who lost his father in a plane crash. It was an overwhelming sensation where the air in his chest felt like it was being crushed.

Maverick had barely released the list of duo names, but he already knew who he'd fallen for. Damiana was still slumped on the bench in the Top Gun classroom, her elbow propped up on the braces and her head propped in her fist.

It was strange how broken and depressed she looked. While the other pilots had freaked out over the supposed mission's instructions, she'd barely minded. It wasn't like Bradley had been staring at her the entire class; it would have been too obvious if he turned every five minutes back to where she was alone.

Everyone was leaving to change rooms, and the first pair were going to put on their special costumes, but Damiana was still in the same place. Nicky's scolding was still hammering in his head, and he needed to do something about it.

"Can we talk?" he asked, keeping some distance.

"We have nothing to talk about, Lieutenant Bradshaw."

Lieutenant. That title of his took him by surprise. It was rarely used, even more so by another pilot. Damiana had called him that the day of their fight. Maybe the fateful episode couldn't even be called a fight since he just shouted insults in her face. He wanted to curse himself for all the things he'd said to her.

"Yes, we do," he reaffirmed, seeing her about to get up. "Listen. What I told you before, I didn't want to..."

"I did," she interrupted, standing up and walking past him. Dami was grateful he hadn't grabbed her wrist or arm to make her stay. "You were right. You and the other pilots don't want me here because you think I am weak and pathetic.

"Supernova," he called, begging her to let him explain.

"Believe me when I say, Lieutenant, that I know more than anyone that I don't deserve to be here," Damiana said, almost walking through the door. "I'll make sure you don't have to suffer seeing Admiral Kazansky's biggest disappointment on this base ever again."

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10.8.22

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