PHOENIX, BOB and Coyote were in the air, flying the F-18's through the tightest turns they've seen in all their years as pilots. Maverick was right when he said that they were congratulated for dropping bombs from high altitudes, but that they had no experience with the levels of speed and skill that such a mission would require.

"Time to target: 1 minute and 30 seconds," Bob said, scanning the radar.

Phoenix was having a hard time keeping up with Coyote with those curves and the high speed... She didn't even want to think about the timer that haunted them.

"We're two seconds late," he warned. "Increase to 480 knots."

"We have to run, Coyote," she said over the radio.

Coyote was right in front of her, even too close for her liking. Flying with a navigator was good, so Phoenix understood why Coyote was perhaps more nervous than she was.

"Received," he replied. "Speeding up."

But he hadn't noticed the climb ahead of her, too focused on obeying the radar and following the map. He slowed, contrary to what he was told, and didn't warn. Crap! Phoenix could have collided with them and all three would have been potentially injured.

She had to act fast, not even able to communicate what she was going to do. She climbed the aircraft, passing just above Coyote without hitting him... But she alerted the SAMs. If this was the real mission, I'd be shooting at her. If Coyote came up to cover, more missiles would be launched. It was game over for that pair.

◈

TOP GUN formed the best pilots. Everyone there was formed by facts. However, when they were invited to come back and prove why they were the best, they all agreed to hate one thing: they were all students again, with a teacher who would decide which of them would possibly go down in Navy history.

Coyote was starting to hate the simulation monitor in that classroom. Every move he, Phoenix, and Bob made was recorded, so the images of F-18's flash across the screen and freeze at the exact moment they screwed up with their training. He was furious with himself. That should count as negative points for Maverick to choose him, shouldn't it? He needed to fight for another chance to show that he was still one of the best—especially to get that annoying little smile off Seresin's lips.

"Why did they die?" asked Maverick as the missile hit the aircraft.

"We broke the three-hundred-foot ceiling," Phoenix replied, "and a SAM caught us."

"No," he denied, turning to Coyote and directing the question: "Why did they die?"

"I slowed down and didn't warn. It was my fault," he said, hating the bitter taste the words left in his mouth.

"But why didn't you communicate with the team?"

Coyote swallowed hard.

"I was concentrating..."

"Will their family accept this at the funeral?" interrupted Maverick, silencing the pilot.

"No, Lord," he replied, straightening his posture.

Maverick had experience that no other pilot had. It wasn't just Coyote's fault, he recognized that. But could those pilots see that? They could have been in two aircraft up there, but they were ALA's. What one did, the other would do too. He glared at Phoenix, watching her lick her lips. She knew she was wrong too.

"Why didn't you start the turn sooner?" She was briefed on the terrain.

Phoenix opened his mouth to reply, but Maverick continued:

"Don't tell me," he warned. "Tell his family."

At that moment, pilots began to realize that what they had learned before should be forgotten. What Maverick would teach them was a new module, one that no book or manual contained.

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10.16.22

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