Chapter Text
The sky was clear, not a cloud in sight which was perfect flying weather. The cockpit of the tomcat they flew in showed every angle around them with no blind spots. It was beautiful with the waves below them looking more like they were out of an oil painting rather than real. There was no place Techno rather be than here in the air with his RIO. Well, Grian was there, too, but they were only joking back and forth. It was a simple patrol for them in the perfect flying weather, something they hadn’t seen in a while. It was always a good day when they could fly.
Of course, it seemed other’s thought this was a perfect day for flying, as well.
“Ghost Rider,” the radio crackled to life catching the attention of the two F-14 pilots, “we have have an unknown aircraft. Vector to 060 for bogey.”
“Copy,” Techno responded with his mood only slightly soured. He loved flying calmly, but he did enjoy the occasional action every once and a while. His hands had already moved the yoke to the left. The plane’s left wing lowers as he continues to hold the yoke into a clean pitch to the left. “Grian, I am on your wing.”
The radio crackles to life as Techno checks to his left to find where exactly Grian’s aircraft was. There, just above him was the other gray Tomcat. Techno could practically see Grian and his rear, Scar. It was easy to spot the colorful helmets from where they stood out against the sky.
“Copy. Stay on my wing,” Grian’s voice came clearer than the aircraft carrier’s control, but that was because they were so close to Techno’s wing. His voice still held the happy tone from when Scar had said a particularly good joke, “Where they at?”
“Squid?” Techno called to his own rear. He looked over his own shoulder to see the man. The officer was already reading the sensors.
Squid perked to life, “Copy, I got them. 900 knots closure.”
Techno hummed, “You hear that, Grian?”
Two pairs of “copy” came over the radio at the same time. If they weren’t about to face a dogfight, Techno would cough a laugh. It didn’t make him lose his smile. Dogfights were one of the more interesting things about flying. He had joined the Antarctic Navy with the pure intent to fight in one of the most adrenaline inducing ways. In the sky.
Scar carried on, “I’ve got them on radar. Let’s get a visual ID and hook ‘em.”
“We’ll clean and fry them,” Techno confirmed with confidence. They were a good pair of pilots, able to work well and communicate easily with each other. There was a reason Grian was headed to Top Gun.
The two jets pull out of their pitch, headed for where the radar last pinged them. There, on the horizon, Techno spotted a single black dot against the horizon. Grian already asked Scar to confirm. It wouldn’t be a dogfight, but still more thrilling than any other patrol the few had. Techno relaxed against his seat, keeping an eye on the aircraft coming towards them.
“You see a trailer?” Grain’s voice came over the radio, but Squid answered quicker.
“Nah, he’s a single.”
Grian hummed over the radio, “Alright. We’ll go head-to-head. See if he's really a single?”
Techno kept his hand on his yoke, “Copy. Keep careful. These planes cost quite a bit.”
A laugh came from the wingman, “Yeah, and I bet these cost a pretty penny too. I doubt they want to engage.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” Techno’s smile stayed as he and Grian kept pushing forward. He couldn’t bring himself to lie. He would love to experience a dogfight. The rush as you roll through gunfire with the only thing keeping you alive being Lady Luck. It was easy to get lost in the thrill. The rush of excitement as he takes down bogey after bogey is addicting. Techno can’t help but lust after it.
Techno soon pulled his yoke to the right and pitched them right. The unknown flew right underneath them, but far enough away to not have them be lost in their tailwinds. As they flipped over the aircraft, Techno noted its design, but more importantly, its paint. Techno circled around as Grian did his own pitch to the left to have them now on the unknown’s tail. Techno kept still on Grian’s wing, but kept his eyes out for any other bogeys.
“It’s a MiG!” Squid yelled. “Damn Russian one too.”
Techno nodded, “I’m keeping an eye out for any others. Grian, what’s the plan here?”
But, as Grian’s voice came through the speakers, Squid shouted again, “Shit, Techno! There’s two of ‘em!”
That caught his attention, “Where!?”
“MiG two is 60 miles out!”
Techno looked over at his wingman. If there were only two MiGs, Techno could handle one while Grian handled the other. It was supid for them to send only two MiGs out by themselves anyways. It slipped his mind that these MiGs could be on patrol as well. There was a possibility of a rather nasty naval fight in their future, but Techno’s mind was only on the thrill. He grinned, “I’ll take care of MiG two. Grian, you take care of MiG one!”
“What? Techno, keep on my tail!” but Techno had already disengaged, pulling the yoke back towards him, the nose of his craft angling up. It was a difficult maneuver considering his engines could stall, but Techno angled them out and now circled back around to go after MiG two.
Squid, ever the good rear, immediately announced the MiG’s position, “We closing up on him now.”
“Veering off and tailing ‘em,” Techno said back over the radio. He kept Grian’s shouts out of his mind as he pulled himself into position behind the MiG.
The sleek jet didn’t move off course, even as Techno pulled around him. It was a cheap shot at this point, but Techno didn’t dare move his thumb even over the switch. It was a matter of scare. Firing upon the bogey would be an act of war in their position. Fire once fired upon. That was the rule. However, locking up on the MiG to scare them off was always an option. The jet took the bait as the beeping of the lock stalled. Techno grinned, smiling back to Squid.
“Ready your camera! We can’t shoot hot, might as well shoot cold!”
Squid laughed as Techno pushed forward, rolling the jet so that they were now looking down at the MiG right through their cockpit windows. Well, technically, they were looking up but inverted to stare right at the MiG’s pilot and rear. Techno did the natural thing, flipping him off as Squid took the polaroid.
Just like Techno expected, the MiG tore off, leaving him to focus back on Grian.
He didn’t expect the fear in the other’s voice as he focused back in. It was like a cold wave of water washed over him. The pilot was yelling into the radio, “The MiG’s on my tail, Tech! He’s all over me. I can’t knock him off!”
“Shit. I’m on my way. Keep trying to knock ‘em,” Techno veered back to heading to Grian. As he pulled closer, he watched as Grian pitched right and left in an attempt to keep the MiG from locking onto him. The MiG, in an attempt to lock on, rocked back and forth. Techno’s grin dropped and turned into a stoic frown.
Techno pulled behind the MiG’s tail, following behind the aircraft as the three of them danced in the air. Grian led, his panicked mumblings crackling over the radio. Techno couldn’t focus on that though. It was odd. The MiG was in the perfect firing position. Why hadn’t he taken the shot? Techno huffed, starting to rock his own plane in time with the MiG’s and flippeed open his weapons. His thumb hovered over the switch, but he soon flicked it from off, past guns, to his missiles option.
“Switching to missiles. He’ll have to bug off.”
Techno didn’t hear a reply, only continuing to swing his jet as the green screen attempted to lock onto the MiG. The beeping increased everytime the crosshairs got close to locking onto the target, but each time, the MiG veered in another direction and restarted the process. Techno huffed, focusing on trying to keep the MiG in his sights. However, this position kept him antsy. If the other MiG decided to swing back around, they were both gonners.
“Grian, on three, I want you to pitch right, copy?”
A meek “copy” came over the radio, but it was all Techno needed to hear. He started counting down, watching the MiG swing back and forth, timing the swings so that when the MiG had to swing back around to follow Grian, he would have to swing right into Techno’s crosshairs. And, just like he had predicted, the MiG flew right into his sights as Grian pitched to the right. Much like he thought, the jet disengaged.
“MiG one has bugged out and is headed home.”
The radio crackled back to life, “Clear air?”
Techno checked around trying to see if he could find MiG two. No sight of the two of them, and Squid cleared them as retreating. Techno turned back around and responded to the radio in his mask, “Air’s clear. I think that’s enough action for us today. Fuel’s getting low, and I’m ready for a nap in my bunk. Whatcha say Grian?”
The other pilot did not respond. Instead, Scar’s voice came through, “Grian? Grian, bud. The MiG’s off us now. Let’s get home. We don’t have the fuel for this.”
Still no response. Techno frowned, pulling his jet up beside Grian’s to look over at the other’s cockpit. Shock, he mused. Deadly even when you were safe on the ground. Techno broke the silence, “Grian, listen to my voice, alright? Stay on my wing. I’ll take you all the way in, alright?”
Techno positioned himself so that he was keeping Grian in line with the runway. He had no way of knowing Grian’s position based on the deck by his wing, so he pulled off, positioning himself behind so that he could see the ball of lights. Landing a plane on a ship was difficult with the way the ship rocked back and forth, a limited runway space, and the added effect of easily crashing into the ship instead. There were safety measures put in place, like the cord of woven wire that jets hooked themselves to as they landed. The measure was in place in order to slow themselves down so that they can land on the limited runway. But, the most vital measure was the so-called ‘ball’ of lights. It was a system of lights in a diagonal line with one light in a vertical column. That light was the ‘ball’ that symbolized the jet coming in for landing. Currently, that ball was below the green lights.
“You’re too low, Grian. Pull up,” Techno gripped his yoke as Grian seemed to not correct. “You’re too low. Too low!”
Grian, at the last possible second, pulls up, hooking himself onto the wire. Techno quickly pulls himself up, circling around the aircraft carrier as his shoulders untense. He had never seen Grian react like that before. It was unnerving seeing as Grian was higher in their ranking on deck.
Once Grian’s jet has cleared the carrier’s landing deck, Techno lands their jet while running on vapor. A walk in a park, but his mind was unsettled with the image of Grian’s jet potentially crashing into the deck.
Grian left the Commander’s office in a rush. Techno called out to his wingmate, but received only a back coated in sweat. Techno didn’t have much time to watch over the other pilot. The Commander had already called their names to pull them into the office. Techno had to obey, even if he wanted to chase after Grian.
It was muscle memory to slip into parade rest. With how many times he had been in this office for his ‘stunts,’ he wasn’t surprised. The commander, a strict man with a heavy collar, bore down on both Techno and Squid.
“What you did was reckless,” of course he started like that, “but inherently brave. What you should have done was land the damn plane. It belongs to the taxpayers. You’re over here writing checks that your body can’t cash! You’ve caused enough incidents on this ship to lose your qualifications as a section leader three times, Mitchel! I can’t believe I’ve got to do this!”
“Do what, sir?” Techno commented, which should have gotten him some type of duty on the ship. If he knew what was going to come out of the commander’s mouth, he would happily do any chore for the rest of their voyage.
The commander’s sharp gaze flicked back to Techno, “I’ve got to send someone to Miramar. Y’all were second. Grian was first, but he turned in his wings. And, goddamnit, I’ve gotta give you your dream shot. You two are going to Top Gun.”
Top Gun, though professionally known as the Navy Strike Fighter Tactics Instructor Program, was the school for the best of the best. The pilots who came to train at the program would all later become aces. Though, the one who came out on top was known as the Top.
“Their names are immortalized,” the instructor, a man in what could only be his thirties, spoke with a hidden tone of nostalgia. Techno knew the man’s name was on the plaque on the wall with the rest of the Tops. Phil Burgess, callsign ‘Crow.’ “This program was created to teach Air Combat Maneuvering. Dogfighting, if you will.”
The man at the front of the room was British, but it was common for British and American troops to interact with each other. However, the man before them was a legend. One of the best of the best, a Top, even if he was British. Phil Burgess, the first British pilot to not only learn of Top Gun, but also to Top. His maneuvers were written into their lessons. The man was deadly in a jet.
Techno wanted to prove that he was just as capable of being a Top.
Squid grumbled in his seat next to Techno. A row or two behind them, two other pilots sat with their eyes on the duo at the front. Techno hadn’t really taken the time to check out his competition, but it seemed these two had already deemed Techno and Squid as beatable. It made Techno huff. He’d show them.
A snicker made Techno finally face the two. It was downtime in the classroom, so no one would get onto him for turning around in his seat. Just behind them, though on the other side of the aisle, was a blonde with a snarky ravenette beside him. Finally able to catch his eye, the ravenette grinned over at the two. Techno frowned, “What are you doing?”
“Just seeing who’s the best of the best?” the blonde snickered with a toothy sarcastic grin. Techno wanted to knock it off his face, but instead he turned around to put his back to the man. Of course, the reaction only made the two laugh with each other, but Techno knew the real fight was in the air. So, he gathered his books. They had a preflight in an hour.
Though, as he turned to leave, Phil spoke up, “If you want to know who the best are, there on this plaque.” Techno watched as Phil’s fingers ghosted over his own name plate. The man turned though, facing the classroom occupants, “If you win the trophy, become a Top, you can return and teach here at Top Gun.”
Techno locked eyes with the blue eyed man. The Brit spoke first, “You think you’ll be on that plaque?”
“I know so, Sir,” confidence had always been Techno’s thing. Perhaps, he was cocky though.
The comment made Phil huff out a small laugh with his smirk staying on his face, “That’s pretty arrogant considering the company you are in?”
“I don’t lie, Sir.”
“That’s what I like to see in a pilot,” Phil nodded to him, then continuing to walk down the aisle to collect his own things. It was an unannounced dismissal, but as they turned to walk out, he spoke again, “There are no points for second place. But, when we are in the sky together, we are a flight.”
Techno nodded, walking out the door.