Chapter Text
“What you’re informing me is that you’d rather use an F-5N Tiger II that is used for general training of air-to-air combat and not a true model designed for these types of missions?” She spoke, her back towards the two men that stood on the opposite side of the desk that seemed to be decorated with papers that seemed to be complete nonsense to the opposing men. Photos lining the rim of the desk only for one or two to lay flat, not displaying the photo inside of it. The hum of the air conditioner being muffled by her speaking at the time. Plants, the edges of each leaf now brimming brown and dry, laid across the rooms shelves as they absorbed the miniscule amounts of light that peered through the drawn shades of the windows. The atmosphere seemed to present itself as welcoming yet the air was issued to be thick between her and the two men,
“Colonel, we did not come here for your opinion.” The tone was straight forward, as if there was already exhaustion due to having this argument with the Lieutenant Colonel in the past.
“Oh, I mean of course, you just wanted to know if it’s possible that the F-5N can hit over Mach 1.7 even though it can barely maintain itself at the speed of 1.64 at about the altitude of 36000 feet. What do you think, Commodore Deine? Take a wild guess.” the undertones of her voice rang through the room as she soon peered at them over her shoulder, her eyes narrow and gaze sharp due to annoyance. For her the angle of her body stayed proportionate as her back continued to be presented to the men that refused to peak her true interest. The man that stood next to the Commodore had picked up on jerking a glance back and forth between the Colonel and Commodore. He was shorter than his superior, perhaps by an inch or so. His hair that appeared to be shaved yet now grown out. His face sculpted to be sharp as the stern look ushered the idea further, yet the essence of his rank showed through his eyes that appeared to be a form of grey. That’s what was intriguing, the way he carried himself through the interaction between his superior and the Marine. As if he had rehearsed his stance so perfectly to appear approachable and overall reliable if questioned on anything that was directed towards him, yet it was trimmed with a variant of an egocentric performance. Something that wasn’t unique to many ranking Officers no matter what branch of the military,
“Colonel, the Marine force still uses the F-5 Tiger II for other than adversary training. Why not use it in this case? Every aircraft can be pushed over its limits and still correctly function–” as if in a miracle, the simple conclusion of his impression bordering on the fact of him presenting an arrogant formality had been confirmed. He seemed to be cut short as the Colonel twisted her torso to face the two Navy men without disrupting the location of her feet,
“That is how a funeral is arranged, Captain.” for she shifted her footing to now face the two men fully before she continued, “Captain you’re suggesting that a pilot should come to terms on seeing if an aircraft, that is bound on being replaced some point soon in all branches, to risk their life to see if it can go from 1.64 safely to 1.7? Risks are something we at the military do but never when we are aware that it is pushing the limit of fully breaking down a 30 million plane. These aircrafts have been tested to figure out their speeds through many prototypes and all so going and asking if it’s possible is completely stupid. You want something that can reach over mach 1.7? Go ahead and use some F-18 model. Don’t the Navy have plenty of those on hand?” Her words had been conveyed through quick speech and sharp ends of her sentences, causing the tensions between the Officers to continue to peak farther up. As both the Captain and Commodore Deine clench their jaws, her brow raises as she continues to lock her eyes with the Captain hastily flipping it to the Commodore. Her lips parted as the silence was steady between the two Navy officers, to which it brought the Lieutenant Colonel to widen her eyes in hopes of it invoking a response,
“So?”
“The F-18’s are currently in use at Miramar, Colonel. Something in which previous graduates were called back to act upon this mission, but that is besides the point. The point is that you are the most reliable when it comes to the decisions of what our aircraft can and cannot sustain. Your family history along with yours supports our choice of asking you about this. If you believe that the F-5N Tiger II is not the best choice, what do you suggest?” Commodore Deine held his eye contact with her as his right hand hovered in front of the Captain beside him to prevent him from speaking once again. All of that just for her to scoff towards his mention of her family as well as her experiences. Her arms didn’t move from their crossed position for a few moments until a breathy sigh had been exhaled through her nose. Arms now twisting out of being crossed, her hands had started to shuffle and fumble around with the files that already seemed to be discombobulated beforehand. Removing paperclips and throwing them to the side to allow groups of documents to be flipped through, the scattering of photographs that had a higher chance of being from the 80s rather than present times, along with her own handwriting on post-it notes of various shades of yellow giving them an aging look, seemed to lose their adhesive and were now being shuffled with the other stray papers. The Captain’s brows furrowed as he stared at the mess that had been conjured on the Lieutenant Colonel’s desk, to which he flipped his gaze to concur what she was doing to his Commodore through his eyesight. In which the Commodore refused to meet his eyes, and continued to keep her desk and the papers in sight.
As a photograph is soon pressed between her forefinger and thumb, the corners of her mouth tug into a small smile. Her arm stretches out to expose a photograph of a grounded aircraft,
“The Growler. Hitting the Mach 1.8 level, it can hold more armament than your original choice of the F-5N Tiger II. While yes the Growler can only go up to 978 miles when it comes to range, what you seem to be doing does not require range but general power. What you seemed to do was pick an aircraft out of a hat and nod your head assuming it could be done, when the Growler had perfect requirements along with over 22000 pounds of thrust per engine. So, if available, take my advice and look for this damn plane.” As the Captain shifted his weight to lean softly towards the photo his wrist tilted his hand into a perfect angle on swiping the photograph out of her unsecure grip. Flashing a quick grin towards him, it swiftly fell off her face as the corners of her mouth now drooped softly exposing the disliking of the two men continuing to stand in front of her, “Is that all?”
“Not entirely, no.” His voice appears gravely, as if there is regret and disbelief lacing his words, “Colonel I must inform you that we are not only here to seemingly irritate you but that we are here to deliver the location of where you will be stationed for the next month or so.” While speaking, the shuffle of his feet and draw back of his shoulders allowed his chest to puff out more than it already was. A change in posture produced a low sigh to lay in the Colonel’s throat as her lips were now pressed into a fine line,
“You will depart for Miramar early in the morning Colonel. You have been-”
“Miramar? Sir, that's TOPGUN.”
“Do not cut me off Colonel. I am aware of TOPGUN being located there and am thankful you are too since that is where you will be reporting.” His voice seemed to lay lower in pitch than it was before. Reasons on why weren’t clear, yet she assumed it was due to subtle jealousy and lack of patience towards her.
“Reporting? Sir TOPGUN is a naval school. Which I am not. So, once again, there must be some issue in sending me there since I am neither a Naval Aviator or even in the Navy in general.” Biting her tongue after her retortion, seeing the Commodore’s brows tilt slightly down forming small creases in the skin caused the grip on her tongue in between her teeth to grow stronger. She was a Marine Lieutenant Colonel with no official training in the Navy branch besides being a part of the NROTC. Yet her quarrel with these new orders had not had an ounce of regard towards the Commodore in which he brushed off hastily,
“Your file on your orders will be delivered to your office at around 1340, which will give you 30 or so minutes to actually allow yourself to pack beforehand. I congratulate you for being selected and I wish you luck on your upcoming mission. That is all Colonel.” Turning on his heel, Deine did not hesitate to leave her office with the Captain trailing right behind him.
She brought her thumb between her teeth, clasping on the nail that stretched farther than the nail plate. Her eyes strayed from the door as her weight now shifted between her two feet. The soft click of the door fully shutting it entices her to drag her hands down her face, pulling on her skin and causing a harrumph to be exhaled. As her ears rung with the sound of her heartbeat, her fingers are then pulled up to rub her eyes since she could not entirely comprehend the fact that a Marine Lieutenant Colonel was being sent to a Naval Academy. For it would never make sense to anyone if she had complained about it to them. Of course the orders were in fact orders that she had to follow though.
Yet the air seemed thick as the idea of returning to California had struck her closely. For she could already daydream about the high sun that happened to burn anything that the rays touched. Golden rays devoured what was partially visible in the sky as the clouds lingered astray, rarely forming into different thick, catastrophic designs that some people had fantasized in for the picture-perfect layout of a gentle blue sky. For those clouds were the streaks of what used to be the accessories of the sunset that dominated just before the darker blue overthrew. Perhaps that’s what she missed more than the air that would leave your hair matted from the salt rushing into it. The low tussle of what seemed to be waves lurking not so far from sight as the beaches met the ocean, to which she could have sworn the amount of couples that professed love had exceeded the amount of her fingers. Or perhaps the colours of the sunsets and sunrises reflecting in her eyes as she watched them through her window, occasionally spotting the green flash before the sun disappeared below the horizon. Calling it nostalgic was too much to bear for the sensation had been put under pressure for years throughout her career.
Overall, the idea still seemed fake and created purely just to spite her from a complaint against her on the ‘attitude’ she sported. She hadn’t been around an active aircraft in over 4 years nor had any interest in dealing with them rather than seeing them through computers or photographs. Even for the possibility of dragging her family name into this just seemed like a cheap joke, a joke that caused outbursts inside of her that she believed she overcame. Her nail continued to be latched between her teeth, most likely now having soft indents of her gentle bites on it. The shape of the nail now gnawed into a flatter silhouette than before her thoughts had spread her mind. Thoughts latching onto her stature as her body formed goosebumps down her arms and back, throwing herself into the past. The warmth and the sudden clasp of bitterness only for it to be interrupted by knocks at the door.
Dry skin against the glass windows that had been inlaid in the dark wood framing, allowing the Lieutenant Colonel to be aware of the person behind said door. Shuffling steps had been muffled only for the young woman who held the file firmly in her grasp. The correction of posture and stiff salute only for no eyesight to be given,
“Colonel, Ser. I have been ordered in giving your orders along with information you may require, Ser.”
“At ease,” her eyes quickly catch the gentle bronzeish-golden colour of the 1st lieutenant pin badge located on both sections of the collar on cammies, “Lieutenant.” As the strike of the thick soles and ruffle of the clothing allowed her to be aware of the Lieutenant’s shift in attention. As the soft sound of paper bending at her touch, opening the file exposed 4 different documents that seemed to be signed and sealed by her higher-ups. Information flooding the papers front and back along with occasional photos of a few aviators in which she had no care in looking at.
Each paper seemed to be the same lazy explanation of what was going on, a mention of a uranium plant and the issues it struck, the return of 12 graduates, along with the models of aircraft they were using. The Boeing F/A-18E and F/A-18F. For that wasn’t her main concern at the moment, it was the description of why she was being sent. Her tongue rolling between her molars, without flicking her eyes up her lips parted to speak,
“Lieutenant I must ask, are you aware of any information that may not be stored in this file? Perhaps hearing any of your superiors discuss it? Or is this all they decided to give me?” as she finished her sentence, the Lieutenant continued to stay at the ordered position of being at ease,
“No, Colonel. I have not heard any information relating to any of your orders. I am only here to deliver, Colonel.” she replied quickly and sharply,
“Jesus fuck.” she muttered under her breath when coming to terms that the simple excuse of ‘you are needed due to your experience’ was all she was going to be fed. Pursing her lips, she closes the file and looks back at the Lieutenant,
“Dismissed.” In which it invokes the marine to leave her. As her steps continue towards her desk, the slam of the file fills the silence that settled into her office. Her forehead rested on the cold wall, adding a sense of cooling support towards her. Eyes closed and lower lip being tugged between her teeth, the pure essence of being told to return to California to assist hot-shot aviators seemed unnecessary and overall vile. 12 of them as well? Bringing 12 aviators that most likely have no idea what the terrain they were dealing with as well as bringing up the factor of the heat censoring missile would cause some kink in the whole plan. Besides, who the hell was teaching this?
Pushing herself off the wall, the quick stretch of her arm brought the file back into her grip and gave her the ability to flip through the papers once again only to find the answer she had desired.
“Oh you’ve gotta be shitting me.” for the name that was stated to teach these graduates caused her jaw to stay heavy and keep her mouth agape.
Fucking Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.