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In retrospect, the signs were there.
Their pre-mission fight wasn’t Bradley’s finest moment, but neither was it Hangman’s. Hangman found a grenade labeled Nick Bradshaw and pulled the pin right out.
“You talk a lot of shit, but where the fuck is your dad?” he said, jabbing Hangman in the chest with his finger, because Bradley had not failed to notice the empty seat at graduations and medal ceremonies.
“Deadbeat son of a bitch,” Hangman said, and he smiled around the toothpick between his teeth.
Coyote barked out a laugh as if he’d made a very good joke. Bradley was too confused to feel guilty.
They were at Payback’s Fourth of July barbecue. Bob, Bradley, and Payback’s fiancée lounged on pool chairs and sipped mai tais while Hangman sat on the concrete beneath them and dipped his feet in the water. Natasha drifted past on an inflatable floatie, and Bob waved.
“So why the Navy, and not the Air Force?” Payback’s fiancée asked them.
“When I first started in the service, I actually wanted to get into submarines,” Bob said.
“Family tradition,” Rooster said.
“Because I love the beach,” Hangman said nonsensically.
“What does that even mean?” Bradley said. “If that’s true, why not the Coast Guard?”
Hangman twisted around to look up at Bradley, muscles shifting under the golden tan of his back.
“I like a challenge,” Hangman said, almost coy, and Bradley shoved him face-first into the pool.
Bradley slammed the locker room door so hard it nearly bounced off its hinges. Fanboy and Fritz exchanged looks and began to back away.
“What the hell is wrong with you,” he said. “We’re not training for a fucking stunt show.”
Hangman paused toweling his hair, supremely unbothered.
“Untwist your panties, Bradshaw. Nobody could possibly have gotten hurt, except maybe 30 million dollars’ worth of government property,” Hangman said. “And me,” he added as an afterthought.
“Is that fucking nothing to you?” Bradley said. “You could have died.”
Hangman twisted the towel around the back of his neck and shrugged. His expression was infuriatingly opaque. “Well, I didn’t.”
“You think you can’t get hurt? Do you think you’re some kind of god?” Bradley demanded.
Swift as a strong wind blowing the fog off the bay, Hangman’s expression morphed into one of glee.
Sometimes flying with Hangman and Coyote felt like third wheeling to Bradley, but tonight they were on a nighttime exercise and the quiet of the dark seemed to mellow them all out. Bradley was on the verge of enjoying himself.
Then they all saw it at the same time: a jagged slash of red glowing through the clouds.
“That’s not normal, is it?” Bradley said. “The sky doesn’t usually do that.”
“Here be dragons,” Hangman said, and Coyote swore.
The comm lines crackled. The red light began to pulse.
“I can’t reach the tower, the line’s dead,” Bradley said, punching buttons frantically.
“Ocean,” Hangman said. “We gotta get to the ocean.”
“We’ll fly west,” Coyote said.
“Listen to me, Rooster,” Hangman said. “When it draws its head back, it’s about to breath fire. When that happens, you got two seconds to get out of the way.”
“When it what?”
“Fly fast, and stay close,” Coyote said. His voice began to break into static. “We got you.”
The line went dead just as colossal scaly beast dipped out of the clouds.
“Oh, mother fuck,” Bradley said, and pushed the speed harder than he’d ever pushed in his life, Hangman and Coyote just behind him.
Coyote pulled away. He lined the dragon in his sights as it stretched its neck toward Hangman. Coyote landed a hit to the flank, knocking it slightly sideways but achieving nothing but some blisters on its hide. Aggravated, the dragon snapped at Hangman, forcing him into barrel roll.
The dragon fixed its attention on Bradley. It paused. Its head began to rear back. Just in time, Bradley remembered fire and broke left. Flames licked the side of his jet.
Coyote and Hangman swooped in, weaving around the dragon’s head like flies irritating a lion. Sweat dripped into Bradley’s eyes as he tried to keep the pace. They were over open water now, but the dragon still pursued.
Coyote pulled next to Bradley, gesturing urgently. Up. Bradley followed him into climb, just as Hangman dove. They dragon followed.
Hangman and the dragon went corkscrewing down, neither able to outpace the other. At the last second Hangman pulled up hard. The dragon’s jaw opened, heat swirling in the back of its throat, and Bradley had half a second to think that was the last he’d ever see of Hangman before the sea rose up and slammed into the dragon with the force of a speeding freight train.
The dragon hung suspended in the air for a moment, trapped in a furious, swirling cocoon of water, before it plummeted back into the ocean like the New Year’s ball drop. Bradley watched crumpled wings sucked down into a boiling whirlpool. Steam and smoke curled heavenward.
“Everyone good?”
For the second time in his life, Bradley heard Hangman’s voice in his ear and could have wept.
“All ten fingers and ten toes?” Hangman said.
“Yeah,” Bradley said, flexing his hand. “I think so.”
Coyote laughed. “Let’s go home, gentlemen.”
Hangman and Coyote flanked Bradley the whole flight back, escorting him as if they were helping an old woman across a street. When Bradley touched down and stumbled out of his cockpit, they were already waiting for him on the tarmac with hands hovering and ready to steady him.
“You good, Rooster?” Hangman asked.
“Fine,” Bradley said. “Your nose is bleeding.”
“What?” Hangman put his fingers to his upper lip. They came away red.
“That was some equipment malfunction, wasn’t it?” the nurse said. She shone a light into his pupils. “Good thing nobody got hurt.”
“Equipment malfunction,” Bradley said. “Right.”
On his periphery, he could see Hangman sitting on his own cot and watching him. Waiting to see if he would crack.
Sunday afternoon found Bradley eating bar peanuts for brunch with Maverick at an empty Hard Deck.
“You doing okay, kid?” Maverick asked. He nodded at Bradley’s three-quarters full beer bottle.
Bradley looked left. Looked right. Thought, fuck it.
“I’m telling you this because if I told a psychiatrist they’d never let me fly again,” Bradley said.
Unspoken but understood: Maverick owed him a big one, owed him enough to not make it a problem.
“I’m listening,” Maverick said.
“Okay.” Bradly took a deep breath. “Dragons,” he said. “You think I’m going crazy?”
“Open up, Seresin.” Maverick pounded the apartment door with the side of his fist.
When Hangman didn’t answer, Maverick beat the door harder. “Open up. That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
A bleary-eyed Hangman answered the door. “You’re seriously gonna pull rank on me? I was taking a nap.”
Maverick shouldered past Hangman into the dining room. Bradley slunk after, almost apologetic.
“Well come on in, then, make yourself at home,” Hangman said to the empty air. He shut the front door with a sigh.
“Talk,” Maverick said, when Hangman turned around to face them.
“Gorgeous weather for the game today. The Longhorns are sixth in the league, if they can beat Oklahoma, they might actually make it all the way this year—”
“Cut the bullshit. Which one of your parents?” Maverick said.
Hangman stopped short. He looked Maverick up and down. “Oh.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of fucking course you are, too.”
Maverick’s jaw twitched.
“How about this? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Hangman said. “Mom or dad?”
“Mom. Tyche,” Maverick said.
Hangman whistled. “Luck be a lady.”
“What?” Bradley said.
“Tyche,” Hangman said, as if Bradley were a slow child. “Greek goddess of fortune.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Bradley asked.
“Your turn, Seresin,” Maverick said.
“My old man,” Hangman said. “He goes by Poseidon.”
Maverick put a hand on the dining table for balance. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely true,” Hangman said. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“What about Coyote,” Maverick asked. “Him too? Which one?”
“I think you might know enough to get this one,” Hangman said. “Take a guess.”
Coyote was neither the fastest nor the fanciest flier, but he was a crack shot whether with a missile or with a dart, and God help anyone or anything who tried to hide from him. The squad joked that Coyote could track an ant in the dead of night from twenty thousand feet.
“Artemis,” Maverick said.
Hangman snapped and pointed. “Bingo.”
“Is anyone going to tell me what any of this means?” Bradley asked.
Hangman turned to face him. “Gods and monsters, Bradshaw.”
“I didn’t really know until I was older,” Hangman said to Bradley. “Not a lot of ocean in Central Texas.”
They were at the San Diego aquarium because Hangman thought he had a good sense of humor. It was a Tuesday evening just before closing time and the halls were empty. Bradley could almost pretend they walked the floor of the ocean.
“You’re taking it well, all things considered,” Hangman said.
They entered a glass tunnel under the water.
“Well,” Bradley said. “I’d believe anything after seeing a dragon.”
A curious hammerhead shark swam alongside them as they wandered the tunnel.
“What does it mean to be like this?” Bradley asked. “For people like you guys.” He paused. “Like Mav. Do you get to live forever?”
Jake stopped. “No,” he said.
Some bubble of hope that Bradley hadn’t even realized was growing in him dissolved.
“We get old. We get sick and hurt. We die. Just like anyone else.” The look Jake gave him was almost gentle.
“Doesn’t even sound like good of a deal, then,” Bradley said, pushing down his disappointment.
Jake turned away from Bradley and pressed a palm to the glass. “Maybe not.”
Sea creatures began to gather around Jake – jellyfish trailing their tentacles behind them, shimmering schools of fish, sharks nosing their way to the front, an octopus creeping up the glass toward his palm. Even the kelp swayed toward him.
Bradley looked at Jake, luminous under the watery light with all the creatures of the deep drawn before him, and found himself a little bit in love.