Below The Hard Deck | A Top Gun Fanfiction

CHAPTER VII

"Time," Maverick starts, "is your greatest enemy."

I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes at his dramatic flare. All the recruits, however, seem to be holding onto his every word. They're finally going to learn what exactly they've been called to do. Behind us, a large screen showcases the simulation of the mission as well as a countdown telling them how much time they have to complete it.

"Phase One will be a low level, high speed ingress consisting of two plane teams," I continue as the picture changes. "You'll fly along this narrow canyon to your target. Radar surface-to-air missiles defend the area."

"These SAMs are lethal," Pete explains, a picture of the machine popping up behind him. "But, they were designed to protect the skies above, not the canyon below."

"That's because the enemy knows nobody is insane enough to try to fly below them," Rooster snarks.

"That's exactly what we're going to train you to do." Bradley turns away at the bluntness of my words, knowing that I'm also telling him to watch himself. "On the day, your altitude will be one hundred feet maximum. Any higher, the SAMs' radar will detect you and you're dead. Your airspeed will be six hundred and sixty knots, minimum. Time to target, two minutes and thirty seconds. This is because fifth generation fighters wait at an airbase nearby."

"Up against them in your F-18s," Maverick shakes his head, not even wanting to think about the possibility of a dogfight against the superior plane, "you're dead. That's why you need to get in, hit your target, and be gone before those planes even have a chance at catching you. This makes time your greatest adversary."

"Today, you'll fly a route in your navigation system that simulates the canyon." I look over all the recruits. "I won't lie, this is going to be hard on your bodies. The faster you fly, the harder it will be to stay out of radar of the SAMs. The tighter the turns, the more intensely the force gravity on your body multiplies. It will compress your lungs, forcing the blood from your brain and impacting your judgement and reaction time."

"So," Mav claps his hands together, causing everyone to jump, "for today's lesson we're going to take it easy on you. Max ceiling is three hundred feet and the time to target is three minutes." By the looks on their faces, this expanded perimeter does little to calm the nerves of all the pilots in front of us.

"Any questions?" When no one answers, I put on a big smile. "Who wants to go first?"

Our first group, consisting of Bob, Phoenix, and Coyote starts off doing pretty well. They were only two seconds behind and, other than that, everything was smooth. At least, it was until there was a breakdown in communication.

"Why are they dead?" I ask the group after we review their flight.

"We broke the three hundred foot ceiling," Phoenix replies, her head hung low. "SAM took us out."

"No." I tilt my head as Pete pushes himself off the wall.  Sure, she didn't give the full answer we were looking for, but she also wasn't wrong. Guess that isn't good enough and Maverick looks at Coyote straight in the eye. "Why are they dead?"

"I slowed down and didn't give her a warning. It's my fault."

"Was there a reason you didn't communicate with your team?"

"I was focusing on—"

"One that their families will accept at the funeral?"

Coyote stiffens up. "No, sir."

"Mav—" I start, but he ignores me, turning to the other pilot.

"Why didn't you anticipate the turn? You were briefed on the terrain."