AN: First of all, a massive thank you to Spoonofevil / yellowermine for the manips created for this fic. The link is in my profile and I recommend you go and have a look at the Spoonofevil Tumblr account if you want your mind blown by talent.

I do not own any of these characters. If I did, they'd live happier lives than they do now.

Please check out the amazing accompanying art made for this fic - link is in my profile

I apologise in advance for any inaccuracies in:

- my understanding of the laws of physics, mechanics and general military-related technology,

- my depiction of the US Navy and its workings, codes and personnel,

- Nevada geography

I apologise for the creative license I may have afforded myself in order to make this story easier to write more enjoyable. This includes but is not limited to:

- changing the original time period of the mid 80's to 2012 / 2013.

- using a mixture of facts and fiction. I shall endeavor to point it out in individual A/Ns in the relevant chapters.

- the fact that there are lesbians and everybody is cool with it. That is the basic premise. If I had had to deal with DADT and the homophobia in the Armed Forces, this ride would not have been as "light-hearted" as it is.

I apologise for the levels of bad language although I do believe this might actually be reflective of the environment and is, therefore, a requirement for good story-telling.

I apologise for any spelling mistakes and typos remaining if there are any. They are all mine.

I apologise for the cheesiness levels in parts. There were some classic lines in that movie that just could not be omitted. You are of course allowed to smile in a condescending fashion whenever you come across them.

I also apologise for the length of this author's note...

"L'avenir a plusieurs noms.

Pour les faibles, il se nomme l'impossible;

pour les timides, il se nomme l'inconnu;

pour les penseurs et pour les vaillants, il se nomme l'idéal."

"The future has several names.

For the weak, it is impossible;

for the fainthearted, it is unknown;

but for the valiant, it is ideal."

Victor Hugo

The air was oppressive and the humidity almost unbearable when Commander Tom "Wookiee" Caulfield walked into the Combat Direction Center of his aircraft carrier. Shading his eyes from the glare coming from the floor-to-ceiling tinted window overlooking the flight deck, he surveyed the entire room.

They had deployed to the Persian Gulf two months ago, and things had been unusually quiet for the last couple of weeks. He inhaled slowly, taking in the thick tension permeating the atmosphere and the hushed activity of the fully crewed floor.

Heading directly for the radar wall filling the length of the operations room, he greeted the radio operator in front of him. "Cricket. What've we got? Apart from a fucking busted air con. Again."

Eyes fixed on the blipping dot on his monitor Cricket, a young man in his twenties with a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead picked up his mike key. "Bounty Hunter, this is Cricket. We have an unknown contact. Inbound Mustang."

Wookiee lifted the navy USS Ronald Reagan cap from his forehead in a vain attempt to relieve some of the sweltering heat. "Are we expecting any visitors today? Who have we got up there?"

Finally turning away from his screen, Cricket acknowledged his superior. "Sunrise, Chicago, Swan and Pinocchio, Sir. Negative, no visitors on the schedule."

"Great, Swan and Pinocchio. I can already smell the brimstone," Wookiee said dejectedly, wiping his brow and bald head with the back of his hand and pulling his cap back down. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Lt Emma 'Swan' Nolan, had been flying her Boeing F/A-18F Super Hornet for the best part of the last three years. Her air squadron, the VFA-2 'Bounty Hunters', was currently attached to the aircraft carrier USS Ronald Reagan and things had been pretty dull so far for her despite their latest deployment in one of the globe's hottest zone. Sure, there was plenty of entertainment to be had below deck outside of shift hours but the daily patrols she had taken part in had been complete non-events. Addressing her Radar Intercept Officer behind her, the prospect of some excitement seeped through her voice.

"Alright Pinocchio, talk to me. Where's our tourist?"

"I have him on radar. 900 knots closure," Lt Junior Grade August 'Pinocchio' Booth replied. "Sunrise, Chicago, you got him?"

"Yeah, we've got him too."

"Alright, let's get a visual ID and see what he wants." Emma banked left sharply, Sunrise's jet on her tail.

"Closing fast. Mustang this is Bounty Hunter 117, we have the bogey at 15 miles."

According to their radar readings, the unidentified plane was on his own and coming right at them.

"Alright Sunrise, I'm gonna go head to head with him." Emma's cool demeanor did not ease the tension in Sunrise's reply.

"Take it easy Swan, I don't like this shit. I'm gonna break high and right, see if he's really alone."

Soon they had established visual contact, and not one but two jets flew by Swan's Super Hornet. August whipped his head around, following them eagerly. "Shit, two MiG-34s! I've never seen any that close before!"

Emma chuckled internally. August could be such a child sometimes. A child on Christmas morning to be precise. However, this complicated things. They were now heading straight for the Ronald Reagan; they were about 250 miles out. It was starting to stink.

"Sunrise, you go after MiG One, I'll take MiG Two," the female pilot instructed, diving right to get behind her target and getting a missile lock on them within half a minute. The name of the game was to freak the opponent out and force them to retreat before any shots were fired out. Shooting was a completely different ballgame… A few seconds later, MiG Two disappeared into the cloud cover, giving up.

"Mustang, this is Swan. MiG Two is going home."

Sunrise, on the other hand, wasn't faring quite as well. They were now only 180 miles away from the aircraft carrier, and the remaining MiG was on his six, the missile lock beeping sound echoing in his helmet. Sunrise had lost him in the sun and those brief seconds had been enough for the MiG to reposition itself right behind him.

"Fuck, he's engaging me! Mustang! This guy is all over me, do I have permission to fire?" Sunrise's voice was shaking uncontrollably. At Wookiee's firm order to not fire until fired upon, the young man called out at his wingman frantically. "Swan, get down here, that asshole is sticking to me like a fly on shit!"

"Sunrise, we're on our way. He's in a perfect position to fire. He would have done it by now if that's what he wanted. He's just trying to piss us off," Emma calmly explained.

"I don't give a fuck, Swan!" Sunrise shouted. "Get this fucker off me!"

"Easy, Sunrise. Bring him back, hard right. Help me engage. I can't shoot this bastard. Let's see if we can have a little fun with him, though."

Placing herself behind but above the MiG, Emma flipped her plane upside down, August's sarcastic comment of "This is your idea of fun?" washing over her as she concentrated on her task. She pulled up to the other jet's level and mirroring its speed, she lowered her Super Hornet canopy to canopy with the remaining MiG. The shadow cast upon it was enough for its pilot to lift its head, just in time for him to see Emma give him a little sarcastic wave. August pulled out his camera and snapped a couple of pictures, whooping. Within seconds, the second MiG was pushing negative Gs, hard down and away and they could all breathe a sigh of relief.

"Great shot, I should have been a photographer, do you know that? Look at him, he's running for it!" August laughed in delight, adrenaline rushing through his body. "Anyway! Swan, we're getting low on fuel, time to go."

"Alright. Sunrise, this is Swan. Your tail is clear, MiG One has bugged out. Enough fun for one day and we're getting hungry, so we're heading for the barn. See you on deck!"

As they made their way back to the aircraft carrier, the conversation – or lack thereof – from the other plane was beginning to worry Emma. The weather had taken a turn for the worst, and a storm was now raging over the Ronald Reagan and its surroundings, lowering visibility to such an extent that it was difficult to see the flight deck. However, this was not what was worrying Emma the most. Chicago seemed to be calling for his pilot to get a grip, his own fuel situation seemed dire but Sunrise was unresponsive, his heavy breathing the only sound emanating from his mic.

As the desperation in Chicago's tone rose, Emma saw no alternative but to go back.

"You're kidding, Swan! We can't go back," her RIO protested, but Emma's mind was made up. She was within sight of the carrier, ready to land. Instead, she pulled up and picked up speed again, retracing her path back to where she had come from. She could deal with the admonishments and ignored orders to land immediately later. She just couldn't leave them there.

"Sunrise is in trouble, we've got to go."

As she finally pulled level with Sunrise, Chicago called out to her. "That MiG really screwed him up, Swan. I don't think he can make it back."

Taking a deep breath and forcing her voice to stay low and steady, Emma addressed the other pilot.

"You're okay, Sunrise. Just stay on my wing. I'll take you all the way in. Just stay with me."

The Super Hornet was anything but steady as Sunrise struggled to remain on Emma's wing. The jet was oscillating dangerously, and the pilot just could not regain his breath or focus his vision on the fast approaching flight deck.

"Easy, Sunrise. Just a walk in the park, buddy."

Emma was anything but the cool, confident person she was trying to convince Sunrise she was. The jet was shaking too much, the approach angle was off, and he was pitching too low too soon. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and she shouted her instructions at him, praying it would jilt the man enough for him to regain some control. It was probably the most excruciating ten seconds of her pilot's life but Sunrise made it safely, wheels touching the tarmac and the tailhook underneath the plane thankfully snagging on the arresting wire.

A tentative knock sounded inside Commander Tom Caulfield's office, stirring him from his thoughts. It had been a close call and an administrative nightmare of epic proportions was already shaping up right in front of him. Lifting his cap and pressing the heel of his hands over his eyeballs in a fruitless effort to relieve some of the tension he straightened in his seat, ready to welcome his visitor. At his instruction to come in, the door in front of him opened and a pale and haggard looking Sunrise entered the room, staring right ahead.

"Lt Yaoguai, what is it? You should be in sick bay. What are you doing?"

Still staring straight ahead as if dazed, Philip walked over to the skipper's desk, his jaw set.

"Thinking of my wife Aurora and kid, Sir. I almost orphaned him and I haven't even met him yet. I don't know what happened up there but I was so scared…" his voice broke.

"We've seen this before…" Wookiee dismissed the pilot's words with a wave of his hand, but Sunrise interrupted him.

"No Sir, not.. Not like this. I lost the edge. I'm really sorry Sir." Unpinning the gold wings from his chest, Philip dropped them to the Commander's desk with a loud clang. Looking at his CO for the first time during this encounter, he gave him a final salute, turned around and walked out of the office, closing the door firmly behind him.

Wookiee closed his eyes in defeat and dropped his head on his arms resting on top of his desk, exhaling deeply. This was not part of the plan and whilst he felt for his pilot, he now faced a serious headache and a decision he was not looking forward to. Yet he saw little alternative, given the time constraints he had to work with. Sunrise had been spooked by today's events and he was under little illusion that his mind could be changed in time, if at all. He was his best pilot and now the past tense took on a different meaning indeed.

With regret and renewed determination, he yelled "Swan, Pinocchio! Get in here!"

A few seconds later, both pilot and RIO were standing at attention in the doorway, waiting for what they expected to be the ass-chewing of the century.

"Sir."

"Swan, Pinocchio… As usual, you are a massive pain in my fucking ass. What the fuck were you thinking up there, Swan?" an angry Wookiee growled.

Emma stared straight ahead, bracing for what was to come. That she had issues with following the rules and authority in general was nothing new, despite her early childhood Navy upbringing. She however always retained the ability to know when it was best just to shut up and take it like a woman. If there was ever an appropriate time, this was it…

"You did an incredibly brave thing."

Emma perked up internally at this statement. Maybe this would not be as bad as expected… She refrained from turning her head to look at August, who was standing completely wooden beside her.

"An incredibly brave… and absolutely moronic thing! What you should have done was land you plane, Lieutenant! You don't own that plane any more than I do. The taxpayers do. Your ego is writing cheques your body can't cash. I should ream you for your actions but I unfortunately know better because it just doesn't work with you, does it Savior?"

Emma swallowed but remained still and at attention. Her CO was just getting warmed up and she knew it. She, however, could not help but catch the gleam of golden wings on the desk in front of her and wondering what the Hell had gone down before she and August walked into the CO's office. They had crossed Sunrise's path on the way there and he looked like a defeated and lost man.

"If only you could fucking follow orders! You've been busted, you've lost your qualifications as section leader three times! Put in hack twice. With a history of high-speed passes over five air control towers and one admiral's daughter!"

At this, Pinocchio turned his head slightly towards his pilot, muttering: "Which one? Kathryn Midas?" Emma shrugged slightly, not wanting to acknowledge the charge yet she could not help but internally frown at it. Her encounter with Midas' daughter had not been a "high-speed pass" by any stretch of the imagination… She had been quite thorough in fact and garnered nothing but praise from the recipient for her actions.

The skipper meanwhile was still on a roll and got up, getting into Emma's face.

"Let's not bullshit, 'Savior'. You think you're a fucking hero now, huh? Your family name isn't the best in the Navy. You need to be doing it better and cleaner than the other guy. So what is it with you? You're a Hell of a pilot. The problem is that you god damn well know it. Maybe too fucking good. So this is it, Swan. I now have to do something I never imagined I would. I have to send someone from this squadron to Fallon and that means giving you your dream shot. I'm sending you to compete against the best. You're good but they're the best. Maybe they'll knock some fucking sense into you. Maybe they'll take some shine off the eagle on your chest, that eagle you're so proud of because God knows I've tried and failed. Maybe over there they'll manage to teach you about discipline and teamwork and how it is fucking essential to being a great pilot."

"Sir?"

Emma snapped out of the trance-like state Caulfield's tirade had induced. She had heard the arguments before and was under no illusion that she would hear them again. Her instincts, her abilities, her hunger for revenge over what life had thrown at her pushed her to desire nothing more than to rise above her peers but she knew it came with its drawbacks and she was more than aware of how she was perceived by her colleagues and superiors. If only she could bring herself to give a shit. What mattered was that she did her job and that she did it well. If popularity was not part of the deal, she could not give a flying fuck.

"I can't believe I am giving this to you on a silver platter instead of a fucking warning. Both of you pack your bags and get off my ship. You two clowns are going to Top Gun."

The shock was evident on her face and although she did not think Wookiee was a man to pull a prank like this on his crew, she needed to make sure she had heard him right.

"What about Sunrise, Sir? I thought he was going?" Emma could not help but ask despite the fact that the only words ringing in her head were "Top Gun" and she found it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

Wookiee sat back down behind his desk, once again putting some distance between him and his men.

"Was. WAS going to Top Gun. Now, you are. Sunrise lost it. He knows it. I know it. You were up there Swan, you know it too. Something about a wife and kid. Sunrise and Chicago were number one. You idiots were number two. Sunrise crashed out and turned his wings, you're number one and that's all there is to it. It may just do you good, who knows. I know it'll do me good, having you out of my sight for eight weeks. Now get the fuck out, you can tell me about the MiG another time. That's all."

Having been dismissed and still shocked by both Sunrise's quitting and the news Wookiee had sprung on them, Emma and August snapped off a salute and did an about face before reaching for the door handle.

"Swan?" the skipper called back.

"Yes Sir?"

"Good luck" Caulfield softened.

Facts: Strike Fighter Squadron 2 (VFA-2) also known as the "Bounty Hunters" is a real United States Navy F/A-18F Super Hornet strike fighter squadron based at Naval Air Station Lemoore, California. The Bounty Hunters are attached to Carrier Air Wing 2 (CVW-2) that deploy aboard the Ronald Reagan.

Fiction: MiG-34s don't exist.