All was quiet on a rather dusty Arizona morning; a dust storm had blown through the Air Force Base just the last night, sneaking in all the cracks on the hangar doors and unsecured windows. This was the beginning of the monsoon season, and the beginning of training a whole new set of recruits, for Jake Wingston anyways. It was about 4 in the morning, he wasn't sure exactly when, but it was still dark outside. He was used to being up this early on a regular basis. Since his crash in 1979, he'd been assigned to training most of the new planes that came through Luke Air Force Base, sometimes whole squadrons, sometimes only one or two. This group was different, however. One of them was an experiment, like he was. Still unsure of his name, he'd been told he'd be able to identify the aircraft by his red tails.
This group, according to the paperwork, were all destined to refresh the Jolly Wrenches' fleet, all F-18s of the same production year. All of them were named after the phonetic alphabet; some were their actual names, but others only used them as call signs, their actual names still alphabetical with the rest either way. Why'd they skip G, H, U and W? he wondered, quickly realizing Golf, Hotel, Uniform and Whiskey weren't the best even as call signs. That meant that there were 21 recruits, 22 counting the experimental plane… one of the largest groups he's ever taught. He quietly exited the hangar, sure to not disturb his daughter; she managed to sleep in most days, even with all the drills going on so early in the morning.
The air was almost suffocating, dust still hanging in the air from the last night, but a slight hint of humidity and clouds overhood teased at the idea of rain. Of course, this didn't necessarily mean rain, but it was a hope; new recruits needed the clear skies the base offered most of the time. He glanced at a clock on the outside of one of the buildings, reading it as five minutes before 5. Slowly but surely, the large hangar adjacent to the runway opened up, two or three of the planes inside exiting rather groggily, none of them with red tails. He watched as the rest followed suit, most leaving the hangar with a groggy look in their eyes, but still no red tails. One minute before five, and he counted the planes present on the runway, realizing that he was missing almost a third of the total number. Now annoyed, he went into the large hangar, door propped open to find the missing planes still asleep, having moved to avoid the very pale sunlight. "GOOD MORNING! You're LATE!" he practically yelled, startling the sleeping planes and getting them to go out to the runway. Every time, he admitted, it was still fun. Sure enough, one of the first ones to pass him had red tails, but he decided that it didn't matter as of yet.
He followed the last couple planes out to the runway, deciding to make this day much harder than originally planned. "Alright," he began, "Now that you've had your chance to sleep in," he said with emphasis, making some of the planes wince a little, "I need to make sure you've woken up. 50 laps, around the base," he decided, "As fast as you can, no afterburners. GO!" he called out, making sure all the planes took off before he saw the red-tailed one, looking around awkwardly. "You, too," he added.
The plane instantly looked alert and saluted, "Yes, sir," he replied, taking off quickly and joining the others. Wingston watched him get into the sky, and saw part of what made him different from the others. Four large bars, of some sort, were mounted underneath his wings, sticking out a bit like extra fuel tanks. Wondering what they could be for, he wished for once that they had given him some paperwork on him… even if he hated it for the most part.
It was only a few minutes before the planes were done with their laps and had landed, now looking more awake and incredibly dusty from the air around them. Of course, there'd be rain soon, but until then they'd have to make do. He heard the creaking of a hangar door behind him, but ignored it. Tera couldn't possibly be up yet. Now satisfied with the alertness of his new group of trainees, he went through the phonetic alphabet, each plane responding with a salute when they were called, but he still forgot to see when the red-tailed plane saluted.
In no time, roll had been completed, and Jake was trying to figure out what to do with the group, knowing he couldn't keep them in the air for too long; all of a sudden the whirring of a propeller shot past his nose, and he narrowed his eyes, not saying anything. Tera was up, and flying incredibly close to the ground, as she had a tendency of doing when the air was fogged with dirt like that day. Keeping his professionalism in front of the new group, he quietly radioed for someone to escort her down.
"What was that?" one particularly obnoxious plane had asked, to which he received a glare in an answer.
Tera had enjoyed her morning of sleeping in, but the chorus of jet engines flying around the perimeter of the base was enough to wake anyone up, even her. Now that they were on the ground, she decided to try flying in the less-than-ideal conditions the dust storm had brought. Still using the ground as a gauge for her flight, she found that she could only make it a few feet up before it got too clouded to see correctly. Practicing her techniques for flying low, even if she knew it wasn't used in racing at all, she heard a jet engine catching up to her.
"Tera Wingston please land immediately," an unseen voice said, closing in on her from behind. It was the same F-15 that was practically her handler most days.
"Hi, Steve," she said sarcastically, smiling at the plane, "Pleasant day for flying, isn't it?" she asked sweetly, banking around a corner with ease.
"You practically crashed into your father," he said sternly.
"But I didn't, did I? I'd never," she replied, rolling upside down and continuing to fly.
"Get. Down." Steve told her, flying right by her side and maneuvering to the point where she had to land to avoid hitting him.
"Spoilsport," she muttered, her silver paint diminished with a reddish hue of dirt from being outside.
She taxied away from the runway, now annoyed that she couldn't fly, even with the training group not in the air, and she heard the F-15 touch down behind her and catch up, being somewhat slower than her due to his size; she rolled her eyes. "I'm a grown-up now," she said, "Shouldn't I be able to fly without being yelled at?"
"You're 16," Steve countered, his engine still cooling down from the chase, "And you just about crashed into a whole fleet of recruits."
"I know that much," Tera replied sarcastically, "Not my fault there was a dust storm last night."
The two planes were silent for a moment, listening to Wingston give the planes orders as a single raindrop hit Tera's nose, signaling that a storm was imminent. The rain began to hit some of the concrete, speckling it. "Guess you don't need to chase me again for a while," she quipped, turning to go back to her hangar without another word; however, when she arrived she stood outside, allowing the rain to get most of the dirt off of her, then entering the room, the lights automatically turning on. It was only a couple minutes before she heard the hangar door open again, and she turned to find her father, wet and shivering a little.
"I'm guessing class got cancelled today?" Tera asked somewhat sarcastically, knowing she was in for it anyways.
"22 recruits and you decide to buzz past my nose on the first day?!" he asked, "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I wanted to fly today and a dust storm wasn't going to stop me," she retorted, flicking a towel over to the Have Blue aircraft by picking it up with her prop and spinning it slightly, sending the towel soaring through the air… and hitting him in the middle of the windshield. He tilted to the side to get it off, keeping his composure but visibly annoyed.
"You could have crashed into anyone out there by flying that low," he scolded, more worried about Tera's safety than most of the others. "You can't wreck yourself," he muttered, trying to sound annoyed with his daughter instead of protective.
"You're not worried about the other planes flying around in the dust."
It was true. He wasn't. At least the other planes could get rebuilt should worse come to worse and they run into each other… Tera? She was a mutt of all sorts, her mother being a Nemesis NXT. Of course, he never told her to keep her from searching for the racing plane, but it complicated things even more. She'd probably never be able to fly again if she was too careless one time or if her luck just wasn't in her favor. The scars from his first crash began to ache in memory, the remaining charring on his fuselage covered with paint. He still limited his own flying over 25 years later, afraid that the hydraulic fluid leak that caused his first crash would be the cause of his demise, as well, even if he was promised that it was fixed. The storm began to die off, being short and violent as most monsoons were. "Confined to barracks," he said simply, leaving the hangar as soon as the rain softened to a drizzle, letting out a sigh as soon as he was far enough away that Tera couldn't hear.
The silver plane had reversed a little at her father's sentence, obeying his command and not following him out of the hangar, even with the sky clearing- perfect weather to fly, now. She lowered her nose slightly, her prop touching the ground even with that slight movement. She hated that her father wanted to keep her on the ground all the time. I know what happened who-knows-how-long-ago, she thought bitterly, it doesn't mean the same thing's gonna happen to me. Tera looked around for something to do, but there wasn't much. She instead went to the window, watching the F-18s reassemble in a line, and then move to take off, now practicing something other than flying in circles. One broke formation, seemingly by accident, and soared past the window, making Tera jump a little. "BRAVO!" she heard her father yell over the sound of jet engines, "Get your tail back up there!" he corrected, the plane flying back up into formation with the others. That was odd… she thought, turning away from the window and looking for something else to do for a while. Maybe when training was over for the day, she'd be able to practice again.
A/N: So who is the red-tailed plane? You'll find out soon enough... Yes, there are a LOT of OC's in this, and I'm going to continue to add to that count with the rest of Echo and Bravo's squadron, which is something I'm kinda new to in FanFiction. Oh, and I don't own Echo or Bravo... I think those are the only 2 canon characters in this, but if any others appear, then I don't own them, either. Thanks for reading :)