Superstition
It's a blistering hot July day in the Arabian Gulf. A row of grey F/A-18F aircraft sit on the flight deck of the USS Nimitz, about half of them occupied as they prepare for take-off. Various ground crew surround the planes, completing their final pre-flight engineering checks. Inside the cockpit of one such F/A-18, Lieutenant Junior Grade Logan Echolls is carrying out his own pre-flight checks, his finger running down the laminated card as he reaches out and flips and turns the various switches and knobs surrounding him. Cosmo, his WSO, is situated in the second seat behind him, making sure the flight weapon's system is working correctly before they launch.
"You about ready to go, Mouth?" Cosmo's voice floats through Logan's headset a moment later.
"Yeah, in a second," Logan says, then lifts the microphone away from his face.
He returns the pre-flight checklist to its compartment to his right, before pulling a slightly crumpled photo from his left-breast pocket. He smooths the photo out, tracing it with his thumb as he looks down at it with a soft smile, before bringing it to his lips and kissing Veronica's smiling face. Logan slides the photo back into his pocket and closes the zip, then pats it, his hand over his heart.
"Wish me luck," he murmurs, before pulling his microphone back to his mouth and addressing Cosmo. "Right, let's get this baby up in the air."
As the jet taxis across the flight deck and gets into position ready for the catapult release, Logan pats his chest one more time. Just for luck.
Okay, so carrying Veronica's picture with him all the time might seem kinda stupid, given that he hasn't seen her in eight years and probably never will see her again, but this particular photo has been his good luck charm since he was nineteen. It's got him through the worst of the bad times, through the best and worst of OCS and flight training, and now it gets him through each and every one of his operational missions.
Every pilot has their particular pre-flight superstition, and this one is his.