Glossary:

CO: Commanding Officer

RO: Range control

ROC: Range Operations Center

RCO: Range control officer

RCSO: Range Control Safety Officer

SDO: Squadron Duty Officer (A rotational duty that can be performed by Warrant Officers, such as Hondo).

JP-8: A type of fuel used in fighter jets.

Inert bomb: non-explosive bomb for practice.

Note #1: In a desperate effort to give Maverick a reason to be in his dress whites (which the film didn't provide) I picked something that seemed logical to me, but probably isn't realistic.

Note #2, Fun fact: The type of laser guided bombs they would have used in the film (GBU24, a BLU 109 Warhead) have to be laser guided all the way down to the target—no "set it and forget it" here—which is why Bob and Maverick are still watching the screens when they pop up, all the while trying to not black out—they're still guiding the missles in.

……

Bob passed a mug to Natasha as she approached the Ready Room coffee station.

"Here you go."

She wasn't fully awake just yet so she stupidly blinked at the mug for a few seconds.

"Three creams, two sugars, right?"

Her mind finally booted up. "Oh. Yeah. Thanks."

"Looks like you need it."

"Mm-hm." She yawned then sniffed at the cup. "Mm. I love the smell of jet fuel in the morning." She took a sip, then grimaced and smacked her lips. "Ugh. I might need a fourth cream."

Bob grinned wryly and passed her another tiny tub of half-and-half from the bowl. "It is a bit more jet fuel-y than usual."

"What? You don't like two pumps of JP-8 in your morning joe?" Ribbed Hangman from his seat. He was drinking his black.

As Natasha and Bob made their way down the aisle to their usual seats, Bob looked around the Ready Room. "Maverick's not here yet," he commented. Natasha frowned and looked around too.

"That's unusual."

"Did you guys run into Mav on your way here?" Rooster asked as they passed his seat.

"No," Natasha replied.

"So you haven't seen him either?" Bob reiterated out loud.

Rooster gave Bob a long-suffering look. "I wouldn't be asking if I had."

Natasha raised an admonishing eyebrow. "Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine."

The moment they settled into their seats Warrant Officer Hondo, acting as Squad Duty Officer, stood up from behind the SDO desk and declared, "Commander on deck!"

They all rose as one and stood at attention, but it wasn't Maverick taking the podium, but the Airboss, and he did not give them a chance to ask why.

"Captain Mitchell is no longer your instructor, and as of today there are new mission parameters."

Natasha exchanged surprised looks with Bob. She heard Rooster shifting in the seat behind her.

"Time to target is now four minutes. You'll be entering the valley level, at reduced speed, not to exceed 420 knots."

Bob glanced at her with a look of concern and disbelief that she mirrored. He immediately spoke up. "Sir, won't we be giving their planes time to intercept?"

"Well, Lieutenant, you have a fighting chance against enemy aircraft. What are the chances of you surviving a head-on collision with a mountain?"

Bob lowered his gaze and pushed up his glasses. Natasha felt her stomach clench. She forced a deep breath, willing the tension in her chest to loosen and her heart rate to slow.

"You'll be attacking the target from a higher altitude, level with the north wall," Cyclone continued. "It will be a little harder to keep your laser on target, but you will avoid the high-G climb out."

Bob leaned toward Natasha. "It's a hard enough target as it is!" He hissed. He then opened his pocket notebook and, resting it on his knee, began to scribble calculations.

Fanboy murmured to Payback something about sitting ducks.

One could practically feel the unease rippling through the room. They all wanted to say something, but were not as bold as Bob to openly question Cyclone, even though, within the context of a mission brief, they were allowed.

The display suddenly locked on the signature of a plane heading toward the course. The indicator beeped. Natasha heard Rooster shift in his seat again.

Cyclone whipped around to look at the display. "Who the hell is that?"

A familiar voice crackled over the radio: "Maverick to Range Control, entering point alpha. Confirm green range for Bravo 20."

A very confused RCO came back. "Uh … Maverick, Range Control. Uh … green range is confirmed … uh, I don't see an event scheduled for you, sir, at Bravo 20." Natasha could almost hear the frantic page flipping on range control's end.

"Well … I'm going anyway."

"Nice …" She murmured, an admiring smile lifting the corners of her thin red lips.

The phone at the SDO's desk went off. Hondo picked it up but Natasha couldn't hear what kind of story he was trying to weave to cover Maverick's butt. Hondo was probably the one who helped pull this together.

"Setting time to target: two minutes, fifteen seconds."

"2:15–that's impossible …" said Payback.

No one else said a word, just tensely watched the screen and listened to the radio reports between Maverick and RC.

"Final attack point. Maverick's inbound."

Maverick throttled up, inverted, then dove. The clock started.

The muscles of every aviator in the room tensed as their bodies wanted to move in sync with the display as they watched the plane do the course they had done themselves dozens of times. Natasha could feel herself leaning slightly as Maverick banked back and forth through the simulated canyon, flying the knife's edge.

He reached the low level flying portion, the steep climb was coming.

"Popping, 3-2-1–"

Maverick skirted the lip of the virtual mountain then went into the inverted dive.

Bob was transfixed as the F-18 model closed distance with the target, his gaze flicking between the virtual course display and the view through Maverick's helmet and cockpit cams. The target slid into the crosshairs. Bob's fingers itched as he vicariously felt the laser control.

The two inert GBU-24 were released.

"Bombs away."

Maverick popped again.

Come on, Mav, hold the laser …

A breath. Two.

8.5G's.

9.0G's.

Bob rose to his feet.

9.5G's. 10.0G's.

The center of the bullseye exploded and Maverick went over "coffin corner".

He leveled.

02:15:00

Coyote leapt his feet along with the rest of the squadron. "Bullseye! Holy shit!"

Hangman was not at a complete loss for words—although all he could manage was, "Damn."

"He did it," Bob murmured, his face aglow with admiration. "In a single seater, he did it!" He yelled over the excited chatter of the room. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Golly."

Natasha twisted in her seat to look at Rooster. His expression was unreadable.

Bob grabbed his notebook and moved to look at the display and started taking down the data coming in from the flight computer. "Wow. Even with the extra drag and weight from the ordinance he made the time …" Bob then slowly remembered Cyclone was still standing there. Cyclone, in a worse mood than before, just stared at the WSO.

Bob gave him an apologetic look and then returned to his seat. There he excitedly relayed the information to Natasha. He pinned her with an eager and determined look when he finished. "If he can do it in his single-seater, we can do it!"

Natasha felt herself smiling in return as her doubt bled away.

Bob suddenly leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. "Do you think he's going to come back for a debrief?" An impish grin crossed his lips. "I'd love to see that."

"Yeah," Natasha chuckled softly. But then her smile fell as she observed Cyclone's stormy face. She bit her lip.

If he comes back at all …

…..

It was with surprise and, honestly, immense relief that the Squadron learned of Maverick being appointed flight lead on the mission. Hangman was the only one disappointed by the news.

In a few hours they would be flying out of Fallon to return to North Island. From there they would be taking off to meet the carrier the next morning.

……

Natasha ran her hands along the replacement F/A-18F as she performed her walk around.

Although the plane captain had already "dived the ducts", checking for foreign objects, Natasha's hands stopped at the lip of the intake and she stared down the dark, tubular opening.

"I can't control it …"

Pinpricks of anxiety crawled up the back of her neck and fizzed in her brain. The dry Nevada desert wind cooled the sweat forming on her upper lip.

Natasha suddenly sensed a solid pressure at the small of her back. She turned her head to see Bob standing beside her.

"God's got this." He said simply. He gave her one of his easy smiles, removed his hand, then climbed up the ladder.

Natasha blinked.

His touch and then his words seemed to restore equilibrium to her world.

Not "you've got this" or "we've got this" but God's got this. Who talked like that anymore? Her lips tilted up as she felt some of the pressure slip from her shoulders.

Only Bob.

…..

"At 16:00 all officers and enlisted will assemble in the hangar in their dress whites for the change of command ceremony."

The announcement had come within just half an hour of their landing back at NAS North Island. They knew there would have been one soon since Admiral Kazansky's passing, but not this soon. Halo surmised the upcoming mission had something to do with it. The Navy wanted a new admiral of the fleet installed before the mission and not have it happening under an acting admiral. There was not even time to get the Secretary of Defense flown in, which was customary at this level of change.

Natasha chose the skirt version of her dress whites. She was probably going to get leg comments again, but she did not care. She was rather proud of them ...

It was funny … she had always been a bit of a tomboy growing up, but once she entered the Navy and spent the majority of her time in trousers she found that, whenever the chance came, she purposely dressed as feminine as she could. It was like recharging her estrogen levels after being around all the testosterone.

Chairs were set up in the hangar much like their introduction briefing with Maverick, but with the addition of a dais in front of the suspended flag.

The rest of the special squadron and the NAS personnel not on duty arrived promptly at 15:00. Natasha spotted Bob seated a couple rows back from the front. His dress whites actually suited him more than his dress blues—they complimented his blonde coloring.

Bob did not acknowledge her when she sat down next to him. He was staring at the dais, his arms folded, his right leg bouncing, his mind clearly miles away.

"Hey, Bob."

Bob flinched in surprise. "Oh! Hey, Phoenix …"

"You look very handsome in your dress whites."

Bob blinked and blushed. "Oh, uh, thanks … y-you, too."

Phoenix cocked an eyebrow and tried not to grin. "I look handsome in my dress whites?"

Bob's eyes widened. "N-no! You look pretty! Well, maybe not pretty, beautiful, no, sorry, that's too much. Nice. You look nice—very nice."

Natasha could no longer hold back the amused grin that then widened into a full smile and a laugh.

"Thanks."

Bob went even redder, but a smile also came to his face and he seemed to relax slightly. Good.

She got his mind off the mission, even if just for a moment.

Natasha leaned forward to look around Bob at the rest of the squadron sitting in the row. They smiled and chatted but Natasha could see and feel for herself the undercurrent of nerves.

"Hard Deck tonight after the ceremony?" Coyote asked over the chatter. All agreed. One last drink together would be nice.

Halo, who had taken a seat next to Natasha lightly elbowed her.

"Look at Captain Mitchell in his dress whites!" She gave a low whistle.

Natasha turned her attention to the dais to see Maverick taking his seat with the other CO's. Natasha whistled herself. He looked the best of all of them.

The voice of the officer acting as emcee suddenly rang out and brought everyone else's attention forward: "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise. Bandmaster, sound attention. Time orderly, strike eight bells …"

……

Officers descended on the Hard Deck in a wave of white. The squadron played loud and hard. If this was someone's last drink, they were going to remember it—or not remember it as the case may be …

"Remember, 0600 call time," Maverick yelled over their din. "So don't go too hard!"

"Thanks, Dad," Hangman said, lifting his beer to Captain Mitchell.

Maverick rolled his eyes with a smile then turned to make his way to the bar and Penny.

The squad clustered off, some to the pool table, some to the dart board and some to an aggressive game of Egyptian Ratscrew already in progress at a table.

"Hey, Bob, I found your song!" Hangman yelled from the jukebox. Bob glanced up from the card game with a curious frown. He listened as he tried to also focus on the game, and it didn't take him long to recognize "Hip to Be Square" by Huey Lewis & the News.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Bob said flatly but the corners of mouth were tilted up and he shook his head.

Hangman flashed him his trademark obnoxious smile. "I knew you'd like that."

"And we'll do your song next," Rooster said, sidling up to the jukebox, beer in hand. "Do they have 'You're So Vain'?"

Hangman rolled his eyes. "HI-larious. I'll play the 'Chicken Dance' for you next."

Back at the card game it was down to three. Payback nearly got his hand slapped by Bob, who was raking the cards in.

"Dang, Bob," Natasha, playing on his left, commented with a teasing smirk. "Your reaction time seems to be just fine."

Bob gave her an unamused look. "There's a big difference between card game fast and fighter pilot fast."

Natasha put her last card down and it made a "sandwich". Natasha reacted too late and Payback slapped it first.

Natasha groaned. "I'm out." She got up out of her chair and stretched.

"Ooh, it's just you and me now, Bob," Payback said with an eager grin. Otherwise unoccupied squad members clustered around the game.

"Get him, Bob, for WSO's everywhere!" Fanboy exclaimed.

"3-2-1," began Payback.

"Fight's on!" They all said together.

Natasha ambled back to the bar and frowned slightly when she saw Penny's help, the older gentleman, there instead. She glanced around. Maverick was missing too. A flash of white through the beach-facing windows caught her eye. She went towards them and looked out.

Maverick and Penny were outside on the beach. Maverick was holding her tightly in his arms. Natasha could see Penny's face over his shoulder; her eyes reflecting the bar porch lights, shining with tears.

Natasha shivered despite the warmth of the bar and wrapped her arms around herself. She remembered her own family's tears when she left for her first carrier deployment. Servicemen and women were not the only ones sacrificing something.

Natasha was not sure how long she had been staring like a voyeur when Rooster approached. He stood beside her and looked out as well. A few moments passed and then he spoke:

"We need to talk," he said quietly.