Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks and a shout-out to DerekMorgansGirlForver for the reviews.
This chapter is based on Bill Engvall's "15 Degrees Off Cool."

Chapter 4-Earning His Wings

Rick's proud resolve shattered in a split second as the screaming jet slammed him back against the comfortable seat. The force of the takeoff pinned him down and rendered him barely able to breathe. The world flew past him in a blur and then disappeared in an instant as Widowmaker executed a steep combat takeoff.

No sooner did he see nothing but blue sky and Widowmaker's swaying helmet than did Rick feel his whole world bank to the left and then into a shrill barrel roll over the Atlantic Ocean. He couldn't hear himself scream. He was sure his insides were probably still on the runway of Homestead Air Force Base. His eyes were likely in the back of his skull by now.

Worse than that, Widowmaker seemed to have a Jekyll-and-Hyde personality and, once that fighter jet had gone airborne, he went from nonchalant, weathered pilot to homicidal lunatic, Rick thought. The battle-hardened pilot seemed obsessed with pushing that aircraft to its absolute limits, determined to suffocate him, strangle him, squash him like a bug in the name of personal amusement.

"How you doing back there, Sergeant? I didn't scare you, did I?" Widowmaker asked with a smile in his voice.

The IAB agent had completely forgotten all his glory and, now that he caught his breath, unleashed a torrent of profanity into the radio about Widowmaker, his intelligence level, and flying in general.

"Great. Sounds like you're okay back there" he answered when his passenger finally stopped cursing. "We're over the Atlantic right now, about fifteen miles off the coast. I'll do an inverted dive so you can get a good look."

Immediately Rick felt his insides flattened yet again as the jet flipped and plummeted, screaming louder than he did as all he could see was water that seemed to come ever closer by the second. At the last possible moment he saw nothing but blue ocean for what seemed mere feet under his head outside of the cockpit before Widowmaker rolled the jet over again.

"Beautiful, ain't it? I'm gonna take us back up again. Hey, we're getting a little too close to Cuban air space. The Brass doesn't like that too much. Hang on."

Yet again Rick felt his face compressed against the seat as the jet shrieked upward again while Widowmaker eased back on the accelerator. He could see nothing but blue sky ahead of him.

"Just like a rollercoaster, huh Seargeant? How about I show you some combat maneuvers. You up to this?"

"Uh, that's okay…." Rick said in a trembling voice. He could feel his stomach tighten. "I feel sick."

"Oh hey, grab one of those bags by your leg. Don't worry, almost everybody pukes their first time. You're not used to this. Hey, I once had this Senator in the back, a real Momma's Boy. Got him in a couple of negative-G dives, and he was puking like a maniac! God, I love this job! Hang on!"

Widowmaker then let out an adrenaline-induced howl over the radio as he executed a Split-S maneuver and banked around into a spiraling Thatch Weave. At that point it was hard to tell what screamed louder—the jet engine, the pilot, or its weak, quaking, terrified passenger. He then laughed. "Used that one to dodge a couple of Stingrays in the Gulf a few years ago. Works great!"

Rick caught his breath and began to regain his orientation. He finally had to admit that, on a deeper level, he really enjoyed the adrenaline rush and the power of the screaming jets every time Widowmaker took him on a steep climb.

"I'm gonna buzz that cruise ship down there!" Widowmaker said with a smile in his voice.

"Is that legal?" Rick said weakly.

"I don't know, but it's sure as hell fun!"

Before Rick could render an objection, he found himself once more plastered head to toe to the seat, plummeting toward a cruise ship, yanked up again, joining in a chorus of screams.

"Okay Sergeant, now I'm gonna take you in a 5G climb for thirty seconds. You ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" he said with a trembling voice.

"You can do it. You're gonna feel really heavy. You gotta breathe. "Here we go."

Rick thought he had been flattened against the seat before, but now the pressure of the climb paralyzed him all the more. Breathing had never been such a chore. Widowmaker now strangely took on the role of concerned, coaching leader as he told his passenger to breathe in and breathe out every second over the screaming jets. Widowmaker called off times and told him to keep breathing. Rick tightly closed his eyes and had no choice but to push breath in and out against the force of gravity.

I wonder if this qualifies as being killed in the line of duty. I'm sorry for what I did to Yelina. If I get out of this alive, I'll be nice to Horatio. The last minutes of my life are stuck with this nut who keeps talking about puking. Maybe I should've let Horatio do this instead. I gotta get to a bathroom!

After what seemed a lifetime, he felt himself breathe more easily as the jet leveled off.

"That's it, Sergeant. You did it! That was a 5G climb for thirty seconds! Only a handful of fighter pilots have ever done that. Surprise you how many of them chicken out."

The IAB agent could only breathe a sigh of relief as the fighter jet slowed and came in for final approach to the Homestead Air Base runway. Those landing lights were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He took breaths as deep as he could hold and let them out. He was weak, trembling, sweating. He had a tightness in his chest, and his head pounded angrily.

Out on the broiling tarmac, Erica Sykes rushed forward to the stopped F14, repeatedly nudging Tyler out of the way. Tyler was sweating, tired, and getting frustrated by the minute. "Excuse me" she said to him curtly. "Just stay out of my way, okay?"

As the cockpit hatch opened, two flight crew attendants unstrapped Rick and picked him up by each arm. He was not ashamed to admit that he had trouble standing on his own by this time as they brought him down the ladder and pried his helmet off.

Erica positioned herself right by the wrung-out, quaking IAB agent. "This is Erica Sykes for CVS here in Miami, and Sergeant Rick Stetler has just returned from his historic flight with one of the Navy's best fighter pilots. You're gonna hear it first right here!" She then rushed up to the shaky, glazed-over sergeant, thrusting her microphone into his face. "Sergeant Stetler. All of Miami is watching. Tell us about the flight in your own words!"

He opened his mouth and hunched over slightly.

HUEAAAAAAH!

His lunch flew out of his mouth and sprayed her hair, jacket and microphone. Dripping, she shrieked and backed up, trying to shake herself off. All professionalism was lost.

Rick could barely stand up on his own strength and was not quite coherent enough to realize what he had done. The flight crew quickly took him by each arm and hustled him back to the hangar.

In a split second, Tyler, who had captured the entire event, dropped to his knees in fits of laughter. Erica whipped around and put up her hand over the lens. "Turn that damned camera off!" she nearly screamed. He knew from experience to obey her or suffer the consequences. Holding her dripping mike, she hunched her shoulders to conceal herself and hurried out of view.

As she quickly exited the tarmac, the crime lab stood up and applauded.

"I think this was even better" Ryan said to Horatio over the noise.

"I would agree, Mr. Wolfe."

Back in the hangar, Mac made no effort to keep her military bearing. "Tell me he didn't just throw up on that reporter!"

Emmie covered her mouth, fell against the wall and sunk to the concrete floor. After a few minutes she caught her breath. "He finally did something right!"