There is nothing else in the world like being launched off an aircraft carrier in a top of the line fighter aircraft.
Rooster goes through his checklist in the brief stillness of his cockpit as the organized chaos rages on just outside his canopy. One of the yellow vested guys outside gives him the engine start signal. He puts his helmet on and the reduced noise level joins the stillness.
There is a feeling of relaxed focused effeciency on the surface, with a tense, hasty excitement to be underway just beneath.
The green shirts come up and hook the aircraft to the catapult. The yellow shirt makes the signal for chocks and chains removed.
He gives a thumbs up.
Here we go. Rooster issues a thumbs up and salute.
He can just see the shooter off to the side giving the signal to launch.
He lights the afterburner then removes his hands from all control surfaces.
The rumbling roar of the engine and afterburners fills his ears, even through the headset.
The world blurs into motion as pressure pushes him back in his seat. When he first started flying, it felt uncomfortable. But now, the G Forces of cat launch are like a greeting to him from an old friend.
The force presses from another angle as the aircraft lifts from the deck and sprints for the sky.
After about 400 feet, he takes the stick and rolls left to get out of the carrier pattern.
At 1500 feet, the tower radios him to proceed to 10,000 feet and gives him a heading to follow.
He sees Giant's aircraft off to his right and joins them in formation. Crapshoot moves into place on his left.
"Hey Giant, if you need some help seeing over the panel, let me know. I can set up a live go pro feed for you." Crapshoot jokes.
"With your luck, 'Shoot? No thank you. I'd be likely to start flying backwards." The little man laughs.
"Fellas, we've got a mission to fly here. You can flirt when we get back to the carrier." Rooster deadpans.
"What am I? The third wheel?" Dwarf interjects.
"Nah man, you can be my wingman." Rooster grins at the WSO from his window.
"Very funny." Is his sarcastic reply.
The next hour over the ocean is uneventful and radio silence is maintained.
Nothing appears to be amiss, other than a bogey that turns out to be a large bunch of standard dollar store balloons drifting from one of the islands nearby. Based on the range of colors, it appears to be from a children's event of some kind.
Rooster floats up to Crapshoot and gives him "the signal". Fight's on!
They peel up and out of formation as some aircraft leave to land or refuel, depending on their orders.
When he reaches 15,000 feet, he rolls the world on it's side until his instruments tell him he's lined up with Crapshoot's plane on the horizon.
He throttles up and races the clouds until he meets 'Shoot nose to nose, turning at just the last second to avoid a collision.
The world rolls again as he banks right to meet with 'Shoot again, setting his targeting system to look for the other F18.
'Shoot is already above and behind him and screaming down nose first at an angle towards his canopy.
Rooster rolls left, nosing down. He lets himself lose enough altitude to skim a bare 500 feet above the ocean. When 'Shoot tries to join him there, he lights it up again and hides in a nearby cumulus cloud. He watches the other aircraft on his instruments and when he sees it, he lifts his nose just a bit to come up out of the cloud and then almost immediately dives into the next one.
He keeps the hide and seek peekaboo going for a bit, until 'Shoot disappears off his instruments.
"Where'd you go?" He asks, coming out of the clouds and looking around. He tries changing the range on his instruments. No luck.
"Crapshoot, where are you man? You're not on my instruments!" A blast of static greets him.
"Uh oh." He goes up to 10,000 and starts a search pattern.
Suddenly his missile lock alarm goes off.
"Miss me?" Crapshoot laughs. Rooster checks his instrumentation and sure enough, the other plane shows up, clear as day.
"That was uncalled for!" He snaps.
"Expect the unexpected." Crapshoot drifts up alongside him for the flight back to the carrier.
"No jammers in a hassle!"
"I'm pretty sure nobody ever made that rule."
"It's too dangerous for exercises."
"Well, technically, they banned hassling too. But here we are. And if I recall correctly, you initiated this particular situation."
"Then you end it." Rooster repeats what Mom used to say when he was getting teased on the playground as a child.
"I did. You're dead."
Rooster glares at him through the canopy. Crapshoot grins and waves at him.
Rooster lines up with the carrier and slows his speed.
"War Party 516, on glide path, on course, one mile, call the ball." Comes the message over his radio.
"War Party 516, Rhino, 2.9." He calls back.
"Roger ball, Rhino."
The little carrier bobbing on the ocean quickly becomes the towering behemoth that it is.
Rooster feels the flight turn ultra smooth and throttles down the engine to reduce the large ground effect caused by the carrier's forward motion.
He feels the wheels thump on the deck and throttles up and lights the afterburners.
The resulting force of the sudden stop throws him against his harness and then all is still. He powers everything down, and when he's sure everything is off he pops open the canopy and walks briskly away from the aircraft as the ground team rushes to clear it from the runway.
"We got some new additions while we were out!" Crapshoot announces when he gets back to their quarters. "Come on!"
"Seriously?! Your callsign is just your last name?!" Dwarf looks almost jealous as they round the corner to their door.
"What can I say? I'm a boring old guy. Used to be a cook on a submarine." The forty-something tank sized man shrugs.
"How in the world did you go from that to flying?!"
"Careful kid. You'll give yerself hiccups if you keep asking all yer questions in italics and exclamations." The man calmly continues to unpack as this conversation unfolds.
"How did you end up an aviator, sir?" Giant asks, his expression more like the older man's.
"The Navy decided they needed one. And I had requested to leave the submarine life. I like to be able to go topside for fresh air. And I'm not used to silence." He turns to look at them all.
"I'm Rooster. And this is Crapshoot. You've met Giant and Dwarf. Good to have you aboard. Sir." He reaches for a handshake.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Bill Cooke. Callsign: Cook." He grins as he accepts the handshake and for an instant looks just as young as they are.
"I just got in from a flight. Was about to go grab a bite. Want to join me?"
"Got nothin' else to do."
They head for the Dirty Shirt mess.
"Where are you from?" Rooster asks, over chicken and peas.
"West Virginia." The accent could have given that away. "Coal country."
"What got you flying in the Navy?"
"Mine shut down after a dam broke and flooded it. Company decided it was too expensive to pump all that water out when they had two perfectly good mines in other states. I lost my job and my home. So, I joined the Armed Forces. Most of the other guys in town joined Army, so I joined Navy." He shrugs. "Good life so far. Found out I'm not cut out for submarines though. I did one tour like that and found I couldn't take the silence. I'm used to machine noise."
"You'll get a lot of it here sleeping under the flight deck." Crapshoot says, glancing over at the landing scoreboard on the wall.
"Oh, I know. I been doin' this fer a while now. I joined up fifteen years ago."
"Were you really the cook?" Dwarf asks, staring at the guy's flight suit.
"Yep. When I applied to transfer to something, anything other than submarines, the Navy needed aviators. They saw my ASVAB scores and grades from school, sent me off the college and flight school and twelve years later, here I am."
"So, you didn't even try to get into flight school?!" Crapshoot asks.
"Nope. I didn't even know that's where I was goin' 'til I got there. Gettin' through flight school though," He lets out a huff. "That wasn't so easy. Once we got to aerobatics, I was about ready to pack it up and go back to the submarine. Made it though."
"That sounds like something that could've happened to me." Crapshoot says.
"The military is like a Roulette wheel. Never know where you'll end up." He shakes his head, smiling. "Not much different from life."
"And you're last name is actually your callsign?" Giant asks.
"I knew a guy who's first name was his callsign. It was Bob." Rooster interjects.
"Bob?!"
"Uh huh. So there are crazier things out there."
"How in the world do you get through flight school without a callsign?!" Crapshoot asks.
"I never did get to ask. We were sort of busy at the time. Only knew him for a few weeks. Nice guy though."
The best stories always happen to be the ones you can't tell.
"I have to get back to the flight deck. I have another flight today." Rooster excuses himself. Cook goes with him, saying he's got a flight as well.
They are tasked with taking the second leg of an escort to some ships carrying military cargo to the Phillipine Islands.
It's a quiet enough flight.
Right up until it's not.
"Hey Cook, you seeing those bogies on instruments?" Rooster calls over the radio, aborting his turn back to base and ascending rapidly to catch up to the older aviator.
"Yeah, I see 'em. Closing fast too. They know we're here." His jet drifts into a tight two man formation with Rooster, off his starboard side.
"Wait and see?"
"It's all we can do."
Rooster growls internally at the beaurucrats.
Soon, he can see them on the horizon. MiG 29 Fulcrums. Closing fast.
They are still over international waters, barely.
"We do not wanna get in a fight with them." Cook says.
"Yeah, I know it." Rooster agrees.
"Nimitz, War Party 218, 3 bandits at angels 10 heading southwest, requesting orders." Cook radios the carrier.
"War Party 218, Nimitz, do not engage. Repeat, do not engage." Comes the reply.
"Ten four."
They roll left and start heading for home.
The sky is peach colored with the setting sun, and Rooster wishes he could weave around the clouds, maybe dive down for a look at a passing pod of whales. He glances at his fuel gauge and debates on going up for a small refuel just in case, but decides he's alright for a try or two at landing.
He's in the middle of deciding if he wants to go to Dirty Shirt Mess again for dinner or dress up in Uniform of the Day to get a good steak in the Officer's Wardroom, when his thought is cut off by a high pitch tone of missile lock.
"Rooster! Break left!" Cook shouts as he breaks right.
The bandits are on them in less than a second, and the sunset sky is suddenly filled with flares as the aircraft fight for a foothold in the clouds.
A missile just misses Rooster's seven'o'clock and he can't see Cook anywhere!
The bandits disappear from visual, but are still coming back around for another pass on instruments.
"Cook! Where are you, man?!" Rooster calls.
"Right below you, at 200 feet. I'm outta missiles. You?"
"I've got one left. Those bandits are on their way back!"
"Yeah, I see 'em. What's your fuel look like?"
"Low fuel. Not enough to land now. Used a bit too much afterburner."
"I got enough fer another round. Better head back up to the tanker. I'll see if I can draw 'em off ya." The man's voice sounds like this is all just a Sunday picnic at the park.
"Roger. I'll come back for you!" Rooster starts the climb and heads northwest.
He watches the bandits closing on Cook until everything is far enough behind him that it all falls off the instruments.
The tanker jet looms ahead, a silhouette against a darkening sky. The boom reaches out to meet him. He takes a deep breath of relief as he manages to hook up for the space of a second and a half. Just enough to check in on Cook and get back home.
He descends back into the thick of the fight. He fires his guns twice, but misses.
The MiG's are a bit faster, and about as maneuverable as the Hornets. One of them is all over Cook, another is still pursuing Rooster, and the third seems to be flying perimeter and firing his guns every so often.
"I'm outta flares!" Cook shouts, the first time during the whole exchange that the older man's voice has escalated at all.
"I got you covered!" Rooster throws out some flares and fires his guns ahead of one of the enemy aircraft.
It starts smoking, but is still in the fight.
"Need some help up here, gents?" Asks Giant, as he and Dwarf's jet comes bounding into the fray.
"We could use a little." Cook replies, disappearing over the horizon. He's just starting to bank for the carrier when he gets far enough to drop off the instruments.
"No worries, Baby Chick, Easter's almost over. Mama Hen can't wait to see you again." Dwarf laughs.
Rooster launches his final missile towards the struggling Fulcrum and it explodes under a half mile from him, glowing like a night light in the sky.
He loops abruptly to avoid it and the g force shoves him into his seat.
"Splash one!" He declares.
"Splash two!" Giant announces on his tail.
"Bandit three is going home!" Dwarf reports.
They drift together and start heading back to the carrier.
"Not a bad day's work, folks. Beer's are on me." Giant pretends to tip his hat in Rooster's direction.
It feels good to land on the carrier that night, although he's sure not looking forward to the debrief, which will likely take at least an hour.
When he goes to debrief though, he's shocked to see the face of the squadron commander pale as he listens to a radio broadcast.
"Those bandits weren't the only ones in the sky." He says, quietly.
"Sir?"
"There's been an invasion of the Peninsula."
"An invasion? Are they certain it's not just another dust up?" Giant asks.
"They're sure. We're at war. A big one. Giant, I want you and Crapshoot on Alert 15. Grab a snack and get back on it. The rest of your flight will meet you in the ready room. Rooster, Cook, I want a written report of your encounter with those MiGs, and I want it in one hour. Dismissed!"
Rooster's ears are ringing as he hurries through the halls to the office. At war?! With who?! Why now? He'd known things were tense, but they were always tense.
Somebody would fly into someone else's airspace, maybe take a pot shot or two and then be escorted back. If the media heard about it, everybody would talk about it for a minute and then everything would go back down. That's how it had been for a few years now anyway.
He quickly writes everything he can remember from the flight and files the report and goes to the Dirty Shirt mess to see if he find someone who knows more about what's going on.
"There were MiGs all over the place! We were getting swarmed!" A young guy is saying, waving his arms around as Rooster enters.
"Did you see bombers? Tanks? Anything?" A young auburn haired woman asks, her fork stopped halfway between her plate and mouth. Absently, she sets it down, dinner forgotten.
"No, we were still out over the water. We couldn't even get close. We could hear the soldiers calling up from the fence though. It sounded pretty bad. They were taken completely by surprise." He replies.
Rooster sits and tries to overhear more, but with so many conversations going, it's difficult to make anything out.
"As I live and breathe!" A familiar voice says behind him. "My old buddy from better days!"
Rooster's heart drops.
"Been a while, hasn't it? Back on that perch?" He turns to see Hangman grinning behind him.
"Anyone sitting here?" Hangman gestures to the chair across from him.
He shrugs, hoping the guy will just go away. Hangman doesn't take the hint and gladly pulls up a chair and starts chowing down on his supper.
"Heya Hangman. It's been a few years. How have you been?" Rooster asks, unenthusiasticly.
"I've been good. Very good. Heard you had a tangle up there." He leans back, waiting for a response.
"Did you hear I got a kill?"
"Nope. Heard you might have gotten one."
"You get any last couple years?"
"I got two coming in tonight. You're looking at a real live bona fide ace." He spreads his arms out theatrically. It seems this is what Hangman's been angling to tell him since he first sat down.
"You rehearse that line?" Rooster deadpans.
"Yep. Just for you." He smirks.
"Spare me." Rooster goes back to eating, deliberately ignoring the man across from him, hoping against hope that he will just go away.
"Sure, you can be the spare. I was last time."
When Rooster doesn't respond to the joke about their last flight together, Hangman launches into some stories about some of his missions over the last three years (the ones that are not classified), a truth or dare game that ended wrong, some drunken misadventures, and something about a girl and a county fair in Texas.
Rooster tunes him out as best he can. He's exhausted, so it's not too difficult anyway.
He doesn't even realize that Hangman's voice is still droning on as he winds his way back through the carrier to his and Crapshoot's quarters until he turns down the hallway leading to them.
"Look, Hangman," He ducks out from under the arm that's been draped over his shoulders. "It's been fun, but I had two flights today, and I'm ready to hit the hay. If you need help finding your quarters, there's this little guy named Giant. He can help you when he gets back in from his flight. He's got the whole ship memorized."
"No, I know where I'm bunking. I've been assigned right here with you."
"You've got to be joking." Rooster does his best to not groan.
"Nope." The smirk is renewed as Hangman shakes his head once and the arm goes back over his shoulders steering them down the hall. "I call top bunk."
This day just keeps getting better. He thinks as his stomach drops straight into his shoes.
A/N Okay, so I did not know this when I decided to have Rooster and Hangman sharing a bunk room. But saw in a reaction video on Youtube (Rooster actor reacting to scenes from original Top Gun movie) that for filming on the aircraft carrier, he and Hangman's actor actually did share a bunk room for two weeks during filming. lol! Who would've thought?!
