Prologue
The Setting Sun
Miramar, Fighter Town U.S.A
1986.
Lt. Pete "Mav" Mitchell stared listlessly out the small window of his apartment as the sun dipped low on the California horizon. Grey clouds rolled in, matching his somber mood. It had been six long months since the "Jetwash Incident" that took the life of his Radar Intercept Officer and best friend, Lt. Nick "Goose" Bradshaw.
Every day remained a struggle. Getting out of bed took more will than he had most mornings. His apartment, once filled with laughter and hijinks as he and Goose planned their latest daring aerial maneuvers, now felt empty and lonely. Upon the walls, photos of happier times only served to twist the knife deeper in his grief-stricken heart.
Most nights found Mav at Kansas City Barbeque, nursing glass after glass of water out of some self-punishing instinct. The base shrink had gently but firmly suggested taking time off from flying, perhaps even leaving Top Gun altogether. But flying was all he knew or cared about anymore. Giving it up would mean losing the last tenuous connection to his fallen comrade.
Tonight's graduation ceremony loomed like a black shadow. Another class of elite pilots would move on to fleet assignments while he remained grounded, still chasing ghosts in the skies. A part of him longed to return to the air, yet staying earthbound seemed the only penance for his role in the tragic accident.
A familiar blond figure entering the bar across the street pulled Mav from his reverie. Iceman had tried to patch things up since that fateful day, but their long-standing rivalry ran too deep. Seeing Kazansky now only reopened old wounds of resentment and guilt.
With a grimace, Mav turned from the window and slowly started gathering his dress whites. Graduation was mandatory attendance if he hoped to keep his place on the program. But as always, returning to those skies without Goose would be torture.
Timeskip.
Maverick's eyes snapped open. Crap! the graduation. He looked at the clock, 7:50, the ceremony was at 8:15!
In a flash, he threw off the blanket, Grumbling curses under his breath he rushed to get into his dress whites As he wrestled into the uniform, not caring if they got rumpled, he realized as he buttoned up the brass buttons on his tunic, where were his bike keys? he got into his uniform and laced up his white shoes before spending the next two minutes tearing apart the house in search of his keys. Finally, he found his keys underneath unopened mail and rushed out to where his Kawasaki GPz900R Ninja was parked. All while swearing.
As he got out, he noticed, that Miramar looked, different. There were a lot fewer guys and girls of adult age around, he shrugged chalking it off to early morning routines.
"yo man! cool bike dude!" The voice of a boy snapped him out. Looking up, he saw a young teenage boy looking at his bike appreciatively.
"You a navy pilot" the boy asked.
"Yeah kid."
"Sweet! You got a date or something?"
Mav swung his leg over the Ninja and kicked it to life, the engine roaring smoothly. "Just graduation, kid. Gotta hustle or I'll be late."
Weaving through quiet streets, he took in the scenery flashing by. Everything looked normal enough at a glance, though fewer cars clogged the roads this early. A few joggers and dog walkers out enjoyed the morning.
As he accelerated onto the main drag, a flash of long hair caught his eye. Two smiling cadets in PT gear waved from across the road, a gesture that would've normally earned a cocky grin and one-finger salute in return. But something felt...off. He squinted and did a double take.
Were those...pigtails? Shaking his head, Mav focused back on the road and opened the throttle. The Ninja leaped forward with power and precision, devouring asphalt. Soon the familiar sights and sounds of the base came into view through the morning haze.
Coastal scrub whipped by as the sea breeze ruffled his hair. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries carrying across the open tarmac and hangars in the distance. Mav began to relax into the ride, but a gnawing doubt refused to fade. This place felt too calm, too quiet. What was really different here?
Dr Nicole Walters, USN sighed as she drank her coffee, swinging the chair around. She stared out at the window, to see a bike park at the parking lot, and a guy in dress whites walk off.
"Ella, who's that guy." she pointed at the window. Her assistant, a usual specimen of the no-nonsense, but easily flustered officer walked over. The doctor
Her assistant Ella peered out the window. "No ma'am, his face isn't familiar. And his dress whites are odd—today isn't a formal occasion."
Nicole's curiosity was piqued. As Base Psychologist, she had a keen eye for anomalies that could indicate deeper issues. This stranger qualified. "Pull up the staff roster on your pad. Let's see if we can ID him."
Ella synced to the directory and scrolled through photos and profiles. "No luck, Doctor. He's not in here."
Now Nicole was definitely intrigued. A mysterious unknown in dress code? That screamed disconnected from reality at best, security risk at worst. She stood and braced her coffee cup. "I'm going to go introduce myself. Keep monitoring in case anything else strange happens today."
With swift strides, Nicole exited her office and headed across the tarmac toward the man, her trained eyes taking in every detail that might reveal what was really going on with this puzzling visitor in white.
Meanwhile outside
"I'm telling you, my name's Lt Pete Mitchell! And I'm a pilot at the Top Gun Programme."
Maverick wanted to punch the donut-eating security guard.
"And I'm tellin' you, son, to beat it, there is nothing in my system, Nada, Zilch."
Maverick took a sharp breath, he really needed to keep his cool.
"Is there a problem?" A feminine voice asked.
Maverick looked up to. see a striking brunette in a lab coat, but she had the epaulets of a Navy Commodore! Since when had the US Navy started promoting women?
"Is this some kind of joke!"
"I'm afraid I don't follow...Mr."
"Mitchell, and are you sure you are authorized to wear those?"
Mav pointed at the epaulettes.
"The hell you say!" Another girl, this time a Latina ran up, pissed.
"Easy now." Nicole held up her hands calmly. "Let's take a step back and address this like professionals."
She turned to Ella. "At ease, Commander. I'll handle this." Ella backed down with a huff.
Nicole smiled warmly at Mav. "Why don't we start over? I'm Dr. Nicole Walters. Perhaps we could discuss the issue privately in my office." She gestured politely for him to follow.
Mav's racing mind began to settle under her reasoned tone. He fell in step, throwing an apologetic look to Ella and the guard. "Apologies, ma'am. This day's turning rather strange."
As they walked, Nicole glanced over appraisingly. "Care to share what's troubling you, Lieutenant Mitchell? You seem distressed."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Last I knew, I was at Miramar Air Station in '86. Now I'm...not sure where or when I am. Please, tell me if I've gone crazy or what the hell is happening."
Sympathy crossed Nicole's face. "You're somewhere new indeed. Let's get you situated, then maybe we can sort this out together."
Her kind reassurance eased Mav's tensions somewhat. For now, he'd settle for understanding what bizarre world he'd found himself in.
Office.
"Now then...let's see your file here." Walters had Mav's file, which she'd ordered the other girl, Ella to get from hiss house.
"Pete Mitchell, born June 11th, 1962. you have the following awards hotshot, a lot of tower buzzing, and One Admiral's daughter! ``served aboard the Big E in 1986, what the file says is your current year."...
Navy "E" Ribbon
Navy Expeditionary Medal Humanitarian Service Medal Navy and Marine Corps Sea Service
Deployment Ribbon
Nicole scanned the file with a puzzled look. "Hmm, according to this you were aboard the USS Enterprise in 1986...but that hasn't happened yet. Also, I don't see Miramar or Top Gun mentioned."
Mav ran a hand through his hair. "C'mon Doc, this has to be some kind of practical joke. I know for a fact I was at Miramar up til this morning."
"Your file does indicate a history of...unorthodox behavior," Nicole said with a wry smile. "Perhaps all this is just another elaborate prank to one-up your rival, the one called Iceman?"
Mav shot her a stern look. "I may like to push buttons, but even I wouldn't fake amnesia as a stunt. There's gotta be a logical explanation."
Nicole tapped her chin thoughtfully. "The brain works in strange ways sometimes. Perhaps you experienced some kind of mental break or retrograde amnesia." She winked. "Or maybe you really did travel through time and space!"
Mav groaned and sank back in his chair. "A psych consult is the last thing I need right now, Doc." A glimmer of hope came as he had an idea. "Tell ya what. Let me clear my head with a good long flight. Then maybe it'll all come back to me."
"We'll see," Nicole chuckled. "For now, rest up. Tomorrow we'll sort fact from fiction. In fact, come join me I wanna show you something."
The Doctor beckoned Maverick to join, and they exited the room together. As Maverick followed the brunette as they passed rooms filled with clerks, officials and other such people working at their Terminals. Maverick noticed that there was a lack of any visible planes outside except for C-130s, and helicopters.
Alright Mav, first tell me, what does a F-14 look like?"
The question came out of nowhere from Dr Walters. Maverick was confused at first because it was 1983, F-14s were in production in that year. But he decided to answer her question all the same as she had the superior rank here.
"An F-14 is a twin-engine, twin-seat, variable-swept wing fighter. It has a pulse Doppler radar and can carry medium-range air-to-air missiles, like the AIM-54 Phoenix. Plus, Sidewinders for close combat."
Nicole listened intently, impressed by his expertise. "It sounds similar to our F-14 Tomcat Tactical Surface Fighters. Come, I'll show you one."
She led Mav out to the flight line where gleaming machines lined the tarmac. But these weren't planes—they were humanoid robotic combat vehicles roughly about 19.3 metres tall. Mav froze in disbelief at the sight of the hulking machines.
"No freakin' way...those are TSFs!" He swayed on his feet, mind reeling from the impossibility before him. It was all too much—the gleaming TSF, the subtle differences in people and technology.
Nicole grabbed his arm just as he started to collapse. "Easy there, flyboy. I've got you." She eased him down gently as the reality of the situation overwhelmed poor Mav's senses at last. Only one thought repeated in his dazed mind.
"What the hell have I gotten myself into...?"
Timeskip
He woke up again, in the infirmary. Ella, that girl from earlier was looming over him.
"Doc said I should get you some regular uniform."
"No...I thought it was a dream"..
"Nope, you really are in 1983, a different one, I am guessing."
Mav groaned and rubbed his aching head as consciousness returned. The ceiling above wasn't familiar.
"Take it easy lieutenant, you had us worried for a bit."
Ella spoke gently beside him.
He turned to find her holding a bundled stack of material. Cammies, boots, and undershirt, all sized to fit. "Doc says you need something more appropriate than dress whites. These should do until we can get you registered in the system."
Sitting up slowly, Mav grasped it was all horribly, impossibly real. No dream could replicate the detail and logic of this strange new world. He sighed in defeat. "Guess no sense denying it anymore, huh? I'm not in Kansas anymore."
Ella smirked.
"Try not to be so hard on yourself. You handled the shock better than most would. Now get changed—the Doctor wants to debrief you fully when you're up to it."
She left discreetly so he could dress in private. Checking the foreign fit of the new uniform, Mav gathered his swirling thoughts. Answers were what he needed most now. And something told him this Dr. Walters was the one who held them.
Hard Deck Bar.
"You want me! to let some unknown kid join the Jolly Rogers. We don't even know if he has experience fighting BETA!" Captain Nathan Walters said to his wife sitting across him. "From what you told me, this guy comes from a place the BETA don't exist, the guy could go mad."
Nicole sighed patiently.
"Nate, I understand your concerns but isolating him will only exacerbate any issues. Familiarizing him with our world through the squadron could help with adjustment and prevent problems down the line."
Nate frowned. "I don't know, Lou. Throwing an unknown into combat is a big risk."
"And leaving him rudderless is its own risk," she countered. "Let me observe and evaluate him first. If I clear him as stable, will you at least give him a chance?"
Nate scrubbed a hand down his face, weighing the choice carefully as a commander. His wife had a way of talking sense into him. "...Alright, fine. One sortie under close supervision. But if I see any signs of cracking, he's grounded."
Nicole beamed. "Thank you, dear. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." She stood and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a new patient to check on."
With that, she departed, leaving Nate to ponder what fresh madness his wife had uncovered now. But he trusted her judgment, even if this new pilot seemed like more trouble than he was worth.
Meanwhile…
The PX provided him with three sets of clothes that were similar to what he had been wearing in his own time. He recognized some of the items, like the black tank top, blue cargos, and black boots. They also gave him a jacket and plastic-bagged six-packs of underwear and socks. He went back to his room, changed into the new clothes, and headed over to the doctor's office. When he arrived, he saw that Ella was already there, standing in the doorway.
"Hey, Mav, good to see you. Stay right there, we'll drive over together."
They hopped into a jeep parked behind the officer's building and drove onto the street. They took a road that led behind the developed area, passing barrack buildings on the right and deep woods on the left. Mav started to realize just how massive the base was. The barracks seemed to stretch on for miles until they reached the south end of the lake. At this point, the ground was cleared but still empty, waiting to be built upon. Mav understood that their destination was a large, modern building at the end of the clearing, which wasn't part of his timeline's version of the Top Gun Academy.
Ella approached the digital buttons on the door lock. Mav noticed that they were similar to the ones outside Doctor Walters' and other offices, but Ella didn't bother entering a code. "This lock has been broken for a while, so you don't need a code. Just push and hold Enter, then twist the doorknob really hard, like this."
"Um, okay, thanks. I'll remember that," Mav replied. He couldn't help but wonder what the purpose of a lock that didn't lock was, but if the Doctor was fine with it, he didn't see a reason to argue. Maybe it was their little secret, or perhaps Ella had disabled it so he wouldn't have to let Mav in every morning. Either way, he just needed to remember to twist the doorknob hard when he entered tomorrow.
As they entered through the front door, Ella pointed out the layout of the interior. "So this is the control room, where the techs will spend most of their time. The locker rooms are on the right, separate for men and women, and the simulators are in the large space ahead."
The control room, as it existed, consisted of merely three plywood party tables and a few office chairs. One table held a stack of personal computers without monitors, referred to as "headless" by the technicians back home, while the other two tables had PCs with bulky CRT monitors. In the center, there were baskets filled with cables, along with binders, books, and manuals stacked behind them.
Maverick turned to Ella and remarked, "These PCs look like ordinary ones."
"That's because they are. All of this equipment is COTS, which stands for consumer off the shelf. Real TSFs, of course, operate on their own specialized chips, but for the simulators, we use regular computers," Ella explained as she opened another door adorned with a neon sign.
"Now, let's go see the main attraction."
They left the control room and entered a spacious area of the building with a curved ceiling, illuminated by a few fluorescent lights mounted at its highest point. Inside, there were four rectangular pits, each measuring about 10 feet across and cut eight feet deep into the ground. Within these pits, balanced on metal pistons that were mounted diagonally, were plastic pods roughly half the size of a small car. Each pod had a distinct front end that tapered to a grill, as well as a hatch at the back.
"These are the simulators, right? They simulate TSF cockpits?" Maverick asked.
"Yes, exactly. Let's go inside one, and I'll show you," Don replied, tipping over a small gangplank to allow them to walk over the back of the open pit and reach the hatch of the first pod.
Upon entering, Maverick realized that this must be what a TSF pilot saw from inside the machine. There was a pilot's seat with joysticks embedded in each armrest and a set of pedals in front. Adjacent to the pilot's seat, there was a fold-out seat to the left, and a narrow window at the front. As he began to envision how a pilot would operate in such an environment, he noticed that it was different from the airplane cockpits he had seen on TV. There was no wall of dials and gauges; in fact, the surface in front of the pilot was almost blank.
"Wow, this is not what I expected."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I was expecting a bunch of controls and screens, but there's nothing. Don't they have those in a TSF?"
"Oh, they definitely have them, but a TSF is so advanced that it would be overwhelming for a pilot to handle all of that. We have a different system. Let me show you."
She reached over to the side of the cockpit and pulled out what looked like a headset. "Here, put this around the back of your neck, so the pods rest against your cheeks, and the front anchors to your chin." Mav followed her instructions and managed to fit it into place.
"Okay, are you ready?"
"Ready for what?"
"Just watch."
Ella flipped a switch to turn on the simulator. The interior lighting changed to a vibrant red, and a mechanical hum filled the cockpit. Maverick glanced around and noticed something strange. There were green graphic displays overlaid on his vision: speed, altitude, an altimeter, and more. But he could still see Lieutenant Ella behind all of it. He turned his head, and the displays remained in place.
"What? I can see..."
"Everything a pilot needs to see, right where you need to see it."
Mav looked around in amazement. "Well I'll be damned, this is some Minority Report level interface!"
He studied the array of holographic displays now integrated with his vision. Speed, altitude, power levels, radar, it was all intuitively laid out. "So the TSF basically projects this HUD straight into the pilot's eyes huh? Pretty slick solution."
Ella grinned. "Yep, direct neural interface. All the data you need without cluttering the actual view. Takes some getting used to but it's way more efficient."
Mav smiled, excited by the potential. "Alright, you're selling me. So what's next, we taking this thing for a spin?"
"Not yet." Ella gestured to a command throwing her voice through the simulator's speakers. "Just want you to get familiar with the interface first. How about moving those joysticks and pedals?"
Gripping the controls, Mav felt a tingle as motors whirred in response. His eyes narrowed in focus. "Bring it on, I'm ready to RWR."
"Hold up, Buster," Ella called out from behind him. "You gotta change first." She stood up and motioned for Maverick to follow her.
"Change?" Maverick questioned, feeling a bit paranoid. He couldn't help but wonder why there were locker rooms in a simulator building.
"Pilots need to wear special gear for TSFs, even in the simulators," Ella explained. "It's a wild ride in there. We use high-tech suits to monitor the pilot's well-being and protect against any external dangers. These suits can handle heat, cold, impacts, and even sharp objects. They're pretty much indestructible."
"Isn't the cockpit frame enough protection?" Maverick asked, genuinely curious.
"In the heat of battle, being tossed around inside the cockpit can cause serious damage. It's surprising, but true," Ella replied.
Now Maverick half expected Ella to bring out a full suit of armor, like something out of the Crusades, from the locker room.
Following the redhead into the changing room, Ella opened a locker and pulled out a set of gear.
Was he supposed to pilot naked?!
No, not naked. Definitely not. But in a skin-tight suit, thinner than any fabric he had ever seen. It was practically like wearing plastic. The suit covered his entire body, from neck to feet, and even had boots waiting on the ground. It molded perfectly to his body, except for a straight line across his chest. Maverick's gaze couldn't help but linger there, still trying to process what he was seeing.
"Lemme guess, they don't have this in you're 1985," Ella said dryly. "Most recruits have that same expression, trust me."
It had black armor-like shoulder pads, a dark green color, with a lighter green covering the chest and...other areas.
Maverick cleared his throat awkwardly. "You could say that, Lieutenant. Things were a bit more...modest where I come from."
He turned his attention to studying the sleek lines and flexible plates of the suit, trying to ignore how form-fitting it appeared. The materials and construction were clearly far beyond anything at Top Gun.
"So this monitors vitals and protects the pilot from harm inside the TSF, you said?" He ran a finger along the armored pads curiously.
Ella nodded.
"It uses micro sensors and reinforced synthetic fabrics. The whole suit acts as a pseudo-exoskeleton to enhance strength and endurance too." She tossed it to him with a wink. "Give it a try, flyboy. You'll be surprised what it can do."
Maverick caught it reflexively, hesitating as he realized what came next. Ella smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, it's like a second skin. I'll give you some privacy."
She departed to let him change in solitude. He sighed and started peeling off his borrowed clothes, struggling briefly with the unfamiliar material. But sure enough, it contoured easily to every line of his body, feeling surprisingly lightweight despite its armor capabilities.
"Hope this thing's as rugged as she says," Mav muttered to himself. Steeling his nerves, he exited the locker room to rejoin Ella. "Alright, I'm suited up. Now what?"
He tried ignoring the unfamiliar constriction, focusing on his new mission instead. Ella whistled approvingly. "Lookin' tough, flyboy. Let's get you introduced to the simulator."
Leading him over, she began explaining the system as Maverick absorbed every new detail, eager to start putting his skills to the test in this strange new reality.
Timeskip.
Nicole sighed as she walked to the simulator rooms, Ella's message said it was urgent. Moving slightly faster, she soon reached the building and entered the tech area where Ella was
"Let me guess, he's shy of the suit?"
"Yup, gets the new ones all the time."
"Yeah yeah, so are we starting the sim? Let the level be...10"
Ella nodded, before pressing a key on the keyboard
"Doc...what exactly is your goal here?"
"I've got this feeling Ella...this thing in my gut..." the doctor gave her assistant a grin, "And mostly to prove my husband wrong I guess."
"ooookkayyy" Ella shrugged.
Nicole and Ella watched the simulator feed intently from the control room. So far Maverick was handling the interface training smoothly, getting acclimated to the TSF's movement and systems.
"He's a natural," Nicole remarked. "Those flying skills are transferring well to the mechanics. Raising the difficulty..." She keyed in a command.
On-screen, the formerly empty simulator terrain flickered—then swarmed with hostile red dots. Basic BETA spawned all around Maverick's TSF, lashing out with clumsy claw attacks. He swept them aside efficiently with the training weapon, dodging and weaving amidst the growing horde.
"Damn, he's good!" Ella exclaimed, eyes glued to the display. "Look at him go."
Maverick fought on the back foot at first, gauging the enemy movements and attack patterns and adapting fast. Soon he began turning the tide, using the terrain and momentum to smash multiple BETA with economic strikes. A smile crept onto Nicole's lips seeing him dominate despite the overload of targets.
"Alright Lt, let's see how you handle Laser classes..." She amped the simulation further.
Laser-firing BETA joined the fray, igniting the entire zone into a frenetic battlescape. Maverick's reflexes and tactical thinking were put under intense pressure. Yet still he endured, thinking on his feet and bouncing between targets with thrilling agility.
Nicole watched with interest as he pushed the TSF in the sim to zig-zag his way toward the laser class. He utilized the WS-16 Assault cannon while dealing with any of the Tank Class that were out of range, obliterating the red abominations before they had a chance to attack. Unlucky BETA that got too close were dealt with a quick slash of the CIWS-1A Close Combat Knife. The women watched as Maverick sped off zigzagging.
"Damn, he's really pushing that TSF to its limits out there," Ella said, eyes glued to the screen. Her hands gripped the armrests tight.
They observed as Mav pulled off daring maneuvers, barrel-rolling between Laser BETA blasts with barely a hair's breadth to spare. His counterattacks flowed into one another seamlessly, and disabled threats were prioritized strategically.
"He's analyzing the situation and adapting on the fly like a pro," Nicole observed with a raised eyebrow. "His skills are no joke."
When cornered by overwhelming numbers, Maverick switched tactics to lure enemies into exposing themselves, then methodically picked them off. Displays flickered red as damage warnings, but still he survived, evading each new threat with fluid precision.
The women found themselves unconsciously leaning closer, riding the tension of each close call. When at last the final BETA exploded in a shower of pixels, they let out a shared whoosh of breath.
The women watched in stunned, awed silence as "Maverick" lived up to his name, soloing the overwhelming force in a breathtaking display of piloting mastery. When the dust cleared, both sighed, sharing a smile of triumph and surprise.
"Well I'll be damned...your gut was right, Doc. He just might work out after all."
…
Meanwhile in the cockpit/simulator
Minutes ago.
Inside the simulator pod, Maverick took a deep breath to steady his nerves. As accustomed as he was to flying cutting-edge jets, this was lightyears beyond anything at Top Gun.
A synthetic click sounded in his earpiece. "Simulation commencing in 3...2...1. Good luck, flyboy." Ella's voice conveyed a smirk.
The area around him shimmered into existence - he was standing amidst blocky buildings in an urban landscape under gloomy skies. A thunderous crash drew his eyes up, where a hulking alien creature was smashing through a neighboring structure. It was an ugly creature, it had to be at least 16 meters tall, 18 meters long, and 17 meters wide. His HUD camera immediately told him it was a "Destroyer class", it had very good frontal armor, however the rear was unarmored. As if noticing him, the beast began to charge like some, ugly oversized bull. Maverick assessed the Destroyer's charging form through his enhanced readout. This was no simulation - those crushing limbs could cave in buildings. Slowing his breath, he steeled himself for engaging such a colossal enemy.
His TSF sprang into responsive motion, jets thrusting to evade the Destroyer's initial bludgeoning assault. As it barreled past, Mav saw his opening. Bringing his knife arm around in a tight arc, he sliced a precision hit along its unprotected flank.
The Destroyer roared in pain and frustration, whirling with surprising speed to face its attacker. But Mav was already dancing back, analyzing weak points. He feinted left and rolled right beneath a swiping claw, drawing closer within its guard.
Jet-assisted leap took him high alongside the hulking mass. His sword stabbed down with the TSF's full force, piercing armor to reveal soft flesh beneath. The Destroyer staggered under new damage, but retaliation came fast - Mav punched boosters to stay ahead of its flailing blows.
He landed and circled warily, calming breath and assessing. As it charged again, he timed his duck and counter perfectly, landing another crippling hit. The Destroyer wavered,
Instinct took over as Mav flung himself into action. His hands flew across the controls with fluid grace. As the creature bore down, he deployed missiles with deadly precision, blasting it back amidst an explosion of rubble.
There was a beat of silence.
"Nice work Mav, don't get too comfy though, this is just the start."
Maverick looked out to see that a new wave had shimmered into existence. This time, a large wave of red "Bugs" with a human-like head, Bigger than a bear. Bigger than a truck.
And red. With legs like a crab. Huge forearms.
And a mouth. A mouth the size of half its body. And a head with black eyestalks.
As well as a much bigger type, with a grimacing head, grappling claws, and pincers, his retinal system labeled them Tank and Grappler class respectively.
"Well, aren't you all an ugly bunch." he inhaled to steady himself. He looked down at his panel to see that the TSF had a sort of assault rifle…
Taking another breath, Maverick accelerated, tapping on the assault rifle, he felt the arms hold the weapon. With a grin, Maverick watched the swarm get closer.
Maverick exhaled slowly, centering himself as the horde descended. His weapon systems came alive, an extension of his own lethal grace.
The TSF assault rifle barked in controlled bursts, picking targets methodically. Bug limbs and cracked carapace flew as Mav spun amidst the onslaught, never pausing his barrage. Fluid dodges pulled him from the grappler's snapping claws, countered by precisely slicing its thick hide.
Maverick dodged the falling liquid, turning, he spotted the red Tank classes charging. He let his gun blaze, obliterating the extraterrestrials in a wave of gore.
More Bugs replaced the fallen as if an endless tide. But Mav was now in the zone, senses heightened, moving on pure instinct. He let loose a volley of armor-piercing rounds, punching clear through a pack with a single pass. Their dissipating masses obstructed those behind, buying precious seconds.
He quickly took out the combat blade, before slicing through the last two. There was finally a deathly silence, minus Mav's breathing. He looked at the counter, 0.
"Nice work Maverick! Brilliant. But don't think it's over just yet!" Dr Walters's voice chirped in the comm.
Maverick just groaned.
Timeskip, a few days later.
"You're Maverick," Nate said incredulously at the black-haired 24-year-old.
"Yes sir! Lt Pete Mitchell, USN. callsign Maverick sir/"
"Captain Nathan Walters, also USN. Callsign "Broadsword" I command VF-103 Jolly Rogers, a TSF unit of naval aviators part of the 7th Fleet Task Force 70, attached directly to the Theodore Roosevelt, a Nimitz-class TSF carrier. "
"Oh, okay."
Nathan eyed the young man, "From what Nicole tells me, it seems like you came from an alternate timeline, that correct?"
The younger man nodded.
"Yeah that's about it, one moment I'm asleep ready for graduation from Top Gun, the next thing I know, I'm still here but in an alternate 1983."
Walters frowned as they walked. The file that Nicole had given him painted Maverick as a brash, arrogant hotshot, with all the tower buzzing and one Admiral's daughter. This guy seemed quieter, and much more mature. But Nate had been in the Navy long enough to know the look in someone's eyes.
He brought the younger pilot aside, "So…who died, ah ah ah, do not lie, I can tell something's eating you up. Tell me, what is it, a girl?"
Maverick looked a bit taken aback, Nate could see him trying to make up a story on the spot, however, at the last moment, he sighed before sitting down on the nearby bench.
"Sir…back in my timeline…at Top Gun, I had this friend, my best friend…Nick Bradshaw, his callsign was Goose."
Nate sat down next to him and nodded for him to continue.
"I also had this rival, Iceman…he was all business. We were doing a simulated dogfight in our F-14s. Ice wouldn't let me take the shot. When he finally did, me and Goose got caught in his jetwash."
Nate winced, but nodded along, "Okay, then what?" In his mind, two possible things could have occurred."
"Sir…we started to spin out to sea, we were losing altitude. Goose, couldn't reach the ejection handle, took him some time. When we both finally did, I ejected free of the canopy, Goose hit the canopy as his seat left the plane."
Nathan sighed, "Jesus kid…I'm sorry really, can't imagine that happening to me. I'm sorry for the loss. What happened afterward."
"There was this whole inquiry…in the end, the board decided it was not my fault or Ice's"
"Shit, losing your best friend like that...I can't imagine," Nathan said quietly. "That kind of trauma stays with you."
Pete sighed. "It feels selfish to still be messed up over it when you guys have seen real hell against the BETA. But I keep thinking, could I have done something different? Should I have objected to that maneuver harder?"
"Hey, don't beat yourself up kid. We've all had those 'what ifs' after a close call. But second-guessing won't change the past. What matters is you're honoring his memory by still flying."
Nathan put a hand on Pete's shoulder comfortingly. "Your old man was a pilot too, right? Bet he'd be damn proud to see his son facing down alien hordes from another dimension."
Pete managed a small smile. "You think?"
"I know. No matter what timeline, or what stands in your way, a good pilot finds a way to keep soaring. So dry those eyes - you've got a war to win. And I could use your skills in my squadron. What do you say - ready to take the fight to those BETA fuckers?"
Pete straightened renewed resolve in his eyes. "Yes sir. It's what Goose would've wanted."
"Attaboy. Now let's get you suited up - there's a TSF with your name on it." Nathan stood, offering a hand to pull Pete up.
USS Theodore Roosevelt
The Jolly Rogers TSF squadron was currently relaxing over a nice VHS movie. The 16-pilot squadron was 1 man short; Donald Hendrix was ill and out of commission for a while.
"Guys, I here were getting a replacement for Donnie." Walter Donovan whispered.
"About time we got a newbie to run drills," Victor commented from the couch.
"Yeah, wonder if it's a guy or girl?" Nick grinned mischievously. "What do you think - cute flygirl or fresh meat?"
The others joined in the speculation with good-natured jokes. "Maybe it's both," Andrew chuckled. "Some genderfluid trans person with mad skills."
John threw a pillow. "As if HQ would spring for an experimental recruit! My money's on beefcake dude bro."
Across the room, Sarah snorted. "Yeah right, like they'd give us another testosterone factory. It's a girl."
"Yeah, we could use some eye candy around here," Laura winked at the guys.
"Or maybe it's a fancy new prototype Android with infinite stamina and obedience programming," Walter stage-whispered, earning laughs and eye rolls.
Henry sighed. "I don't care who it is so long as they can hold their own in a cockpit. We've lost too many good pilots lately."
A sober murmur of agreement passed through the group. Their job was no joke - new blood was welcome, whatever the package came in. Life aboard the Roosevelt could use a dose of lighter spirits too.
"I just hope they get here soon so we can find out!" Daniel said, throwing more pillows to return the mood to playful speculation once more. Another pilot among their ranks would be a comfort regardless of the box they checked.
The squadron heard the door open before the blonde hair of their CO, Nathan Walters appeared in the doorway, followed by an unfamiliar dark brown-haired boy with green eyes. The squadron quickly scrambled to clean up the room, but the CO stopped them with a wave of his hand.
"Settle down you kids, no need for that shit."
The squadron stopped before settling back into their original positions. Nathan walked to the center of the room, pausing the TV. Mystery pilot followed.
"Ladies and Gents, let me introduce you to Lieutenant Pete Mitchell, Callsign "Maverick". Formerly an F-14A Fighter pilot on the USS Enterprise, Lt Mitchell here recently transferred to the F-14D Tactical Surface Fighter, and so far, his sim records outstrip all of you."
The rest of the squadron sat in stunned silence. A former fighter jockey! That was unheard off, mostly because the death rate in the early years of the conflict with the BETA were horrendous. Most pilots died when the Laser Class appeared. The CO continued his introduction.
"Mitchell was part of VMF-1 on the USS Enterprise, now he's one of us, I expect all of you to treat him nicely. Lila, he's bunking with you, show him around I got a meeting with the top brass."
And with that parting shot, Nathan walked out.
A few minutes prior
"Alright Mav listen, nobody, aside from me, Nicole, Ella and a few guys from top brass know you aren't from this timeline. So, we gotta work on your fictionalized back story, what state you from?"
"Washington. Washington D.C"
Okay, date of birth?"
Maverick sighed, "May 16 1962."
"Alright, you already told me your dad was "Duke" Mitchell, mother?"
"Sara."
"Right, your age in your timeline was 24, because it was 1985, here however it's 1983, so you are 22."
"Got it"
"Right, you used to be a hotshot ladies man buzzing towers till you saw your RIO get eaten by BETA after he failed to eject, hence you're now more mature."
"Makes sense to skip the whole alien thing for now," Nate agreed. "Let's say you saw heavy combat from the start against the Bugs. Lost some good friends over the years."
Mav nodded solemnly. "Gives my recklessness back then more weight if I learned lessons the hard way in battle."
"Exactly. And I'll put in your file that you got transferred over for evaluation after showing bold initiative against overwhelming odds in your last sortie. Command thinks you've got the right stuff for the upgraded TSF program."
Mav whistled, impressed. "Putting me in the big leagues right away, huh Captain?"
Nate flashed a grin. "Wouldn't want everyone thinking I went soft on the recruit. Alright, Mitchell, you're as prepped as I can make, ya. Just stick to the story and don't try parsing out alien invasion history. You'll do fine with the Rogers."
He clapped Mav's shoulder bracingly. With a final nod, Nate led the way into the common room. Time to introduce the "squadron's latest battle-hardened transfer" to his new comrades. Mav took a deep breath and schooled his face to the perfect picture of the experienced, but still-learning composure Nate had crafted. Showtime.
Back in the Present.
"Alright, here's your bunk, I sleep on the top." Lila showed him the bunkroom where the squadron slept.
"Thanks, I appreciate you showing me around," Mav said gratefully as Lila led him into the bunkroom.
His eyes widened slightly at the compact living space. Back in his old quarters aboard aircraft carriers, privacy was a luxury. Here there was barely space for two sets of footlockers and bunkbeds stacked three high.
"Cozy," he remarked wryly.
Lila laughed. "That's one word for it! But you get used to living on top of each other out here. Perks of a military life, right flyboy?"
Mav nodded, taking in his busty new bunkmate. She flashed a wink that made her meaning abundantly clear. "There are definitely...worse views."
She grinned. "Glad you appreciate the scenery, hotshot. Don't worry, I don't bite...much." Lila ran a polished fingernail lightly along his arm before climbing nimbly onto the top mattress.
"Get settled in and then come find me if you need anything at all," she called down teasingly. "My bunk's always open."
Mav chuckled ruefully, wondering what he was getting himself into with these forward-thinking pilots. At least life aboard the ship was guaranteed to stay interesting. He stowed his gear and prepared to navigate the treacherous waters of his new squadron.
Timeskip. Miramar.
The next few days passed in a blur for Pete.
"Maverick. You are a fucking hardass!" Victor slung his arm around him after one training session
"Dude, mind giving me personal space?"
"Aw come on dude." The white haired boy grinned.
"You wanna make me call you Vicky?"
Victor blanched whiter than his hair.
"Alright alright, personal space respected," Victor chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "No need to break out the dreaded Vicky card."
Mav smirked, secure in his newfound ability to rile up even the most rambunctious of squadmates. Hell, a couple weeks ago he'd still be the new guy - now these jokers were starting to fear his wrath.
"You better believe it," he shot back. "Keep it up and I might just let that little tidbit slip to Sarah."
Victor paled even further. "You wouldn't dare."
"Try me, snowball."
Their comms crackled to life before Victor could respond. "Mitchell, Stevens - suit up, we've got a sortie briefing in 5. And for God's sake put your shirts back on, there are ladies present!" Lila's amused voice echoed in the locker room.
Mav and Vic scrambled to dress, slinging final parts of their flight suits on. "Saved by the bell, flyboy. But this isn't over!"
Chuckling, Mav clapped his friend on the back as they hurried out. "You're on, Vicky. May the best man fly." Their friendly rivalry would never die, even in the face of real battles ahead. Life aboard the ship stayed colorful with characters like Victor around.
Settling down in their seats in the brief room, They found their CO grumpy.
"Alright assholes, we're heading to the Baltic, specifically near the people's republic of damn Poland. this is a joint op with the Warsaw Pact, and NATO" Nathan switched the slide. We'll arrive sometime in a few months, and begin a push to Gdansk, to deal with the BETA hive there."
Nate switched slides, bringing up dossiers and maps of the mission theatre.
"Our forces will hit the Bug nest hard in coordination with Soviet and East bloc allies. Intelligence puts the hive size at threatening levels, so eliminating it ASAP is priority one."
He indicated points of convergence for amassing armor, infantry and air support. "Combined arms tactics will be crucial - we operate as a unified front. TSF and armor push in for close assaults while airpower bombards from above. Any questions so far?"
Laura raised her hand. "Sir, will language barriers pose problems coordinating with foreign units?"
"Good point. Universal translators have been distributed and all officers have been briefed in English, Russian or both. Still, expect communication snags - work through them politely. We're guests in their AO."
He brought up the Polish terrain. "Winter weather will hamper flying, so exercise caution. Fog, low clouds and high wind shear are forecast. Use terrain masking when engaging airborne enemies."
Nate pointed to the Baltic coastline. "TSFs will spearhead assaults from the sea, supported by naval gunfire. Securing beachheads for the main force is our goal."
Zooming in on Gdansk, he displayed the dense urban sprawl surrounding the hive zone.
"Close-quarters combat awaits amidst the ruins. Laying down cover fire will be your bread and butter. Expect enemy ambushes around every corner so watch each other's six."
A nod to the screens. "We have two months to train - use it well. Dismissed!"
Washington DC
The man sighed, he'd just finished up the official census. He stretched his arms out in relief, he could finally go home.
There was a beep on his computer, the man looked mildly surprised, he'd forgotten to check a name in. Well, that didn't look good, he'd rechecked the list 5 whole times!
Opening up the folder, the following Details greeted him.
MITCHELL PETE
DOB-MAY-16, 1962.
OCCUPATION: USN TSF PILOT
AGE: 23
He groaned, damn it!
How had he forgotten this one? he grumbled again, his eyesight must be getting bad.
"For crying out loud," Gerald muttered as the belated census notification popped up on his screen. Didn't these systems know he had places to be?
Rubbing tired eyes behind thick glasses, he pulled up the mystery person's file begrudgingly. US Navy pilot, huh? Well, at least the man was serving his country in this BETA mess.
Gerald tapped in Mitchell's basic details with gnarled fingers, making idle small talk to the empty office. "Welcome to DC, Pete my boy. Shame you had to join right when the world's falling to pieces!"
As he submitted the form, Gerald snorted to himself. "Kids these days, enlisting during an alien invasion. Back in my day..."
His grumbling trailed off into a yawn. At last he was done, just in the nick of time too by the look of the darkening windows.
Gerald creaked stiffly to his feet, gathering coat and hat. "No rest for the weary, even after hours of census babysitting. Ah well, at least the Bears are playing tonight!"
Whistling a tuneless bar, he shut off lamps and exited, locking automatic systems to purge any lingering paperwork glitches. One more small cog keeping the bureaucracy running, aliens or no aliens. Just another day at the office.
Alright! Firstly, why hasn't someone thought of this before? Secondly, this started out as a writing exercise after I rewatched the Schwarzesmarken anime. I thought what-if Pete Maverick Mitchell woke up in an alternate, fucked up 1983 instead of his own 1986 just 24 hours before the graduation scene in the movie. And how will he survive as a "Casualty Conductor." I know this should be classifed as a crossover but I am a lazy guy, plus no one might comment on this, so i'll post it here. I might come back to this project after I finish my Warhammer 40K fanfic.
And now, for a serious question, since this takes place during Operation Neptune in Schwarzesmarken, which girl shall he fall in love with, here are the choices.
Irisdina Bernhard-personal choice feels sort of good, but she's with Theodor.
Anett Hosenfeld- Another personal choice, this gives me interesting arc ideas.
Pham Thi Lan- Seems like they are perfect for each other, you never know.
Sylwia Krzasińska- I just have this feeling that Maverick goes well paired with a cold, moody, emo girl, slowly bringing out the best in her.
Kirke Steinhoff-Pretty much possible, she likes guys who are like action protagonists.
Write your answers in the comments. This'll give me a decent Idea. do not expect updates for a while though, I'll be focused on finishing one fanfic first first.
That's all.
BGAce