Shorter chapter, but hey, least it's something! Hope y'all are doing well, and if not, hope you get better soon!
Special Notes: Thank you to everyone who is still reading and enjoying my 'books' it means a lot to me. Especially thanks to AFollower, WingsuitFlying, RabidPlotBunniesAttakkkk and many others, thank you, thank you. That's all for now! Enjoy!
15 long, gosh darn hours. 900 minutes, 54,000 seconds. That's how long it had been since Rooster and Maverick had disappeared off the radar. And they had been looking for them since. Still, unfortunately, nothing could be found. Coyote and Harvard had been out searching for a few hours, watching for any sign and calling on their comms. Anything, to get their captain and teammate back.
Occasionally, they would spot a foreign helicopter flying low over a large pine forest with a searchlight, although they themselves were too high to been seen. "Coyote to Harvard, copy?"
"Copy," was the answer.
"Do you see anything?" Coyote questioned, even though he already knew the answer.
"Negative."
Javy sighed heavily, his eye glancing at his fuel gauge. It was starting to run low.
The sun was beginning to rise over in the east, to the left of them. Brillant orange, pink and red colors flooded into the sky. It was time to fly back to the carrier. Coyote started to turn his plane; one last circle before he left. Please, let me find them. He turned in the circle as slowly as his jet would allow, looking around through the cockpit glass. He sighed internally. Nothing.
"Recommended SAR* unit flow back to carrier." A familiar female voice called out on the other end of the comms.
"Coby that. Flowing back to carrier, acknowledge?" Harvard answered from the other jet.
"Acknowledged."
"C'mon Coyote." Harvard turned his attention to his wingman and friend. "We need to head back, get some rest. We can start looking again later."
"Yeah, alright." Coyote blew out a low breath, switching his direction to follow Harvard, "I just really hoped we would find them." He admitted.
"Me too, man. Me too."
On the carrier, Cyclone and Warlock were listening intently to the comms. When they heard that they had discovered nothing about the whereabouts of the missing pilots, Cyclone sighed, resting his head in his hands and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Beau," Warlock spoke softly, looking with slight concern at his long-time best friend. "You're stressing yourself out You need to get some shut eye."
Cyclone lifted his heavy head to scowl at Warlock. "You're one to talk Solomon." He grumbled.
Soloman laughed a little, a smile tugging at his lips, easing the tension in the room by a sliver. "I'm pretty sure everyone needs some sleep." He spoke.
"How can I sleep?" Cyclone asked, leaning back in his chair, "When Capt—Maverick is still out there? What about Rooster? They're my team, I'm supposed to take care of them. They're my responsibility." He admitted his worries heavily.
"Knowing Maverick, I'm sure he'll be fine. And he breaks all the rules. And, logically, Maverick probably shouldn't even be alive." Warlock commented.
"You're right." Cyclone smiled sadly, "Why are you always right?"
"Mama said it was a special gift when I was a kid. Always said it could lead to two things; either the person gonna be mad at you, or thankful for you." Soloman said, standing up from his chair and stretching.
Beau stood up too. He placed a hand on his shoulder, "Thank you, Warlock." He said sincerely.
Warlock nodded, giving him a soft smile and started to leave the communication room. "Oh, Admiral?" Warlock turned to him, pausing at the door. Cyclone looked at him, raising an eyebrow in question. "Get some sleep. That's an order, both as a friend and as another Admiral."
"You're assistant Admiral." Cyclone protested, "But, alright. I will, sir."
Bob couldn't exactly get any sleep, whatsoever. The guilt weighed too hard on his chest. Logically, he knew it wasn't his fault that bother Mav and Rooster had been shot down by the SAM missiles. But he still couldn't do anything to shake the feeling that he should of done at least something.
Twenty minutes ago, Coyote and Harvard had landed with no news. Bob didn't know how to respond to that. No news could be bad or good. He desperately hoped for the latter answer.
The Daggers met at the mess hall. No one really ate, merely just picked at their food with their forks. Bob didn't even touch his, let alone look at it. He didn't think he'd be able to hold it down. He wasn't hungry anyways.
Cyclone had forbidden search and rescue missions during the day; it was too risky. So, they resorted to trying to track Rooster or Mav's GPS signal. Which didn't work. Now they were trying to contact them through walkie-talkies.
Plenty of thoughts and scenarios ran through Bob's head at high speed, providing him with a bunch of answerers, most of which were…sad. What if they were dead? Or hurt? What if they couldn't ever be found? What would they do? If they were found, how would they be able to get them back? So many dang questions with so little answers.
He knew that Warlock had contacted Penny Benjamin and some other people of the situation. No one really believed they were dead. Not yet. Not so soon into the search. There was still hope.
Notes: *Combat search and rescue, or CSAR or SAR. No romantic love between Cyclone or Warlock, just a friendship dating back years ago, in case you were wondering. How y'all liking it so far? Heads up, chapters 9-11 are…ummmm…."fun" aka, hurt/pain. So, something to look forward to I guess. *shrug*