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THE TWO THINGS I LOVED MOST in this world were surfing and flying.

At the moment, I was doing neither.

I wanted to be back out on the beach, instead of being stuck in a poorly air conditioned classroom at Top Gun.

I became a pilot for a reason.

This was not one of them.

Worse, our superiors and our instructors hadn't even entered the room, but I guess it was still early. With nothing else to preoccupy my thoughts, I instantly felt bored out of my mind. I had always been impatient.

I loved surfing, almost as much as I loved being a pilot. What could I say? I was an adrenaline junkie.

It's the one of the only things that I took after my dad in. At my first explanation of him, you'd probably expect an old, fat guy, who was drunk all day and night, and never cared for his family.

And that's my fault for telling it that way, because that's not who he was.

He was practically a platinum blond, and was more in love with surfing and the ocean than my mother. His name was Ryan, and as much as he was in tune with water, he hated people. He had the worst and the lowest expectations for people, especially for me.

I knew he resented me for keeping my mothers and his marriage alive, wasting years he felt he would have been better off alone. And he probably would've been better off.

I was more like him that I wanted to admit. I had his hair, and his surfing abilities. And I did like being alone sometimes, but I hated being lonely.

Luckily, I did get one thing from my mother, and it was probably the most important. It was probably another reason my father disliked me. I had her personality.

I snap out of my daydreaming when I hear a loud, "Attention on deck!"

We all stood up at attention, no one daring to breath as soon as our admiral's words rang out. Admiral Bates, or Warlock, looked at the small group of naval aviators in front of him.

At the front of the room, he gripped the sides of the podium and said with authority, "Good morning, welcome to your special training attachment. Please be seated."

We all found our way to our seats, I was lucky enough to sit next to Coyote. In front of us, sat Phoenix and Bob, while Rooster sat in the row directly across from me and Coyote. I glanced once at Bob in front of me, and as if sensing my eyes, he turned around, and my head snapped to the front of the room.

Could I be anymore obvious?

I can't tell if he knew it was me or not, but Coyote definitely noticed something was up, so he nudged me with his elbow so I would pay attention.

I never paid attention unless it was important, even then, it was impossible. I started bouncing my leg up and down out of nerves and anxiety.

Warlock clears his throat, "I am Admiral Bates. And you're all of Top Gun's finest graduates. The best of the best... that was yesterday."

What was going on here?

He continues, "The enemy's new Fifth-Generation Fighters levels our playing field. For your next mission, we have limited details, and we don't have the technological advantage anymore. Success, now more than ever, comes down to the man, or woman in the box. Only of half of you will make the cut. Only one of you will be made mission leader, and the other half will remain in reserve."

"Who's gonna be teaching us?" Hangman asks.

I look at him across the room, and wonder how he has the nerve to be so disrespectful to our commanding officers. It's a miracle he even made it this far.

I look in front of me, to see Bob looking at me. Bob notices when I hold his stare, and so he snaps back to the front of the room.

Was that a... tinge of pink across his cheeks? There was no way, it's probably just hot in here. I know I was drowning in the heat.

Returning my focus back to the conversation at hand, Admiral Bates says, "Your instructor is a Top Gun graduate with real world experience, in every aspect you will be expected to learn and master. His exploits are legendary, what he has to teach you may very well be the difference between life and death."

The door at the front of the room opens, and reveals an older man. He sure knows how to make an entrance, as his military boots thud with every step, as he takes his place at Warlock's side.

Hangman, Payback, and Coyote recognize him as man they threw out of the Hard Deck.

I laugh as their faces become pale, and their inner thoughts are suddenly, has the floor ever looked so interesting?

"I give you Captain Pete Mitchell, call sign, Maverick." Warlock finished, and dismissed himself.

Maverick was going to teach us? The Maverick? You'd have to live under a rock to not hear or know who Maverick is. We've all heard about his adventures, he was just as good as Iceman, but had somehow managed to keep himself in a cockpit for well over 30 years.

"Good morning." Maverick greets, holding up our standard F-18 instruction manual. "This book contains everything they want you to know about your aircraft. I'm assuming you know this book inside and out."

He smiles, and then lets go of it, watching our faces as he lets it fall it into the trash next to him.

"So does the enemy."

My eyes widen in horror.

His uncanny smile will forever be burned into my memory.

I'm one to fly by the book, I'm good at it or else I never would've gotten here. This was probably the hardest assignment that I'll ever go through.

Maverick grins when he stares at the surprised looks on our faces.

But then he remembers his mission, and his audience, so he says, "But what the enemy doesn't know, is your limits, and I intend to find those limits. Test them and push them beyond. So today, we'll start with what you think you know." He looks out at all of us, wondering who will be up to the task. "Show me what you're made of."

He dismisses the class, and we head to the locker rooms to get into our flight suits and gear. Blood starts pumping more adrenaline through in my veins because we were about to one of the only places I felt like I belonged: the sky.

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