@cllsgnslider
February, 1987. Miramar, California.
To say that everything was in a somber mood lately, was an understatement. Ever since the training exercise in Miramar where Goose had perished, the mood was dour and somber, amongst the naval pilots of the Navy Fighter Weapons School, best known as Top Gun.In twenty years of the school, a pilot had never died in a training accident like this. Nobody knew what had really happened to Goose and Maverick’s F-14 to make it go wrong. Jetwash from the exhaust of Iceman’s fighter just ahead of him made him lose complete control, and complete mechanical faiture of the ejection system. The naval investigation had cleared Lieutenant Pete Mitchell of all wrong doing. But that didn’t stop Mav from punishing himself, hard, and he was struggling to just get through the day and focusing, until now he had just given up. He had turned in his wings to Jester and the program commander, Viper.
God damn it, everything checked out in pre-flight. Bullshit. This is how Cougar felt, when he walked. But...this isn’t about my family. This is me. I don’t have a fucking family.
He sighed as he entered the bar, and he removed his aviator sunglasses, as he approached the bar, and he tucked his sunglasses into the collar of his naval white uniform. He saw Slider, and Wolfman, and Hollywood at the bar, and luckily, the taller Lieutenant was just drinking, and wasn’t with babes, because he wasn’t going to be much competition for that.
Iceman and him didn’t speak to each other, aside from Kazansky telling him good luck, and that was it. He had been running his mouth that Maverick was dangerous, and maybe some people were starting to listen to him. He was there with Goose and Merlin, when Cougar got freaked out and quit, and he was there when Goose died, his radar intercept operator. Two pilots who had worked with Maverick were history. It wasn’t a good image. Who gives a fuck? I’m quitting. Just done with this crap. I cant..anymore.
“Hey, Ron.” Mav spoke up, clearly stressed, calling Slider by his real name, as a compatriot and a fellow pilot, just not interested in competition anymore, with his fellow pilots. “You got some time? I’m buyin’, if you want. My plane leaves in a few hours. And I uh, just want hang...before I leave and stuff.”
He was wearing his naval uniform for probably the last time. He didn’t know what he was going to do. Maybe fly civilian jets for an airline, if he ever could muster the nerve, or drive trucks, he remembered Goose suggesting it. Or go to law school next. He was sure that leaving the Navy entirely was the next step. He just couldn’t fly anymore. His heart was broken, and not in it. And well, nobody really wanted to fly with him, and be his RIO after what happened with Goose. His co-pilot in the F-14 was his responsibility, and he failed.
Wolfman and Hollywood just stared at Maverick, not wanting to bother him or give him a hard time, having quiet sympathetic looks, and Slider was a strange choice for Mav to hang out with, but he had his hat in hand. But the more distance he had between Kazansky and himself, the better.
