#student pilot instructor

[the-balloon-shed]

imma be honest I want to make a fic of this one day but for right now you just get me running wild with this headcanon

you know how there's those videos of surgeons being "inspirational" to their interns and then saying the meanest shit in the world? yeah, I think that's Iceman as an instructor at TOPGUN. 

Just the dry, rough sense of humor? The perfectly attenuated phrase in order to knock the arrogance out of some of these scrappy pilots? That's Iceman. The evidence is there in TG86! it's ICE who is saying the most bratty shit to Maverick. His criticisms are almost always valid or born of a real curiosity that's worth looking into, which I think is key, but he expresses it in the rudest and most inciting way possible. 

"Who was covering Cougar while you were showboating --"; (in response to Slider's calling Goose and Mav "famous") "I think you mean notorious"; "I don't like you 'cause you're dangerous" -- I mean Ice is right but he's also a bitch. (we don't have time to unpack ALL of what went into Ice goading Maverick seconds after meeting him with "need help figuring it out? who's the best pilot?" like my god man). 

So, some contenders for some of the commentary Ice might have for his students -- 

"Keep flying like that, I'm going to assume you're getting kickbacks from the military hospital." 

"I can only hope one day you fly for the enemy." 

"I was thrilled to hear the Navy's policy initiative for accommodating more disabilities went into action this year, however, I do think they should reconsider sending me blind pilots." 

"Are you on your wingman's life insurance or something?" 

"What did I say about making the same mistake twice?" "At least tell you I've learned something?" "No. What I said is don't." 

"Resist the urge to help me."

"I'm not looking for the best you can do. I'm looking for the best, period. So if you can't do any better, I suggest trying to emulate somebody else who can." 

"Well, you're no Artful Dodger, but artless dodging kept you alive well enough this time, I suppose." (I think it would be funny if he incidentally gave this poor pilot the callsign Dodger because of this, or A.D. for Artless Dodger)

"Did the Academy change its curriculum? Emphasize the element of surprise?" "Um... why do you ask, sir?" "Because you fly like you've never been inside a plane before." 

And I think he might say this to a colleague trying to pull rank over him that he neither respects nor cares about:

"I've neither the time, nor the crayons, to explain this to you." 

I think Mav would be so annoyed, too. "why do I have the reputation for being hard to work with when you're going around saying the meanest crap to these kids?" 

All Ice would do is laugh. "Sounds like a personal problem." 

Not to say that Ice is an asshole without restraint. Hell, the Iceman is all about restraint. He doesn't kick people when they're down. He doesn't say cutting stuff like this to people who are genuinely trying and not being a showoff. This is to knock overly arrogant kids down a few pegs, not send people into a shame self-doubting spiral, and Ice is usually pretty damn good at walking that line. 

Like, I imagine one of the students not understanding something to do with the physics portions of their classes and so he goes to Ice super nervous about getting reamed, and Ice is very patient with him. When Mav comes in and starts talking to Ice about instructor stuff, the student goes "oh, I can come back later, you know I think I'm getting it!" out of fear of wasting Ice's time and Ice would chuckle and be like "no, you clearly don't get it, and that's fine. Easier to teach you on dry land as opposed to up in the air, so let's keep working through it. Long as Mav's not about to talk to me about anything confidential --" which Mav shakes his head no "--alright, then how about you sit right there and keep working at it until you get it, and you will get it. If you've got the time, I've got the time, so let's get it done," and the kid stays in the office and keeps working at it for hours, occasionally checking his work with Mav and Ice until, voila, he does actually get it and also has a whole new understanding of Ice. 

Or if, god forbid, anyone had an accident, Ice would be all over trying to help with that (and help Mav work through it too) and protecting the students from any fallout from the brass because fuck them, they don't know what it's like to be in the air anymore. 

I also think that before the TOPGUN class starts, Ice would find Mav checking on all the canopies of all the jets and, once Ice realized that was what Mav was doing, would spend the next several hours with him helping out and making sure everything was operating properly, even though engineering had already looked at them. Can never be too sure, and if it provides Mav peace of mind, then Ice will do it, no questions asked. 

And so, despite saying some of the rudest crap most of these students have ever heard, they all love him. They all respect the ever-living-crap out of him, and learn to find him actually just kind of funny. It'd be a lot harder to like him if he were wrong, but he's so rarely wrong that in the end even the ones who do get pissed off at him manage to calm down. Students, as they graduate and leave TOPGUN, would probably talk to other graduating classes when they meet them on deployments like "oh my god, what did he say to your class?" "he once said --" "I didn't find it funny then but now I laugh every time I think about it -- " "he helped me figure out how to do..." so on so forth. 

There are a couple of the brass that aren't amused, but I think that's where Mav would come into play in his own way. Because Ice is good at what he does, and Mav sure as hell wants him around, and so should everyone else. Ice is just also not afraid to be an asshole about being good -- which the last person this is news to is Maverick. 

Maverick's just the only one Ice has encountered who can give as good as he gets, which is why as instructors, they do a pretty damn good job working together to whip their classes into shape. It's just funny that never in a million years did Mav think he'd be the "good cop" in their good cop/bad cop instructor situation, but he's resigned himself to his fate all the same. 

[xihe1874]

The reason why Ice kept wearing his sunglasses even indoors was…

To secretly stare at one particular green-eyed pilot? For sure.

But also, he loved to steal a nap wherever he was.

No one believed that Iceman, best of the best, ice-cold no mistake, best Top Gun instructor the Navy had every had, was sleeping in classes or in the middle of a meeting behind those aviators, so Ice never got caught.

So stylish, that man, the students murmured. So cool. Look at those aviators.

Entered Maverick.

At first, Maverick regarded it as notorious. Flashy and Nasty, OK? (unreasonably hot, but still) NASTY.

Then after one class, when the students had all left, Iceman still sat on his chair with his sunglasses on.

Maverick rolled his eyes.

"It had ended, you know. No one here to admire your fancy postures."

No response.

"...Ice?"

Still no respose.

Then Maverick came closer, and found that Iceman was snoring quietly, his mouth slightly open, and he was even drooling a bit.

That's...

So cute.

When Iceman awaked, the classroom was dark and empty.

And he was cloaked in Maverick's jacket.

[untitled-document-95]

Music to My Ears (jake seresin x reader)

Summary: Jake accidentally lingers at The Hard Deck, finally seeing a side of you no one knows about.

Warnings: memories of shitty boyfriends ig?

Requested: Nope

A/N: Based on the song "If You Have To" by Ella Langley

*gif is not mine*

On the night that changed everything, things started out as normal as could be. The Hard Deck filled with Top Gun students and graduates and even a few instructors, the crowd peaking around 9 PM before slowly fading out the closer it drew to midnight. Last call came, a few more drinks were poured. Penny wiped down the bar while her junior bartender cleaned tables and stacked stools. Only a few stragglers had yet to drag their happy asses out of the bar and back to base. Unsurprisingly, one was Lieutenant Jake Seresin, who’d gotten himself engrossed in a billiards battle with a few other pilots. 

Finally, the game ended. Penny bid the boys goodnight before calling to her helper. 

“Hey, you still want to lock up on your own tonight?”

“Yeah, I got it handled. Have a good night, Penny.” She smiles sweetly and nods at her boss, hoping she doesn’t see that there’s an ulterior motive for wanting to lock up on her own. Penny waves and heads out the door.

Unbeknownst to the young lady, she is still not alone. Neither she nor Penny saw Lieutenant Seresin head into the bathroom instead of heading out the door with his buddies. Her closing duties complete aside from turning off lights and locking the doors, she sits down at the piano. Warming up a bit, she doesn’t hear the lieutenant exit the bathroom and stop in his tracks when he hears the piano and finds her sitting there, no audience in sight. 

Finally, her fingers begin to dance across the keys and play a song. She plays the same melody on repeat for a bit. Jake wonders if he should do something - sneak out, clear this throat, do something to get her attention? He worries that any of the above will startle her. It’s been over a year and Jake has never once told her anything close to the truth about how he feels about her. He loves the way she interacts with customers, friendly and kind to those who are nice to her but can absolutely destroy a rude customer with her words. He noticed how she was scared to ring the bell at first, but now will walk in that direction until she gets an apology from whoever thought they could mess with her. So unbelievably smart for someone so beautiful, though Jake knows to say that out loud would make him sound like an asshole. 

It’s not as though Jake hasn’t tried to talk to her, though. Problem was, when he tried that very first time he ever saw her tending bar, she mentioned a boyfriend. Jake had even seen him once or twice, picking her up or just hanging out at the bar to talk to her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, dipping her into a deep kiss. In his presence, her face lit up with joy. It was clear to any outsider that she loved him, and they were best friends. So Jake kept his distance, but he always wondered if that guy truly reciprocated her feelings. His face never seemed as bright, never as deeply consumed during their interactions the way she was.

Jake is enamored with her playing, and it only gets better when she begins to sing. 

You know I never lied

Went home with someone else 

So why you acting like I put you through some kind of hell?

The first verse pulls Jake under, as though he begins drowning in the same sea of emotion. Was this about that guy? The one Jake had always seen before? Come to think of it, there’d been several nights Jake had come to the bar to find her absent. Ever since, Jake couldn’t recall another night with that guy at the bar or there waiting for her at the end of the night. 

Hate me if you have to

If it helps you sleep at night

Paint me in whatever light

Baby that you want to

Finally, the song fades to an end and the last chords ring out across the empty room. It becomes painfully obvious that Jake must now make his presence known in some way that makes it evident he wasn’t trying to hide from her on purpose. Turning around to find him standing there silently would give stalker vibes. 

“Wow,” is all Jake can muster. She whirls around on the piano bench to lock eyes with the green-eyed pilot, chest heaving with the efforts of the song and now adrenaline coursing through her. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” she accuses. 

“I…I’m sorry,” Jake says, holding up both hands in surrender. “I was in the bathroom and when I came out…well, it’s rude to interrupt a performance.” He’s fairly certain he hears her mutter an expletive under her breath as her hands find her head, rubbing her temples and seemingly trying to wipe humiliation from her features. 

“You heard all of that, huh?” she asks. Jake approaches, hands in pockets, nodding. From the piano bench, she looks up at him, lips pursed. 

“That was…some song,” Jake says, his tone laced with all the things he wants her to know but can’t say. That he understands the meaning of the lyrics, that he’s sorry anyone would ever do anything to make her feel that way. “That why you wanted to lock up alone?” 

“It’s the only time I can ever have a piano to myself.” She seems both sad and frustrated by this.

“You are incredibly talented.”

“Thanks.” She speaks quietly and slowly, as though she’s embarrassed of her own skills. “I’ve been working on that for months. That was probably the best I’ve ever done.”

The pair are silent for a few moments, unsure of where to go from here. Finally, Jake remembers his manners. He sticks out a hand to formally introduce himself, and she returns the gesture, also giving her name. The pair stare at one another for several moments, neither one wanting to break the anticipatory silence. 

“Why are you staring at me?” she finally asks. 

“I’m wishing,” Jake whispers, serious as can be.

“For what?” 

“That I knew what to say or do right now to make sure you don’t ever feel that way again.” There’s no arrogance or inflated sense of self behind his words. They are not empty, a mere catalyst for getting her home. They are real and raw and it surprises even Jake that he let them slip. She raises an eyebrow, looks to her lap, then lets out a quiet, joyless chuckle. 

“Well when you figure it out, let me know, will you?” she says, sounding defeated like she knows he never will because she doesn’t know the answer herself. She closes the lid to the piano, standing and sliding the bench in. She crosses to the bar, double-checking her last minute tasks and grabbing her car keys, all the while leaving Jake to the left of the piano, dumbstruck or perhaps awestruck but most certainly struck with her. When she reaches the door, she gives him a look as if to say, “I can’t leave until you do, so get a move on.” Jake slowly approaches, mind still spinning.

“Would you be open to getting coffee with me in the morning?” he asks cautiously.

“Define ‘morning’” she asks, which throws Jake for a loop, leaving him unable to answer her simple yet mind-boggling question. She locks the door behind them, and they meander to their respective vehicles. 

“Um,” he begins. Her mouth forms a smirk. If he didn’t know any better, Jake would say she was enjoying the amount of control she obviously held here. 

“There’s a reason I work in a bar, Lieutenant. You won’t find me outside of my bed before 9 AM if I have any say in the matter.” 

“9:30 AM it is,” he retorts. She smiles.

“See you then. Goodnight, Jake,” she says.

“Goodnight.” 

[heyimkana]

You know what would be hot?

Enemies-to-Lovers, Teacher-Student AU, based on Top Gun Maverick.

Commander Sung Jinwoo is the brooding, always silent always composed, terribly strict Top Gun instructor. Call Sign: Reaper. He's a legend, the deadliest pilot the Navy had ever trained. Earned his call sign because every time he showed up in a dogfight, someone was bound to die by his hands.

Reader is the fierce, utterly talented yet very cocky pilot, and the only one who's not intimidated by him. Call Sign: Siren. Beautiful and dangerous, luring enemies to their deaths. The best flyer in the new batch. Always has something to prove and zero interest in authority. Gives Jinwoo a terrible fucking headache (and then just gives him head later on 😌 ASDFSJJ)

[dark-night-hero]

「Echoes in the Sky」 Caleb (ii)

       ↳ A grounded pilot with no memory of the past is drawn back to the sky, to the people who never stopped waiting for them. In the quiet of a small pub and the open sky above, fragments return. Not through words, but through flight, instinct, and the ones who still remember. (10.5k)

They said no.

Too high-ranking. Too political. Too far removed from the cockpit to be of any use to the new generation of Top Gun pilots. A lieutenant colonel doesn't volunteer for frontline training. Others were assigned. Younger men. Hungrier ones.

But Caleb had read the roster. He'd seen the name halfway down the page, and the world tilted.

Your brother.

Call sign: Echo.

Sharp. Fast. Reckless in a way that felt familiar.

And just like that, it came rushing back. The distant thunder of afterburners overhead, the shrill cut of your laughter through comms, the way you used to fly like gravity was an insult.

The past didn't speak in full sentences anymore. It came in fragments. In static. In moments stitched together by grief.

It came like echoes in the sky.

You had been the best, his best, and when you went down, the silence that followed never really left. They called it a crash. He called it the day the world stopped making sense. They buried an empty casket, folded a flag, handed him a medal he never touched. You were gone. Officially. Professionally. Completely.

Except not really. Not to him. You lived in the students who flew too close to the edge. In the way their hands danced over throttles. In the heat that rolled off the tarmac. You lived in every ghost that screamed past at Mach 1.

So Caleb returned. To Miramar. To Top Gun. To the echoes. He told command it was strategy. Experience. Protocol.

But the truth?

He heard you in the sky again. And he wasn't ready to let go.

🍎

The hallway was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't last long at Miramar. Caleb had always liked this stretch of corridor. Tucked behind the briefing rooms, just out of reach of the noise.

It used to be where pilots came to breathe between flights. Where you once leaned against the vending machine, helmet tucked beneath your arm, eyes gleaming with something louder than adrenaline.

He did not come here to chase ghosts. But they followed him anyway.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Caleb turned, expecting a recruit, maybe another instructor. Instead, it was him. Your brother. Flight suit sharp. Call sign stitched in crisp white, ECHO.

The irony stung. The name was a legacy. Maybe a curse. Maybe a middle finger aimed at fate.

He hadn't seen the kid in years, not since the memorial. He was older now. Shoulders broader. Jaw set in that same stubborn tilt you used to wear whenever you didn't want to talk about something. Caleb straightened.

"Lieutenant." He said and your brother didn't stop walking. He didn't slow. Just brushed past without so much as a glance. The silence was louder than any answer and Caleb doesn't blame him.

You had been wingmates. Closer than blood. Caleb flew lead. You followed him into everything. Until one day, you didn't come back. He knew what your brother must've thought. What most people probably did. You trusted Caleb with your life. And he lost it.

He exhaled as your brother disappeared around the corner, boots steady, back stiff. No confrontation. No words. Just that cold, deliberate kind of silence that said. I know who you are. I haven’t forgiven you. And I’m not going to pretend I have.

Caleb leaned back against the wall. Let his head rest against the concrete, eyes tracing the ceiling. You used to say the air up there didn't judge. That the sky had no memory. But the people left behind? They remembered everything. Even the things you couldn't.

🍎

The smell hadn't changed. The mix of coffee, jet fuel, old chairs and pressure washed concrete hit Caleb the moment he stepped through the door. It pulled at something buried deep, something quiet, something sharp before he'd even spoken a word. It was the scent of pressure. Of anticipation. Of young pilots trying to carve names into the sky.

They were waiting for him now. Twenty of them lined in neat rows. Uniforms crisp. Eyes too sharp for their age. Postures wound tight with ambition. The next generation of Top Gun. The best of the best. He'd been one of them once.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Caleb Xia. Call sign: Caleb." He began, voice flat but clear, eyes sweeping over the room. "You don't need to like me. You don't need to impress me. But if you want to fly out of here with that patch, you'll learn to out think me.”

A few of them smirked. Confidence blooming in their expressions. The cocky kind. Already calculating where he might rank on their mental kill boards. Caleb let the silence stretch. "The men and women who've stood where you stand now. They earned it by knowing when to listen, and when to lead. That starts today."

Then came protocol. He opened the floor to clarifying questions. A few hands rose. Standard inquiries. "What's your policy on push-throughs in a vertical dive?" "Will we be rotating instructors per module?" He responded in clipped, mechanical answers. Efficient. Professional. Distant. Then a voice floated from the back row, not loud. Curious, maybe even a little bored.

"Sir, did you come through Top Gun yourself?" Caleb's gaze swept across the room. The speaker didn't identified themselves. Still, he gave a single nod. "Class of '37." Another voice followed, different, but close enough in location to suggest they were friends. "Anyone we'd recognize from your cycle?" Light laughter stirred across the classroom, unforced and easy. But Caleb felt something catch in his chest. A small hitch.

There it was. A thread. Waiting to be pulled. But his tone didn't waver. "One or two. But they're long gone." The laughter died quickly. A different kind of quiet took its place. And then your brother stood. No fanfare. No attitude. Just the weight of a question he already knew the answer to but had to ask anyway. "Was Echo one of them?"

The name didn't go unnoticed. A few students glanced at each other, expressions shifting. Some recognized it from simulator recordings or whispered hallway stories, rumors about a pilot who should have become a legend but didn't. The atmosphere changed. Barely but unmistakably. Caleb felt it settle into his bones.

He looked at the young man now standing at the rear of the room. Back straight. Boots anchored. Composure exact. His features held the same controlled intensity Caleb remembered from a different face, yours. He was your brother. Of course.

He hadn't spoken to Caleb since orientation. Not during roll call. Not even a nod. He had been colder than protocol required but not openly hostile. Just silent. Deliberately so. Until now. Caleb met his gaze and didn't look away.

"Echo was in my class." He said. "And my flight team." He added. Not his sibling. Not his wingmate. Just facts. Clean. Impersonal. "They were one of the most gifted pilots I ever flew with." It should have ended there. But your brother didn't sit. Didn't blink. He watched Caleb like a man reading static, hunting for the signal underneath. "They never graduated, though. Right?"

The words dropped like a weight. Heavy. Sharp. Ugly with truth. Caleb's jaw tightened. Something flickered behind his eyes, just a second of something raw but he buried it before it could surface. "No." he replied quietly. "Their last mission was classified. They didn't come back." And that was it. The moment everything shifted.

The air thinned. The hunger in the room turned tight, uneasy. Like everyone had taken a breath they suddenly couldn't justify holding. Your brother sat down. Said nothing more. But the space between them, the quiet, deliberate space spoke louder than anything else in the room.

It said. You were there. And they’re not. So what the hell went wrong?

And Caleb? He felt it all over again. Your voice cutting in through comms. "I've got this, Apple. You're clear." Then the silence that followed. And now, a new silence. Louder. Heavier. Filled with someone else's blame.

🍎

The mission briefing had labeled it a standard three plane engagement. Guns only. Kill lock disables. No allies. But everyone in the hangar knew better. This wasn't training. It was a measuring stick.

Commander Caleb Xia had launched into the air like the sky still remembered him. He flew like it owed him something, ruthless, precise, terrifying in the sheer efficiency of his control. Angles bent for him. Altitude folded into advantage. Every maneuver looked less like strategy and more like instinct forged in fire.

Some of the students whispered about the past. About how Caleb had flown with the original Echo, the pilot whose name now rode on his helmet. Most didn't say it out loud. Not around him. He hadn't asked for the callsign. But once it was assigned, he never let it go.

"Big name to take on." One of the instructors had muttered months ago, a casual comment not meant to stick. Echo's answer had been quiet. Unshaken. "It's not about the name. It's about reminding the sky who it lost."

Now he was climbing fast. Six thousand feet and rising. The sun cut across the canopy glass in streaks of copper and blood. He could feel the jet tighten beneath him like a living thing, hungry for altitude. And just like that, Caleb disappeared from radar. Again. Too fast. Too smart. Too familiar.

His fingers curled around the throttle. Jaw tense. He muttered under his breath. "You always disappear when it gets real, Colonel?" No reply. Of course not. It wasn't personal. Not officially. But ever since Caleb's name had gone up on the instructor board, something inside him had coiled tight and never let go.

They hadn't spoken. Not really. A line here. A nod there. But Echo knew. He knew. Caleb had been in the air that day. The day Echo One didn't come home. His sibling. Gone. The sky silent. The official report, redacted. And the one constant in all of it? Caleb Xia.

Sudden tone. Lock warning screamed through his headset. Too late. "Guns. Echo, you're dead." Colonel Xia's voice cracked through the comms like cold steel. He pulled the stick into a high-G roll anyway, refusing to die easy, even in simulation. Chasing a ghost that had already taken him down. Too slow. Too far behind. Tagged clean. He leveled out.

Silence returned to the radio. The other student would be debriefing soon, probably spinning some excuse. But Caleb remained aloft, circling above like a hawk that had never learned how to land. Echo opened his mic. "Where you there?" A pause. Static. Then Caleb's voice can be heard. "When?" "The last mission. The one where Echo One didn't come back."

He didn't say my sibling. He didn't need to. There had only ever been one Echo One. The reply came after a breath. Measured. Controlled. "Yeah. I was there." "And?" "They flew solo. I wasn't on comms when they went down." His grip tightened on the controls. "But you were in the sky. Weren't you?"

Silence. No confirmation. No denial. Just the cold air and the sound of his own breath. He stared out through the glass, eyes burning. "You fly like no one can touch you." He said. "Like you're the end of every fight before it starts." Still nothing. Only the faint sound of engines above. Caleb's jet cutting quiet arcs through open sky.

"So if you were in the sky that day..." His voice cracked, just once. "Why didn't you bring them home?" The comms went dead. No beep. No farewell. Just silence. Final.

Above, Caleb's jet leveled out and climbed higher. Alone. A silhouette against the glare of sun and haze. Echo didn't chase him. He couldn't. He just watched. Watched that machine vanish into white gold light and felt something tear in his chest. Not anger. Not even grief. Something worse.

Recognition. He hated the man and respected him. And yet couldn't forgive him. And worst of all, he understood him. Because if he had been in that sky… if it had been him on your wing, with your voice crackling through the comms. He would've torn the sky open. He would've shattered heaven itself to bring you home. Wouldn't he?

🍎

The door slammed open, hard enough to shake the hinges. The sound cracked through the locker room like a cannon blast. Caleb didn't flinch. He sat on the bench head down, helmet balanced on one knee. Sweat still clung to the collar of his flight suit. The flight had ended but whatever was about to begin between them. This wasn't over.

Echo stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling like he hadn't taken a full breath since landing. He looked like a storm barely contained by skin. Fists clenched. Shoulders locked. And for a long, breathless second, all he did was stare. Then he saw it.

Inside Caleb's locker, partially hidden beneath a cracked nameplate and a curling flight checklist was a worn, sun bleached patch. ECHO. The original. Yours. The breath caught in his throat like shrapnel. "What the hell is that doing there?" Echo snapped, the words low and shaking. Anger, disbelief, grief. None of them could stand on their own, so they came together like glass splintering.

Caleb looked up slowly. His entire body stiffened. He didn't need to ask what Echo meant. "It's theirs." Caleb said, voice steady but ragged. "It stays." "You don't get to hang their name like a trophy." Echo took a step forward, heat rising in his chest like fire through a sealed cabin. "You don't get to keep them like they were yours."

Caleb rose quietly, deliberately like standing wasn't just a motion but a choice to meet the storm head on. "I didn't keep them." He said, jaw tight. "I lost them." "That right?" Echo's voice rose, cracked at the edges. "Because the way you fly, the way you carry yourself, you act like you walked out of that wreckage a damn hero."

Caleb stepped in close, until they were eye to eye, breath to breath. "I walked out of that wreckage alone." he bit out. "Do you know what that feels like? Looking down at fire and twisted steel and knowing the only person who ever mattered to you is gone?"

"You don't get to talk about mattering." Echo snapped. "You weren't blood." Caleb's expression shifted. Like the words hit a place still bleeding. "No." He said quietly. "I was worse." A pause. "I loved them." The air collapsed between them. Echo blinked.

"What?" He asked, almost like a whisper. "I loved them." Caleb repeated, louder now, voice cracking as the words clawed their way out. "And don't stand there acting like I didn't. I would've burned the goddamn world to bring them home. You think I didn't try?" "You were there!" Echo's voice broke as he pointed, hand trembling. "You were in the air! Why didn't you go after them? Why didn't you stop it?"

"I did!" Caleb roared. The word echoed off the tile like thunder. "I flew back. I broke protocols. I crossed into restricted airspace, I ignored orders, I-" His voice fractured. "I got there too late." The silence that followed was unbearable. Thick. Violent in how gentle it became. Echo's chest rose and fell, shallow and fast. So did Caleb's. No movement. Only pain.

"You think you're the only one who grieves them." Echo whispered, his voice thick with rage and something deeper. Wounded, unfinished. "But you got to fly with them. You knew them. I grew up chasing their ghost and all I ever heard was (Your name) this, Echo that. Like I was supposed to become them. Like I was some kind of replacement."

Caleb looked at him. This time, the fury in his face faded. It cracked. Pain replaced it. Something hollow and old and aching. "You were never supposed to live in their place." He said softly. "They weren't supposed to die." The locker room was silent again. The kind of silence that made you feel like the whole world was holding its breath.

Then Caleb turned away and slammed the locker door shut. The metal rang through the room like a warning. Or a goodbye.

"I see them every time I close my eyes." He said, not turning back. "Do you understand that? Every mission. Every time I'm in the air. I hear them. Laughing on comms and for half a second, I forget they're gone. And then it comes back. The crash. The report. The sky that should've given them back."

Echo felt it. Deep in his ribs. A burn that wasn't fury this time, but grief with nowhere to go. He blinked hard. His vision swam. And for the first time. He saw Caleb not as the myth, a legend. Not as the flawless pilot or the man who didn't fall apart. But as someone gutted still flying through wreckage.

"...They loved you too." Echo said, voice thin and broken. Caleb stopped. Echo swiped at his face with one hand, as if trying to force the tears back where they didn't belong. "They told me once, over a phone call. Quiet. Like it was some secret they weren't supposed to say out loud." He exhaled. "Said you made the sky feel different. Said you made them believe in more than just flying." The words landed like a punch to the lungs.

Caleb inhaled sharply. It was like hearing your voice again, only from someone else's mouth. A ghost speaking through blood. And just like that, the fight dissolved. No punches. No apologies. Only the silence that comes when two men realize they've both been standing in the same crater, just on opposite sides. Broken. Still chasing the echo of someone neither of them could let go.

🍎

The pub was quiet, even for a Thursday. Not empty, just slow. The kind of night where everything felt softer. The sound of glasses, the quiet music playing, and the occasional noise of a motorcycle outside. You were behind the counter, wiping glasses, serving drinks. This was your routine. It was simple. Comfortable. Safe. The door creaked open.

Then the door opened, and three Navy pilots walked in. You could tell right away. The flight jackets, the loud voices, the way they carried themselves, they were Top Gun or wanted everyone to think so. They dropped onto the stools like they'd just landed and needed to get flying out of their system. Trouble, in other words. The three Navy pilots stepped in like they owned the place or at least needed to convince themselves they did.

"Two beers." Said the blonde one, already grinning. "And something dark for the serious one." The so called serious one didn't argue. Just started scanning the shelves behind you like he already knew what he wanted and was giving the bottles a chance to impress him.

You poured. Quiet. Efficient. "So what's your story?" Asked the second one, taller, leaner, full of that relaxed arrogance you'd learned to spot from a mile away. "You a veteran?" You gave a short nod. "Retired." "Pilot?" Another nod. You didn't offer more. Didn't need to. The way you moved said enough.

"Damn." The blonde said, sitting up a little straighter. "Top Gun?" You hesitated for a moment then. "Yeah." That changed the air around them. A couple low whistles. Raised brows. The kind of impressed reaction that still made you uncomfortable, even years later. "Seriously?" He asked. "What class?"

You turned slightly, picked up a glass to polish. "I don't know." He blinked, thrown. "Wait, what do you mean?" "I was injured." You said, your voice even. "During a mission. I don't remember the details. I don't know who I flew with. Don't remember the op. Just that I didn't come back from it the same."

That quieted them. The tone shifted. Not pity at least, not exactly. Just a kind of weight settling in the space between their drinks. The third one, who hadn't said much until now, leaned forward. "You lost everything?" You shrugged. "Not everything. Still remember how to pour a drink." That earn a few chuckles.

The tall one cleared his throat. "But you remember your callsign, right?" You nodded again, slower this time. "Echo." That landed hard. A pause stretched out, tense and sudden. The three of them exchanged quick looks, something unspoken passing between them. "That's... weird." One said finally. "There's a guy in our class right now. Callsign's Echo too."

Your hand paused mid wipe. Barely. But enough. You set the glass down slowly, kept your back turned to hide the way your spine stiffened. "He's good." Said the quiet one. "Sharp instincts. Flies like there's something personal in it." "Yeah." The blonde added. "Like the sky took something from him and he's up there trying to take it back."

Your hand twitched. "He's got a grudge.” The third one continued. "Especially when it comes to Colonel Xia." That name. It didn't spark anything clear in your mind, but something under your skin shifted. A subtle, instinctual response like your body recognized a name your brain couldn't place. "Xia?" You repeated.

"Yeah. Lieutenant Colonel Caleb Xia. Instructor. One of the old guard. Still flies like he's trying to outrun something." You kept your hands moving, wiping the same spot on the bar for far too long. "Think they knew each other?" You asked, careful not to sound like it mattered.

"Maybe." One said with a shrug. "People say Sir Caleb lost someone. A pilot he flew with. Think it was a student." You didn't reply. Just listened. "And now I don't know. Feels like Echo reminds him of whoever that was. Like something got left unfinished." The third one took a sip, leaned back, then tossed the question out like it didn't mean much.

"So what about you? What kind of pilot were you?" You exhaled through your nose. Thought for a second. "I don't remember the missions." You said. "Or the aircraft models. Or even the base." That got their attention. "But I remember the feeling." They quieted. "What feeling?" The blonde asked, voice softer.

You leaned against the bar, eyes drifting for a moment, gaze unfocused. "You're up there. Just you, the stick, and the wind. And for a few minutes nothing else matters. Not gravity. Not names. Not memory. You're flying like your soul knows something your body forgot." The words hung in the air, fragile and real. The pilots didn't say anything for a while.

You finally looked at them again. Steadier this time. Tired, but not broken. "I know I flew solo. I know something went wrong. I know I woke up in a hospital with a folder of half redacted charts and nobody waiting." You said it plainly. Without bitterness. Just what it was.

They didn't know what to say. You didn't expect them to. "Anyway." You added, pushing off the bar. "The skies are yours now. I've got my boots on the ground." You smiled. It didn't quite touch your eyes, but it passed for one. They mumbled thank yous and respectful nods. The topic shifted, football, missions, girls back home. They moved on. You didn't.

Later, when the bar had emptied out and the neon signs clicked off one by one, you stood alone behind the counter. Same rag in your hand. Same glass. Wiping a clean surface for no reason. And under your breath, soft and private, you said it again. "Echo." Like a name not yet done with you.

🍎

The hangar wasn't loud but it was alive. The kind of noise that settled in your bones after years on the job. Low voices, the clank of gear, the soft whir of tools, the distant cough of an engine winding down. The sun was nearly gone, dipping behind the stacks leaving the place drenched in gold and shadow. End of day.

Caleb stood on the upper level, leaning against the railing with a lukewarm mug of coffee in his hand. He wasn't really drinking it. Just holding it like habit. His eyes wandered the floor without much focus, watching people move, watching the shift change. Same as always.

He liked this hour. Not for any deep reason. Just that it was quiet. It gave him room to breathe. Below him, two younger pilots were posted up near a deck cart, still in flight gear, helmets under their arms. Their voices carried up a little too easily.

"You been to that new place off base?" One of them asked. "The pub?" The other said. "Yeah. Went once. It's quiet. Old school. Feels like time stopped in there." "Owner's a veteran" The first added. "Pilot, apparently." Caleb kept his eyes ahead. No reaction. Not yet.

"Top Gun too." The kid said. "That's what someone told me. But they don't talk about it much. Just keep to themselves. Pour drinks, stay out of the way." The second one frowned. "You know what squadron?" "Nope. They said they don't remember. Got hurt in a crash. Solo op. Walked away but left most of the memories behind." Caleb's hand went still on his mug.

They didn't say a name. But the shape of the story was familiar. Top Gun. Solo mission. Crash. He stared straight ahead, jaw tightening. No. Couldn't be.

He'd been there. He'd seen what was left of the wreck. The smoke. The way the comms had gone silent and never came back. He'd flown over the site three times until they made him return to base. And still, all he found was fire and twisted metal.

You were gone. That had been the one truth he didn't let himself question. And now, here were two kids trading bar talk like it didn't mean anything. Like they hadn't just dropped a match into the middle of everything he'd tried to bury. He took a slow sip of coffee, even though it was cold.

"Colonel Xia." He turned at the voice. Echo, your brother was coming up the steps. His flight suit hung open at the collar, sweat still fresh at his temples. He looked tired in a way that didn't just come from flying. Not angry anymore. Just worn.

The tension between them had faded since the last blow up but it wasn't fixed. Just dulled. Time and silence had done that. Maybe pain had too. Echo glanced at the mug in Caleb's hand. "That stuff any good?" Caleb gave a dry smile. "Not even close." He said. "But after twenty years, you stop expecting good coffee. You just get used to drinking your regrets."

Echo didn't laugh, but he gave a short nod, stepping up beside him to look out over the hangar. They stood there for a while. No words. Just the background hum of the night shift taking over. Lights dimming. Crews thinning out. That tired rhythm settling into place.

But Caleb's thoughts weren't in the hangar anymore. That story, those voices downstairs had gotten under his skin. He didn't say anything. He wouldn't. He didn't believe in ghosts. And yet as he stepped away from the railing, coffee still in hand, something followed him. A weight he couldn't shake. Not grief. Not quite hope either. Just a question. One that wouldn't let go.

🍎

The sky opened wide over the desert, hard blue sky and five jets sliced through it like blades.

F/A Hornet spread across the training range, locked into a tight, aggressive dogfight. The sun hung low over the clouds, flaring off the glass of the canopies. Simulated rounds traded back and forth. Chatter bled through comms. Sharp, clipped, tense.

"Fox Two. Splash one." "You're wide open on your six, Tex. Roll out, now." "Caleb's moving fast. Where the hell did he go- he's off radar again-" Caleb didn't answer. He never did when it counted. No dramatic move, no wasted breath. Just fast, precise, practiced.

He cut low beneath Echo's wing, barely a flash on their sensors, then pulled up hard into the sunlight. It was a move he'd made a thousand times in his career. One he knew down to the smallest twitch of the stick. Predictable to him. Not to them. Up here, nothing else existed. Not rank. Not age. Not ghosts. Just flying.

And Echo? Echo had kept up. More than that, he was flying better than Caleb had ever seen him. Sharper. Cleaner. More focused. Something had shifted since that last argument in the locker room. Whatever weight Echo had been dragging behind him for months, he wasn't flying with it now. He wasn't trying to be anyone's replacement. He was just flying.

Then- "Caleb, we've got smoke off Echo Two." Caleb's heart lurched before his head caught up. He craned around. A streak of smoke curled out behind Echo's jet, dark and dirty, not the burn off of a flare or a sim hit. This was real. It was coming from the right engine, leaking fast, trailing like a warning sign across the sky.

"I'm losing power." Echo's voice came in, strained. "Right engine's surging. Controls are getting stiff." "Do you need to eject?" Snother pilot asked. "Negative." Echo snapped. "Still flying. Not punching out of a sim." Caleb was already turning, banking hard and pulling in beside him. "Echo, break left. Ease off speed. Let it coast down. I've got you."

"Commander-" "Don't argue. Just do it." It wasn't an order, not exactly. It was instinct. Muscle memory. Trust forged in the same way most good pilots formed it. Mid air, mid threat, no time for second guesses. Caleb closed the distance and dropped in off Echo's wing, just far enough to stay safe, close enough to intervene if things got worse. No more fighting. No more games. This wasn't a mission now, it was escort. It was survival.

"Throttle down. Stay smooth." "Copy. Trying. Trim's fighting back." "You're not going down today." Caleb said it quietly, but meant every word. They descended together, the desert widening below. The smoke got thicker as they dropped, but the engine held. Barely. Caleb didn't leave his side. Not once.

By the time both jets touched down, Caleb just seconds ahead, the crew was already rushing toward them. Fire control. Med techs. Maintenance. The runway buzzed with motion, but for Caleb, it all dropped into the background. Echo climbed out of his jet slower than usual, helmet under one arm, sweat on his jaw, his chest still rising fast. But he was walking. Alive.

Caleb met him halfway across the tarmac, where the heat shimmered in the space between them. Neither spoke at first. Then, Echo stopped in front of him, and the look in his eyes had shifted. Not just the adrenaline. Not even relief. Something else, recognition, maybe. Something heavier.

"I couldn't pull up." Echo said, voice rough. "I tried, but..." "I know." Caleb said, just as quiet. There was a long pause. Then Echo glanced away, jaw tight. "I used to think..." He let out a breath. "I used to think you let my sibling go." Caleb didn't speak.

"I needed someone to blame." Echo said. "It made things easier. Simpler. That if someone had just done something different, maybe..." "I was there." Caleb said. "I saw the radar. I flew back for them. I tried." His voice dropped. "I just got there too late."

Echo looked at him, and this time, there wasn't anger in his expression. Just the kind of tired honesty that doesn't need to be dressed up. "You don't owe me anything." Echo said finally. "You flew with them. You cared. That's more than most." He stepped back slightly, gaze steady. "Thanks for getting me down." Caleb nodded once. "Anytime."

Echo paused just long enough for the moment to register then added. "Commander Caleb." Not Colonel. Not 'sir' Not with edge or distance. Just the name. Caleb gave a faint smile. Not bright. Not triumphant. But real. And Echo returned it. Then he turned and walked away, shoulders a little lighter, steps a little surer. Not healed. Not yet. But steadier.

Caleb stayed behind, looking up at the sky for a second longer. Neither of them had found peace. But this time, they hadn't come down alone.

🍎

The pub was alive.

Not some fancy officer's lounge or rundown pub but the kind of place that felt like it had stories soaked into the walls. Old vinyl records framed behind the bar. A rusty jukebox still managing to blast Van Halen. Pool balls cracking across worn green felt. Laughter too loud. Bottles sweating under dim lights. And above it all, a tired ceiling fan humming like it might fall apart any second.

Caleb stepped inside and paused. He hadn't planned on stopping here. Just a drive off base to clear his head, get away from ghosts and jet noise. But something about the place caught his eye. The name. The glow through the windows. And then he saw you. You were behind the bar.

Pouring drinks for a few young aviators, the sleeves of your gray shirt rolled up just enough to show strength and old scars. No name tag. No callsign. Just the calm, steady presence of someone who knew exactly who they were. Hair pulled back. Eyes clear but distant. The same quiet energy he used to fly beside.

Caleb froze. It was you. Older, sure. A small scar near your temple he didn't remember. A heaviness in your face that hadn't been there before. But still you. Same way you stood. Same tilt to your mouth. Same eyes that used to scan the clouds like they owed you something.

His heart dropped. You were alive. And you didn't recognize him.

You glanced up briefly, just another stranger walking in. Gave him a polite nod, then went back to pouring. Caleb felt like the ground had shifted under his feet. You didn't remember him. But he remembered everything.

He took a seat at the bar, three stools away. Close enough to see you clearly. Far enough not to shake. His chest felt tight. You moved with ease. Calm. You smiled at a joke from a fresh faced pilot who clearly thought he was funnier than he was. Still no sign you knew him.

When you finally made it to him, you slid over a napkin and asked. "What can I get you?" Caleb blinked. Your voice. Still you. "Beer." He said softly. "Whatever's cold." You poured it without hesitation. Just as smooth as you used to fly. Then you leaned forward, studying him just a little. "First time in?" You asked. He nodded, throat dry. "Yeah. Just passing through."

You gave a small smile. "Hope it holds up." He almost said. It used to be you who held me up. Instead, he glanced around. "Nice place." "Thanks." You said, wiping down the counter. "Built it up a few years back. Wanted something quieter. Something familiar." "Feels like it has a soul." He said. You raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know pubs had those." "The right ones do."

You gave a tiny smirk at that. Down the bar, one of the younger pilots called out. "Hey, boss! Tell him the story about the colonel! The guy you almost kicked out last year for trying to explain G-forces to you." You rolled your eyes. "That wasn't a colonel. That was a second lieutenant who watched Top Gun twice and thought it made him bulletproof."

Everyone laughed. You turned back to Caleb, shaking your head with amusement. He tried to smile. His hands were shaking. Then you looked at him again, a little closer this time.

"You fly?" You asked. He nodded. "Used to." With you. For years. And then now. You paused for a moment, eyes narrowing like you were searching for something. "You look like you've been through hell." you said quietly. Caleb gave a shaky breath. "Still climbing out."

You didn't say anything. Just gave him a slow nod and went back to wiping down a glass. He looked down into his drink. In his jacket pocket, his fingers brushed against something small and worn. A flight patch.

ECHO

He closed his eyes. He didn't say your name. Didn't ask why no one told him. Didn't beg for a memory that might hurt you both.

Instead, he sat in the bar you built with no memory of the sky, and watched the person he loved serve strangers with a calm he barely recognized. And all he could do was to sit in silence. And hope that somewhere deep down, some part of you still remembered how to fly.

🍎

The doors to HQ slammed open, the sound echoing down the hall.

Caleb didn't slow down. He walked past junior officers without a word, boots hitting the tile with sharp, angry precision. His jaw was clenched. Shoulders tight. His whole body moved like it was holding something just barely in check.

He didn't knock. He pushed the office door open and walked straight in. General Ross looked up from his desk, calm and unreadable. The kind of calm that came from decades in command. He didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Caleb stopped in front of the desk, fists tight at his sides.

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" He said. Ross raised an eyebrow. "Colonel Xia-" "No. Not rank. Not this time. Why the hell didn't anyone tell me they were alive?" The room went quiet. Ross leaned back in his chair slowly, fingers steepled on the desk. "I saw them disappear off radar." Caleb continued, voice cracking. "I read the report. I held their patch in my hand. I buried them." Ross sighed.

"Sit down, Caleb." "I'm not sitting." "Then listen." There was a pause. Caleb didn't move. Ross spoke carefully. "They were found three days after the crash. Concussed. Dehydrated. Memory mostly gone. They'd walked miles from the wreck, no gear, no comms. A recon team spotted smoke and found them by accident." Caleb froze.

"Why wasn't I told?" "You were already in black ops training. The file was sealed during their recovery. By the time the report cleared, you'd delivered the eulogy. And they didn't remember you." Caleb's breath caught in his throat. "What?" "They remembered flying. They remembered instinct. But not names. Not faces. Not even their own call sign, not at first."

Caleb shut his eyes. He thought of the bar. The way you'd looked at him. Like he was a stranger. "And now?" "They built a new life. Clear their name. Opened that pub. Didn't want to go back to flying. Didn't want to be found. We respected that." Caleb shook his head slowly. "You let me believe they were dead." Ross leaned forward, voice firm. "They were listed missing. Then presumed killed, based on the wreckage. You had no reason to think otherwise."

"I had every reason." Caleb snapped. "You don't lose someone like that and just forget. You don't erase them because it's easier." Ross's voice stayed level. "They asked for peace. After everything they lost... We gave it to them. You think we didn't want them back? You think we didn't try?"

Caleb looked away. His voice dropped low. "They were the best thing that ever happened to me in the sky." Silence stretched between them. Ross finally asked, quieter now. "Do they remember you?" Caleb shook his head. "No." "Then maybe the question is." Ross said. "Do you want them to?"

Caleb didn't answer. Because deep down, he didn't know what scared him more. That you might never remember him or that one day, you might.

🍎

He didn't plan to come back. Not on purpose. Not as part of any plan. But somehow, Caleb found himself standing outside that same small bar just off base, like his feet had taken him there without asking.

He pushed the door open. The little bell above it gave a soft ring, tired, like it had been ringing for years. The place was quieter tonight. Fewer uniforms. Less noise. A slow song played from the jukebox, something old, maybe Fleetwood Mac. The lights were dim and warm, the kind that didn't ask questions. And there you were.

Behind the bar again, wiping glasses, moving with that same easy rhythm he remembered from a long time ago, on flight decks, during mission prep, or when everything was falling apart and you somehow still kept your head. You didn't notice him at first. He took the same seat, three stools down, where he could see you but keep a little space. Then you looked up.

"Back already?" You asked. He gave a small nod. Didn't say anything. His chest felt tight, like if he tried to speak, he wouldn't be able to stop. You picked up a clean glass. "Same beer?" He hesitated, then nodded again. "Sure."

You poured it without making a big deal out of it. Set it down in front of him. Then leaned a little on the counter. Not too close. Just there. "You look worse than last night." You said. He let out a soft breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Thanks." You shrugged, not unkind. "Said with love. Or at least bartender concern."

He stared at the glass. Didn't touch it. "Rough day?" You asked. He gave a small nod. That was all he had. You tilted your head, voice still light but a little more thoughtful. "Let me guess. One of your students got cocky, messed up their landing, and nearly clipped your wing?" He looked up, surprised. You smiled a little. "I've seen that look before. A long time ago."

"Yeah?" His voice was hoarse. You nodded. "I used to fly. A while ago. Before... Whatever happened." You paused. Looked down at your hands. "I don't remember much." You said quietly. "Bits and pieces. Muscle memory. Some habits. But names? Faces? All gone." Caleb's breath caught. Then you looked at him again. Really looked.

"Do you know me?" That question almost knocked the air out of him. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Gripped the glass so his hands wouldn't shake. "I used to." He said. You didn't pull away. You didn't look away. Just stayed there with him in the quiet. "I'm sorry." You said.

He shook his head. "Don't be." Something passed between you then. Not words, exactly. But not silence either. After a moment, you nodded toward the jukebox. "Want me to change the music?" He didn't answer. You smiled, just a little. "Didn't think so. You seem like the kind of guy who lets the song pick itself." He almost laughed. Just barely. But it was real.

You poured yourself a glass of water, took a slow sip, and said. "You can stay. You don't have to talk." He looked at you. And for just a moment, time felt like it folded in on itself. There you were again. Just like before. Steady. Calm. That quiet strength he'd leaned on in the worst storms. The only difference now was... You didn't even know him.

But still, you were here. And Caleb realized memory or not, you were still the safest place he'd ever known.

🍎

He had not planned on going out.

The new cadets had convinced him. They were still buzzing from a good run in the sim, laughing and light, trying to ride the high as long as they could. "It's just a small pub a few miles from base." One of them said. "Nothing fancy. Feels like it's off the radar." A place to cool down after the rush of a dogfight.

He figured a beer wouldn't hurt. Pretending to unwind for a night seemed harmless enough. He stepped inside just as the jukebox switched songs. Tom Petty. Learning to Fly. Of course. The bar wasn't full. A couple people around the pool table. A few quiet conversations. The smell of beer, sweat, and old wood. One guy near the back was talking too loudly about fighter jets, and it was obvious he'd never flown one.

And then he saw you. Behind the bar. Drying a glass with a towel, focused on your work. Still. Alive.

His entire body locked up. He nearly dropped his drink but caught it just in time. His feet felt heavy. His chest, even more so. It couldn't be you. But it was. Hair pulled back like it used to be. That calm, steady posture. Like the world didn’t rattle you the way it did everyone else. You moved with quiet confidence, just like you used to in the cockpit. Then you looked up. Right at him. And you smiled.

"Evening." You said, like he was just another stranger. Like you hadn't grow up beside him. Like your name and face hadn't been written in folded reports, pictures and stories remembered every time he looked at the sky. He couldn't say anything.

The cadets pushed in behind him, full of jokes and orders. One of them pointed toward him and called out. "Boss! Give this guy something strong flew like a maniac today!" You didn't react. You just kept serving drinks. Calm. Unbothered. But for him, the room was spinning.

He walked closer to the bar, slow. Eyes locked on yours. You looked so familiar it hurt. "You're..." He tried to say, voice rough. "You're Echo." You tilted your head. "Pub owner." You said. "Some people call me that. Not sure why. I guess my names going around in base?” You chuckle and it knocked the air right out of him.

You didn't remember. The callsign meant nothing to you now. He swallowed hard. "You were a pilot." You nodded. "So you've heard." You didn’t say it with pride. Just like it was something someone else had told you, like a fact in a file. You added. "I don't really remember it. Took a hit to the head, I guess. They said I walked away from a crash. Don't remember much, but I still dream about flying sometimes. It feels... Familiar."

His chest ached. You still felt it, even if your mind couldn't explain why. Then he noticed someone else nearby, Caleb. Sitting quietly, watching everything. And suddenly it made sense. The sadness in Caleb's eyes. The way he'd carried the loss. Why he was sneaking out more often. The way he was looking at you now. He already knew.

You turned to grab another drink order, and for a moment, a scar near your neck caught the light. One that hadn't been there before. From the crash. Your brother moved slowly to sit down at the bar, like he was afraid he might scare you off. Then he asked quietly. "Do you ever remember names?"

You looked at him again. Thought about it. Then shrugged. "Sometimes voices feel familiar. Or faces. But it's like an echo. You hear it, but you don't know where it's coming from." His hands were trembling. You gave him another soft smile. "Beer?" He nodded. "Yeah. Please."

And when you walked away, still humming along with the jukebox, he just sat there. Breathing. Still broken. But also somehow okay. Because you were alive. You were here. And that was more than he ever thought he'd get again.

🍎

The air outside the bar was cooler now. A breeze drifted in from the ocean, carrying the scent of salt and the sound of waves pulling back from the shore. Crickets chirped somewhere nearby. A truck rumbled down a street a few blocks over, music thudding faintly from its speakers. But right here, under the pubs flickering sign, it was quiet.

Caleb stood near the edge of the sidewalk, shoulders slumped, staring at the cracks in the pavement beneath his boots. The same pavement you used to walk with him. Back when things were brighter. Easier. Whole. Behind him, your brother stepped outside. No heavy footsteps. No anger in his voice. Just quiet steps.

He stopped a few feet behind Caleb. Neither of them spoke at first. The silence hung between them, not tense anymore just heavy with something quieter. Something sad. Your brother finally spoke. "You knew." Caleb didn't turn. "Yeah." "How long?" A short pause. Caleb's voice was rough. "Two nights ago."

Caleb ran a hand down his face, shaking his head like he still hadn't made peace with it. "I went back to that pub to forget them. To drink it all away. And instead they were standing there. Behind the bar. Pouring my drink." Your brother let out a long breath. Folded his arms.

"And you didn’t say anything to them?" "Say what?" Caleb finally looked at him, tired and angry all at once. "That I thought they were dead? That I buried them and gave a speech over a casket with nothing in it? While they were lying somewhere in the dirt, bleeding out alone?" Your brother didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened.

Caleb's voice dropped. "They don't remember me. Or you. Or what they used to be. I asked command why no one told me. They said it was classified. Then medical. And later... their choice." He looked him straight in the eye. "They didn't want to come back." That hit hard.

Your brother's shoulders stiffened. "No." He said. His voice cracked. "They wouldn't have-" Caleb raised a hand not to argue, just to pause. To keep things from falling apart again. "They've built something new." He said. "A quiet life. No more nightmares. No panic when a jet flies over. No waking up in a sweat reaching for a control stick." He gave your brother a long look. "Can you really blame them for not wanting to return to all this?"

Your brother slowly let his arms fall to his sides. He didn't answer. Caleb looked away again. His posture sank, like the weight of everything he’d held onto was finally too much.

"I tried to find them, you know." He said after a moment. "Back then. I wasn't supposed to but I did it anyway. I left straight from my sortie and followed their last signal. But by the time I got there, there was nothing left. Just smoke. Just fire. I was too late." The words felt like they'd been buried too long. "I flew every mission after that like I could stop it from happening again."

Your brother stepped forward, the anger in him finally fading. What was left was grief. Honest and deep. He looked at Caleb. Really looked at him, he saw the exhaustion, the guilt, the time. And then quietly, he said. "It wasn't your fault."

Caleb's jaw tightened. His shoulders tensed, like he didn’t believe it. Like it was the first time he'd heard it from someone who meant it. Your brother kept going. "They chose that mission. You all knew the risk, they knew the risk. But they trusted themselves and more than anything they trusted you. That trust didn't die out there." He paused. Let the words settle. "You carried it. Even when they couldn't."

Caleb finally looked up. Your brother who had once blamed him for everything gave him a quiet nod. "Thank you, Colonel Caleb." No sarcasm. No anger. Just respect. And something close to peace.

Caleb looked back through the bar window. Saw you again. Laughing softly at something a customer said. Moving with the calm of someone who'd built a life they could live in. Then quietly, he said. "They were more than a wingman to me." Your brother nodded. "I know."

They stood together a while longer, neither of them speaking. Because sometimes, when the worst has already happened and something lost is found again, silence is the only thing that feels honest.

🍎

The bar had fallen into a rhythm. Steady. Familiar.

Pour a drink. Wipe the counter. Listen when needed. Smile when it felt right. Keep the jukebox playing and the peace intact. It wasn't exciting, but it was yours. And after a life that started in a fog you couldn't fully explain, quiet felt like enough.

Most nights passed the same way. Cadets wandered in after flight drills, loud, tired, full of swagger. Locals claimed their usual spots. The jukebox picked random songs and no one complained. The hours moved by in slow sips and soft chatter.

But lately... Two men had changed things.

Not because they caused trouble. They didn't yell. They didn't argue. They were quiet, too quiet. And they looked at you like people waiting for something that might never come back. Like seeing you stirred something painful.

The younger one, he went by Echo, just like the callsign some folks used for you, had been in twice now. Both times, he stopped cold the second he saw you. Like the sight of you knocked the wind out of him. He didn't talk much. But the way he looked at you said more than any words could. There was something in his eyes. Familiar, aching, recognition, maybe. Hurt. Maybe even love, but the kind that had been through fire.

And then there was the other one. Older. Still. The kind of calm you only got from doing something dangerous too many times and surviving it anyway. He never got drunk. Didn't flirt. Just sat near the end of the bar, watching the room like it was something he'd seen before. But when his eyes landed on you, it was different.

Like he was watching someone he'd already lost once. Like looking at you hurt. You noticed it the first night he came in. The tension in his shoulders when you spoke. The way his hands tightened when you laughed. You didn't know him. At least, you were pretty sure you didn't. But his name stayed with you anyway.

Caleb.

It felt strange. Not wrong, just out of reach. Like something from a dream you half-remembered. Something said once in another life. And now the two of them kept looking at you like you were someone else. Someone they'd known. Someone they'd lost.

Sometimes, after they left, you'd stare down at your hands behind the bar, searching for something. You weren't sure what. Scars? Calluses? Clues? You'd catch your reflection in the mirror and wonder if your face had ever belonged to someone else.

There weren't any big flashbacks. No sudden memories rushing in. Just small things. The drop in your chest when someone mentioned Mach speed. The way jet engines made you pause, just for a second. And once, a song from the jukebox made your knees go weak before you even knew why.

You didn't ask the men what they saw in you. You weren't sure you wanted the answer. But late at night, when the place was quiet and the glasses were clean, a question stayed with you. Who were you… that they look at you like had already died once?

🍎

The night was quiet. Soft around the edges, like the world itself had grown tired.

Outside, a breeze tugged gently at the old flag by the door. The sky beyond the pub was dark and still, the way it always got after flight hours, just the low hum of distant jets, too far to see. Inside, the lights glowed low and warm. Not bright enough to chase away the quiet, but enough to hold it.

You were behind the counter, leaning on your elbows, nursing a warm drink. Across from you sat Echo, quiet, thoughtful. Caleb was beside him, jacket folded over his leg, his dog tags hidden beneath his collar. He hadn't said much since sitting down. None of you had.

It should've felt like just another slow night. A few regulars hanging around after hours. But it didn't. You stared into your glass, listening to the silence stretch between the three of you. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't tense. It just carried weight. Like it was balancing something none of you wanted to drop.

Then, softly, you asked. "We used to be close, didn't we?" That got their attention. Both men looked up. Echo's jaw tightened. He didn't speak, just rubbed at the back of his neck. Caleb didn't move either, but you noticed the way his grip tightened around the glass. His knuckles went white.

You gave a tired smile, more sad than anything. "I'm not dumb. You two keep showing up. You look at me like... like I used to matter to you." Still no one said a word. So you pushed a little harder. "Why won't either of you just tell me who I was?" There was no anger in your voice. Only quiet confusion. A dull ache you'd been trying to name for months.

Caleb's voice came first. Low. Careful. "Because if you're meant to remember, you will. And if you're not..." He paused, choosing his words. "You shouldn't have to suffer just to know." You looked at him. Really looked. Then turned to your brother. His eyes were a little too red, like he hadn't slept or maybe had tried not to cry. "So what? I just move on and pretend nothing's missing?"

"No." Your brother said softly. "We just don't want to force you. That's all." You nodded slowly. Ran your thumb along the rim of your glass. "It's like there's something inside me. Not gone, just hollow. Like something used to live there." That landed harder than you expected. Caleb flinched, barely but you saw it. That's when it clicked.

The name Echo. It wasn't random. It wasn't just an old call sign. You looked between them. "That name... it meant something, didn't it?" They didn't answer. But they didn't have to. The way they stared at you like they were both hoping and afraid you might remember was all the confirmation you needed.

You let out a quiet breath and straightened up, grabbing a towel to keep your hands busy. "Fine. Don't tell me. Just..." You glanced toward the door, then back at them. "Don't disappear again." Caleb stood slowly and came to lean against the bar, not too close, just enough that his voice didn't have to rise. "We're not going anywhere." Echo, still seated added almost like a whisper. "Not this time."

You didn't say anything back. You just nodded. Once. And somehow, that was enough for now.

🍎

The bar was quieter tonight.

Most of the regulars had already come and gone. A few locals lingered at their usual spots. A couple of flight crews sat in the back, half-asleep, still in uniform. The jukebox played something soft an old Springsteen song. Familiar. Easy. Like a memory that didn't need explanation.

You were behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, a towel over your shoulder. The routine was second nature by now. But tonight, you weren't running on autopilot. Tonight, you wanted quiet. And maybe... Someone to sit with.

Caleb was there again. Same stool. Three seats down. He never asked for it, but it had become his. He didn't talk much, just sat there holding his drink, watching the room like he was waiting for something to happen. You set a glass down near him and leaned on the bar. "You always sit in that spot." You said casually.

Caleb gave a small smile without looking over. "Best view." You raised a brow. "Of the bourbon?" He glanced at you then, just for a second. "Something like that." You rolled your eyes, topping off his beer. "Careful. Compliments around here only get you colder beer and maybe some stale pretzels." He gave a soft laugh. "Sounds fair."

You moved to rinse a few glasses. He watched your hands for a moment. Quiet, and steady movements. You noticed. "You ever work behind a bar?" You asked. Caleb snorted. "Me? No chance. I'd probably drop half the bottles the first night." You smiled. "It's not hard. You just need rhythm. And the sense to know when someone wants to talk or when they don't."

He nodded. "You're good at that." You hesitated, then asked quietly. "Was I always?" Caleb looked up. His face softened. "Yeah." He said. "You always were." Before you could say more, a voice called out from across the room. "Yo, Boss!" It was one of the younger cadets. "Tell the Colonel what really happens when someone forgets to pull up their gear!"

You sighed, then called back. "I'm not telling that story, Styles. You're the one who tried to land with your ego still hanging off the wing." The pub laughed. Caleb even cracked a smile. "You know." He said under his breath. "I think they come here just to get roasted." You didn't look back. "Keeps them grounded."

"Wish someone had done that for me when I was their age." He chuckled. You raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem like someone who needed humbling." He gave a crooked grin. "That's because you didn't know me back then." He lied. You paused, head tilted. "You sure about that?"

That question hung in the air a little too long. His smile faded, not in a bad way, just quieter. "I think I've always known you." You said softly. He didn't reply. He didn't need to. Then Styles yelled again. "Hey, Colonel! Boss! You two married yet or what?" The other cadets burst into laughter. One raised a drink. Another whistled.

Caleb turned red. You didn't miss a beat. "God, I hope not." You called out. "I'd remember something that traumatic." The room cracked up again. Someone banged a pool cue on the floor. Caleb covered his face with one hand, trying not to laugh. "I walked right into that." You shrugged. "You sat at my bar. Comes with the territory." He raised his glass. "Fair enough."

The noise settled eventually. Cadets drifted toward the jukebox or back to their tables. The air softened again. You leaned on the bar across from Caleb. Just watched him for a while. He looked up. No rush. No pressure. Then he said. "You ever feel like you're close to remembering something but the second you try, it slips away?"

You didn’t look away. "Yeah." You said. "Every day." Neither of you spoke for a while. Then you straightened, tossed the towel over your shoulder, and gave him a half smile. "Come back tomorrow. I'll teach you how to pour a proper drink." He blinked. "Seriously?" You nodded. "You said you'd break bottles. I want to see if that's true."

That made him laugh, quiet, real, like he hadn't in a long time. As you turned back to your work, stacking glasses and wiping down the counter, Caleb just watched you. You didn't know what your past had been. But for him, in that moment. You were starting to feel like something he hadn't had in years. A future.

🍎

It started as a joke.

"Well." Caleb had said that morning, arms crossed loosely as he leaned on the counter. "If you ever want to feel the sky again, I know a guy with a plane." He smiled sideways, sheepish, like he expected you to flinch at the suggestion.

But you didn't flinched. You just blinked once and grinned. "Let me guess. You're the guy?" You asked, stirring the last of your drink lazily, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. He gave you a mock offended look. "I am always the guy."

There was something in the way he offered it, gentle with the careful weight of someone who knew the sky might still carry sharp edges for you. But the idea of flying didn't scare you. Not really. It stirred something strange instead, like a familiar note echoing from a hallway you couldn't quite see the end of.

"I'd like that." You said, surprised by how easily it came out. Caleb blinked, visibly relieved. "Yeah?" You shrugged. "Sure. Why not. What's the worst that could happen? I forget how to fly?" His laugh was bright and warm and completely involuntary. "You're the most dangerous kind of mystery, you know that?"

"I'm aware." You said with mock pride, and took a sip of your drink. "Lead the way, colonel."

🍎

The hangar smelled of dust and old oil. The sun warming the concrete in long golden strips. Caleb led you to the small twin seater with a quiet conversation, his voice softer now as he walked you through the basics. But he didn't overdo it. He didn't try to teach you like you were broken. He just pointed and explained like you were any other pilot, maybe a little rusty, but still whole.

You let your fingers drift over the fuselage, eyes narrowing slightly. The aircraft felt familiar in the same way that dreams sometimes do, real enough to touch, but slipping sideways when you looked too closely.

Caleb climbed into the other seat, waiting for you to settle in before flipping switches and adjusting controls. The ritual hummed between you like an old tune. You hadn't done this in years or maybe you had. You didn't really know. But your hands knew.

They moved like they remembered. Reaching for levers, pressing gauges, making sense of the readouts without needing to ask. The way you adjusted your headset, checked the engine pressure, tapped the altimeter. It all came back like breath.

Caleb watched you with a quiet, private awe. "You really don't remember flying?" He asked, almost to himself. You shook your head, still focused on the instruments. "Not in words. Not in pictures." You flexed your fingers on the yoke. "But this... this part? I know it like a second skin."

Outside, the wind whispered against the hangar doors. Inside, you could hear your heart, steady but expectant. Like it was about to return to something it once loved.

🍎

The wheels left the ground so gently, it took a breath before you noticed. The earth dropped away like it had simply agreed to let go. The sky opened around you in quiet blue. Clouds shifted slowly beneath the wings and the light softened as the altitude climbed. It was smoother than you expected, less like escaping and more like coming home.

You didn't speak much at first. Neither of you did. It wasn't the silence of awkwardness, but of honor. The kind of stillness you don't want to disturb. Your fingers adjusted the trim with a practiced motion. You banked left to catch the sun. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your body took over, each motion echoing steps you didn’t know you remembered.

Caleb glanced at you, smiling quietly. "You flew before. I mean really flew." You lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Seems like it." A beat. Then you added, teasing. "You're lucky I'm not doing barrel rolls." He laughed, relaxed now, watching the horizon. "You're the one who said you might forget how." "I said might." You replied, nudging the throttle with an amused flick. "I didn't say I would"

The banter made the air feel lighter. It wasn't performative, it was comfortable. Easy. And yet under it, something deeper moved. A knowing. A sense of connection not just between the two of you, but between you and the air, the wings, the open sky. As the plane sliced gently through the blue, the wind wrapped around you like something that remembered you, like something that had missed you.

And slowly, you began to remember it too. Not with names or places, not with specifics. But in muscle. In ease. In rhythm. Your body didn't hesitate. It simply was, here, flying, being. You found yourself leaning into the turns just before they came. Adjusting altitude without thinking. Glancing at dials only for confirmation, not instruction.

At one point, Caleb turned off the radio. Just the soft hum of the engine remained, and the low wind across the canopy. "I think the sky missed you." He said. You smiled faintly, eyes watching a bird wheel far below. "I think I missed it too. Even if I didn't know it." The words settled between you like dust in sunlight. Not heavy. Not dramatic. Just truth, spoken simply.

Later, as you circled back toward the airfield, you let the descent carry you slowly, not rushing it. There was no urgency here. Only the long, slow return of something sacred. When the wheels finally kissed the earth again, the plane rolled quietly to a stop. You didn't move right away. Neither did Caleb.

Instead, you sat there in the still hum of cooling metal, letting the sky echo inside your chest. "Thank you." You said. He turned toward you, his voice gentle. "For what?" "For this. For not treating me like I’m broken." You looked at him, eyes soft. "For giving me the sky back." His expression flickered, something warm, something careful. "You never lost it." He said. "You just stopped looking up."

And so the sky, once forgotten, whispered back to you in fragments. Not loud, not insistent, but tender. The echoes weren't voices. They were movement, instinct, belonging. And in them, you began to remember who you had been, not all at once, but enough to begin again.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: I've been typing this since 11am, its 10pm now. Had to take a break because plants vs. Zombie couldn’t be played above tabs.part 3 soon.

[crssvjb]

Moments -Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Senna!reader

Summary: Moments of your relationship with the pilot Sebastian.

Warnings: Mentions of Ayrton Senna here (not many). A little long.

The Encounter - 2008

The year was 2008, and the Formula 1 tracks were both a place of excitement and nostalgia for you. As the daughter of Ayrton Senna, the racing legend, the world of F1 has always been part of her life. Now, as a mechanical engineering student, you landed an internship at Toro Rosso, an opportunity that blended your passion for engineering with deep memories of your father.

One afternoon, in the Toro Rosso pits, while analyzing the car's data, the voice of Sebastian Vettel, a young German driver, interrupted his thoughts. – "These numbers always seem very complicated." – He said with a relaxed smile.

You turned around, surprised to see the pilot next to you. – "Well, to me, they tell fascinating stories." – You replied, smiling. The connection has been made. Sebastian, curious and respectful, began to ask questions about his father and the time when Senna dominated the tracks.

– "Ayrton Senna is a legend. What is most incredible about him that people don't know?"

You smiled, appreciating the sincerity of the question. – "In addition to his incredible driving skills, my father was driven by an intense passion for competition, but also by a deep respect for other competitors. He sought excellence, not just for himself, but to elevate the entire sport."

Sebastian, his eyes shining with interest, replied: – "It's incredible how he influenced Formula 1 and all of us. I'd love to hear more about him."

Between conversations about cars, racing and engines, you got closer and became friends. Sebastian, being a promising driver at the time, showed genuine interest in his passion for mechanical engineering. The bond between you grew, even when he left for the Red Bull team the following year.

The Invitation - 2009

In 2009, Red Bull Racing became the new stage for the emotions of Formula 1. Sebastian Vettel, now the team's driver, was conquering the world with his skill on the track. Still, you remained a constant part of his life, the connection growing with each run.

The day after the exciting race in Singapore, Sebastian invites you to a quiet dinner. The atmosphere is cozy, an elegant restaurant in the city. As you browse the menus, Sebastian smiles, looking straight into your eyes.

– “These moments on the track have been even better with you around.” - He says. – "And I was wondering if you'd like to hang out with me. Not as teammates, but as... something more."

Sebastian holds his hand, demonstrating the sincerity of his words. – "I really wish this was something beyond the track. What do you think?"

The sincerity in Sebastian's words is moving. You smile, feeling a rush of emotion. – "I would love to, Sebastian. It would be a pleasure."

The Instructor - 2010

The year was 2010 and the Formula 1 season was about to start. Red Bull's Sebastian Vettel had a bigger challenge ahead of him. And you? Well, you were about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. Red Bull Racing decided that you would be Sebastian's instructor for the season.

The days leading up to the start of the season were intense. You and Sebastian spent hours on the simulators, discussing strategies, adjusting technical details and analyzing each curve of the circuit. It was a perfect elaboration, where the pilot and the engineer shared ideas and experiences.

On a rainy afternoon at the Red Bull office, Sebastian looks at you with a smile. – "You really know what you're doing. It's amazing how everything makes more sense when explained by you."

You laugh, sharing your knowledge with passion. – "It's all about understanding the nuances, the details that can make a difference. And when you drive, these details become even more crucial."

The season begins and the races bring challenges and triumphs. In a memorable race, Sebastian achieves another podium at home. The atmosphere in the pits is electric, and after the team celebrates, they turn to you.

– “This is for us, for our partnership.” – says Sebastian, and before you know it, your lips meet in a passionate kiss, revealing to the world the connection that developed behind the scenes.

The news about you two spreads quickly through the media, but you face everything head on. At a press conference, Sebastian smiles for the cameras. – “Finding someone who shares the passion for the sport and understands the madness that is Formula 1 is rare. And I’m grateful to have her by my side.”

The coming months will be one of continued celebration. Wins on the track create a unique dynamic. The world championship is an achievement for both of them, and on the podium, after the last race of the season, Sebastian surprises everyone again by holding the trophy, looking at himself and saying: “This victory is ours.

Commitments - 2012

After an intense and exciting race, you and Sebastian return to the hotel tired, but radiant from the victories achieved on the track. The atmosphere is relaxed and intimate when you find yourself in the hotel suite, with the city lit up in the distance.

Already dressed casually, you snuggle into bed, sharing laughs and memories of the day. The city lights mix with the twinkle of the stars, creating a magical scene.

Sebastian, looking at you tenderly, comments: – "You know, today was a special day. Not just for the races, but for being together. I have something for you." – He gets up and takes something from the table next to the bed.

Upon returning, Sebastian holds a small box. His eyes light up as he opens the box, revealing the dazzling ring. – “From the moment we met on the slopes, my life changed, darling. It’s not just about running for me, it’s about the journey we’re building together.”

He looked into her eyes tenderly. – "I don't just want the races, I want all the twists and turns of life by your side. So, Y/N, will you agree to be mine forever?"

The moment for Y/N is as if she were participating in a romantic movie. Your romantic movie. The city lights, the few stars in the sky and Sebastian's request create an unforgettable scene.

You, excited, respond with a smile lighting up your face. – "Yes, Sebastian. I accept with all my heart."

He gently places the ring on your finger, a tangible symbol of your commitment. The cold ring is bright and contrasts with the warm exchange of glances between you. An enveloping hug follows, as if it were a seal that transcends words. The racing heart is the echo of the emotion shared in that intimate moment. Amid the silence of the hotel suite, the kiss that follows is soft but full of meaning.

Weddings and Achievements - 2013

In 2013, on July 13th, the wedding of Sebastian Vettel and S/N Senna was a great spectacle. The lush garden was adorned with a profusion of flowers, while the mountains in the background provided a picturesque backdrop. The golden early afternoon sun cast a magical light on the ceremony, where Sebastian anxiously awaited the arrival of his bride.

The bride, radiant in her wedding dress, walked towards the altar. Sebastian looked at her in awe, and when she finally reached his side, he whispered, "You look amazing." The words were soft, but they carried with them all the depth of the love they had built since that first conversation.

The ceremony was filled with personal vows, each word echoing the unique journey that brought them here. When it was time for the vows, Sebastian held Y/N's hands gently.

– "Y/N, since the moment you came into my life, everything has changed. You are not only my partner, but my light at all times. I promise to be your constant support, to love you on good days and bad, always ."

With tears in her eyes, Y/N replied: – “Sebastian, you are my passion and my calm. I promise to support your dreams, laugh with you in the joys and face the challenges together. ."

The kiss after the vows wasn't just a symbolic gesture; it was the confirmation of an eternal promise. Under the warm applause of the guests, the celebration continued in an atmosphere of joy and happiness.

The reception was a festival of colors, twinkling lights and carefully planned details. The party continued with dancing, laughter and unforgettable moments. Each reflected the couple's unique personality and the love that permeated their union.

In the privacy of Sebastian's three-time world champion's room, the trophies and photos that told the story of his victorious career were proof of his achievements not only on the track, but now also in his personal life. The wedding photo occupied a prominent place, symbolizing the harmony between professional and personal victories.

Life continued with travel, intimate moments and the making of memories that would become fundamental pillars of the journey together.

At the end of 2013 the Brazilian Grand Prix arrived and emotions were running high. Sebastian, determined and focused, aimed for his fourth world championship. The Interlagos tracks witnessed a spectacular performance, culminating in the victory of Sebastian Vettel, who became four-time world champion.

In the pits, the team celebrated and Y/N was there, proud and excited. Y/N, with a smile lighting up her face, approached him. – "You deserve it, love." – She said, and pulled him in for a kiss.

Thus, under the vibrant colors of Brazil, the couple celebrated not just a victory on the tracks, but the victory of a love that withstood all the curves and straights of life. Sebastian Vettel's fourth championship marked not only racing glory, but also the consolidation of an extraordinary journey, where love and success were intertwined in a unique and unforgettable narrative.

Family and New Challenges - 2015-2022

The years that followed marked an extraordinary journey for Sebastian Vettel and S/N Senna-Vettel, a path full of challenges. In 2015, Sebastian embraced Scuderia Ferrari, diving into a chapter full of promises and achievements.

The space dedicated to Sebastian achievements, where his shiny trophies are kept, but now also for children's laughter and colorful toys. Elias, the firstborn, was born in January 2016, filling the house with the sweet melody of a baby's cry and transforming the world bedroom into a haven of joy and life.

Antonella's arrival in May 2019 further expanded the Vettel family's horizons. The days were filled with laughter, games and the innocent wonder of children discovering the world. The pantry room, where all the trophies are kept, now decorated with drawings and children's toys, has become a microcosm of family love.

At the end of the 2021 season, where Sebastian was at the Aston Martin team, he decided to retire and had Y/N's full support.

On a calm day, Sebastian and Y/N found a moment for a serious conversation about the future, sitting in the world room. Looking at the trophies that told the story of his victories, Sebastian began, "I think it's time for a change, Y/N. I've decided to retire at the end of this season."

Y/N looked at him surprised and, at the same time, understanding. – "Sebastian, this is serious. Are you sure this is the right time?"

Sebastian held her hand tenderly. – "Yes, I'm sure. I want to be more present for you, for Elias and Antonella. Every time I get home it seems like they grow another 5 centimeters. Life is more than tracks and races."

Y/N, despite her surprise, smiled, feeling the warmth of her decision. – "I understand. We will be by your side no matter what."

The last Grand Prix - 2022

The final Grand Prix of the 2022 season was a bittersweet spectacle. In the Aston Martin pits, the atmosphere was charged with emotion as the Vettel family gathered to support Sebastian in his final race. Watching the race, Y/N got emotional.

Six-year-old Elias watched beside her, with a mixture of curiosity and understanding beyond his years. 3-year-old Antonella was excited, fascinated by the colorful cars on the screen.

When the race ended and Sebastian crossed the finish line for the last time, Y/N was emotional and proud. As they approached the pits, he affectionately joked: – “You are sadder than me, because I am retiring”.

Y/N laughed, wiping away a furtive tear. – “It’s hard not to get emotional, Sebastian. There were so many achievements, so many laps together.”

Sebastian hugged her, looking at Elias and Antonella. – "You saw daddy run, didn't you?"

Elias, his eyes shining, nodded. – “It was incredible, daddy!”

Antonella, in her enthusiastic way, exclaimed: – “I want to run too!”

Sebastian laughed, taking her in his arms. – "Who knows, little one. Life is full of surprises."

⎊𝙘𝙧𝙨𝙨𝙫𝙟𝙗 - ²⁰²⁴

[umlewis]

From the Racetrack To Space: IWC Schaffhausen and the Polaris Program Give Lewis Hamilton Astronaut Flight Training

Schaffhausen/Qatar, 26th November 2024: In a compelling new short movie produced by IWC Schaffhausen, Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team driver Lewis Hamilton embarks on a flight training for astronauts. The same training was used to prepare the crews of the Inspiration 4 and Polaris Dawn commercial human spaceflight missions. During the training day, the seven-time Formula 1 world champion and IWC brand ambassador was accompanied by students from Dibia DREAM, a non-profit organisation fostering STEM education. Their presence is also a reminder of Lewis Hamilton's own incredible career journey spanning more than three decades and sends an inspiring message: you can be anything you want in life – a pilot on the racetrack, in the air or even in space.

One of the most successful racing drivers of all time, Lewis Hamilton is a multifaceted personality whose interests and ambitions extend far beyond his sport. The seven-time Formula 1 world champion is deeply fascinated by space and human space exploration. He has visited renowned space training facilities and repeatedly expressed his desire to take part in a space mission in the future if it serves a purpose and contributes to the betterment of all humanity. IWC Schaffhausen now teamed up with the Polaris Program and its Philanthropy Director and instructor pilot, John "Slick" Baum, to offer Lewis Hamilton an opportunity to experience the flight training that is part of the organization's programme of preparing astronauts for space. The Polaris Program, which is supported by IWC, recently completed the first of three human spaceflight missions. During their five days in orbit, the Polaris Dawn crew wrote history by successfully performing the first commercial spacewalk.

FLIGHT TRAINING IS ESSENTIAL FOR ASTRONAUTS

Fighter jet training has been at the heart of human spaceflight since the beginning. All early astronauts were fighter jet pilots, and experience in piloting a jet was an essential requirement for going to space. Flight training was also a key pillar in the preparation of the Inspiration 4 and Polaris Dawn crews for their missions. While the g-loads experienced in a jet or a rocket cannot be directly compared, as they affect the body in different ways, jet training still offers compelling benefits for astronauts. Most importantly, it allows the crew members to familiarise themselves with operating in a high-risk and high-consequence environment, similar to what they would experience during launch. While they are pressed down into their seats by several times their own body weight, they have to communicate with each other, go through extensive technical checklists, and monitor critical flight parameters – all while being mentally aware of their surroundings and prepared to act in case something unexpected should happen.

A COMPLETE SEQUENCE OF TRAINING MANOEUVRES

Lewis Hamilton's space training kicked off with an extensive briefing and inspection of the L-39 Albatros jet. John "Slick" Baum gave Hamilton a detailed overview of the manoeuvres they would fly and how they simulate different situations an astronaut experiences during a spaceflight. During their subsequent discovery flight lasting almost one hour, Hamilton and his instructor performed a series of manoeuvres. They practiced accelerations and decelerations to experience lateral g-forces, simulating the ascent of a rocket. They also practiced higher g-loads by banking or pitching the aircraft hard. A highlight was flying a parabola figure for a zero-g demonstration, during which Hamilton briefly experienced the feeling of weightlessness. A racing glove, which eventually began to float freely in the cockpit, was used as a zero-g indicator. In flight, the F1 pilot pulled a maximum of 7.5 g, which is more than astronauts typically experience on ascent. Hamilton wore a dedicated race suit featuring a "space mission" patch with his car number 44. He will wear the same suit during this weekend's race at the Lusail International Circuit in Qatar.

DIBIA DREAM STUDENTS SEND A POWERFUL MESSAGE

The training was also attended by a group of students from Dibia DREAM. This nonprofit organisation sparks social change through STEM education and recreational activities for underserved youth and has impacted the lives of 40,000 students across 32 states and twelve countries. The students spent the entire day engaging in a variety of activities related to space exploration. They also got a chance to meet with Hamilton and ask him questions prior to take-off. Their presence served as a powerful reminder of Hamilton's incredible journey, from his humble beginnings in karting at the age of eight to becoming one of the most acclaimed drivers in the history of motorsport. As the students cheered alongside the runway, they sent an uplifting message to youths around the world: you can be anything you want in life – whether it is a racing driver, a pilot, or even an astronaut.

[thelittlepie]

Haru is not in the line up because I had just recently drew him so he already had his spotlight (okno actually Haru and Hiro both were in the lineup right beside Kakeru but I got tired so I didnt get to finish them on time 😅)

Anyway, in my head, their age and heights (in the future) are as follows:

21 Momiji: 177cm

22 Kyo: 182cm

23 Yuki: 179cm

23 Kakeru: 181cm

22 Haru: 183cm

17 Hiro: 176cm (and still growing)

//this is in no way canon, but Yuki is slightly shorter than Kyo, Kakeru and Haru in the manga)

Also, as working professionals, Momiji being the heir apparent to a family business, so he is currently working alongside his dad. Kyo, a dojo instructor and a personal trainer (so I made him bigger than the rest to accomodate that profession, also because I want to lol), Yuki, a lawyer because he's as snarky as he is cunning, and Kakeru, a pilot i guess. 🤣

Haru would be a jewellery and goth/rock/punk shop owner, most probably a frequent collaborator with Ayame. And Hiro, a student.

I drew them based on a fanfiction I am currently writing so whatever you read here is, again, all headcanon 🤣

I wish we had been given more of their afterschool life but since we didn't, I shall just make my own.

[ethanhvnt]

Heyyy uh idk if I'll ever post this fanfic but slaps this snippet in ur face MISSION IMPOSSIBLE AND TOP GUN CROSSOVER AALLLEEERRRTTT

Ethan hadn't always been Ethan. Frankly, it was an identity he put on while working for the IMF. For his own safety. Being able to have two (relatively) separate lives without being disrupted. Even though he was more times than not torn between the two. He couldn't exactly clone himself to be in two places at the same time. God, that would've probably made his life easier. He would've had more time to spend with his friends and close friends and even "family" he had as both Pete Mitchell and Ethan Hunt.

He had often found himself being Ethan. It's what just happened. The IMF needed him more, and he wouldn't decline a mission. But it had been quiet for a while from their side. So Ethan— or Pete, he couldn't even tell anymore— took the opportunity to spend more time doing work. Well, not exactly "work." He was a test pilot— Top Gun was under fire, and he had to prove that The Navy had to keep the program afloat cause nothing could actually replace real aviators. So he put himself through extreme levels of speed, passing over Mach 10.

Which is a lot. It was a miracle he survived. He wouldn't know how to tell his friends, Benji, Luther, Ilsa— hell, even Ice or Bradley. If he had died during the process, who knows how they would react to the news?

But God—if there even was one— wouldn't let him die. So, guess he's alive for the time being. No recklessness or cockiness would kill him. It's not like he wanted to die or actively had sought out the chance of death. But he wouldn't mind if he did, in fact, die. He'd finally get that rest he'd been promised for so long.

It all felt like a blur to him. One second, he was testing out flying a plane to reach Mach 10 cause apparently Mach 9 wasn't enough for those snobby higher-ups. The other he found himself in an office, speaking to Admiral Cain, who had chewed him out for his actions during testing. But he had also said that Pete had apparently— been assigned back to Top Gun. Not as a student— course not. But as an instructor. Pete had rebuttaled, stating that he wasn't fit to be an instructor and that the time frame he had gotten was too small and not enough for a mission of this caliber. But nonetheless, he felt hopeless when he heard that it was Ice that had assigned him to the job. He couldn't say anything against that.

The mission was to destroy an unsanctioned uranium enrichment plant, before it was up and running. A mission that could leave some— if not all of the pilots involved dead. But with his experience with impossible things, he'd just have to think like Ethan did, for a moment. Ethan had always accomplished the impossible. So maybe there was a way for them to fly this, and make it out safely without any major casualties. He'd promised himself he wouldn't let anyone lose their life, he'd make them all work as a team, effectively. It would go great, that's what he reassured himself anyway. He wouldn't let anything bad happen, not under his watch.

OK, that was it bye *explodes cutely* (sorry if I got any top gun shit wrong cuz top gun is not my main hyperfixation rn) time to figure out how to continue it heh

[one-bravo-tango]

Simulated engine out scenario on Pilot training

[the-balloon-shed]

look, people can have whatever headcanons they want (this whole blog is devoted to my own brainrot over icemav because I needed an outlet, I love all the different stuff out there and wanted to contribute) but I do have a hard time picturing Ice being the world's most upstanding student with his pencils sharpened and teacher's pet vibe that I sometimes see attributed to him. I get that he's ice cold, no mistakes, but that has to do wit his flying. I think when it comes to flying, yeah, he fucking knows everything about that plane, about how it flies, about what he needs to do. He's devoted to the act of flying, of being a naval aviator, of being the best pilot there is.

On the ground though? Yeah, he'll do everything textbook -- so long as it keeps him flying. But a guy who is willing to cause a class laughter by coughing "bullshit" into his fist as another student explains his process to their instructor is not a guy who is concerned with being a teacher's pet. I've seen it around here, so I'm not the first to note this, but honestly Ice looks bored in the classes. Hell he spends half his class staring at Maverick. The difference between Ice and Maverick is that Ice does care enough to know the rules and can be compliant when it suits his goals. Maverick will blatantly disregard rules he doesn't agree with and doesn't know when to keep a lid on his own perspective.

(Side note - People who climb the military ladder, I imagine as I do not personally know, don't do so merely by keeping their head down -- Ice has to take risks and challenges that get him noticed, which sometimes means pissing off people, with which how often he's a brat to Maverick he is clearly capable of doing. I think the difference between Ice and Maverick is that Ice knows how to play the game and knows when is the right time to piss off people and knows how to do it within the regulations and best tactics. Maverick -- Maverick can't keep an opinion to himself, and does things he feels are the right thing to do, regardless of the consequences. )

Also going based off of other knowledge I've seen on tumblr explaining what the Academy is which Ice apparently went to, it's (allegedly) a pretty prestigious school that's hard to get into. Which makes me think, personally, that Ice had exceptional grades for a long time, and probably even did advanced physics and aerodynamics already. These classes might be even easy for him, or at least nothing new. He pays attention as much as he needs to, but for the most part, he's already got it. (I personally like to headcanon that he would regularly get best scores on exams while at the Academy, or maybe even had a friendly competition with Cougar as to who would be the best academically, and maybe even helped tutor other students -- which would be a decent precursor to him being a teacher at TOPGUN)

Which I think is why Ice finds Maverick so compelling. Maverick gets all this, seems to be a damn good visualizer, and he didn't go to the academy. Ice worked his ass off, but Maverick had to overcome genuine barriers due to his family history, and did so while doing absolutely off the wall shit that Ice would have never even considered. The thing that draws Ice to Maverick? Maverick is the farthest thing from boring. Even if he is lying about flying upside down -- which despite Ice saying "bullshit" I think at least part of that is just reactive disbelief because holy shit, what if he actually did? -- it's still entertaining. Breaks up from the monotony. Catches his attention.

And then when he watches Maverick fly and realizes, jesus christ, he probably did fly his plane upside down. He flew his plane upside down and taunted the shit out of the enemy. And because this is the 80s, and toxic masculinity, instead Ice channels that feeling of kind of awe into antagonism because how else is he going to do it. So he asks Maverick, "who was covering Cougar while you were showboating?"

And the thing is that Maverick takes it in stride. He listens pretty politely. honestly, I think he notices the fact that Ice -- Goose's proclaimed "best" -- is paying attention to him. Even if it is by being an asshole, it doesn't stop the fact that Ice doesn't do that to anyone else. He keeps to his lane. They're teammates, they're all on the same side, but other than Slider it doesn't seem like Ice takes much of a personal interest in anyone. But he does in Maverick.

It's the fascination that makes the Icemav for me. The intrigue. Maverick asking Goose who he thinks is the best, and Goose points out Iceman, and Iceman backs it up because he flies textbook perfectly. Iceman having heard about Maverick, acknowledging that Mav and Goose were notorious, and discovering why and being compelled by it. The rivalry between the two that comes from really, being two sides of the same coin. They both want to fly, badly. They both want to be the best. They both have very different understandings and beliefs of how one becomes that, and even what the best means. They both recognize that the other is a threat to their own goal. And once the competition is over -- well. Damn. Who else do they want on their wing than this person who has earned their respect, impressed them, who they've come to understand, and with whom went through so much together?

(And if there's a hell of a lot of sexual tension and confusing romantic feelings along the way, well -- that's just even more fun)

[bekolxeram]

Hi! I have a question. There's this theory going around that 802/803 could be based on the movie Airport 1975. I don't know if you've seen it, but basically something crashes into the cockpit of Boeing 747, which causes the crew to become incapacitated and there is no one on the plane who is knowledgeable enough to take the controls. So they send in a helicopter, which hovers above the plane, and a replacement pilot is extended on a tether from it to climb into the cockpit of the plane and take the controls.

I was curious if it could work in reality. I mean, the situation sounds pretty crazy and I don't know how rooted in reality it actually is, but what I'm interested about is whether a helicopter pilot could land a plane like that. Would they need to be acquainted with flying airplanes for it to work? I know you said that helicopter pilots have a head start if they want to learn how to fly planes because the basics are the same, so I was wondering if a helicopter pilot who has never flown a plane could potentially land it without hurting anyone? Are they knowledgeable enough to try? Sorry if the question is dumb or the answer obvious.

TW: aviation accident

Yes, I've indeed seen the movie, together with its predecessor Airport (1970), to better appreciate the greatest aviation film of them all: Airplane! (1980). Seriously, although it's a comedic parody of cheesy air disaster films, it somehow manages to be more accurate than all of them in terms of flying and aviation safety. Plus, all the jabs at how the Airport movies portray female characters are so satisfying. The first half of Airport 1975 is basically Workplace Sexual Misconduct: The Movie.

To answer your question, no, there has never been a case of non-airline pilot not a part of the flight crew successfully landing a jet airliner. There have been a few cases of student pilots landing a light aircraft when the instructor became incapacitated, but the only time it came even close to that on a jet airliner was Helios Flight 522 in 2005.

A ground engineer set the cabin pressurization system to manual for some testing and forgot to set it back to automatic. The flight crew never spotted it and slowly succumbed to the effect of hypoxia while cruising at 34,000 feet. A flight attendant entered the cockpit at the later stage of the flight with a portable oxygen supply reserved for crew members, the dropped down oxygen masks in the cabin, the lack of communication from the flight crew, the aimless holding pattern over the Athens airport and the fighter jets sent out by the Hellenic Air Force to investigate probably gave it away that something was terribly wrong with that flight. The flight attendant held a commercial pilot license, though not qualified to fly the 737. Tragically, the jet was already critically low on fuel, and the No. 1 engine flamed out as soon as he entered the cockpit. Investigators later concluded that he would not have been able to control the aircraft under such circumstances with his experience, as engine flameout would take many of the automated systems offline. He attempted to send out a mayday call and briefly waved at the fighter jets as a sign of acknowledgement. The fighter pilots then pointed at the direction of the airport, hoping to guide the plane towards safety. The flight attendant at the yoke simply replied by pointing down, signaling an immanent crash. As a last ditch effort, he banked the plane away from Athens towards a rural area, pulling the yoke back in an attempt to soften the impact. Shortly after, the 737 crashed into a hill just outside of Athens. There were no survivors.

If someone with a commercial pilot license in the airplane category couldn't do it, a helicopter pilot with limited to no experience on any plane wouldn't be able to either. They might have a better idea than the average layman about how to keep the plane in the air, but when it comes to configuring the jet for landing, they would have to be instructed by an actual airliner pilot through it like the rest of us. Just look at the differences between the cockpit of a Cessna 172 and one of a B777:

Cessna 172

AS350, aka Tommy's helicopter in 7x03

They don't look that different, yeah? I'd say Tommy would recognize most of the instruments on the Cessna even without any experience on it. Now let's look at the B777:

So many screens, so many buttons in front, on the side, even on top. Most modern airliners also operate on a fly-by-wire system, meaning the pilots' inputs go through a flight computer and it calculates the optimal for the actuators to respond. If you don't have at least some basic knowledge of how the flight control systems on a certain model of airliner work, you risk misdiagnosing any issue encountered, even crashing the plane even though the problems are minor and solvable by letting the computers take over. (Air France Flight 447, I'll spare you the details, it's still too scary for me.)

That's why in Airport 1975, it's the US Air Force responding to the 747 in danger with one of its helicopters, and the one tethering into the cockpit at first isn't a helicopter pilot, he used to fly the "707 tanker" (KC-135 I presume). When he falls to his death, the film makes it a major plot point that the only person on board the helicopter by then is Nancy's boyfriend, chief flight instructor of the airline.

This scene is actually one of the more realistic scenes in the film, at least physically. It was the 1970s and CGI technology was lacking, so the scene was filmed with an actual USAF helicopter flying in front of a 747. If you believe this person who claimed to be the crew chief working on that exact helicopter, the stunt man got as near as 3 feet away from the fuselage of the jet.

Military helicopters fly close to big airplanes all the time, air tankers are basically flying gas stations, but helicopters usual fly behind air tankers. You see, as I mentioned before, wings of airplanes deflect incoming air stream downward to generate lift, so the bigger the plane, the more air needed, meaning heavier planes have faster stall speed. Helicopters on the other hand, can go straight up and down without moving horizontally, and they're designed for maneuverability, not speed, so even the best performing military helicopter has its maximum speed dangerously close to the stall speed of a 747. In order to make a midair pilot transfer like that possible, the helicopter would have to fly as fast as possible while the jet limping close to stall speed, the helicopter pilots would also have to fly in formation with the jet on autopilot, without any coordination.

So if our weewoo show really decides to recreate this famous stunt, not even trying to explain why the USAF/USCG are not available like in S7, leaving the LAFD to its own device, Tommy would realistically not be hoisting into the crippled jet. He would be flying the helicopter. Honestly it's a much tougher job than dropping into the plane and landing it, Tommy's expertise is needed in the helicopter. Like the first replacement pilot, he falls, so he dies. But if the helicopter makes a wrong move and crashes into the jet, everyone dies.

[scuderiatomcat]

charles is a brand new top gun student and slightly older max being his flight instructor🤭what could possibly go wrong?

charles immediately fells in love with his new sexy flight instructor, so he decides to do everything to make commander look at him. it’s not so hard because, he’s best in his class, and max’s eyes are only on him…

max knows that his new student has something for him, and he knows charles is great pilot. but max is just better, there is the reason why he’s an instructor. and he does not make it easy for charles in an air.

they’re dancing in the sky, like there’s a respawn point on the ground, until max ends up on a hospital bed after too close call with his beloved student.

first thing max sees, after waking up, is all his room full of flowers and his best friend sitting there and reading something that really looks like handmade postcard with cats and planes on it. yes it’s is from charles, no not all flowers are from him, your other students also like you.

next day max wakes up to charles slowly entering his room, but deciding to pretend be asleep. he hears that his student quietly sitting near his bed. than charles starts talking. about how he’s sorry, and he never thought that manoeuvre would end like that, that loves him so much and can’t stand that fact, that max is in hospital because of him. at the end max clearly hear that charles is crying so he grabs his hand, scaring charles along the way. his student’s face is red with thick tears streaming down.

bright green meets light blue first time in a lots of painful days. max quietly petting charles’ hands. no need to say anything, they already know everything.

[thatsrightice]

HOW TO BECOME A FIGHTER PILOT

So as you may or may not know, I am writing a fanfic. Unfortunately for me, I can never do things half way, and because aviation is my passion I must do hours of research on a particular subject that I probably won't even use or reference in said fanfic. Here is a guide for how our favorite characters (probably) became fighter pilots. If there are inaccuracies let me know, I want to know :)

United States Naval Academy

The USNA is an undergraduate college that is a combination of academics and military development programs. Students who want to go into Flight School could qualify with one of a variety of different majors, but there are particular majors that obviously may provide a bit of an advantage to aspiring pilots. The USNA currently offers a variety of different majors and minors, though there are fewer than you might expect from a typical university, and overall the degrees are more tailored towards the Navy. They encourage participation in athletics in the form of a Varsity or club/intramural sport(1). 

NOTE: Maverick likely attended a regular college and was a part of the Naval ROTC program at that school. He would have gotten his degree in a field relevant to aviation, likely Mechanical Engineering given his mechanical aptitude seen in Top Gun Maverick, and then attended the 13-week program called Officer Candidate School. To be honest, Maverick’s path within the Navy is a mess and impossible to follow but in the most straightforward scenario, he would go to flight school following Officer Candidate School.

Flight School 

Flight School is an approximately 2-year-long program that is required for Naval Aviators to earn their wings. Primarily located at the “Cradle of Naval Aviation” aka Pensacola, FL, flight school consists of many different phases that will divide students into different specializations. 

1. Naval Introductory Flight Evaluation (NIFE)

Divided into four phases, NIFE is a program that evaluates students’ aeronautical aptitude as well as screens them to ensure they’re capable of becoming aviators. Students may earn a “pink sheet” for any score below 80% or a failure of a task, requiring them to stand before a panel of instructors to explain why they failed and how they plan to improve. Too many pink sheets result in removal from the program(2).

1a. Water Survival Training Following medical clearance, students are taught and tested on their ability to swim while wearing flight gear as well as formerly instructed on various survival techniques and CPR(2).

1b. Academics  A 3-week phase where students take classes and exams in five subjects. It is condensed to test a student’s ability to retain information, learn new information in a high-stress environment, and challenge their self-discipline in regard to time management and other areas(2).

1c. Introductory Flight Screening (IFS) Students are entered into a 2-week-long modified civilian flight training program where one week is dedicated to ground school courses before they must conduct a series of flights in a Cessna using Navy flight procedures during the second week. Students had to memorize and prioritize information to complete the flights, specifically in regard to conducting pre-flight briefings and emergency procedures. Overall, they’ll conduct seven flights in which they are required to complete a set of standardized maneuvers(2). 

1d. Aviation Physiology A week-long training course that consists of emergency-specific training evolutions such as the hypoxia chamber, emergency first aid, and the “helo dunker.” The “helo dunker” (from what I understand) is a particular training device that consists of strapping a pilot into a cockpit-like or helicopter contraption within a pool and submerging the entire structure under the water, simulating an environment in which their aircraft has landed in the water and they need to escape from the seat(3). An image of this can be seen below(2).

The Top Gun cast had to undergo a similar training course in order to be allowed to fly in military airplanes for filming. A video of some of their training can be viewed below.

2b. Aviation Pre-Flight Indoctrination

A 6-week long program that marks the beginning of the aviation pipeline. Located in Pensacola, FL, students attend classes covering the basics of aerodynamics, weather in relation to aviation, air navigation, flight rules and regulations, and aircraft engines and systems (3). 

Prior to API, those interested in becoming Radar Intercept Officers (RIO) will have expressed their interest and requested a designation as a Naval Flight Officer (NFO). 

2c. Primary Flight Training

A 6-month-long program that teaches the students the basics of flying. There are two locations for Primary, one at Training Air Wing 5 at Naval Air Station Whiting Field in Pensacola, FL, or Training Air Wing 4 at Naval Air Station Corpus Christi in Corpus Christi, TX. Both Naval Air Stations (NAS) are taught the same curriculum and fly the same aircraft, the T-6 Texan II. The students learn about the instruments, flight basics, radio instrument navigation, formation flying, and aerobatics, and also conduct several solo flights. At the end of Primary, students choose which pipeline they would like. This is conducted depending on the needs of the Navy and how many spots are available(3). 

Obviously, Iceman, Slider, Goose, Cougar, and everyone else got Jets, though they may not have gone through flight school at the same time. 

2d. Intermediate Flight Training

Intermediate Flight Training is a 27-week program. Split into five platforms; Jet, E2/C2, Helicopter, Maritime, and E-6 TACAMO. The jet platform flight training focuses more on navigation, air traffic control, individual skills, and cooperative skills of flying jets. The intermediate flight training program for jets is located at Meridian, MS (Training Air Wing One) at either VT-7 or VT-9, and Kingsville, TX (Training Air Wing Two) at either VT-21 or VT-22, both of which teach the same curriculum. Students in the jet platform will complete 58 graded flights in the T-45C Goshawk jet trainer aircraft(3). 

2e. Advanced Flight Training

Similar to Intermediate Flight Training, the program is split into five platforms but lasts 23 weeks. The students will probably have stayed with the same training squadron throughout the intermediate and advanced flight training. This stage includes learning skills specific to the chosen platform. The Advanced Flight Training program for jets is what’s called the Strike Syllabus. The Strike Syllabus includes an additional 67 graded flights in the T-45 covering air combat maneuvers, low-level navigation, tactical formation flying, and aircraft carrier qualifications. Students will then graduate from Advanced Flight Training with the Wings of Gold(3). 

3. Squadron Selection 

The final selection process assigns naval aviators to a particular squadron based on the needs of the service. Naval Aviators are assigned to a fleet replacement squadron or other similar training assignments for further training on their specific aircraft type. Here, RIOs and pilots must become qualified by gaining the required flight hours and meeting the proficiency standards necessary.

NOTE: It’s kind of hard to figure out when exactly the RIO training occurs. I know it takes place over the course of all the primary through advanced training occurs as well but I’m not sure if they have to attend seperate courses for it. 

TOPGUN

From there, pilots and RIOs may have been moved to their first official squadron for deployment. They would have been in their first squadron for approximately one and a half years, deploying with them. Their squadron would come back from a deployment and during the stand-down time before their next deployment, their commanding officer would select them to go to TOPGUN.

Sources

(1) https://www.usna.edu/homepage.php

(2) https://www.navy.mil/Press-Office/News-Stories/Article/2944668/nife-lays-foundation-for-naval-aviation-training/

(3) https://www.cnatra.navy.mil/tw4/flight-school.asp

[thevioletcaptain]

me, the 4.0 gpa student who has had nothing but positive feedback on my screenwriting abilities from working professionals, instructors, and fellow students alike, and who had absolutely no rational reason to think i would not be approved to work on my pilot in the final required course of the program, after getting the confirmation that my outline has in fact been accepted and approved: