Chapter 1 - Prologue / Chapter 1: Takeoff

Synopsis:

Megan has achieved her dream of enlisting in the Top Gun program, like her father and uncle before her.

She has a vision problem only solved by medication with unexpected and unnoticed weight gain side effects.

In this top performance industry, will the medication side effects as well as a female rival pilot put Megan in a tailspin?

NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

++++++

On March 3, 1969 the United States Navy established an elite school for the top one percent of its pilots. Its purpose was to teach the lost art of arial combat and to ensure that the handful of men and women who graduated were the best fighter pilots in the world.

They succeeded.

Today, the Navy calls it Fighter Weapons School.

The flyers call it:

TOP GUN.

++++++

Chapter 1: Takeoff


It was a quiet morning with a clear blue sky as Megan and her uncle Topher approached the airfield.

“Are we nearly there yet?” yawned a sleepy Megan, removing her glasses and rubbing her eyes for umpteenth time.

Her uncle looked over at the raven-haired sleepy teenager, one hand on the wheel, the other sticking out the side of his pickup truck. His fingers were pointed so that the slipstream of air flowed over the tips. “Stick your head out the window, kiddo. Better than a cup of coffee. Yes, nearly there. Airfield is just a few clicks out.”

She rolled her eyes and he let out a short bark of laughter.

“Scratch that. Coffee is better.” He said, reaching down for one of the two large mugs that he had prepared earlier that morning.

Megan pulled her overly large denim jacket closer to herself, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and glanced through the windscreen. They had been driving for about 45 minutes. The clock on her uncle’s dashboard read 5:55am and was always ten minutes fast.

“Just look at that skyline, kiddo. A perfect day for being up in the air.”

Megan nodded in agreement and reached for her mug of coffee and took a long sip. It was dark and strong. Nobody made java like her Uncle Tobias.

They drove in silence for a further ten minutes. Her uncle resisting the temptation to put on the radio. He and his niece agreed on many things, but the radio station was not one of them.

“Just one song, kiddo?” He said, glancing from the road over to his niece.

“Okay, but on one condition.” Megan replied.

“I’m listening,” he said, hand already reaching for the knob.

“On the condition that we listen to one of mine, after.” She looked at her uncle, who still had his eyes on the road and he nodded.

“Deal.”

“This is WKXL, Wyoming’s Premiere Country Station. I’m Daniel Brooks and thank you for getting up with us this morning…” the radio crackled to life and Megan sighed as the DJ announced the day’s weather and slid into a janky tune about another lonesome man looking for his one true love.

Megan didn’t really mind the music, she just preferred newer country over the older stuff. But she wasn’t about to admit to her uncle that after spending an entire summer with him and his love of country music, that his taste of music had finally rubbed off on her, no sir.

Her uncle began tapping the top of the steering wheel in time with the music as they came to a side road which meant they were nearing the airport. Megan busied herself by removing her glasses and cleaning the slightly smudged lenses with the hem of her t-shirt.

A few turns and signs later which stated authorized personnel only, they pulled up to a barbed wire fence with an attendant box. Uncle Topher turned the radio down, his ID badge already in hand.

“Good morning Captain,” came the alert voice of the man, already at attention, coming out to meet them.

“Mornin’ Harold. Heck of a nice day today.” Topher handed him the badge, which he verified and handed back.

“Taking your niece up again, I see.” He said, looking over at Megan who sat up straighter and acknowledged the man with a polite waive and a smile.

“Hey, she wants to be a pilot like her old man and her uncle. Figured this is the best way to try before you buy, no?”

Topher nudged his niece in the shoulder with a smile and she nudged him back.

“Well good for you, Miss. We need more women in the service. And if the genes in your family are strong, you’ll have no problem at all. Here’s your ID. Hangar 4 today, sir.”

Topher tipped his head to the man who nodded in reply. The gate buzzed open to admit them to the airfield, and they drove slowly to the hangar.

Megan took in the signs of the small military hangar. There were just 7 hangars in all. Two were reserved for helicopters, three hangars she had no idea what went on in and the remaining two where the ones she was most familiar with. One was for engine / repair and the other was where smaller planes were kept. This was where they were headed now.

They pulled up into the designated parking space. Already there, even at this hour was another vehicle. It was a GPZ900R Kawasaki motorbike and one that Megan was already familiar with. It belonged to one of the mechanics and her uncle’s best friend, Captain Pete Matchel. Retired Top Gun Pilot.

“We’re here kiddo. Looks like Pete beat us again.”

Topher turned off the truck and they stepped out into the morning air and gathered their gear from the truck bed. Stepping out, Megan felt the cool breeze flap against the large jacket that was her uncle’s, as well as an electric smell and faint odor of burnt rubber from take offs and landings.

Megan helped her uncle with the gear and as they approached the small set of steps outside the hangar, she said, “Hey, you still owe me a song on the radio! You knew the distance we had left and knew we only had time for one song. Not cool, Uncle T.”

Her uncle looked over at her and grinned. “Guess I owe you one.” And he nodded at her to open the door marked “Hangar 4”.

++++++

Duffle bags in hand, they pushed through the hangar door. The lights were already on, their focal point in the center of the large room where a fixed wing Cirrus SR22T sat.
Megan and her uncle went over to the locker room side of the hangar to drop off their gear and mugs of coffee. The faint sound of the radio growing ever louder.

“Pete. Hey Pete!” Called her uncle with one cupped hand, flicking on a few more lights.
“He’s over there,” Megan said, pushing her glasses up her nose and pointing unnecessarily.

A man of medium build in a white t-shirt and blue jeans had the engine cowl up. He was nodding his head to the tune of the music which Megan found tasteful. He had a socket wrench and was applying to several unseen points from their vantage point.

“Captain Matchel, report to flight deck. Wheels up at 07:00.” Boomed a voice from overhead that made Megan jump.

Pete looked up too and laughed, waiving to both Megan and further away at Topher who had taken it upon himself to speak through the building’s internal loudspeaker.

“100 pushups for failure to be in uniform. To be done one-handed.” Said her uncle through the loudspeaker again.

Pete flicked him the bird with a smile.

“200! Nav!” cried her uncle as he switched off the com.

Megan waited for her uncle and the pair of them approached the plane.

“Heya Megan. Heya Topher. Don’t worry, no grease.” He said, shaking both of their hands.

Megan took note of the music that was playing from an iPhone hooked up to a tiny speaker that was propped upon a toolbox. It was the kind of music that Megan would listen to and she took no time at all to mention this to her uncle.

“See,” she said, pointing to the speaker, “that’s what I call music.”

Her uncle feigned puking. “Not sure I would go that far.”

Pete spoke, “It’s what my nephew likes. He’s about your age Megan. He was over for supper last night and was playing this, ah, music for us. Not sure I’ll ever understand it, but it’s got a catchy beat.”

“Don’t worry, Pete. It will grow on you. I’m trying to incept m uncle into like it also.”

Pete low-whistled, “you can try, but I’ve had my hand slapped more times by that man while trying to change the radio on long car trips more than you could imagine. He’s dead set on the old stuff.”

“That’s because it’s the good stuff. The best stuff.” Said Topher proudly.

Megan changed subjects, “what are you working on?” she asked, peering into the engine.

“Just adjusting one of the settings on the engine intake. She was running a little sluggish for my liking yesterday. Nothing to worry about.” And he showed her the spot he was working on.

Megan watched as Pete worked on the engine while her uncle went over to assist.

“Hey Megs, why don’t you get the bags and navigation checklist ready while I help Naverick with his chores.”

“No need, Pinball, I got here extra early today so you two Cinderella’s could take her up early.”

Megan laughed at their childish jibes. They had used their callsigns from when they were active Navy. Naverick for Pete, because he was the best navigator and weapon system officer in his graduating class. While her uncle was called Pinball because of his unmatched ability to maneuver at low-altitude as well as evade while in combat.

Megan returned in short order with the charts and portable tablet. Pete and Topher were completing the walkaround and she joined them for the final few checklist items.
Pete consulted his watch, “You’re ready to fly gang.” And as he said it, the sun was just beginning to pour through the window, an omen for a great day.

They shook hands and Pete made to open the hangar door for them. Megan opened her door and stepped inside. Her uncle removed the wheel chucks, freeing them for movement and hopped in on the other side. They both set headsets over their heads and Megan adjusted hers so that they didn’t pinch the sides of her glasses against her head.

Megan had worn glasses for most of her life. Ever since she was 5 years old. She was at a diner with her family one Saturday morning and her father had asked her to read out the days’ specials from a menu board a few feet away from where they were seated.

“Read ‘em out kiddo. What should we try today?” Her father asked.

“Uh, waffles and … grapes?” she said, straining her neck forward and squinting.
“Very funny dear,” said her mother, who was helping her younger brother into the booster seat and who was doing his best to fidget out of it.

“C’mon kiddo, quit Joshing. I’m starving and here comes our waitress.”

Megan was unperturbed and tried again. This time getting out of the booth and walking a few paces further. “I think it says Waffles and Chicken with Gravy.”

She sat back down, and her father stared at the sign and then at his little girl. He looked around the diner and pointed to the sign above the bathrooms.

“What does that sign say over there.” He pointed.

“B…broom?” she said, squinting.

“Time to see the optometrist.” Her father said to her mother, as the waitress bustled over to take their orders.

A few weeks later, Megan was the proud owner of a pink pair of round-lensed classes. Chosen from one of her favorite kids’ books at the time. As she grew, so did her prescription.

“How’s the headset, kiddo?” Asked her uncle as he observed that she was fidgeting with the adjuster at the sides.

“Not bad, this pair is much better than the other pair from last week.”

“Good.” He nodded.

They completed the internal flight check, making sure their communications were working.

“You’re up kiddo. You know what to do.”
Megan grinned and reached over to start up the engine. It roared to life and she reached her feet down to place them on the brakes while she revved up the engine, checking the left and right magnetos.

The roar of the engine caused the headsets to kick in, blocking out the additional noise, so that she and her uncle were speaking through the headsets.

“Check left mag. Check right mag. Rudders okay. Brakes working.”

Her uncle gave her the thumbs up, and they locked the doors of the plane, securing them inside. They fastened their seatbelts, and her uncle folded his hands behind his head.

“I have control.” Megan said into the headset, placing her hands on the wheel and throttling up the engine.

“You have control.” Her uncle replied, the universal lingo between pilots.

Though Megan did not have a formal pilots’ license, she had spent the requisite time and more between her uncle and father. Megan had fallen in love with flying ever since she was a little girl. Being taken up in various planes and helicopters with her father and uncle over the years had reinforced her ambition to pursue a career in aviation. She was handy and mechanically inclined and it was no surprise to anyone that she had chosen and was accepted to a prestigious college that offered Mechanical Engineering with a near-full scholarship.

Megan made a few instrument adjustments, which she knew by heart. She looked over at her uncle, who gave her the slightest of nods. Megan looked out the window over to where Pete had opened the bay doors.

He had his hands on his hips and was waiting. Megan gave him the thumbs up and made a circular motion with her hand, indicating they were about to move the plane. Pete responded with a thumbs up and he made a mock-sweeping bow as she gently let her foot off the brake.

The plane rolled forward easily as she moved her feet on the rudders to turn the plane 90 degrees. Now facing the hangar doors, the plane went up and through them and they began taxying into the runway.

“This is air traffic control of Addison Airfield. We see you. Identify.” Came a voice through her headset.

“Air traffic control. This is Golf Bravo November Kilo Hotel. Request Runway 2.”

The air crackled with static while Megan held the plane steady.”

“Golf Bravo November Kilo Hotel. You are a go for Runway 2. Proceed in the North West direction.”

Megan repeated the instructions back and the line went dead. Her uncle gave her an ‘okay’ with his fingers and Megan smiled. She taxied onto the runway, noting they were the only plane out so far. But she knew there would be others later on.

She was lined up with the runway, it’s blinking lights flashing on either side of the blacktop. She noted the orange sock, flapping in the wind, indicating wind direction. Planes always take off and land into the wind, and this was a near perfect set up, for the sock was parallel with the ground.
Megan throttled up and down, checking her flaps and rudders one more time. “This is Golf Bravo November Kilo Hotel. We are ready on Runway 2, North West.”

“You are a go.”

“We are a go.”

++++++