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For the rest of the hops, I put in my earbuds and blocked out the rest of the world, training my eyes on the sky and watching each match, filing away each pilot’s go-to maneuvers for future competitions.
Finally, it was go time, and I followed Solo down to the hangar, adrenaline starting to take over. It wasn’t nerves, it was excitement, the thrill of a challenge, of doing something dangerous and coming out on top.
And, of course, beating my rival.
As I stopped in front of my plane, Solo winked and said, “Looking forward to chasing your ass.”
“Looking forward to kicking yours.”
I went through the preflight checks then put on my helmet, and as I climbed into the cockpit and buckled in, it never failed to hit me that this was my job. That I literally strapped a plane to myself each and every time I clocked in for work. There were connections of all kinds linking me to the jet, from oxygen to the seat parachute. It was as if you were becoming one with the powerful piece of machinery. It was the body and you were the brain.
I shifted in the seat, mentally ticking off my checklist. There was no getting comfortable; that wasn’t what this was about. This was about survival, making sure everything was as it should be before I got up in the air and it was too late.
The seat was firm under me, not a lot of cushion, due to the fact I was basically sitting on two rockets and an ejector seat, but once I was happy that everything was good, I gave the thumbs-up and prepared for takeoff.
I taxied out to the runway, and as I maneuvered my plane into position and waited for the go-ahead, I sent up a prayer that we came home safely. I might’ve also made sure to add, Please help guide me to fly clean and smart, and kick Solo’s ass.
As the all-clear signal was given, I throttled up and punched the engines. Seconds later, I was tearing down the runway, my body pushed back into my seat from the pressure of the acceleration, and as I hit the end and got the gears and flaps up, I was pushing well over two hundred miles per hour.
The sensation of speed was exhilarating, a total rush, and as the plane lifted and I headed straight up, pulling some hard Gs, I let the euphoria engulf me.
I was born to do this, raised here in the halls of this very academy, and as I leveled out and waited for Solo to join me, I was more determined than ever to prove I was here for a reason—and that was to win.
23 Solo
ITCHING TO GET up in the air and go head to head with the only person I really considered my competition around here, I was all but vibrating with pent-up adrenaline as I was given the all-clear and took position.
I knew it was going to take some clever flying to beat Panther up in the air today, and as I was given the go-ahead and thundered down the runway at breakneck speed, I was focused on one thing only—winning.
I was off the ground in seconds, and as I shot into the sky like a cannonball, my fingers tightened around the controls. These planes didn’t enter the sky all smooth like a commercial plane. Oh no, where they were designed for stability and comfort, fighters were the complete opposite.
Designed to be unstable for maneuverability, the wings on this bad boy were more rigid, and any bumps and dips from turbulence you felt in the pit of your gut. Something the average Joe usually tossed his cookies over, but not me. I lived for this shit. Hell, I often thought my lungs ran better on jet fuel than oxygen, I’d been around it for so long.
But as quickly as that thought entered my mind it left, because just as I hit the correct altitude given in the brief today, Panther—somehow or other—had come up on my left and was moving in at a fast clip, catching me off guard and getting me on the defensive.
“Shit. Where’d you come from?” I muttered to myself.
My pulse began to race and all my senses went on high alert, as my brain fired off all my options at a hellacious pace. As it assessed and dismissed different case scenarios and threw out all losing options, I was reminded that making life-and-death decisions in seconds really wasn’t the most normal job in the world. But as Panther’s plane closed in on me, I was also reminded it was the best, because just when he would’ve locked on to me and I’d be done, I break-turned and reversed, causing him to overshoot or hit me.
As Panther tore right by me, I knew I was committed now to the decision I had made. I angled the plane upward and climbed further into the sky, preparing to execute my first roll and lead the two of us into a fighting maneuver known as the rolling scissors, or “rollers.”
