Smart, sexy, and one hell of a pilot. Solo was everything I wanted wrapped up in a flight suit and a pair of Aviators. He was my partner in the air, on the ground, in my bed, and in my life, and no matter who came out on top today, I couldn’t help but believe we’d both be winners in the end.
“Hello… Earth to Panther. Did you hear me?”
I blinked, pushing my thoughts aside. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“Are you good? Is there anything else you want to go over before we head out there?”
We had already run through our game plan back in class, but beyond the initial setup, there was really no way to predict what would happen once we were airborne. We had been assigned the role of the aggressors today, but instead of getting down and dirty like everyone expected of us once we hit the air, I’d come up with a new plan: stealth.
“No, I’m good,” I said, then reached for the straps of his harness, tugging him in as close as I could get him with all his safety gear on. “But you be careful up there today. I want you back in one piece at the end of this, you hear me, Lieutenant Morgan?”
“I’ll fly smart and follow your lead, how about that?”
I knew that was as close to a promise of carefulness as I would get from Solo, especially considering what was at stake today. So I let him go and gave him a clipped nod.
“That works. Okay, I’m gonna go suit up. I’ll meet you out there in a few.”
I turned to head out of his bay and over to mine, then heard him call my name. I stopped and looked back to see him looking every inch the cocky, rebellious fighter pilot I’d fallen for.
Solo flashed that charming grin and said, “I love you.”
Wow. It was amazing how three simple words could make you feel as though you could conquer the whole damn world, and I felt invincible. I had the most talented, quickest-thinking pilot in the Elite flying by my side this afternoon. I was out to prove to Levy, our fellow trainees, and my father that I was worthy of Mateo “Solo” Morgan, and I pitied the poor fools who were about to have to face off with me.
33 Solo
THE SUN BARELY managed to slip through the clouds as we headed across the runway to where our planes waited fully fueled and ready for their pre-check. I could see Houdini and that asshat Utah coming in for a landing one runway over, and after the way they’d just annihilated Phantom and Alphabet up there, I had a fire lit under my ass.
From day one I’d entered this course with every intention of winning, and just because I’d gone and done the unimaginable—fallen in love—that didn’t mean my determination to kick everyone’s ass had flown out the window.
One ass I was particularly looking forward to spanking was Utah’s. The last time we’d gone head to head, I’d been all up in mine and that motherfucker had gotten the best of me. But today was a different story. I was one hundred percent focused, and the only way I was leaving that sky was victorious.
This newfound confidence also came because I just so happened to be partnered up with the best pilot in the program. Don’t get me wrong, I was a close second and nipping at Panther’s heels, but I’d have to be stupid to think that anyone who beat Captain “Razor” Hughes wasn’t a serious threat.
Panther had this cool, calculated way about flying that you couldn’t help but be in awe of. And when he flawlessly executed some of the most difficult maneuvers without breaking a sweat, damn, that was just sexy as fuck.
After running through all the checks, I caught Panther’s eye and gave a nod, then we climbed up into the cockpits and prepared for takeoff. As Panther was the lead on today’s mission, he taxied out ahead of me. When he moved into position, I drew to a stop behind him and waited. Seconds later he was hurtling down the runway at a breakneck pace, and my stomach dropped and my heart lodged somewhere in the back of my throat.
Okay, that was new, this feeling of total exhilaration coupled with terror as the nose of Panther’s F-A/18A Hornet lifted and he shot up into the great blue expanse above. I guess that was how you felt when you watched the man you love strap himself into a machine that would blast him into the sky. Excited, because you knew what a rush it was to be sitting in that cockpit, and deathly ill because you also knew how damn dangerous this shit was.
With Panther safe and clear, it was my turn now, and while I’d been nervous watching him, I felt none of that for myself. Instead, my adrenaline began to hum in anticipation of the rush I knew I’d get from takeoff.
I waited for the all-clear then gunned the engines and shot down the runway like a bat out of hell. Fuck me, this feeling never got old. I went straight up into the sky, then locked on to Panther’s coordinates and set out to find him.
The plan for today’s hop was to shake things up a little. Instead of coming in hard and fast, we were going to execute things a little differently. We’d been up against Gucci and Whiplash before, and if I knew my buddy, he’d be expecting my usual kind of take-no-prisoners flying. But today we were playing by Panther’s rules, and that bastard was a stealthy one.
As I pulled into formation, with Panther in the lead, the ten feet separating us felt like next to nothing out here in the never-ending stretch of forever.
I looked over to see him give a quick wave of acknowledgement, and then through the speaker in my helmet he said, “I’ve got you on my six. You ready?” and it took everything I had to be on my best behavior.
“I’m in position and got you in sight. Ready when you are.”
Panther gave a thumbs-up and then pulled ahead, banking to the left, and as I executed a turn to keep in position, the roar of the slipstream made the Hornet’s wings flex and the body of the jet shudder. Panther punched it into gear, until we were clocking some serious Gs, and as we tore through the clouds dotting the afternoon sky, I scanned every inch of blue I could see.
Come out, come out, wherever you are, I thought, as I searched for signs of Gucci and Whiplash, and like the universe decided to hear my call, the sunlight caught on something off to my right. Ahh, there you are.
“Bogey on your right,” I said into the comm, and I knew the second Panther spotted them because he leaned into that direction and began to dive low, implementing the plan we’d discussed back on base if all conditions were favorable—and they were.
I fell in beside him, and we found the cloud cover we were after and sped toward the unsuspecting duo above. The goal was to get in under them before they even realized we were there.
My senses were tingling now, as the high-risk portion of today’s hop was about to be initiated. Panther shot out from under Gucci’s tail and went straight up, and I followed suit, barely clearing Whiplash’s tail end as I began to climb toward the heavens.
The second they saw us was obvious—they broke formation, no doubt in an effort to try to see what the fuck was going on behind them. But it was too late now; we had them in our sights, and this hop was about to show who was more skilled at this one-on-one shit.
The skill set Levy wanted to witness in this final hop was of the highest caliber. He wanted to know that his pilots—the Elite pilots—knew how to handle themselves when up close and personal with the enemy. This kind of combat was all about geometry and piloting. It was about assessing the other pilot’s energy and willingness to go all the way. You had to watch and observe every maneuver they made, orient to what they were doing, then make a decision on what to do next. Once you’d done all of that, you had to maneuver yourself into position to counter it—all in a handful of seconds that could mean life or death.
This job wasn’t for the faint of heart. Panther and I topped out at our max altitude and then began the steep dive back to the two below, and the thrill of the chase kicked into high gear as I zeroed in on Whiplash and watched Panther pin Gucci.
“Looks like they’re gonna roll,” Panther said, and not a second after that, they veered off in opposite directions and barrel-rolled over and over at a nauseating clip in an effort to shake us free.
But with Panther and me this close, we
could see each and every move before they even made it. Gucci tried for a nosedive, but Panther plugged that sucker up, and Whiplash decided to see how strong my stomach was with some major three-sixties—stratosphere style. No matter what they threw at us, though, we were right on their tails, and it wasn’t long after that that Panther and I locked on to our targets and the mission was called. Whiplash and Gucci were done. Sayonara, suckers.
The euphoria of victory that washed over me as the results were relayed through the comm made me whoop and fist-bump the air. Panther’s stealth tactics had been the perfect move for today’s mission—we’d been the hunters seeking our prey—and as I flew past Whiplash’s plane and she shot me the finger, I couldn’t help but laugh, my joy overtaking me.
You gotta love it when the dead can still flip you off.
The four of us leveled out, I moved into position by Panther to head back to base, and it occurred to me that this might be the last time I ever flew with him like this. It was almost enough to take away from the jubilant feeling of success, until I remembered that whatever path we chose to take after this, we were taking it together.
There would be other highs, other moments to share, so I needed to bask in this one now and then store it away as one of the best moments of my life. This was a time for celebration, and I was fairly certain there would be more where that came from.
I couldn’t be one hundred percent positive, but I was pretty sure that today’s win had also just secured the top spot in the program for one of us.
I touched down, climbed out of the plane, and rushed over to Panther, tearing off my helmet. When he looked at me and smiled, I got my first high from being on the ground.
That proud, joyous expression crossing his face as he pulled his Aviators off made me feel like I was still flying. We met halfway between the planes and embraced in a victorious hug full of back slapping, whooping, and, finally, a gentle stroke of fingers down the cheek.
“I can’t believe we did it. You were amazing up there today,” Panther said. We turned to head back toward the hangar, and I couldn’t help but puff my chest out a little. It felt good to have Panther’s approval, and even better to have his respect.
“You weren’t so bad yourself, Lieutenant Hughes. That plan of yours was genius. They never saw us coming.”
“Damn right.” Panther grinned then stepped my way to bump shoulders, as though not being able to touch was as hard for him as it was me. “Thank God the weather was in our favor.”
“Eh.” I shrugged as we stepped inside the hangar. “If there’d been no clouds, we just would’ve switched to plan B.”
Panther stopped as we reached the door to the locker and bay area. “Which was?”
“Fly like crazy, reckless motherfuckers and scare them straight outta the sky.”
Panther chuckled as he pulled the door open for me. As I passed, he whispered in my ear, “I think our time together has taught you a little bit of restraint, Lieutenant Morgan.”
I agreed—being with him had taught me how to have a hell of a lot of restraint. It had also told me that some things—the best things—were worth waiting and fighting for.
“Lieutenants?” At the sound of Commander Levy’s voice, we looked up to see him standing at the top of the stairs leading to the observation area above the hangar. “Get cleaned up and meet the rest of the class up here in twenty.”
“Yes, sir,” we barked out with sharp salutes.
“Nice flying today, the pair of you,” Levy added before he headed back inside.
I started down the hall then winked at Panther and said, “I’ll race you to the showers.”
34 Panther
TWENTY MINUTES TO the second, Solo and I headed toward the door that led to the observation area where we assumed everyone was waiting.
Along with Gucci and Whiplash, we’d been the last to arrive back at base after the hops, and since no one had been left in the locker room, we assumed they’d already assembled for this final, and very important, class.
We were about halfway down the hall, employing a little bit of extra get-up-and-go, knowing we were the last to arrive, when Whiplash called out from behind, “Hey, guys? Wait up!”
We turned to see her rushing our way. She joined us, pointed at Solo, and said, “Don’t even think about talking shit to me right now, do you hear me? That stunt you two pulled today was—”
“Genius?” I answered. It was clear who Whiplash was pinning all the blame on for her loss, but she was going to have to turn my way to find the culprit of this operation. Stealth was my particular brand of play, not Solo’s.
“It was rather genius,” Solo said. “Bet you thought I’d come in hard and fast, huh?”
Whiplash arched an eyebrow. We reached the door, I pulled it open for the two of them, and Solo leaned in and said in a low tone, “I keep that kind of activity for my man now. Don’t be jealous.”
When he started to chuckle, I groaned, and Whiplash rolled her eyes. But as she shoved past him, I caught her snort of laughter.
I said under my breath, “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”
“Maybe, but am I wrong?” Solo said.
My eyes fell to Solo’s lips as he licked them, and all I could think about was him coming in me, fast and hard—right now.
“Mhmm, that’s what I thought.”
“Lieutenants Hughes and Morgan, nice of you to join us,” Commander Levy interrupted. We made our way toward the rest of our class at the front of the enormous room facing the wall of windows that overlooked the airfield.
Solo took his seat next to Whiplash and Houdini. I moved in beside him and looked around at our fellow trainees. It was hard to believe that this was the last time we’d all be sitting here, but that was the reality. Our twelve weeks at Mesamir were up. All the hops, briefs, and tests were complete, and this was the moment we were finally going to find out who had come out on top.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Commander Heinz. Her dress uniform was immaculate as always as she surveyed our class with cool, assessing eyes. I knew that this final decision—whichever way it went—had been discussed at length between the two commanding officers now looking over the class.
“Well, then, now that you’re all here, we can begin,” Commander Levy said, beginning to pace the front of the room. “First off, I’d like to personally congratulate each and every one of you for completing the Elite program. There have been many in the past who have not made it as far. So the first thing you should all do is give yourself a pat on the back for making it through the entire course.”
Solo snorted. “If I pat your back, will you pat mine?” he asked me.
It was nearly impossible not to give in to his charm, but somehow I managed. “Later.”
Solo waggled his eyebrows, then we both turned back to Levy.
“We’ve had many highs and lows during this year’s course, one which almost cost us a trainee’s life.”
Levy looked my way, Solo reached for my hand, and I wrapped my fingers around his, the reminder of that moment a difficult one.
“Lieutenant Hughes’s rigorous training and quick thinking not only helped save him that day, but also helped him walk away from one of the worst air disasters I have seen here at Mesamir. Your ability to perform under such strenuous and life-threatening circumstances proved that not only do you deserve to be here at the Elite, training with the best, but you also deserved the spot you held at that time, at the top of the class.”
The room fell silent as Levy looked over the rest of the trainees.
“But that was eight weeks ago, and a lot has happened between then and now. Hops have been won, and some have been lost. Commander Heinz and I have spent the last two weeks going over not only your performance scores from when you're in the air, but also your test results from here in class, and while all of you are at the top of your field for a reason, three of you stood out.”
Oh shit. Shit. This was it. This was the moment we
’d all been waiting for. My heart threatened to beat clear out of my chest. Solo’s fingers nearly strangled mine, and I knew he was thinking the same exact thing.
I closed my eyes and counted back from ten, and at five, Levy said, “Could Lieutenants Morgan, Castenada, and Hughes please join me at the front?”
Solo, Whiplash, and myself looked at one another as if to check we’d each heard him say the right thing, and then Whiplash jumped to her feet and climbed over Houdini to head up to the front.
Solo found his feet next. He looked down at me, and his smirk was the same one I’d seen that first night in the bar. It was full of arrogance, confidence, and a superiority that made my blood hum. As I got to my feet, I knew I’d found my equal in every single way.
As we headed to the front, we passed by Gucci, who congratulated Solo, and when all three of us stood side by side at attention, Levy looked down the lineup and gave a tight nod.
“Well, here they are, the Elite’s top three pilots of the year. If you’d all help me in giving your fellow trainees a round of applause, I think we can all agree they have proven their place here amongst the finest pilots to ever grace the sky.”
As the room exploded in applause, Gucci got to his feet and let out a loud whoop. Houdini brought his fingers to his mouth and gave a wolf whistle worthy of any top alpha. Even Utah gave a slow clap of appreciation—all the while glaring Solo into the ground.
“Each of you have shown impeccable skill both in and out of the sky over the last twelve weeks, and when it came down to the runner-up and winner, the points between the two places was minimal at best. So without further ado, I’m proud to announce that in the runner-up spot is none other than Lieutenant Tia Castenada.”
Whiplash gasped as she looked to Solo and then myself, her eyes wide with disbelief. But Whiplash was one of the fiercest competitors I’d ever come up against, and she deserved that spot. She was a kickass pilot who had fought tooth and nail like the rest of us to get where she was today. She’d probably even fought a little harder merely because she was a female.
Classified (The Elite Book 3) Page 12