#Naval Gun System

[thecountofs]

[historyofguns]

The article, written by Peter Suciu, focuses on the U.S. Navy's Patrol Torpedo (PT) boats, famously known as the "Mosquito Fleet," during World War II. The article discusses the significant expansion of the U.S. Navy by 1945, featuring various large warships and nearly 800 PT boats. Originally conceived as swift-moving harassers for enemy operations, PT boats were small, armed vessels that operated in both Pacific and European theaters, including infamous stories such as Lieutenant John F. Kennedy's command of PT-109. Companies like Electric Launch Company (Elco), Higgins Industries, and Huckins Yacht Company were instrumental in manufacturing these boats. Despite the high production during the war, only a few PT boats survive today, as many were rendered useless due to their high maintenance post-war. The article provides a detailed historical recount of these boats, their operations, and their lasting impact.

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[marketinsight12]

Global Naval Gun System Market was valued at USD 7.25 Billion in 2021 and is expected to reach USD 9.71 Billion by the year 2028, at a CAGR of 4.25%.

Naval Gun System Market- Global Size, Share & Industry Trends | IMR

[s0urw00lf]

meeting ‘bob’ for the first time

An: I’m not familiar with the terms and ranks of any government agencies sooooo don’t kill me if something’s inaccurate. NOT PROOFREAD

Haven’t added top gun to my masterlist yet but I am working on it

Masterlist - tag-list

You were happy where you were stationed and it wouldn’t be long before your rank increased so when you got word that you were being shipped back to top gun again you wouldn’t lie and say you were happy about it.

Hard deck had been one of your favorite places to be when you were at top gun, not only because of the amount of times you wouldn’t have to pay for your drinks or fake flirt with a guy to get him to buy them, but because of the memories it held.

“Well if it isn’t clover” you heard a familiar voice speak from behind you. You turned around and there was phoenix followed by two other unfamiliar pilots “I didn’t know you were coming” she says with a smile. You stand up bringing her into a hug “phoenix, I knew you were, they said the best right?” You smirked she laughed patting your arm.

You gestured to the two men behind her with your chin “who are they?” You asked she glanced over her shoulder “payback” “fanboy” they answered themselves. You raised your eyebrow “charming, I’m clover nice to meet you guys” you nodded to them.

“What do we have here?” You heard a voice from across the bar, an all too familiar grating voice. You and phoenix made eye contact “bagman” the two of you spoke in unison with an eye roll.

The four of you walked over to the pool table that hangman occupied with two others, “well if it ain’t phoenix and clover my favorite girl group” he said with that all to familiar smirk on his face “here I thought we were special coyote, turns out the invite went to anyone”

You and phoenix stopped in front of the cocky bastard “fellas this here is bagman” phoenix introduced the blonde haired man. “Hangman” he corrected.

“She could’ve said asshole, you got lucky. Were looking at the only naval aviator on active duty with a confirmed air-to-air kill” you explained, not helping the cocky smile on his face “stop” he said sarcastically.

Phoenix smirked “mind you the other guy was in a museum piece from the Korean War” she continued making his smirk fall.

“Cold War” coyote said “different wars, same century” payback informs. “Not this one” fanboy said. They went back and forth before introducing themselves “hey coyote” you greet him with a nod “hey” he replied “who’s he?” You asked with a small smile “who’s who?” Coyote asks.

“Him” you looked over to the man sitting down wiping his lap causing peanut shells to fall to the chair and onto the floor. He looked up as if he’d been caught, he was adorable, and innocent looking. “When did you get in?” You asked actually wondering because you hadn’t seen him when you approached.

He looked at you “oh I’ve- I’ve been here the whole time” he answered smiling, you glanced over to Phoenix and she gave you a knowing look. “Man’s a stealth pilot” hangman joked “literally”

“Weapons systems officer, actually” he corrected not getting the joke, “with no sense of humor” bagman not so quietly said “or maybe he just doesn’t speak asshole” you said patting his shoulder.

Hangman squinted at you shrugging off your hand and you laughed quietly as he moved away placing the cue stick in your hands. “What do they call you” Phoenix asked turning to the man. “Bob” the man answered quickly glancing down to the peanuts in his lap.

“No your call sign” payback corrected, he glanced around awkwardly before muttering “uh- bob”.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise “you’re Bob Floyd? My new back seater? From Lemoore right?” You asked with a small growing smile, he smiled back “looks like it, yeah” he nodded.

“Oh this is gonna be fun” Phoenix muttered behind you. Your smile grew, “yes it is” you replied back handing her the stick before walking over to the bar for your free drink.

“Go talk to her” Bob heard a voice say breaking his gaze from you. He looked back and saw nat standing with a smirk “what I-“ she cut him off with a laugh “it’s okay Bob, trust me. Go talk to her” she encouraged, Bob blinked rapid trying to understand why she’d encourage him to talk to you.

But Phoenix could see it, the look in your eye was different from any other she’d seen you give when your eyes set on Bob. You weren’t the type for one night stands. You preferred the other route, dates, flowers, and all of that nature. Bob was that guy that would give you that. Even if she didn’t know him well she could see from first glance that he was your type.

With another nod Phoenix managed to get him to walk over to you, wiping his palms on his pants as he approached you.

You hadn’t expected him to join you when you walked away but he did. “Want a beer, it’s on him” you asked gesturing to the man across the bar who without a doubt heard you.

Bob glanced at the man before nodding “uh sure” you smiled and called for penny, “two beers pretty please” you said with a small smile.

“Do you have any idea why we’re here?” He asked after a brief quiet between the two of you. You shook your head “nope, all I know is that we’re all the best, so whatever it is, it must be pretty big if they had to drag our asses out of our stations” you replied.

He wanted to say something, anything to fill the silence between you two that’s why his mouth moved before his brain could stop him “do you- can I” he paused letting out a nervous breath when your eyes laid on him “can I take you in a date?” He asked, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat.

Your eyebrows raised as a smile crept back onto your lips “a date, we just met ten minutes ago” you teased. He laughed breathlessly “yeah- I know, just so we can get to know each other. Or it can just be a friendly thing. Or not at all whatever… works for you” he said getting quieter as he spoke.

You smile ‘he truly is adorable’ you thought to yourself “where would said date be?” You asked leaning closer to him in wonder. “Whatever you want a beach night, coffee shop anything I don’t mind” he replied quickly.

“It can be a date, only if you buy me flowers” you joked “Beach night sounds fun. Meet you here? Friday night?”

He nodded “no problem, done” he said with reddened cheeks.

You grabbed one of the beers that you hand notice penny place in front of you “great, can’t wait”

Even though he’d be manning the back of your jet tomorrow, you couldn’t wait to see what a date with him would turn out to be.

Tag-list: @fandom-princess-forevermore

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ ROBERT “BOB” FLOYD HEADCANONS

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of parental death/grief

word count: 0.8k

a/n: i love bobby SO much i had to expand a little on my characterisation of him

- 34 (during the events of Top Gun: Maverick)

- Grew up in Montana

- His mother is old money, but his dad was new and refused to have a child until they’d gotten themselves set up independent of her family

- They ended up having Bob well into their thirties and after Bob’s mother had complications during child birth, they decided not to have another child

- Being an only child meant that Bob grew up absolutely cherished by both of his parents

- His parents met at a Honky-Tonk and even after they had Bob, they still went there every Friday night

- He used to sit up on the railing to watch them until he was old enough that his mom let him dance too

- He was a really shy and quiet kid and his mom signed him up for dancing lessons because she thought it was important for a boy to know how to lead and have a little charm

- By the time he was ten, girls his age would line up to dance with him and even though he’d blush his way through most of the numbers, dancing slowly brought him out of his shell

- His father, Richard Floyd, didn’t care much about religion but his mother, Elizabeth Joan Floyd, believed in bringing him up Protestant

- Bob attended Sunday School when he was a boy and all the way until he was eighteen, he volunteered with his mother to help at charity drives and church suppers

- He was brought up in a gentlemanly manner - all “sir’s” and “ma’am’s” and always opening the door for a lady

- His mother agreed to let him pursue his career in the Navy, so long as he got a degree whilst he did it

- He got his degree in Systems Engineering at the US Naval Academy at 22 and, from there, began his active duty in the Navy

- Two years before his time at Top Gun, his father was diagnosed with a terminal illness at aged 71

- He was torn between the hospital and the naval base during the months where it accelerated and on the day that his father passed, he wasn’t there

- He still feels guilty for not being there for his mother, or his father, that day and now, to try and make up for it, he visits his mother whenever he has any time to spare

- Communication is everything to him, especially after losing his dad - Bob is sure to send you check-in texts anytime he has a moment to breathe and when he’s deployed, he never misses a letter home

- In the words of Lewis Pullman, Bob’s a “library dweller”

- Often, when he’s reading, he’ll find a passage that reminds him of you and he’s sure to dog-ear the page to show you it later

- He’s read almost all of James Baldwin’s works

- Best believe that there are bookshelves lining almost every wall in your home

- Bob has a habit of tucking your feet into his lap when you’re sat together - whether it’s in bed or on the couch, he’ll take your feet into his lap, rest one hand on your ankle and let the other press circles into the soles of your feet

- He doesn’t have any social media and only really uses his phone to talk to the people he cares about

- His camera roll is full of pictures of the two of you and, of course, his favourite picture of you - laughing at something he said at your anniversary dinner - is his lockscreen

- Prior to meeting you, he used to take himself on solo-dates to the cinema or, on occasion, a museum

- Was obsessed with Star Wars as a kid

- Had a movie-quality Luke Skywalker costume that he wore four Halloweens in a row, it was too big the first year and too small by the last but he didn’t care

- He was heartbroken over what they did to Luke in the sequels and rewatched Return of the Jedi over and over like it could undo the damage after seeing them

- “That wasn’t Luke. Not my Luke.”

- Bob savours all of the time he has with you - keeping his phone on silent and his eyes on you, hanging onto your every word

- He’ll happily spend his mornings mumbling sweet nothings into your skin, half-asleep and cuddled up to you as sunlight spills onto the bedcovers

- And he loves evenings on the porch watching the sunset, under a blanket or two on the swing chair, just as much

- His favourite chore is doing the laundry - it’s therapeutic for him to switch his brain off and go through the motions of folding and sorting for a while

- Bob’s not particular about much except for his cedarwood soap bar and when you replace it with your own fancy body scrub, you hear about it

- “I just- what happened to the other one?”

- “I threw it out, Bobby. It was worn down to a sliver.”

- “Yeah, a sliver that was still usable, baby.”

- He doesn’t yell, or throw a fit, but he’ll dramatically fish the old bar out of the bin and balance it on top of the new one in protest

- You eventually decide that his soap stays in the shower and your scrub by the sink - much to Bob’s chagrin

[zvaigzdelasas]

When he approved a campaign to reopen shipping in the Red Sea by bombing the Houthi militant group into submission, President Trump wanted to see results within 30 days of the initial strikes two months ago.

By Day 31, Mr. Trump, ever leery of drawn-out military entanglements in the Middle East, demanded a progress report, according to administration officials.

But the results were not there. The United States had not even established air superiority over the Houthis. Instead, what was emerging after 30 days of a stepped-up campaign against the Yemeni group was another expensive but inconclusive American military engagement in the region.

The Houthis shot down several American MQ-9 Reaper drones and continued to fire at naval ships in the Red Sea, including an American aircraft carrier. And the U.S. strikes burned through weapons and munitions at a rate of about $1 billion in the first month alone.

It did not help that two $67 million F/A-18 Super Hornets from America’s flagship aircraft carrier tasked with conducting strikes against the Houthis accidentally tumbled off the carrier into the sea.

By then, Mr. Trump had had enough.

Steve Witkoff, his Middle East envoy, who was already in Omani-mediated nuclear talks with Iran, reported that Omani officials had suggested what could be a perfect offramp for Mr. Trump on the separate issue of the Houthis, according to American and Arab officials. The United States would halt the bombing campaign and the militia would no longer target American ships in the Red Sea, but without any agreement to stop disrupting shipping that the group deemed helpful to Israel.

Announcing the cessation of hostilities, the president sounded almost admiring about the militant Islamist group, despite vowing earlier that it would be “completely annihilated.”

“We hit them very hard and they had a great ability to withstand punishment,” Mr. Trump said. “You could say there was a lot of bravery there.” He added that “they gave us their word that they wouldn’t be shooting at ships anymore, and we honor that.”

Whether that proves to be true remains to be seen. The Houthis fired a ballistic missile at Israel on Friday, triggering air raid sirens that drove people off beaches in Tel Aviv. The missile was intercepted by Israeli air defenses.[...]

Mr. Trump’s new chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Gen. Dan Caine, was concerned that an extended campaign against the Houthis would drain military resources away from the Asia-Pacific region. His predecessor, Gen. Charles Q. Brown Jr., shared that view before he was fired in February.

By May 5, Mr. Trump was ready to move on, according to interviews with more than a dozen current and former officials with knowledge of the discussions in the president’s national security circle. They spoke on the condition of anonymity to describe the internal discussions.[...]

General Kurilla had been gunning for the Houthis since November 2023, when the group began attacking ships passing through the Red Sea as a way to target Israel for its invasion of Gaza.

But President Joseph R. Biden Jr. thought that engaging the Houthis in a forceful campaign would elevate their status on the global stage. Instead, he authorized more limited strikes against the group. But that failed to stop the Houthis.

Now General Kurilla had a new commander in chief.

He proposed an eight- to 10-month campaign in which Air Force and Navy warplanes would take out Houthi air defense systems. Then, he said, U.S. forces would mount targeted assassinations modeled on Israel’s recent operation against Hezbollah, three U.S. officials said.

Saudi officials backed General Kurilla’s plan and provided a target list of 12 Houthi senior leaders whose deaths, they said, would cripple the movement. But the United Arab Emirates, another powerful U.S. ally in the region, was not so sure. The Houthis had weathered years of bombings by the Saudis and the Emiratis.

By early March, Mr. Trump had signed off on part of General Kurilla’s plan — airstrikes against Houthi air defense systems and strikes against the group’s leaders. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth named the campaign Operation Rough Rider.

At some point, General Kurilla’s eight- to 10-month campaign was given just 30 days to show results.

In those first 30 days, the Houthis shot down seven American MQ-9 drones (around $30 million each), hampering Central Command’s ability to track and strike the militant group. Several American F-16s and an F-35 fighter jet were nearly struck by Houthi air defenses, making real the possibility of American casualties, multiple U.S. officials said.

That possibility became reality when two pilots and a flight deck crew member were injured in the two episodes involving the F/A-18 Super Hornets, which fell into the Red Sea from the aircraft carrier Harry S. Truman within 10 days of each other.[...]

the cost of the operation was staggering. The Pentagon had deployed two aircraft carriers, additional B-2 bombers and fighter jets, as well as Patriot and THAAD air defenses, to the Middle East, officials acknowledged privately. By the end of the first 30 days of the campaign, the cost had exceeded $1 billion, the officials said.

So many precision munitions were being used, especially advanced long-range ones, that some Pentagon contingency planners were growing increasingly concerned about overall stocks and the implications for any situation in which the United States might have to ward off an attempted invasion of Taiwan by China.

And through it all, the Houthis were still shooting at vessels and drones, fortifying their bunkers and moving weapons stockpiles underground.

The White House began pressing Central Command for metrics of success in the campaign. The command responded by providing data showing the number of munitions dropped. The intelligence community said that there was “some degradation” of Houthi capability, but argued that the group could easily reconstitute, officials said.

Senior national security officials considered two pathways. They could ramp up operations for up to another month and then conduct “freedom of navigation” exercises in the Red Sea using two carrier groups, the Carl Vinson and the Truman. If the Houthis did not fire on the ships, the Trump administration would declare victory.

Or, officials said, the campaign could be extended to give Yemeni government forces time to restart a drive to push the Houthis out of the capital and key ports.

In late April, Mr. Hegseth organized a video call with Saudi and Emirati officials and senior officials from the State Department and the White House in an effort to come up with a sustainable way forward and an achievable state for the campaign that they could present to the president.

The group was not able to reach a consensus, U.S. officials said.[...]

Also skeptical of a longer campaign were Vice President JD Vance; the director of national intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard; Secretary of State Marco Rubio; and Mr. Trump’s chief of staff, Susie Wiles. Mr. Hegseth, people with knowledge of the discussions said, went back and forth, arguing both sides.

But Mr. Trump had become the most important skeptic.

On April 28, the Truman was forced to make a hard turn at sea to avoid incoming Houthi fire, several U.S. officials said. The move contributed to the loss of one of the Super Hornets, which was being towed at the time and fell overboard. That same day, dozens of people were killed in a U.S. attack that hit a migrant facility controlled by the Houthis, according to the group and aid officials.

Then on May 4, a Houthi ballistic missile evaded Israel’s aerial defenses and struck near Ben-Gurion International Airport outside Tel Aviv.

On Tuesday, two pilots aboard another Super Hornet, again on the Truman, were forced to eject after their fighter jet failed to catch the steel cable on the carrier deck, sending the plane into the Red Sea.

By then, Mr. Trump had decided to declare the operation a success.

Houthi officials and their supporters swiftly declared victory, too, spreading a social media hashtag that read “Yemen defeats America.”

12 May 25

[judeval]

I can't stop thinking of a reverse backstory IceMav AU.

Duke Mitchell lives and comes out of the Vietnam War a legend of Naval Aviation and an incredibly decorated pilot. He's promoted to the ranks quickly because of it and has a long and full career as one of the most trusted, well-respected, and powerful admirals. Maverick is raised a Navy brat with a powerful father and too much military and political for his son's good, something that Maverick uses to his advantage whenever his schemes get him into trouble.

When he invetiably goes to the Academy, becuase no one's denying admission to Admiral and Commander of the Atlantic Fleet Duke Mitchell's son, he's just as much of a troublemaker and a pain in the ass there as he's always been. He's late to every class at least once, he refuses to obey the rules even though he knows them, and he's the king of the campus prank scene.

Ice, on the other hand, is a first generation American turned foster kid. His parents are Polish immigrants who escaped from the Soviet Union as teenagers just after WWII, having him in their early-mid thirties after finally establishing a stable life, or so they thought? Because when Tom's five, they're killed in an 'accident' caused by anti-Soviet and anti-immigrant sentiment.

From then on, he's on his own. He's thrown into the foster care system, since his entire family's back in Poland, and it only gets worse from there. He's abused and thrown around by the system, no one in middle America wants a Polish whose parents they think were killed for being spies, and by the time he ages out of the sytem, he knows that there's only one way out of this.

He's known he was enlisting in the military in some form or another since he was sixteen, but he picks the Navy on a whim and ends up completing a full three year tour working as deck crew on an aircraft carrier before a pilot he worked with told him he needed to go to officer and flight school ASAP. So he does, and he's not just a passable or a good pilot, he's a great pilot.

He flies perfectly and by the book because he has to, because he can't afford to take the risks that other pilots can, so when he meets Maverick at Top Gun, he hates him. He hates this privileged little pretty boy with the powerful Admiral for a father who takes everything that's been handed to him for granted, who puts the rest of them in danger without even realizing that they don't all have the same cushion. And Maverick, well Maverick doesn't know what this blond prick's problem is and is determined to push until he finds out.

Anywho, thoughts?

[tommi3boy]

“Hey cutie how can I help you?” I {Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Male! reader}

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: alcohol use

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun) x Male! Reader

A/N: y/n used, no reader description, slow burn with lots of fluff, part 2 coming soon!!

Summary: You’re an aircraft mechanic stationed at Top Gun when you first met Bob during his training for the uranium enrichment plant mission. What started as simple drunk flirting later becomes an unexpectedly romance between Bob and you.

The Hard Deck was a bar right off the naval air station,Top Gun; tonight it was beaming with life. Top of their class Pilots flooded the building after being called to train for a mission. You could tell who was a pilot because they all proudly wore their uniforms. You however, were not a pilot but an aircraft mechanic stationed at Top Gun. You and your fellow mechanics could be found in jeans and a t-shirt, throwing back beers most nights at the bar. You found yourself sizing up the new faces that appeared in the bar, one of which took your fancy. He was sitting off to the side of the pool tables, snacking on what looked to be peanuts. Slicked back dirty blonde hair and big ol glasses. ‘Tonight’s mission was to crack this peanut’ you thought to yourself. You watched and waited for your pilot to distance himself from the others before approaching him, which didn’t take long at all because it looked like he decided to switch out his peanuts for a beer.

You sat next to the mystery pilot at the bar, ordered yourself a draft and struck up a conversation.

“I’m seeing a lot of uniforms tonight, what’s that all about?” You’ve found it fun in the past to pretend to be a civilian.

“Oh- ,just some training at the academy is all.”

“Training huh, I guess that means you’re a pilot?”

The blonde made a small attempt at a friendly smile, “No, no I’m a weapon systems officer actually.”

“Fancy, does this weapon systems officer have a name?” Internally you noted that this has been your 5th drink of the night.

“My names Bob”, this peanut was a tough one to crack but you like a challenge.

“My names Y/N, it’s nice to meet you Bob.”

As the night went on you hounded Bob with miscellaneous questions and even convinced him to let you buy him a drink. He was smitten in the fact that some stranger had taken such a liking to him, normally Bob struggles with first meetings and the conversations fall dry. It was clear though that the alcohol you consumed was helping carry the conversation. You threw in a few subtle flirts here and there, ones which you thought were going over Bob’s head until you noticed his ears were becoming a blushed red.

You both turned from the bar when the jukebox got unplugged and one of the pilots started belting away on the piano, singing a common bar anthem. It was only appropriate to get up and sing along, Bob stuck by your side in this event. After the song died down and one of the pilots plugged the jukebox back in, most of the usual bar patrons left for the night on that high note. Your mechanic buddies were still lingering in the bar, but you weren’t sure for how long so you decided to ask the big question to your new found eye candy.

“So hey, what’s say you and I get out of here cutie.”

Bob had to do a double take and fixed his glasses like they’d help him hear better.

“Uh- well, I don’t know if that’d be such a good idea.” Bob nervously itched behind his ear.

“Aw why not, am I not pretty enough or d’you just not swing that way.?” You spoke in a joking tone to let him know you took the rejection lightly.

“Neither actually, I’d just prefer it if I knew you were moderately sober.”

This was not a loss in your book, you smiled at the handsome man and took your exit “Understood, well I’ll be seeing you around then cutie.” You gave Bob a wink and shimmed over to your coworkers, throwing one of them your keys.

-

At the Top Gun base, you were often found in the aircraft shop or hangers, as well as the designated crew offices. You were assigned the role of head supervisor for the aircraft mechanics, which came with its fair share of work. Lots of back and forth communication was involved on your part so you walked the base several times a day. This meant you crossed paths with the pilots often when they weren’t actively on drills. Including Bob, which you’ve noticed a time or two but you understand this is not the bar and you take your position relatively serious to ensure the safely of the pilots and their aircraft.

The first time Bob saw you walking through the base he almost didn’t register it was the same man from the bar who was smooth talking him all night. You wore a navy blue jumpsuit and steel toe work boots, holding a stern and professional atmosphere to your character. You walked past him on several occasions and it silently wounded Bob a little, coming to the conclusion that he was most likely a forgotten drunk memory.

And yes, you had been ignoring Bob. The internal reasoning being that you were busy and meant to keep professional while at work, but a part of it was also the rejection that night put a small hindrance on your normal outgoing energy. The hindrance didn’t last long though and Bob wasn’t going to vanish in thin air anytime soon.

After filing your reports with Cyclone for the day you began to head out of the main office. As you exited, you spotting a group of spirited pilots heading inside. When you noticed Bob walking in the back of the group you planned the steps of intentionally turned your head towards his direction while passing him, getting his attention; then you shot him a quick wink and a cheeky smirk.

This had Bob internally doing a 360, so you did remember him, were you perhaps toying with him or did you just never notice him till then? The big emotion Bob was feeling however, was relief, relief that the events at the bar were a conscious memory for both of you. And that you still seemed interested in him.

-

After a long week of work you and your coworkers found comfort in the energy of the Hard Deck at night. On this particular night, a woman name Hailey had been enjoying your company. The enjoyment wasn’t really mutual but it wasn’t unwanted either. Hailey was good friends with the bar owner, Penny, and was telling you how she sometimes does mini performances here at the bar.

She went on to explain how her dream is to be a successful singer. Her story telling was captivating and you got roped into telling her your own past with music exploration. Basically you said you played guitar sometimes on your free time and she lit off like a fire cracker begging you to play with her.

Her insistent request continued throughout the entire night. Eventually Bob and the other pilots made an appearance at the bar but you could not for the life of you shake Hailey from you. You didn’t find her annoying until she started unintentionally cock blocked you. Finally you gave in to her request as people began to dissipate from the bar.

“If you get me a beer and find me a guitar then sure I’ll play with you alright, damn”

Hailey had an evil smile like she was about to summon a guitar from the heavens, “See that’s all you had to say, wasn’t so hard”

You felt like you’d just been swindled by a younger siblings scheme.

She ran off and got an acoustic guitar from who knows where. Then led you to the same piano that pilot; who you learned was called Rooster, had played on the first night you met Bob. You roughly tuned the guitar while sharing a side of the piano bench, facing opposite from Hailey. The tuning of instruments hushed the small crowd in the bar and Penny went to unplug the jukebox. Hailey asked if you knew the riff to the song ‘Indigo’ by Sam Barber, and thank god you did or this would have been a mildly embarrassing night. You spotted Bob watching you attentively with his other colleagues. You started the song, which Hailey swiftly joined in and surprisingly fit each other’s sound well. The song was mellow and helped close the night out for people. In the aviators corner, the pilot Hangman was especially interested in Hailey and Y/N’s performance. Hangman patted Bob on the shoulder and leaned in, drunkly exclaiming that he think he’s in love. Bob snapped out of his trance and agreed, then paused for a moment to realize Hangman meant he was in love with the Hailey girl, whilst Bob agreed but not for that same exact thought.

Once the song finished the small crowd had applauded and a few whistles were given.

Your coworkers were hootin and hollering for you as you gave Hailey the guitar back and she thanked you for indulging her. On that note you exchanged a few more words with your coworkers knowing they won’t let you live that little performance down. Exiting the bar swiftly with your dignity and a sense of unaccomplishment on the Bob mission.

-

6:34 AM at the Top Gun base was a time when the early bird employees began to arrive, including yourself. One of the aircraft’s used in yesterday’s training exercise managed to gain a loose piece of sheet metal on its body. You set up some scaffolding and went up to weld it back together before too many workers filled the shop. You had on hefty gloves and a welding mask getting to work on the aircraft. Once you began welding, to your surprise you heard someone announce themselves in the shop with a polite “excuse me’”. Looking down from the scaffolding you saw Bob in his flight suit. “Hi I’m sorry to bother you I was wondering if you know where I can find Y/N, he’s a mechanic, I think, working here?” Bob was looking at you, asking for you, it was adorable. You flipping up your mask to reveal your smug face to Bob. His expression went from timid to chipper when he saw you were right in front of him, or above him sort of.

“Hey cutie how can I help you?” This was a pleasant surprise for you, you never pegged Bob as the kind to approach first.

“I just wanted to come by and let you know there’s going to be a Drive-Thru Movie night at the Hard Deck,, wanted to see if maybe you’d wanna go together,?”

“Ah hell yeah do you know what movie?”

“U- I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be Ferris Bueller, I only glanced at the flyer before heading by.”

“I haven’t seen that movie in a hot minute, how’s about you write down my number and we can text details later”

“Okay”, Bob had to pat a few of his pockets before finding which one had his phone tucked away.

“Alright it’s xxx-xxx-xxxx, got it?”

“xx..x. yep, I got it! I’ll text you once I’m done with drills tonight, I’ll let you get back to work now y/n,”

Bob was beaming from ear to ear, it was such an innocent form of happiness it made your heart ping a little with, envy? You quickly brushed away that feeling however and watched as Bob left the shop. In the past you’ve always been the go-getter in the relationships so being on the receiving end of such exchange, had you biting back a genuine smile.

-

PART 2 COMING SOON

[whencyclopedia]

D-Day was 80 years ago today!

D-Day was the first day of Operation Overlord, the Allied attack on German-occupied Western Europe, which began on the beaches of Normandy, France, on 6 June 1944. Primarily US, British, and Canadian troops, with naval and air support, attacked five beaches, landing some 135,000 men in a day widely considered to have changed history.

Where to Attack?

Operation Overlord, which sought to attack occupied Europe starting with an amphibious landing in northwest France, Belgium, or the Netherlands, had been in the planning since January 1943 when Allied leaders agreed to the build-up of British and US troops in Britain. The Allies were unsure where exactly to land, but the requirements were simple: as short a sea crossing as possible and within range of Allied fighter cover. A third requirement was to have a major port nearby, which could be captured and used to land further troops and equipment. The best fit seemed to be Normandy with its flat beaches and port of Cherbourg.

The Atlantic Wall

The leader of Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), called his western line of defences the Atlantic Wall. It had gaps but presented an impressive string of fortifications along the coast from Spain to the Netherlands. Construction of gun batteries, bunker networks, and observation posts began as early as 1942.

Many of the German divisions were not crack troops but inexperienced soldiers, who were spending more time building defences than in vital military training. There was a woeful lack of materials for Hitler's dream of the Atlantic Wall, really something of a Swiss cheese, with some strong areas, but many holes. The German army was not provided with sufficient mines, explosives, concrete, or labourers to better protect the coastline. At least one-third of gun positions still had no casement protection. Many installations were not bomb-proof. Another serious weakness was naval and air support. The navy had a mere 4 destroyers available and 39 E-boats while the Luftwaffe's (German Air Force's) contribution was equally paltry with only 319 planes operating in the skies when the invasion took place (rising to 1,000) in the second week.

Neptune to Normandy

Preparation for Overlord occurred right through April and May of 1940 when the Royal Air Force (RAF) and United States Air Force (USAAF) relentlessly bombed communications and transportation systems in France as well as coastal defences, airfields, industrial targets, and military installations. In total, over 200,000 missions were conducted to weaken as much as possible the Nazi defences ready for the infantry troops about to be involved in the largest troop movement in history. The French Resistance also played their part in preparing the way by blowing up train lines and communication systems that would ensure the defenders could not effectively respond to the invasion.

The Allied fleet of 7,000 vessels of all kinds departed from English south-coast ports such as Falmouth, Plymouth, Poole, Portsmouth, Newhaven, and Harwich. In an operation code-named Neptune, the ships gathered off Portsmouth in a zone called 'Piccadilly Circus' after the busy London road junction, and then made their way to Normandy and the assault areas. At the same time, gliders and planes flew to the Cherbourg peninsula in the west and Ouistreham on the eastern edge of the planned landing. Paratroopers of the 82nd and 101st US Airborne Division attacked in the west to try and cut off Cherbourg. At the eastern extremity of the operation, paratroopers of the 6th British Airborne Division aimed to secure Pegasus Bridge over the Caen Canal. Other tasks of the paratrooper and glider units were to destroy bridges to impede the enemy, hold others necessary for the invasion to progress, destroy gun emplacements, secure the beach exits, and protect the invasion's flanks.

The Beaches

The amphibious attack was set for dawn on 5 June, daylight being a requirement for the necessary air and naval support. Bad weather led to a postponement of 24 hours. Shortly after midnight, the first waves of 23,000 British and American paratroopers landed in France. US paratroopers who dropped near Ste-Mère-Église ensured this was the first French town to be liberated. From 3.00 a.m., air and naval bombardment of the Normandy coast began, letting up just 15 minutes before the first infantry troops landed on the beaches at 6.30 a.m.

The beaches selected for the landings were divided into zones, each given a code name. US troops attacked two, the British army another two, and the Canadian force the fifth. These beaches and the troops assigned to them were (west to east):

Utah Beach - 4th US Infantry Division, 7th US Corps (1st US Army commanded by Lieutenant General Omar N. Bradley)

Omaha Beach - 1st US Infantry Division, 5th US Corps (1st US Army)

Gold Beach - 50th British Infantry Division, 30th British Corps (2nd British Army commanded by Lieutenant-General Miles C. Dempsey)

Juno Beach - 3rd Canadian Infantry Division (2nd British Army)

Sword Beach - 3rd British Infantry Division, 1st British Corps (2nd British Army)

In addition, the 2nd US Rangers were to attack the well-defended Pointe du Hoc between Utah and Omaha (although it turned out the guns had never been installed there), while Royal Marine Commando units attacked targets on Gold, Juno, and Sword.

The RAF and USAAF continued to protect the invasion fleet and ensure any enemy ground-based counterattack faced air attack. As the Allies could put in the air 12,000 aircraft at this stage, the Luftwaffe's aerial fightback was pitifully inadequate. On D-Day alone, the Allied air forces flew 15,000 sorties compared to the Luftwaffe's 100. Not one single Allied aircraft was lost to enemy fire on D-Day.

Packing Normandy

By the end of D-Day, 135,000 men had been landed and relatively few casualties were sustained – some 5,000 men. There were some serious cock-ups, notably the hopeless dispersal of the paratroopers (only 4% of the US 101st Air Division were dropped at the intended target zone), but, if anything, this caused even more confusion amongst the German commanders on the ground as it seemed the Allies were attacking everywhere. The defenders, overcoming the initial handicap that many area commanders were at a strategy conference in Rennes, did eventually organise themselves into a counterattack, deploying their reserves and pulling in troops from other parts of France. This is when French resistance and aerial bombing became crucial, seriously hampering the German army's effort to reinforce the coastal areas of Normandy. The German field commanders wanted to withdraw, regroup and attack in force, but, on 11 June, Hitler ordered there be no retreat.

All of the original invasion beaches were linked as the Allies pushed inland. To aid thousands more troops following up the initial attack, two artificial floating harbours were built. Code-named Mulberries, these were located off Omaha and Gold beaches and were built from 200 prefabricated units. A storm hit on 20 June, destroying the Mulberry Harbour off Omaha, but the one at Gold was still serviceable, allowing some 11,000 tons of material to be landed every 24 hours. The other problem for the Allies was how to supply thousands of vehicles with the fuel they needed. The short-term solution, code-named Tombola, was to have tanker ships pump fuel to storage tanks on shore, using buoyed pipelines. The longer-term solution was code-named Pluto (Pipeline Under the Ocean), a pipeline under the Channel to Cherbourg through which fuel could be pumped. Cherbourg was taken on 27 June and was used to ship in more troops and supplies, although the defenders had sunk ships to block the harbour and these took some six weeks to fully clear.

Operation Neptune officially ended on 30 June. Around 850,000 men, 148,800 vehicles, and 570,000 tons of stores and equipment had been landed since D-Day. The next phase of Overlord was to push the occupiers out of Normandy. The defenders were not only having logistical problems but also command issues as Hitler replaced Rundstedt with Field Marshal Günther von Kluge (1882-1944) and formally warned Rommel not to be defeatist.

Aftermath: The Normandy Campaign

By early July, the Allies, having not got further south than around 20 miles (32 km) from the coast, were behind schedule. Poor weather was limiting the role of aircraft in the advance. The German forces were using the countryside well to slow the Allied advance – countless small fields enclosed with trees and hedgerows which limited visibility and made tanks vulnerable to ambush. Caen was staunchly defended and required Allied bombers to obliterate the city on 7 July. The German troops withdrew but still held one-half of the city. The Allies lost around 500 tanks trying to take Caen, vital to any push further south. The advance to Avranches was equally tortuous, and 40,000 men were lost in two weeks of heavy fighting. By the end of July, the Allies had taken Caen, Avranches, and the vital bridge at Pontaubault. From 1 August, Patton and the US Third Army were punching south at the western side of the offensive, and the Brittany ports of St. Malo, Brest, and Lorient were taken.

German forces counterattacked to try and retake Avranches, but Allied air power was decisive. Through August 1940, the Allies swept southwards to the Loire River from St. Nazaire to Orléans. On 15 August, a major landing took place on the southwest coast of France (French Riviera landings) and Marseille was captured on 28 August. In northern France, the Allies captured enough territory, ports, and airfields for a massive increase in material support. On 25 August, Paris was liberated. By mid-September, the Allied troops in the north and south of France had linked up and the campaign front expanded eastwards pushing on to the borders of Germany. There would be setbacks like Operation Market Garden of September and a brief fightback at the Battle of the Bulge in December 1944, but the direction of the war and ultimate Allied victory was now a question of not if but when.

[rainbowsuitcase]

My favorite bits from the Top Gun Novel - Part 2: Goose & GooseMav

Parts: Mav; Ice & IceMav; Flyboys and Others; Plot and Other Things

Disclaimer and a reminder that the novelization is based on an earlier version of the script so in my opinion, none of it can be actually considered canon. But it's still an interesting read!

Emphasis mine.

Helping Cougar land. Also, "Lordy, boys."

(Transcription: “If I land this thing upside down... and I live—I’ll have your butt, Maverick!”

[bold] “Lordy, boys,” Goose put in with his jocular drawl, [end bold] “this is no time to talk butts!” End Transcription.)

2.

(Transcription: As they flamed out—VVOOOOMMMM!—and rolled up, cut the engines and sat there, immobile, waiting for a tow, Goose figured he might as well add a word or two of windup to the evening’s fun.

“On behalf of your captain and your crew, I want to thank you for flying VF one-fourteen. [bold] And next time your plans include the middle of the goddamn ocean in the dead of the frigging night, I hope you'll think... of Naval Aviation.” [end bold] End Transcription.)

3. This novel is making me love Goosey so much.

(Transcription: “Pinch me, Maverick,’ Goose muttered. “Is this possible?”

Maverick considered it solemnly, then nodded. “It is,” he pronounced. Then he drained his glass of wine and attacked the last remains of his steak.

Goose shook his head. "Me? [bold] Nick Bradshaw from Buck Holler, Tennessee? [end bold] I’m going to Top Gun?” He really was a country boy, but he had gotten himself to Annapolis and his “aw-shucks,” down-home drawl fronted for a brilliant intelligence that made him the best radar intercept officer Maverick had ever known or heard of. Still, every now and then Goose opened his big, friendly mouth and lifted his shaggy eyebrows and scratched his every-which-way head, and there was the Buck Holler boy all bustin’ with wonder at what this “danged old world” had to show. End Transcription.)

4. I am seeing it and it looks very funny.

(Transcription: It was a pretty big bike, and it rocketed across the desert as if wanting to let go of gravity, altogether. Leaning low across the handlebars, his face half-hidden by aviator shades, Maverick felt the power of the thing revving up and up and up while the road turned into a jetstream behind them. [bold] Goose hung on in back, [end bold] helmet and goggles not anywhere near hiding the huge, happy grin that lit up his gaunt farmer’s face like a gleeful jack-o’-lantern. End Transcription.)

5. Before the first class.

(Transcription: [bold] “Hey, not much time to get into trouble,” [end bold] Maverick commented.

[bold] “Oh, you’ll find a way,” [end bold] Goose reassured him. End Transcription.)

6. Hop no. 1.

(Transcription: “We did it!’ Maverick shouted.

“Look, Ma, top of the world!” Goose hollered as the earth careened zanily under and over and around them for a wild, celebratory moment. Then Maverick broke hard and high and started the descent on a distinctly perpendicular slant. Goose watched the world go by sideways for a moment. They were coming in on the landing pattern, but definitely crooked.

“Ahh... a little high on the left, don’t you think?” he said politely, [bold] as if breaking the news that Maverick had forgotten to lift his little finger over his teacup. [end bold] Nothing serious, just that they were coming in on a wing tip instead of on landing gear. End Transcription.)

7. And the flyby!

(Transcription: “Hi... hi there,” Goose greeted the tower as they flew by. “How y’all doin’ in there?” He switched off UHF and back onto the inter-cockpit system. Maverick got a big sigh in his ear. [bold] “You know, Mav, at one point I did used to want a Navy career.” [end bold]

“Come on, relax,” Maverick told him as he completed the roll and banked again. “Now they know who we are.”

“You see all those guys with gold on their shoulders?” Goose said. “The one with smoke shooting out of his ears was Johnson, air boss of the Kitty Hawk. That’s all.”

“Come on,” Maverick said with a laugh, “we beat an instructor. How many times in your life do you get to do a victory roll?”

“Just once, if they take your plane away,” Goose answered philosophically, as they turned into a roll and yaw opposite, five degrees-right wing down and five degrees-left sideslip, heading for touchdown. End Transcription.)

8. On wingman-leaving.

(Transcription: Out of the fight. Maverick had been tricked, humiliated. He was stunned. Viper poured a little salt in the wound: “Walked right into it. Not only that, but Zorro got your wingman while your back was turned. Nice going, Maverick.”

Goose found his voice. [bold] “The Defense Department regrets to inform you that your sons are dead because they were stupid. Great balls of fire!” [end bold]

“Both dead, only one stupid. Sorry, Goose.” End Transcription.)

9. GooseCarole and childhood friends AND highschool sweethearts!

(Transcription: In the four years that Goose and Carole had been married, they’d only had a few months together, broken down into days, mostly, except for the time he was stationed in Pensacola and they were almost like normal people—that had lasted nearly four months. But oh, they loved each other a lot. Goose couldn’t think of a time when he hadn’t known Carole and loved her. They had chased chickens together as barefoot kids and [bold] gone all through high school holding hands. [end bold] Carole was his lifeline and his reality. Riding to the airport to meet her that evening, Goose found the taxi unbearably slow and had to keep himself from urging the driver to step on it. There was plenty of time; he was just that eager to see them. One-and-a-half-year-olds could change a lot in two weeks; what if Bradley didn’t even recognize him? End Transcription.)

[bonnieandclaide]

Making this its own post, cause why the hell not!

Just wrote something real quick on this text post by @judeval! A reserve backstory IceMav AU where Mav is the son of Admiral Duke Mitchell with a tragic backstory and Ice is a nobody up-and-comer determined to climb up the ranks.

TW Suicide Mention

—————————

Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky stands there awkwardly in his rented tux, the starch of his shirt scratching irritatingly into his neck in the midst of his Top Gun graduation ceremony being hosted by Admiral Duke Mitchell’s fancy admiral house.

Actually, if Ice is to be honest, everything about everything here is making him feel itchy. He can tell by the pictures on the wall and the delicate looking sculptures that line the hall that this was money. True, expensive, luxurious money.

This shouldn’t be surprising to Ice, given that he had known from the minute Slider pointed him out that Pete Maverick Mitchell had been destined to be a trust fund kid.

A trust fund kid, who decided he wanted to be one of (not the best, that’s still Ice) the best pilots in the Navy.

And personally making it Ice’s problem.

Of course, Admiral Mitchell himself is a very respectable man. Ice knows, because Ice has literally read so many papers studying his leadership and heard so many stories about the Vietnam war hero, who was the only living pilot to have shot down four enemy fighters during combat.

Which was very respectable, and given that he had so graciously given Ice a friendly smile when he saw him, commenting on how well he kept up to pace with Maverick the past eight weeks, Ice is open to believing that Duke Mitchell is a respectable man in general.

It’s his son that Ice has a problem with.

Ice was twenty-eight and he had lived a life that most people called a tragedy when they found out. He had barely made it into the Naval Academy, and despite quickly proving that he was the best, many people just didn’t seem to take him seriously.

He was, after all, the son of two Polish immigrants who had passed away when he was young. He bounced around a foster care system that didn't really want a Soviet satellite state immigrant in their house, then was able to enlist in the Navy, then in the Naval Academy, because even though he was Polish he was damn good at his job. He fought and clawed his way up through the Academy, ignoring scoffs and weird looks as he kept his cool and showed them no weakness.

Iceman, they would call him, because he’s more ice than man, thus he gets the callsign, Iceman.

Maverick, on the other hand, got his call sign because even though he was being given everything on a silver platter, he still wanted to break the rules. And he got away with it every single time because nobody wanted to ground the decorated and respected admiral’s son for doing a few risky moves. They couldn’t even create much of a reason to, given that no matter what Mav did or how many times he disobeyed orders, his results were still the same: successful.

God Ice really hated him.

Ice is the best pilot in the Navy, he truly really is, and while someone like Maverick might be a great pilot now, someday he’s finally going to have to buckle down to the power of the Navy and follow the same path his father had. They wouldn’t accept anything else; Maverick would have to give up flying eventually.

Meanwhile, even though he’s got the skills and the drive, at this rate no one‘s going to even give Ice a chance to become something higher than a lower rear admiral.

And Ice knows that, between him and Maverick, he’s the one that can’t be a pilot forever. He loves flying, loves being up in the air and in control, but it’s not who he is to his core. He enjoys it because he enjoys the freedom, the control, but control laid with the rich Navy bred brats, not the kid with the first generation immigrant parents.

But crucially, Ice realizes that perhaps the tragedy of them both is that Maverick would have chosen to stay in the air for the rest of his life if he could. It was so obvious to everyone that he was happier when he was flying and free, with nothing to ground him. It was obvious to everyone including Ice, who had never even talked to the guy before the last eight weeks.

Pete Maverick Mitchell was born to be in the sky: he was destined to be the best pilot the Navy has ever seen, and he was destined to even one day outshine his dad without taking a single admiral position. And thus he was destined to fail, because it won’t be long before they try to take him down.

Sometimes Ice wonders if that’s why he keeps trying to mess up. Why Mav had looked at his father during the party a few feet away from him with wide eyes, and how Ice saw the way he pleaded with them.

Anyone else would see admiration, a son looking up at his beloved father, but Ice could see the truth: Pete just wanted his dad to look at him. He’s trying to get his father to look at him, really look at him, and hopefully one day set him free.

Speaking of Maverick, Ice saw plenty of him when he was shaking hands with people at the start of the party, his father standing behind him with pride as Maverick accepted the Top Gun trophy with his name on it.

Maverick did win it and he won it fair and square. He won it over Ice and Slider, with his friend Goose as his right hand man.

Ice had known Goose; they were friendly at the Academy. What he had known at the time was that Goose’s father himself was an admiral, and Goose had known Maverick since they were kids. They were best friends, and when Ice watches Maverick lean forward to hold Goose’s two year-old son in his arms, Ice knew that they would be friends for the rest of their life.

Maverick leans in to kiss Goose’s wife on the cheek. Carol, who had smiled kindly at Ice and told him that Goose had only good things to say about Ice’s flying.

She herself smiles up at Maverick with a fondness that could be nothing but genuine, and for a split second Maverick looks actually happy.

He stayed happy until he had to give Goose‘s son back, and go with his father to shake hands with everyone else in the room who wanted to congratulate him.

God, Ice would have killed himself to be able to stand where Maverick was standing.

Which was…somewhere Ice couldn’t see.

He shakes his head, realizing that the party has been continuing on around him as he stood in the corner and fidgeted, unsure who to talk to, or where to even begin.

And it’s a big house, but everyone was confined to the backyard space and not the house itself, so where could Maverick have gone?

Ice nervously starts to look for the only other people he knows.

Unfortunately, his best friend and RIO, Slider, was busy. He himself was the son of a Captain, and knew a bit more about what it was like to be part of the Naval family than Ice did. Still, they had become real friends and trusted partners in the air, and through that friendship came a devotion that Ice had never felt before, but was delighted at having.

Yet they were still different: Slider was still a respected Navy man while Ice wasn’t, so he was caught in a conversation with a couple other captains who worked with his dad, and couldn’t come to Ice's rescue.

Slider had been in the house a couple times before, so he could’ve perhaps went in to look for Maverick himself.

But still, a few feet behind Slider is an even better person to ask: Admiral Mitchell himself.

Before Ice can even stop himself, he’s walking up to the admiral and giving him a curt nod. “Admiral Mitchell, have you seen your son?”

At Admiral Mitchell's startled face, and everyone else turning to stare at Ice, he realizes that he’s just seconds away from committing a faux pas.

So instead he clears his throat and stands up straighter, looking less like someone trying to hunt a man down, and more as just another person who is a little struck by the admiral’s presence. “I, uh, wanted to congratulate him, sir. On winning the trophy.”

Admiral Mitchell‘s eyes light up and recognition, and he smiles and pat’s Ice’s shoulder. “Ah, it’s you.”

He turns to the other guests, who are now looking less scandalized and more intrigued. “This is the other pilot, Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, who I was telling you about. He almost beat Pete actually and put up a good fight. Pete said himself that this man is a fantastic pilot, and an even more amazing competition. Made him a better pilot.”

Wait hang on. Maverick had said that?

Suddenly, people are glancing at Ice with approval, with impressed looks in their eyes.

Duke Mitchell turns, and winks at Ice with a smile just like Maverick’s. “I got you, kid. “

He excuses them from the conversation and leads Ice over to the house, letting him inside. None of the guests turn to look at them as he pretends to ask Ice to help him out.

Once in the house, Admiral Mitchell turns to Ice with a serious face.

“Kazansky, I need you to help me find Pete.” he leads Ice up the stairs, where a complex maze of rooms sits. “I’ll check his room, can you start on the other end of the hall and meet me back here?”

“Yes sir.” He responds with a nod, turning towards the direction that the Admiral had nodded to.

He gets to the end of the hallway and starts to make another sweep back. He hadn’t really opened any of the doors, not super wide at least, unsure if he was allowed to go into the room or not and instead just tried to see if he could hear someone moving.

So he finishes pretty quickly, though maybe not as efficiently as he had hoped, and he makes it past the staircase and towards the wing where Maverick’s father had gone.

Then he finally gets to a door and frowns as he sees that it’s already open.

Curious if it would be the Admiral inside, he opens the door a little wider and suddenly spots Maverick standing there, staring straight into what Ice assumes is the private bathroom.

“Mitchell, is this where you’ve been the whole time?” Ice grins, feeling confidence and cockiness come back to him as he faces someone familiae. “Didn’t realize you were good enough to escape all those Admirals out there..”

Maverick startles, then looks towards him with spooked eyes.

Ice just continues to wait on him, and doesn’t say a word as Maverick’s eyes flicker between Ice and the bathroom. “I'll outmaneuver you any day, Ice.”

Maverick has never called Ice by his full call sign, and probably never will, even when he taunts him and adds to Ice’s growing annoyance with the man who still doesn’t take a step forward.

He steps into the room without thinking and puts a hand over Maverick's shoulder, trying to pull him out the door.

Maverick stumbles, and then whips away from Ice like he’s been shot. Like suddenly moving him was killing him.

“What?” Ice turns the look into the bathroom which has bright white tiles and bright white paint, clean and spotless. “It’s just a bathroom?”

He turns to look at Mav, who just shakes his head with horrified eyes.

“No, it’s not just the bathroom. It was my mom‘s bathroom.” Mav chokes out, still staring into the same spot he was looking at before.

Ice frowns. He knew Mav’s mom had died when Mav was young, but it was never publicly said what she died from. Maybe this was bringing up some bad memories.

Wait, when did Ice start calling Maverick…Mav?

“My mother, she-.” Mav whispers and Ice feels him freeze under Ice’s touch. “That’s where she-“

“-she what?” Ice asks again before he can close his goddamn mouth.

Mav’s eyes flicker over to his for a split second-

-before Mav’s dad steps in.

In an instant Duke Mitchell was grabbing at his son, pulling him out of the room.

Ice follows as he listens to Maverick sob, crying out as his dad spins him to stare deep into his eyes, something scared and angry in his voice.

“How many times did I tell you not to go in there?” He asks, then asks again as he shakes Mav a little with a rough grip. “Pete-“

“Mav?” Ice can’t help but ask, and Mav turns away from his father to stare at him with amazed eyes, who just seems to realize that Ice is still there.

The Admiral pauses then clears his throat. “Lieutenant Kazansky, thank you for your help. Now if you don’t mind going back to the party, I think I can handle it from here.”

Ice pauses, reading between the lines and nods, and watches his Mav’s eyes fall.

“I’ll congratulate you when you come back out, Mav.” He says, and while Duke Mitchell stares at him incredulously, all Ice notices is a small smile on Maverick‘s face.

“You’re too goddamn nice, Ice.” Mav says with his signature cocky smile. “Too professional.”

Ice smiles. “You know me.”

He walks away, turning the corner around to the staircase and heading back outside.

But not before hearing Mav turn to his father and say, “I hadn’t been back in that room since that night. It looked exactly the same as it had when she died, except for the bathroom.”

Outside, he spots Slider making his way towards the end of the patio near the house. Slider looks up and smiles when he sees him. Finally: a genuinely friendly face. “Hey Ice, where have you been?”

“Was just helping out Admiral Mitchell. I couldn’t find Maverick and you seemed busy, so I asked his father where he was.” Ice shrugs. “Then he told me to help him look in the house and I found Mav.”

“You found him? You mean, Mav’s father didn’t know where he was?” Slider's smile drops from his face, replaced by something a touch horrified. “Where did you find him?”

“In his mother‘s room?” Ice says, growing concerned at his friend’s paling face. “He was staring into his mother‘s bathroom, said he hadn’t been there in a while.”

Which made sense, why would anyone want to disturb their dead mother’s room?

“Oh. Oh god.” Slider looks over at the house with horrified eyes, and Ice frowns.

“What?” Ice asks, and Slider whips around with shock before realizing that it’s Ice. He blinks and shakes his head a bit.

“Sorry, I always forget you aren't from one of the Brass and wouldn’t have known.” Slider says, not realizing the pain it stabbed into Ice’s heart.

Because he was right, Ice wasn’t and Mav was.

He tries not to let it string.

“Mav’s mom, she died when Mav was seven.” Slider pauses and Ice nods, waiting for the crazy part. “She committed suicide, Ice, and they never officially said what happened but my dad told me that Mav was the one who found her.”

Holy shit.

That’s actually crazy, Ice thinks, realizing what had just happened.

Mav’s dad had never let him out of his sight. He would never let Pete be a pilot just to die young and leave him like his wife had. He was a war veteran, and he was an admiral; he knew that soon Mav would be in combat. Real actual combat where he could get killed.

Going to the Academy was Mav’s only way out from under his father and taking to the skies was the only way Mav would be free. The moment he had submitted his application and someone had taken a look at his name, Mav was already free. It was the admiral’s worst fears and Pete’s best dreams come true.

And throughout that, he had never let Pete look into his mother‘s room. The room where he had found his mother dead in the bathroom in a way that likely permanently altered his seven year-old brain forever.

Just like Ice’s parents’ death altered his twelve year old self.

He looks back up at the house, where Mav was, and stops.

Before he can do anything else, a man barks loudly into the air and starts to shout out commands, forcing Ice’s attention.

“Well unfortunately, we have to cut this celebration short today, ladies and gentlemen: our pilots have an urgent mission that they have to get to and they’ll have to go now. I have the list right here.”

He starts to read out names, calling on Wolfman and Hollywood who respond with a ‘Sir!’ before- “…Lieutenant Ron ‘Slider’ Kerner and Lieutenant Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky…”

Slider and Ice freezes when they say their names, both quickly chiming out a ‘Sir!’ instinctively.

“And Lieutenant Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw and Lieutenant Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell.”

Ice and Slider pause again as they listen to Goose shout out, but no other response follows.

Ice’s heart stops.

Then starts back up when he hears a “Sir!” from behind him, and turns to see Mav calling out with a small smile and red eyes.

Anyone looking at him would think that he had just got a kind word from his inspiring father, one that brought him to tears.

But Ice, who can really see Mav, seems to be the only one who can see his pain.

So as they head towards their mission, and as Mav stares blankly at the wall across from him the entire time, Ice wonders if he’ll be in a good enough headspace to fly with them all.

If Pete was going to fall apart or not.

Wait, when did Ice start calling him Pete?

—————————

Thirty Years Later

Mav is an instructor of Top Gun at the old age of fifty-five, an age no one except Ice expected him to live to become. He’s now a living Ace, having gotten one more killshot than his father, and despite many many attempts by many many people, Pete ‘Maverick’ Kazansky-Mitchell never becomes anything other than a Captain.

Ice on the other hand has been COMPACFLT for three years now, living in San Diego with Mav. And they never miss the tradition of being there on the first day of Top Gun classes ever since Mav took the job.

They make speeches because of course Ice always has to make a speech whenever he is in a place where his presence wasn’t expected. At this point, it was basically child’s play.

So when Ice stepped up to the podium, having asked Mav to let him speak first again, and got an ‘As long as you stick to the timetable’, knowing full well Ice would, he starts to speak.

“If you’re lucky like me, you’re about to go through Top Gun: the ten weeks that will change your career and your life forever if you let it.”

Wide eyes stare back at him and Ice know he’s captured every single person‘s attention.

He says the usual spiel, makes the usual remarks, something inspiring and intriguing, and reminiscing of his Top Gun days, and all the things he learned there.

Then he finally gets to the end of his speech, nothing written besides a final good luck on the paper in front of him.

He turns to look at Mav who’s smiling at him with wrinkles around his eyes and hints of gray at his temple that have been finally coming in fifteen years after Ice’s own hair started to gray, and sees the life they’ve had together: have made together.

He can’t help but continue speaking. Timetable be damned.

“It’s actually here where I met my husband-“ Ice says, having dreamed of being able to say ‘my husband’ for decades, and now saying them all the time in every speech. Even if only at the end. “-and he’s the one who changed my entire career and my entire life.”

“Your main instructor will be Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, a man who has dedicated himself to the Navy in a way no one else I’ve ever seen has. He became a pilot because of his love to fly, and his belief in putting himself in the line to protect all of us and our country.” Ice goes off script, knowing full well that he’s caught Mav by surprise and smiling to himself. “By the time you leave, you’ll have been proud to have been instructed by such a decorated pilot, such an experienced teacher, and one of the Navy’s longest active members we have ever seen who’s someone still only a Captain.

He gets some laughter at that, and Ice glances over at Mav who’s just shaking his head and grinning widely.

“I want you to know that first and foremost, Mav is an aviator, and none of you will be able to ever match his love for the sky. But he’s also my reminder that things can be amazing here on the ground too, as long as you fight for the right people and help your fellow soldiers in need.”

Ice looks at the trainees and sees pilots who were just as young as he and Mav were back in the day.

“Mav is the best trainer you can ask for and he’s the best pilot I’ve ever known. Don’t you believe him when he says I’m better, it’s the only thing about flying he’s wrong about.”

Ice finishes well over his timetable, and turns towards Mav as the pilots sit up a little straighter and give Mav the attention he deserves.

Mav walks past Ice with a chuckle, letting Ice pat his back before moving on with a twinkle in his eyes.

He turns to his students. “Well, I guess there’s no way for me to convince you to believe me over him, huh?”

He gets a round of laughter and Ice smiles at seeing Pete where he belongs, with people finally seeing him for the man he really is.

“So it’s true, this is Admiral Tom 'Iceman’ Kazansky, and he is your Commander of the Pacific fleet, and more importantly he’s also my husband.”

Ice laughs along despite himself, because he has always found Mav funny even when they first met and didn’t like each other. It had driven Slider crazy. Still does.

“And maybe I’m not going to be able to convince you guys that he’s the better pilot, but I think I can convince you that he is the best wingman a person could’ve asked for. Our entire partnership, he’s never let me down once, and he will never let you down either.” Mav looks over at the Ice and grins. “He’s the shining star or the Navy, and the best damn Admiral there is.”

Every word is filled with pride, pride for Ice, and Ice grins, because they’ve made it. They both found each other and through each other found everything they’ve ever wanted.

Thank you. He mouths to Mav, because that’s all Ice needs ever to say to the love of his life.

Mav smiles back.

Then it turns a touch playful, and Ice immediately knows that he’s about to start something as he turns towards the students once again.

“-and you will know him for the very famous and very daring Layton rescue of 1986.”

A few excited whispers of recognition start, and Mav looks back at Ice again, grinning from finding a way to get one up over Ice as he always does, challenging Ice to catch up.

Ice just grins back, because that’s alright with him: he can just keep trying to play catch-up with Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell for the rest of his life.

—————————

Hope yall liked it, I wrote it in a fevered state in the last 3 hours! :D

Notes:

- Fascinating stuff exploring Duke Mitchell, who I’ve never written alive before. Was he a good dad, we’ll never know, so here it’s sorta ambivalent. But hey, if my only child with the woman I loved was passively pursuing suicide through become a pilot, and he was so good at piloting that not a single other damn person noticed, I’d be pretty high strung about it too. Duke Mitchell is a man who grew up in the 50s/60s, how emotionally healthy could he have really been?

- I managed to flip the script a little on a couple things like the trophy and Goose surviving (I was not gonna kill him after I made Mav go through all that) and hope it works. They’re something so tragic about this but I want to assure you they’re happy in the end! Hope the ending made that clear :)

- IceMav always finds a way and so you can think about how they get together and all that, but I’ll leave that up to you for now. Either way, I love whenever in fics they come to an understanding and mutual respect, always need a good foundation for a timeless love, and this is the start of theirs!

If you made it to the end thanks for reading!!!

PS this is my headcanon of how they look in this fic and ohhhhh boy 🥵

[responsivethoughts]

The F-14 Tomcat

The F-14 Tomcat, an iconic American supersonic fighter jet, gained fame for its swing-wing design and role as a carrier-based interceptor. Developed by Grumman for the US Navy, it entered service in 1974 and was retired in 2006.

The F-14 Tomcat garnered notable performance records during its illustrious service. In 1974, an F-14A set a world speed record, reaching 1,606.342 miles per hour (2,585.086 kilometers per hour) over a 500-kilometer closed-circuit course. Its remarkable speed capabilities were underscored by its ability to exceed Mach 2.

In combat, the F-14 demonstrated exceptional effectiveness, participating in pivotal military operations such as the Gulf War and Operation Enduring Freedom. Its swing-wing design and Pratt & Whitney TF30 turbofan engines endowed it with agility and versatility, enabling precise maneuvering and long-range engagements.

Armed with radar-guided missiles and a powerful radar system, it was designed for air superiority and fleet defense. The Tomcat played a crucial role in various conflicts, including the Gulf War. Its advanced avionics and long-range capabilities made it a formidable adversary.

The F-14's advanced radar systems, including the Hughes AN/AWG-9 and later the AN/APG-71, facilitated multi-target tracking and engagement, particularly with the AIM-54 Phoenix missile system.

Beyond its performance in flight, the F-14 left an indelible mark on popular culture, immortalized in the film "Top Gun." Its enduring legacy as a symbol of American military power and aviation excellence continues to captivate enthusiasts and historians alike.

Though retired, its legacy endures as a symbol of naval aviation prowess and technological innovation.

[goosita]

𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚘𝚢𝚜

𝚊 𝚃𝚘𝚙 𝙶𝚞𝚗//𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝙰𝚄

“𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚘 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚒𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜.”

Coriolanus Snow x fem!Reader

Lieutenant Coriolanus Snow (callsign: Snake) is one of the top pilots at District 12’s Naval Air Station. Son of the infamous Capt. Crassus “Rosebud” Snow and a highly decorated pilot in both training and combat missions, he will do whatever it takes to earn his place at the Capitol’s elite Fighter Weapons School and follow in his father’s footsteps. Only the nation’s best and brightest naval aviators are invited to attend, and Lt. Snow is going to be one of them.

When Lt. Snow’s WSO, Lt. Sejanus “Baby” Plinth, is injured in a training exercise, you are called in to replace him as Snow’s backseater. Your job is to operate the weapons systems of the aircraft and control the radars used for communications in the air. The only problem is that you can’t stand the cocky pilot. He’s impulsive, he has a bad habit of leaving his wingman, he doesn’t play by the rules. You’re careful, calculated. The safety of your crew and the safety of your aircraft always come first. For the sake of your duty to Panem, you two will just have to find a way to work together and get along.

aviation term index

playlist

moodboards

prologue

part one

part two (coming soon!)

(masterlist format ib: @floralcyanide)

(some quotes taken directly from Top Gun (dir. Tony Scott, 1986) i do not own the film or script.)

[captain-price-unofficially]

Sweden is marking the 3rd anniversary of Russia's full-scale invasion by supplying Ukraine with $110 million in air defense systems. For the first time, Ukraine will receive the BAE Systems Tridon Mk2, an advanced 40mm naval gun mounted on a flatbed truck.

The Tridon offers Ukraine another low-cost, but highly capable method for countering Russia's air attacks. The system uses Bofors 3P programmable 40mm rounds to knock down a range of air targets up to 12km away.

[muchtodoonterror]

Since the Lt Tozer/Sgt Little roleswap seems to be popular at the moment (inspired of course by the incredible art of @froggerland and @edward-little) I thought I'd throw together this stream of consciousness speculating that I did over the in the discord. This was an interesting thought exercise because I think unlike some other swaps (say, Jopson/Little) this one would dramatically affect the narrative arc. While Jopson and Little have very similar traits expressed differently, Tozer & Little have diametric traits but similar principles. So much of their respective arcs have to do with their relationship to authority than when you flip that, almost everything about how they react and view their circumstances changes too.

I'm putting the rest under the cut though because (as usual with me) it's not brief.

We really only get a small glimpse of Little before the weight of the expedition lands on his shoulders, and I think so much of his anger is born of having to cover for an alcoholic captain who doesn't seem to care about him or anyone else (except Jopson) and being forced to support that alcoholism. Without that, Sgt Little might not actually have anger in the same way at all. He's more like ep 1 Edward: quiet, stolid, proud of his service, but happy to just be a bulwark as he's expected to be. If he does begin to simmer with what he observes of how Crozier runs things, he can vent about it and isn't ever directly complicit, so it doesn't become nearly as integral to him nor does he ever get as beaten down.

I think Sgt Little is happier overall because he's not isolated in nearly the same way. If he does feel that anger or despair it's not directed inward because he's more outside the circumstances which might cause it; rather than feeling his own failures, it would be on behalf of others (dare I say: of Lt Tozer going on whiskey runs??).

Tozer's whole situation would be different as well. Perhaps most importantly, as a lieutenant he's opted in to this rather than being assigned. He also knows that he's getting Discovery Service pay. He feels more valued as an integral part of the Expedition rather than just being tuunbaq fodder. By virtue of his personality, I think he's also less likely to be as isolated as Little ends up being. Tozer has a more natural emotional intelligence and camarederie (that would have served Little well). Tozer's ready insolence as a sargent is partly a product of being made to feel disposable: why should he care about those who don't care about him?

If he's a lieutenant and still working class he somehow got himself into the midshipman life and has put in a lot of effort to getting there, so he might be a lot more invested in the system & naval hierarchy than marine Sgt Tozer.

Little is also someone who is not great on the spot. But as a marine and a sargent, an NCO, he's never high up enough that he really has to be on the spot. He can actually rely on what we know he trusts in, his instincts and his training, because a marine sargent will never have the same expectations or stakes placed on his leadership and decision making. Tozer as a sargent feels that as a lack of trust and a disposability; Little would feel safer for it.

All of which is to say: I think in the world of this swap, the mutiny never gets off the ground. Tozer is obviously the key to Hickey's plans not really as an individual but because he needs the marines, and knows that besides the access to guns, the marines will follow Tozer. Sgt Little would ever be disaffected enough to go that far even if he has his doubts. Sgt Little is far too loyal and married to his duty to ever be persuaded to join a mutiny and too honest to ever "pretend" to hear an attack coming when he didn't.

I don't think that a Tozer who has put in that work and time to his career, who has chosen this post, would ever be able to bring himself to mutiny. One of the things that tips him over the edge is being told to keep quiet about Fairholme's party, but if he's in Crozier's confidence and has more of a front seat to his transformation from alcoholic to functional caring captain (and saw the effort that transformation cost) he's way less likely to decide that he's been cut out of the loop so he might as well leave. Being in the inner circle, he'd be privy to the decision making and to Crozier's qualifications to lead them. Tozer's attitude towards authority comes from disillusionment with it, and if he is authority that whole dynamic changes.

In canon, another thing that leads Tozer to mutiny is hopelessness. It's a last ditch effort, a sense that this current situation isn't working and his only option is to change his circumstances. Little, on the other hand, is so fundamentally hopeful that even in the worst times he sees a way forward, so he never feels the need to strike out on his own, he feels safer within the hierarchy.

(As an aside, It's actually kind of ironic that Edward is so often seen as this despairing, downtrodden man when he's the one who keeps up hope; while Tozer is more proactive and decisive but he's also the one who I think does truly despair of their situation in a much deeper way than Little ever does.)

I also think that Sgt Little would never mutiny because he still feels responsible for the men and nothing would ever convince him to give up that responsibility. He's still deeply a "for the greater good" man Tozer is also someone who feels deeply responsible to take care of his men, in whatever they might need, but as a Marine sargent that really only includes his marines and anyone else he might personally choose. However as a lieutenant Tozer is the second on the whole ship, third on the whole expedition, which suddenly puts basically every man on board under his protection. The marines we know mostly go with Tozer (rather than with Hickey) when the mutiny happens; but i don't think Lt Tozer would choose the few over the many, because he couldn't argue anymore that it's for the good of the small subset of men directly under his protection.

(Further, without Tozer there's no Armitage - which means hickey no longer has access to the guns. which changes the entire feasibility of mutinying in the first place. so it's just him & gibson & manson trying to lure people in which is way less convincing than saying "look we've got the head marine".)

And none of this even factors in Heather - if Heather is still a marine, he and Tozer aren't likely to be as close, which means Tozer isn't (and doesn't have time to be) the one caring for him; nor does he drag Heather to the Carnivale, which means no sense of guilt and certainly lesser grief when (however) Heather does finally die. Given how much of an effect Heather's mauling and death have on Tozer, it's almost hard for me to say how this affects either Lt Tozer or Sgt Little.

Finally this is so much more speculative but Tozer is much more of a natural caretaker and I think is better at bonding with the men under him, he's one of the lads in a way that I don't think Little would be regardless of his rank. Which is to say: I wonder if Lt Tozer & Sgt Little actually do get to be friends (like Dave speculated they would be under different circumstances). Lt Little wouldn't initiate that friendship but Lt Tozer might, and it's much more likely when Tozer outranks Little so that friendship would go down the ladder rather than up.