Spanner in the Works
The air force had never been Caitlyn Kiramman’s first choice of career paths.
When she was but a young girl, the discussion of future jobs had mainly centred around what her parents wanted her to do, what they saw best fit for their daughter. Tobias Kiramman, a decorated and well-respected general practitioner at the Royal Piltovian Hospital, veered Caitlyn towards a medical degree, citing that it’s where her intelligence would get her the furthest. Cassandra Kiramman, on the other hand, the infamous Pilotver councilwoman, urged her daughter to go into politics or law: two things Caitlyn had the least interest in out of every possible outcome in the world.
If watching paint dry was a job Caitlyn would probably find it more stimulating than becoming a politician or barrister or whatever else her mother was micro-managing her to be.
When she turned 18 and graduated high school, Caitlyn realised that she didn’t even care what job she did. Her first priority was escaping the ever-prying eyes of her mother and father and their helicopter take on parenting (if you’ll pardon the pun).
Her second priority, not as prominent but still sitting at the back of her mind, was choosing a career that would piss Tobias and Cassandra Kiramman off the most.
Back in grammar school, Caitlyn’s history teacher had mentioned in a passing comment that he’d served in the Royal Piltovian Air Force, long before any of them had even been born. Caitlyn, ever the analyst, decided to look into what military life could offer her.
What had started as a mere spark of curiosity grew into a monstrous inferno Cait had to satiate when she realised this was what she was meant to do with her life.
The young lady had hit the ground running with initial officer training and quickly excelled on all measures. Already being quite the sporty person, she aced the physical examinations, and drifted through the weapons handling and shooting tests with a breeze; her hunting sessions with her father, probably the only activity they ever got to do alone, were finally starting to pay off.
But it wasn’t the excitement of getting into the air for the first time in the RPAF’s training aircraft that enticed Caitlyn the most. It wasn’t the pride of wearing her uniform, or the feeling of pulling off an effective cobra manoeuvre after practicing for so long, or the claps on her back from her fellow pilots after yet another successful air-to-air takedown.
No. It was the thing that most cadets struggled with the most, the thing that weeded out those who weren’t worthy of the uniform within the first few weeks.
The Royal Piltovian Air Force had given Caitlyn routine. And if there’s anything Cait loved the most above all in life, it was routine.
From day one she was told where to be at what time. What she had to wear at each training session or event or mission. When she ate, where she slept, who she worked with. Everything down to when she could take bathroom breaks was heavily documented, timed, and spat out onto a daily agenda for her.
Regardless of whether or not the air force provided her with a timetable, Caitlyn would have drawn one up for herself; it was a necessity she could never live without. It was nice of them to take the liberty of doing it for her, though.
So when Captain Kiramman received the call back to Top Gun, to teach the next batch of trainees what she’d learnt just last year, it threw a spanner into the works of the life she’d so meticulously crafted.
After graduating Top Gun, the air force’s elite aerial fighting arm had snatched her into their squadron the second she stepped foot back on base. Caitlyn had gone from flying bog-standard Tornadoes in mind-numbing patrol circles to training on and flying the air force’s latest fleet of F35 Lightnings in all manner of combat missions, from night operations to formation flying and reconnaissance objectives.
The call hadn’t even been from Commander Grayson. No. Grayson had contacted Caitlyn’s commanding officer instead, and the OC had informed her of the callback.
It wasn’t a question or an offer. It was a command. That was something the captain had picked up on within military life, too; if a senior officer ever asked you a question of whether you’ll do something, it was never just a question. It was an order.
“See you in ten weeks, Captain.”
Her commander’s closing comment echoed through her brain as Caitlyn stepped through the classroom doors to meet this year’s rowdy cohort.
***
Vi was no better than a man.
That was her realisation when the new instructor swanned in, and all she could do was fucking stare.
The woman was gorgeous. Not just by military standards (there weren’t a lot of women on base nowadays). The type of beauty that made you do a double-take if you locked eyes in a bar, the kind of face that followed you forever in the back of your mind.
Her dark-blue raven her was swept back neatly into a bun behind her head, a few stray strands tucked behind her ear. Hauntingly cerulean blue eyes scanned the classroom as she walked through, lingering on Vi for just enough seconds to send her into an internal panic.
And her outfit. God, it should be illegal to make a flight suit look that good. It was the slightest shade darker than the Zaun Navy’s respective suits, but hugged every curve perfectly, sprawling down from the perfect round of her behind to billow out at those thousand-mile long legs of hers.
If Vi’s jaw hadn’t been on the floor before, it took a rapid descent when the captain greeted Grayson at the front of the class, flashing a perfectly-white smile with the tiniest gap between her two front teeth.
Vi wondered what that gap would feel like underneath her tongue.
A sharp elbow from Ekko knocked the pilot out of her lust-laced trance. “Vi, do you know who that is?” he whispered furiously.
“Our instructor?” Vi drawled back quietly. Her gaze didn’t shift.
“That’s the Killshot Kiramman, man,” Ekko explained. There was a hint of excitement in the undercurrent of his voice. “Do you know why they call her Killshot?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Every single one of her hits is a confirmed kill. Every damn one.” Her wingman’s voice was flustered, very obviously fan-girling over their newest instructor. “She’s like a ghost, you don’t even see her coming, and then- bam!”
Vi was only paying half-attention. She was still eyeballing the captain, watching closely as she started rubbing her pointer finger and thumb together as she discussed something with Grayson. A nervous tic perhaps? “Yeah, I bet she’s a real beaut in the air,” she commented absentmindedly.
Another jolt of pain shot through her side as Ekko’s elbow met her ribs.
“Ow!” Vi flinched, scowling over at him.
“Get your head out the gutter, dipshit,” her wingman grumbled.
Vi just chuckled to herself and turned her attention to the front of the class as Caitlyn began to speak.
“Good morning, aviators,” the captain hummed, eyes flickering around the room. All trainees stopped their chatter instantly to listen in. “As introduced by Commander Grayson, my name is Captain Kiramman, and I’ll be one of your instructors here at Top Gun.”
And she had an accent.
Oh, she had an accent.
Vi died on the inside a bit more.
“Your first session with myself will be tomorrow, where we’ll be going through defensive manoeuvres. We will simulate a dog fight. Unloaded weapons, of course. This will give me a clear gauge of where you all stand in terms of fighting ability and which one of you may be invited back next year as an instructor.”
Vi’s hand shot up instantly. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.
Caitlyn, face scrunched in confusion, looked down at her. “How could you have a question already?” was the first thing she said to her.
Vi ignored the quip. “Is there an early completion award for who we know is going to graduate top of class?” she snarked.
Ekko groaned and dragged his palms along his face, dragging the skin along with it. The captain continued to stare, expression suddenly unreadable. “What was your name, pilot?” she asked innocently.
“Lieutenant Vanderson, ma’am.” Vi spoke proudly as she folded her arms over her chest. “But you can call me what you like.”
A ripple of snickers crossed through the classroom. Caitlyn rounded on Vi again, and Vi realised that those cerulean eyes could grow very cold very quickly.
“Well, the facility is always looking for janitors, Lieutenant Vanderson. Perhaps you’ll get your callback then.”
The words cut through Vi like icy daggers. The room erupted into laughter as a steady blush crept up Vi’s neck, splaying out onto her cheeks.
“Got you there,” Ekko muttered into her ear playfully. Vi didn’t respond; she just glared down at her hands, avoiding the instructor’s eyes, fidgeting with her fingers.
Caitlyn continued as quickly as she’d been stopped. “After each flight, we will conduct reviews on your individual performance as well as performance as a squadron. If one of you falls behind, or isn’t up to standard, you will be sent home without question.”
The captain’s eyes settled on Vi one last time. She could feel her gaze boring into her skull.
“Remember that next time you think you’re the best in the room. You were, once, but not here. Not anymore.”
With a pause for a small inhale, letting her debrief settle around the room, Caitlyn closed off her comments. “If you have any further questions I will be in my office down the hall.”
She jutted her shoulders back and fled the classroom, only this time Vi didn’t watch her walk away.