Vanguard
After the third week of Top Gun, it was customary for all trainees to spend a night together off-base in the local dive bar, the Drunken Sailor. It was a tradition dating back to the first ever cohort of Top Gun pilots and the baton had been passed from year to year, generation to generation, endlessly.
Caitlyn didn’t know exactly who started the tradition, or if it was to ever end, but she remembered her first and only time visiting the Drunken Sailor with her own Top Gun class when she was just a recruit like it was yesterday. The bar was a short walk down a beaten, dusty path from the airbase where Top Gun was held, and it served well to accommodate the hundreds of thirsty trainee pilots and regular servicemen and women stationed on-base as their local watering hole. On a weekday, attendance was scarce, bar a few hardened Corpsmen and soldiers drinking on their own or in small groups, blowing off the steam from the day.
But on the weekends, particularly around public holidays and especially when the latest cohort of Top Gun trainees was in town, the place went from deserted to shoulder-to-shoulder rammed in a very short timeframe.
The Drunken Sailor was a cosy and homely little bar, with bright flashing neon lights fixed to the walls and assorted memorabilia from both the Royal Piltovian Air Force and the Zaun Navy. Country flags and military ensigns hung loosely from the rafters overhead, and plenty of standard bar games were dotted around the circle bar in the middle for aviators to enjoy: pool, darts, fruit machines, all the bells and whistles.
There were a few very small but very important rules in-place at the bar as well, instilled by the Royal Piltovian Navy veteran who owned the place after years of serving the same type of soldiers and pilots alike. One rule was that, even if every single person in the bar rocked up in dress uniform, all ranks were dropped for the duration of your attendance – regardless of if you were a private or the Chief of Staff themselves. It was a neutral ground for servicepeople to relax and unwind and get to know each other as civilians, and was not to be considered an extension of the armed forces.
The other rule was that under no circumstance do you ever, ever flirt with the bartender – man or woman. Caitlyn had learnt of a returning Top Gun graduate from a couple years back who had found out the consequences of breaking this rule the hard way. While she was never told exactly what had happened to him, she was eager to avoid figuring it out firsthand.
Like every other tradition in the military Caitlyn deemed pointless, old habits had a tendency to die hard. Which was why disappointment was an understatement when Grayson “suggested” for Caitlyn to take her own class to the bar on their first weekend off in weeks.
Of course, the trainees were ecstatic; they’d heard whispers of the Drunken Sailor on base and how it was the place to be on a Saturday night, and were eager to discover what the fuss was all about and if it lived up to its reputation. And judging by the looks on all the pilots’ faces when they arrived and how quickly they all flocked to order drinks and set up games of pool, they were far from disappointed.
As Caitlyn sat alone at the bar, watching to make sure none of her trainees took each other’s eyes out with a cue stick or went too hard too early, she thought of a long list of things she would much rather be doing than twirling a slowly-warming glass of rose between her fingertips.
Despite the mandatory rank drop, the captain still felt as if she had to babysit a cohort of pilots who didn’t know their arse from their elbow. Even with the bar’s rules in place, if any of her trainees got too drunk, or injured themselves, or God forbid got into a fight, it would be her head on the chopping block.
Caitlyn took a sip of her wine and grimaced. Even with the extortionate price markup, her drink tasted cheap and watery. It was rare for the captain to be drinking at all. When she’d come with her own cohort when she was a student, she stuck to soda water all night, and had slipped out early to take herself home when everyone else was too drunk to notice. Even when she did indulge in alcohol, it was almost always on her own, usually accompanied by an old war film or whatever crappy rom-com came up in the suggested feed of her streaming service.
The captain stole another glance at her pilots. They were just beginning a game of doubles darts, with Ekko and Vi versus Loris and Steb. Caitlyn couldn’t help but smile to herself; Loris was a formidable marksman, just like herself. She’d seen his range scores. He had this in the bag.
But regardless of their fight in an obviously losing battle, Ekko and Vi soldiered on, their laughs echoing through the already-loud bar and filling the place with joy. They both slunk into social situations so easily; Ekko, with his endless jokes and witty remarks, and Vi, with her warming presence and ability to command a room just by walking in.
Was it envy Caitlyn was feeling? Jealousy? Perhaps admiration? Or was it something else, something deeper, something the captain had been trying to lock up and throw away the key on ever since she laid eyes on Violet Vanderson?
“The wine’s not the best, is it?”
A distance voice, heavy with a northern Piltovian accent, broke Caitlyn’s gaze away. She didn’t even realise she’d been staring.
Maddie slipped into the barstool next to her, flashing a sickly sweet rot-your-teeth grin.
Caitlyn offered a polite smile back. “Perhaps if it were five cogs cheaper, I’d be able to stomach it.”
The other pilot barked a forced laugh. Caitlyn’s eyebrows shot up in shock. Was she drunk, was she stupid, or was she just trying way too hard? “Oh, you’re funny, Captain,” she wheezed between giggles.
Caitlyn didn’t correct the addressal by her rank. “Do you not have a pool game you should be getting to, Nolen?” she asked pointedly, praying that she would get the hint.
“Maddie, please,” she said, then shook her head. “You looked lonely over here. Thought you could use some company.”
“I was quite alright beforehand, but thank you,” Cait replied curtly. “I can hold my own. I’m not one for scenes like… this.” She gestured to the fast-growing crowd around her.
“But surely you like to unwind, no?” Maddie tilted her head to the side innocently. “Or do you have alternative methods for stress relief?”
Caitlyn really hoped Maddie wasn’t hinting at what she thought she was hinting at. The captain could no longer hide the shock on her face. Regardless of if she was drunk or not, hearing those appalling words tumble from the lieutenant’s mouth so easily made her flinch.
Before Caitlyn could reprimand her, or remind her of the consequences of fraternisation and misconduct and tell her in the politest way possible to fuck off, a pair of hands appeared over Maddie’s shoulders.
“Hey, Carrot, Steb’s been looking for you. Says you owe him a drink.”
The hands shook Maddie’s body lightly, but still with enough force to bob her head backwards and forwards. It was Vi. She shot a wink at Caitlyn as Maddie hopped spritely out of her seat.
“Duty calls!” she beamed, giving Caitlyn one last smile. Caitlyn didn’t smile back. “See you around, captain!”
With that, she slipped back into the crowd, and Vi replaced her in the adjacent barstool.
Caitlyn took a shaky sip of her wine and swallowed. Hard. “How much of that did you hear?” she asked lowly.
“Enough.” Vi tutted and shook her head, taking a chug out of the brown beer bottle she was nursing.
“She’s not my type.” Caitlyn licked her lips.
“Because she’s a woman?”
“Because she’s annoying.” The captain paused for a moment, before chuckling lightly. “Have you come over to propose the same thing, Vanderson?”
“You can call me Vi.” The other pilot waved her hand. “And no. I came over because that dumpster fire of an interaction was giving me second-hand embarrassment.”
Caitlyn laughed again. An authentic, full-bodied laugh. Vi felt the frosty exterior of her heart melt a little bit. “My hero,” the captain added.
“So, Kiramman,” Vi sighed, leaning an elbow against the bar as she rotated her bottle between her fingers lazily, “what made you join up?”
“Please, call me Caitlyn, in here at least,” the captain commented before breaking out into a smirk. “And I can’t believe you just opened with the most stereotypical question of all.”
“What?” Vi threw her hands up in mock defeat, eyeing Caitlyn with a morbid curiosity. “We’re going to be spending a lot more time together. Can’t hurt to get to know each other. You ask a question, I ask a question.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to this game.”
“That’s because you didn’t. I’m telling you. So, what was it?” Vi cocked an eyebrow. “An undying love for your country, a burning passion for aviation, family name, perhaps?”
Caitlyn hummed, her cerulean eyes grazing over Vi’s body and uniform. Dress uniforms were the best outfit to be in and to look at, but no-one suited them like she did. Thick muscles bulged out of the cropped sleeves, thin fabric pulled tight over rippling biceps. She had to have asked for a smaller size, surely. The tips of her tattoos were just about peeking through, and Caitlyn was filled with the desire to find out exactly what image she had plastered across her back. “I wanted to piss my parents off,” she commented finally. “You?”
“Ah.” Vi smirked and took another sip of her beer. It was approaching empty fast. “Typical. I just wanted to get in the air. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since I was little.”
“Now that’s a typical answer.” Caitlyn scoffed. “Was the F22 your first choice?”
“Yup,” Vi retorted, popping the ‘P’. “I’ve always wanted to fly an F35, though.”
“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll take you up in one.” There was a sly undercurrent in Caitlyn’s tone.
“Oh, I’m good, Caitlyn. You know I’m good.”
Caitlyn did her best to ignore the hot coals dropped into her stomach after Vi’s last comment. She waved the bartender down and ordered them both another round of drinks, sliding a few bills across the table for it. “What would you fly? If you had any other option to?”
The other pilot whistled lowly. “Gotta be the Mustang. If I don’t get behind the controls of one of them at some point in my life, I’ve failed.” Their next drinks arrived, and Vi nodded a thanks to Caitlyn, before scooching her empty bottle to the other side of the bar. “And yourself?”
“The Thunderbolt,” Caitlyn said without hesitation.
Vi scoffed. “Really? You struck me as a Spitfire kind of girl.”
“Do you know what they used to say? About the Mustang and the Thunderbolt?”
Vi took another long swig of her drink. “Enlighten me.”
“Back in the war, the pilots would say if you wanted to get the girl, you fly the Mustang. But if you wanted to make it home to the girl, you fly the Thunderbolt.”
“Huh.” Vi stuck her bottom lip out, turning her head to the side. “Funny.” She didn’t think for a moment before asking, “Is there a girl you’re trying to make it home for?”
Caitlyn blinked. Hard. Her mouth drooped slightly. “No, there isn’t,” she finally admitted in defeat.
A beat of silence settled between them. Vi took the opportunity to scan the bar, settling on the troupe of pilots she’d come in with. They were all well on their way; scattered shot glasses littered the tables they’d now resided to, and their loud boastful voices carried across the room.
“Your callsign,” the captain finally said.
“Huh?” Vi snapped her eyes back.
“Your callsign,” she repeated. “Vanguard. There’s no definition for it on your file.”
“No. There isn’t.” Vi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed.
“How did you get it?”
The lieutenant fell silent. She wrung her hands over themselves, gaze flittering down. Her tongue darted out of her mouth nervously to quench her dry lips. “I used to get in a lot of fights,” she explained quietly, still avoiding Caitlyn’s eye. “Ever since I was young, even in training a few times. By myself, mainly. But if we were in a group, I’d always be at the front. No matter what or who we were scrapping with.”
“So you’re a leader.” It was more of a statement than a question. “And a fighter.”
“Guess so. I still fight now, but only when the Navy tell me to,” she added with a dry chuckle. “Do you like your callsign? Killshot?”
Caitlyn shrugged, sipping lightly from her wine glass. “I think it gives people the wrong idea. Paints me as this- I don’t know, killing machine.” A pause. “I just do my job. And I do it well. There’s plenty of other worse things I could be called, but-“
“Viiiiiiii!” A slurred, over-exaggerated voice cut Caitlyn off.
Ekko appeared beside Vi, slinging an unsteady arm over her shoulder. He rocked back and forth and grinned excitedly at them both. “What’s up, fuckers?”
“Ekko, watch your damn mouth,” Vi scolded. His breath reeked of tequila, hot against the skin of her cheek. “When Powder told us to be careful tonight, she should’ve been talking to you.”
“Don’t be a sourpuss.” Her wingman frowned and stuck his bottom lip out, pouting. “Quit flirting and get on karaoke with me.”
Vi sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, before shuffling out of her seat slowly. She took her bottle with her, tilting the neck to her captain. “Thanks for the drink, Cait. Nice speaking to you.” She let herself get dragged away by the arm by Ekko, shouting over her shoulder one last time, “We should do this again!”
Caitlyn’s eyes didn’t divert from Vi from when she left the barstool all the way to when she was swallowed up by the bustling, engulfing crowd.