how amazing that would be

—

Something between them eases after that, and for the next few days it feels like they’re back to where they were as young hotshot instructors. The kids are still struggling — and they are kids, even though many of them are older than Kazansky was in 1988 — but under Maverick’s demanding instruction, they’re getting close.

“We don’t have enough time,” admits Maverick on the morning of the fourth day as he pours them both coffee. “If we had another week, maybe two…”

“I know,” says Kazansky, taking his mug. “But intel says otherwise.”

“Yeah,” says Maverick, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “I just wish…”

“I know,” says Kazansky again. He peers into the depths of his coffee, finding no answers. “You care about them,” he says.

“Of course I do,” says Maverick tersely. “They’re my responsibility.”

“Is that why you nearly killed yourself by pushing past Mach 10 with the Darkstar?”

“Jesus, Kazansky, you aren’t my shrink,” snaps Maverick.

“You don’t have a shrink,” says Kazansky. “And Hondo filled me in on the particulars of your little stunt yesterday. You kept the project alive by pushing yourself to the breaking point. Are you going to do that with this team too?”

Maverick glares at him. “I’ll do what I have to,” he says, and Kazansky knows better than to argue with him.

But it’s clear by the next day that no matter how hard Maverick pushes himself, no matter how hard he pushes his team, they just can’t do it. The team is demoralised, unable to complete the ingress run in time, unable to hit the target successfully, unable to climb out of the valley. They’re pushing themselves and their aircraft to the breaking point. Nothing seems to be working.