01 - this was not in the job description
01 - this was not in the job description
PART ONE - ALTITUDE
Of all the missions I expected this week, doing a flyover for a bunch of millionaires who drive in circles wasn't on the list.
"I apologize, sir," I said, hands clasped behind my back, brows frowned together. "Can you please repeat that?"
Dominic " Mac " MacAllister, my Squadron Leader and direct supervisor, sighed, seeming equally disdained by the news. "As you know the British Grand Prix of Formula 1 is next month and I have gotten the orders to dispatch two of my pilots to do a flyover to boost recruitment – and hopefully funding – in the RAF. Since you are the best in my squadron, I have decided to go with you."
My wingwoman Maya " Switch " Halford frowned. "Can't they simply play Top Gun again in theaters? That usually does the trick."
Mac sighed. Something in the way he did it made me believe he had also suggested that to command. "Apparently they can't." He opened the top drawer in his desk and took two badges with lanyards. "They also gave us this. VIP passes for the grid on Saturday so you can get to know the surroundings for when you fly over on Sunday right before the start of the race."
"With all due respect, sir," I began, eying the badges as if they contained the Black Plague itself. "Maya and I know Britain like our own backyard. We've never needed a walk-through before."
Mac sighed again – something he seemed to be doing a lot when he was frustrated. "I believe they want to show you off, you know, as ' a show of strength '," Mac said, handing us our badges. "Just be there and make sure you leave a good impression. Further instructions will follow. You are dismissed."
"Yes, sir," both Maya and I said, before heading out of his office.
"This is kind of exciting," Maya said, once we were in the hallway. She looked closely at her badge, before rubbing it with her thumb. "I've never been to a Grand Prix before – my brother will be so jealous!"
I knew Maya's younger brother, Robert, had been a fan of Formula 1 for what seemed to be his entire life. I had learned to dodge their calls - I was tired of listening to how good and handsome Callum Rhodes was. Who the bloody hell even was that guy? Probably some F1 driver who thinks too much of himself.
"Show of strength," I muttered, replaying the entire conversation in my head. "More like a waste of jet fuel."
"Don't be so grumpy – I am sure you're gonna love it!" Maya said, nudging me, her green eyes shining. "Besides, it's something else – something new ."
I didn't reply as the steel doors of the squadron bay groaned open as the two of us stepped into the hangar, the midday light bouncing off the Typhoons lined up like obedient wolves. Obedient gorgeous wolves if you'd ask me. The scent of grease, jet fuel, and scorched rubber clung to the air – grounding and familiar. This was where I felt most like me.
Maya walked with a bounce in her step, still spinning her VIP badge around one finger like a kid who'd found a golden ticket.
"Do you think we'll get to meet any drivers?" she asked, half teasing, half hopeful.
"I'm hoping we don't," I muttered, tugging my flight gloves off and stuffing them into my thigh pocket. My VIP badge was already safely secured around my neck.
"You're no fun," Maya said, sidestepping a mechanic rolling a trolley of tools. "Come on, it's not every day we get treated like celebrities instead of missile jockeys." She waved her badge at me to confirm what she had said. "VIP, remember?"
"If they hand me a microphone, I'm ejecting," was all I said.
Maya snorted. "Noted. No speeches, definitely no microphone, just smug air superiority."
"As it should be," I agreed.
She muttered something about national pride and rolled her eyes so hard everyone who was within the hanger could tell.
Pilot Officer Collins glanced up from beneath the belly of her aircraft, grease smudged across her cheek. She was in the same squadron as we were but joined a couple of years later than Maya and I. "Flight Lieutenant Hart and Halford. Heard you two are going to Silverstone."
I sighed. I should have known. This base was known for spreading news around like wildfire.
Maya grinned. "That's the rumour."
"Fancy," Collins grinned back. "Don't forget us when you're mingling with grid girls and G-force divas."
I raised a brow. "We're there for a ceremonial flyover, not a meet-and-greet."
"Yeah, sure," Collins winked, just as her wingman Timothy Grant joined us. "You'll make everyone else look lazy."
"You look lazy," Gran said, raising a brow to Collins.
"Hey! I'm working!"
Maya laughed and wandered off to inspect her jet, her voice echoing under the vaulted ceiling as she chatted with the crew. I trailed after her to my own jet, ignoring the bickering of the two pilot officers behind me, and my eyes trailed the curve of my aircraft in front of me – sleek, precise, powerful. Unlike the circus we were about to walk into.
I raised a hand on the cool metal of my Typhoon - the ghost of a smile on my lips. This was where I made sense. This was where I felt like home. Altitude. Silence. Control.
I didn't know what Silverstone would throw at us, but something told me it wouldn't be routine.
Several days passed since we got the flyover news and I was kind of hoping they had forgotten and I could move on with my life without having to do such a ridiculous thing. Unfortunately, my joy was short lived when Mac summoned us once more to his office. He didn't look up when we entered. That was never a good sign I had come to learn.
He just gestured toward the two folders on the desk and said, "Don't shoot the messenger."
I frowned in suspicion while Maya snatched one off the desk. "Ooh. New mission?"
I took the other one and flipped it over. I saw the RAF logo next to the Netflix one – something that I had never seen before and should have been my first clue. Below that was a very glossy, very enthusiastic font that read:
'ABOVE THE GRID: INSIDE THE RAF FLYOVER'
I blinked. "If this is what I think it is, you have my permission to shoot me."
Mac sighed. "I don't have the clearance to shoot you, Hart. As well," he added, seeing the look on my face, "it is unfortunately not a joke. MOD approved it yesterday. PR initiative. There will be two weeks of filming – one before the race, one after. They will do base footage, interviews, cockpit prep. Possibly a joint bit with Moretti, if they can wrangle the schedule."
Moretti, the guy who was apparently the best in Formula 1. Robert had told Maya and me all about the Italian guy over facetime when she had managed to corner me in the hallway.
"Absolutely not." The words were out before I could get them back. I usually didn't disagree with command, a good soldier followed orders after all. But this certainly had not been in the job description when I signed that contract.
Maya nudged me, already grinning. "Come on. This is cool. We're going to be in a documentary!"
"I'm a pilot, not a tv personality," I muttered back.
"You will be both," Mac said, dry. "At least until this airs and someone in Parliament decides we need better lighting in our hangars."
I glanced at the lamp that hung in the middle of his office and noticed it was indeed flickering. I looked back down at the folder and flipped to the next page: mock interview questions.
'What does it feel like to fly above 160,000 people?'
'Do you feel a connection with the F1 drivers below you?'
'What message do you hope to send to young women watching?'
I raised an eyebrow – something I've been doing a lot lately. "Can I say 'Wear ear protection and pick a career with less camera time'?"
Mac didn't flinch. I liked that about him. He never seemed surprised by anything I say and he usually just goes with it. "Say whatever you like. Just don't say it like you're planning to eject mid-interview."
Maya put her hand on my shoulder. "That is something we'll have to work on." She then started to make notes in the margin. "What would I wear for the interviews?"
"Your uniform," I said, as if it was the most obvious answer ever.
"Boring."
"Correct."
Mac looked between us. He was a man with lots of patience since this wasn't the only time Maya and I had a discussion mid conversation. "Just survive the week. The film crew will get to base on Monday of the race week. The flyover will be on Sunday. Wrap-up interviews the week after. You'll barely notice them."
I closed the folder. "I already do."
The production team Netflix sent arrived on base in a glossy black van with three cameras, two drones and more attitude than our last CO inspection on Monday morning. I watched them unload like they were setting up for a fashion shoot instead of filming two pilots who hadn't slept properly in weeks. Every night I had gone to bed praying something would happen to get me off this documentary - it didn't work.
Maya leaned toward me, whispering rather excitedly, "They brought ring lights"
I was very close to submitting my resignation letter. "We're not launching a makeup tutorial," I muttered. "I fly a jet, not sell skincare."
The director – mid-thirties, sharp suit, definitely used to working with celebrities – spotted us and lit up like we were the talent on a Netflix premier. I would like nothing more than to jump in my jet and take off.
"Flight Lieutenant Halford and Hart?" he beamed, extending a hand to each of us. "So good to finally meet you. I'm Theo. I'll be directing Above the Grid. First off - thank you for being part of this. Honestly, the footage we've seen of the flyover rehearsals is incredible."
"Thanks," Maya said brightly, already straightening her posture like she was on camera. She was so much better at this than I was.
I gave a small nod. "We weren't given much choice."
Theo either didn't hear me or had the selective hearing of a man who filmed influencers for a living – probably a bit of both.
"Today we're going to keep this really relaxed," he said. "A couple of one-on-one interviews, a walkthrough in the hangar, maybe a few cockpit shots. Nothing staged, just real RAF excellence."
This man wouldn't know real RAF excellence even if it was standing right in front of him , I thought but did not say.
Theo paused and smiled. "Though if either of you happen to slow-turn as you walk past the Typhoon, we won't say no."
Maya grinned, her red hair looking like fire as the sun was getting higher in the sky. I knew she was born for this. "Do we get wind machines, too?"
"Only if you stand in front of the engine," I muttered, looking away from my wingwoman and looking wistfully at my jet. If only I could fly away ...
Theo clapped once, seeming very excited. "All right! Let's get some warm-up footages in the hangar and then we'll mic you both for short intros. Maya, you first – Avery, we'll get yours just after."
"Please take your time," I said, as Maya practically bounced after the sound tech. I stayed put.
Theo turned back and dropped his voice slightly. For a couple of moments, he didn't look like someone I would punch in the face.
"Just so you know, we're not looking to embarrass you," he told me. "We just want to show the human side of what you do."
I crossed my arms and raised a brow. "The human side of flying at Mach 1?"
"Exactly," Theo said, somehow not getting the sarcasm. "People love that stuff."
"Right," I said flatly. Truth be told, I didn't really know what people loved these days. I knew what I loved – and it didn't involve filming a documentary. "Well, I don't do this for people."
He smiled anyway. It seemed genuine. "That's why they'll like you."
I watched him take off after Maya, my arms still crossed. A ray of sunlight caught my eye as it bounced off a mirror someone hung at the wall. I knew some pilots like to make sure they looked good while flying. Never had that been me, but something made me stroll over and take a look.
Hazel eyes stared back at me. They didn't look that tired, just annoyed. My brown hair was braided back so a helmet could easily be placed over it. I looked how I always looked.
I turned my back to the mirror and took a deep breath. The hangar smelled like oil, burnt rubber, and now, after the arrival of the Netflix crew, faint hair gel.
Someone had wheeled the Typhoon forward just enough for the nose to peek dramatically into frame. A pair of LED panels lit the space in a harsh white that had absolutely nothing to do with "authenticity".
Maya's interview wrapped with applause. Actual applause. I smiled. This did not surprise me. I could hear Maya laughing with the crew as she took off her mic. Theo gestured for me to sit in the folding chair positioned just in front of the aircraft's intake.
"All right, Flight Lieutenant Hart - whenever you're ready."
Maya gave me a thumbs up as I sat down, back straight, hands folded in my lap like I was bracing for a court martial. The mic cable tickled the inside of my flight suit collar. I didn't move.
The sound guy gave a thumbs up and Theo stepped just out of frame.
"Okay, we'll keep this light," he said. "Just answer like you're talking to a friend."
Great , I thought, I have so many of those .
The camera rolled. A red light blinked. I looked right at it.
"State your name and role for the record."
"Flight Lieutenant Avery Hart. Typhoon pilot, Royal Air Force. Call sign: Valkyrie."
"What does that name mean to you?"
I paused. Thinking back at the time Maya and I were trying to find our call signs. "It means I don't get called by my real name unless something's gone wrong."
Theo chuckled quietly, before reading the next question off his page. "What was it like preparing for the Silverstone flyover?"
I shrugged. "It's loud, fast, tight formation. Seventeen hours of coordination for seven seconds of air time. Fairly standard."
"Do you feel pressure, knowing millions would be watching?"
"I don't fly for an audience."
"But you were aware –"
"I'm always aware."
The silence stretched for a beat too long before Theo tried again. "What do you hope young women see when they watch you in the sky?"
I stared into the lens, already hating the question. Then, something inside me twitched – maybe frustration, maybe honesty. And from the way Theo leaned forward, I could tell he saw something change in my expression.
"That they can take up space," I said. "Loudly. Cleanly. And without asking."
Theo blinked and I knew that whatever he had expected me to say, this hadn't been it. The crew went still for half a second and I looked away from the lens to Maya, who was smiling proudly at me. This caused my lips to curl up slightly.
"Cut," someone said softly.
I stood up before anyone could thank me. Maya met me off to the side, holding out a bottle of water and a grin.
"See? You're a natural and also very inspiring."
"I'd rather fly through fire than do that again," I admitted, taking the bottle and unscrewing the lid.
"Yeah, but you looked amazing doing it."
I walked away before I could smile. Almost .
- What would you do if someone tried to turn your job into a Netflix show?
- What would your call sign be if you were a pilot?