────── GROUND CONTROL

chapter one

i. Coastal Cowgirl

2010 ─

"FUCK IT."

Despite the overwhelming reluctance to leave the air conditioning, the car door slammed shut behind her. Flipping her frizzy hair back out of her face, the disheveled brunette then attempted to straighten up her posture, her back popping and a grunt escaping her scabbed-over lips. The California immediately beat down upon exposed, tanned skin, and further heated up the gravel of the driveway beneath her shoes. Turning on her heel, the rubber soles of the sandals strapped to her feet clicked beneath her and she had to reach up to readjust the woven cowboy hat perched upon her had that the breeze threatened to blow away.

A frown hung heavily on her lips as she glanced to her left at the blue-painted farmhouse she slowly approached.

Maybe if Hattie Simpson believed in God, she would hope and pray that today would be a good day, but she did not. In fact, she routinely challenged The Father to prove He was real, wanting him to spite her disbelief. If she stood on the edge of a rock cliff, looking down at the swaying ocean she would laugh, willing Him to end it this time if He was tired of playing her favorite game.

The game of life.

Maybe it was foolish, naïve, possibly even childish to claim to have no fears as a young woman who had much to be frightful of in day-to-day life.

But, apparently, despite her carelessness, the Big Man upstairs must have had more in store for her because Hattie always found herself back above water.

So Hattie was stuck rolling the dice on the day's outcome.

She honestly wished she had chosen to stay in bed. It was Saturday, a day off from a field made entirely of blacktop and smelling entirely of engine fuel. Hattie had hung her jumpsuit up in her closet the night before and traded it in for a pair of denim shorts and a lightweight cotton button-up to wear the next afternoon.

Upon hearing the engine of Hattie's car shut off out front, her mother, Valerie, exited the house and stepped out onto the front porch with a metal tray with a pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade and glasses full of ice placed upon it. Beau "Cyclone" Simpson had already been outside, seated in the shaded corner in oner of the four wicker chairs placed on the far side of the porch, a book in his hand. He glanced up over the top of the pages open in front of him, piercing green-blue eyes following the outline of his daughter's approaching figure up the cobblestone path towards the porch.

Valerie greeted Hattie with a smile, "Hi, May-May."

Hattie resembled her mother in many ways. Valerie was a short and slim woman who could usually be seen sporting a kind smile on her lips and a glass of some sorts in her hand. She was of Mexican heritage, with rich, brown skin that had only further tanned after being out in the garden and beneath the California sun. Her thick, dark hair was often worn up in a neat twist and clipped to the back of her head. Valerie often splurged on routinely having her eyebrows waxed and her nails done, liking to keep up with her appearance. Hattie had inherited Valerie's doe-like, chocolate brown eyes, which made it hard for Beau to say 'no' at any given time to either of them throughout the years.

Beau Simpson contrasted his wife nicely. He was tall, sharp featured, and muscular. His natural dark brown hair that he had always kept carefully styled in a combover, away from his face had slowly begun to grey- which he liked to joke was Hattie's doing. Beau kept himself clean shaven for the most part, occasionally letting his beard get to a short stubble before he declared himself tired of it, much to his wife's dismay. His callsign in the Navy was "Cyclone", a callback to his own turbulent past and temperament. Beau had intimidated each and every boy Hattie had ever attempted to introduce to her family, Beau often having his arms crossed over his broad chest and his piercing eyes narrowed.

Thanking her mother after being handed a cold glass of her favorite beverage, Hattie sat in the chair opposite of her father. She crossed her left leg over her right, the blue decorative straw that Valerie had placed in her glass drawn between her lips.

Her parents had had their hands full since the moment they had found out about her existence. A breeched baby who caused Valerie to have heightened stress, prologued nausea, and heart burn for nine whole months who then grew into a toddler with tantrums that had Beau, a hard-shelled Navy man, waving a white flag at times. Hattie was a daredevil child once she turned mobile, meaning there was no chance of leaving that baby unattended or else risk the chance of having to search on the roof for her.

She had been on a wild streak since conception.

Sitting similarly to how Hattie was, Valerie settled in the chair next to her husband, "How was work this week?"

"The same old stuff," Hattie used her straw to mindlessly stir around her drink, "Rusty dropped a floor jack on his foot and broke it."

Valerie grimaced while Beau just shook his head.

"Numb-Nuts," He commented beneath his breath, "He's the clumsiest mechanic I've ever seen."

Valerie chuckled, patting his arm with her hand, "So, Hattie, fight with any more airmen?"

"Every day."

'That's my girl,' Valerie wanted to state, but judging by the look on Beau's face it was not the time to encourage their daughter's antics.

Beau finally shut his book in his lap, letting it rest against his jeans as he reached for the remaining glass, "You wouldn't fight with them if you stayed in your hangers."

Hattie fought back a snicker, "Where's the fun in that?"

The Simpson girl, their only child, had only became a larger headache once she became a teenager. Screaming matches with her parents and sneaking out of her bedroom window in the middle of the night to go on reckless adventures with her friends at the time. She had gotten her first tattoo by one of her best friends way older boyfriends at the age of sixteen- a simple, small postal stamp with poppy flowers just behind her right breast where it could be hidden by her arm.

Hattie was still sweet, well-loved, and did well in school despite it all but, boy, was she a walking migraine that her parents often used alcohol to nurse every night before bed.

Loud, bright, sporty, temperamental – She was a force many chose not to reckon with.

Hattie May Simpson was a singular joker amongst the rest of the deck.

She was a wildcard.

Then, she turned eighteen and informed them that she wanted to be in the Navy. Beau, after almost falling off the barstool at the kitchen island, poured himself a tall glass of whiskey. College after high school was always the deal with her family, whatever she wanted to do- the Navy paid for it, and Hattie still intended on going with the mindset that a four-year degree in supporting subjects looked good on her application. Beau cursed himself for having advised her of such a thing. Her parents never expected her to want anything else to do of the Navy, Hattie having always been very vocal about the strain it put on her parent's once affectionate relationship and made it hard for Beau to make time for his family after her received promotion after promotion.

Beau had really hoped she wanted to do something medical or even dabble in social work for the Navy- even mechanical since Hattie had helped him restore several old cars over the years and was very knowledgeable in mechanics. Then the words "fighter" and "pilot" left her mouth, causing his ears to ring. He was one of the guys that had been in the cockpit, up close and personal in serval dangerous Naval missions. Beau was the star of his squadron for years, he had dropped bombs, he had engaged in numerous dogfights with several foreign enemies.

Not his daughter. Not his girl. She was not made for such things.

Hattie may have been smart, strong in many ways, but her mouth could get her in trouble and her actions could, and would, get her killed.

Valerie was not as irate as her husband's would come to be, but it was hesitant and gentle. Her palms were placed flat against the marble countertop as she asked Hattie why and when this had occurred to her. Never had the Navy been brought up as a career choice before that day.

College came and went in a blur for Hattie. She studied engineering and excelled in the stereotypically male-dominated field at Baylor University, not only exceeding her parent's expectations, but also her professor's. Hattie graduated in the top percentile of her class in 2009. The day after, she submitted her papers to the Navy.

Beau put on a brave face but also put a bug in all of his colleagues' ears in Newport to keep an eye on her during the thirteen weeks she would be in Rhode Island.

"The admiral's daughter," Fellow inductee, Jake "Hangman" Seresin, had chosen to start off his first full conversation with Hattie cockily and unwisely, "The skills test isn't as easy to pull strings to bypass."

That was the first punch she had ever thrown out of the state of Texas, and it landed square against Jake's beloved jawline.

Strike one.

But many of their peers, including many fellow females, admired Hattie's actions. All really except for Bradley Bradshaw.

Valerie shook her head, the fingers of her left hand wriggling as she struggled to gather her thoughts, "Did you fight with... of that one in particular? Oh, Beau, what is his name?"

He rolled his eyes, disappointed, "Bradshaw."

"Asshole," Hattie rolled her eyes, indirectly answering her mother's question, "He's one I try to avoid if possible. But Rusty and Marco purposefully stuck me with maintenance on Bradshaw's plane this week."

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw was a little bit older than some of the others in his class at TOPGUN. After graduating high school, he had been held out of the academy after an incident of his papers being pulled by a higher up. He was a stickler for the rules some would say- he could recite every play and rule book the Navy ever promoted. Bradley was overly safe when it came to the formalities of serving and being up in the sky. 'Conservative' as Jake liked to tease.

In no way did Bradley agree with Hangman during his and Hattie's altercation, his mother had better to think remotely the same thing, but in the few weeks Bradley had been able to observe Hattie Simpson, he definitely disagreed with her impulsive nature.

And ever so casually, Hattie would give him the finger any time he voiced said opinion.

"You'll get someone killed with that attitude, Simpson!" Bradley had once snapped at her.

Retorting with a sickly-sweet smile, Hattie's cool demeanor only made his face turn even more red, "And you're going to bore me to death with all these meaningless lectures, dick."

From that day forward, the pair never saw eye-to-eye on anything other than that Hangman was the most annoying person in their class. They would then rank each other as the runner-up to that title.

"You're an apprentice still, Hattie," Beau sighed, "You can't keep expecting the fort to bend at your will."

"Oh, but you can, Admiral?" Hattie grumbled, "You're known to get your way whatever the cost."

There it was- the uncomfortable pause that always followed a remark meant to hurt her father. Hattie desperately wished that it actually satisfied her to see him flinch at her tone.

Valerie cleared her throat, leaning forwards in her chair and readjusting her posture, "What is it exactly about Bradshaw that makes your skin crawl, Hattie?"

Oh, the way he so mockingly called her 'Honey'...

Hattie just shrugged, "He's a stick in the mud."

Somehow, Bradley and Hattie had completed the academy without killing one another and both gained the title of "officer". The two of them had tortured their fellow sailors with their constant bickering and pointing fingers for thirteen weeks. Hangman told them to take it out back at one point to either duke it out or rip each other's clothes off- both for all he cared.

"I'd rather die."

"Over my dead body."

Simultaneous, venomous responses to the blonde man's exhausted comment.

Beau had recovered from Hattie's previous dig, letting it roll off his shoulders like he always did.

"He's oil and you're water," Beau sipped his drink, "Best to leave it at that."

Valerie continued to push the subject, her eyes shining as she turned her head to look his direction, "I remember someone saying the same thing about us."

Hattie let out an exaggerated gag in the background.

During her stay across the country, Hattie's parents visited her in her temporary Rhode Island apartment while she studied for the Aviation Selection Test Battery. Beau had continued keeping close tabs on her during his own transition from Corpus Christi to San Diego, going back to supervise and teach at his alma mater- the infamous TOPGUN. He and Hattie had gotten into multiple arguments during their stay, bickering over the credibility of some of the reports he had received on some of her "concerning behavior". Of course, Hattie defensively refuted everything.

Determined, she declared that she would pass that test and go to flight school.

Even though she had to take it twice to pass, Hattie did relocate to Pensacola, Florida once she was given the green light to travel south. There, she would be undergoing several more tests and trainings during the Air Indoctrination Courses. After six weeks, Hattie had hoped that she would be a certified pilot.

But Hattie would never receive her wings of gold.

"My mother never got to meet Hattie, Val," He responded almost humorously, "She compared you to high-tide, Hattie's a hurricane."

Hattie bitterly snorted, downing the rest of her glass of lemonade with puckered lips, "A hurricane to match the devastating cyclone that is her father."

Whatever mild smile Beau had been wearing disappeared in a blink, "Hattie-"

Beau Simpson would be the first to admit that he was far from perfect. He was arrogant, haughty, and certainly could be overreactive. Much like his daughter, he had made numerous mistakes from when he was a teenager into his early years of the Navy, but the routine and structure that was promoted in the armed forces slowly leveled out any behavioral issues he had not grown out of in his teen years. Beau regretted a lot of things, especially things when it came to reactive things he had done to "protect" Hattie from herself.

Beau, Cyclone, her own father- had used his status in the Navy to have Hattie revoked from the aviation program almost halfway through to her goal. Her exit was whispered about amongst those remaining, Bradley Bradshaw watching from a distance as Hattie hauled her own bags off base despite the help others had offered to her. She held her head high, bravely holding back the tears that threatened to spill over and dodging all eye contact as she made her exit, cheeks burning from both anger and embarrassment.

But she would be seen again. Despite her parents' offers for her to either move home to Corpus Christi or join them in San Diego to seek out other future plans, Hattie remained in Pensacola. She got a small apartment and worked a sham retail job until she was able to enroll in Class "A" Technical School for the first of many structural aviation, mechanics, theory, and related skill courses. Her dream of flying may have been six feet under but her want to be involved and her need to prover herself out weighted her self-doubt. Nine weeks later, Hattie was a certified aviation mechanic and was able to start from the ground up in a newfound career path.

As an Olive branch, Cyclone had secured her an apprenticeship at the prestigious TOPGUN. He had further worked his way up to being one of the influential senior officers and an air boss on base, giving him some say-so in staffing. But no matter what he did to patch over the crater he had caused in his daughter's confidence, the foundation continued to crack.

Hattie stood and sat her glass down on the porch railing, her mouth pressed into a firm line to hide the scowl threatening to form, "I'm going to the stables. Maybe Moonshine and I can get through one visit without arguing."

Beau closed his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath, listening to her footsteps retreating back off the porch.

Valerie took a very long sip from what remained in her cup, suddenly wishing it were something stronger.

"It's been a year," Beau sighed, slumping back in his chair.

"And it was her dream, Beau," Valerie also stood, gathering up all the dirty dishes back onto the tray.

He was soon left alone to sulk, only the birds of the surrounding trees to keep him company and to fill the painful silence with their chirping once his wife had let the screen door slam close behind her after she reentered their home.

The small stable building was not far behind the house. It sat in the middle of a fenced-in area made of hand-cut wooden planks and a couple metal gates at each end. Valerie had grown up around animals on a farm in Minnesota and wanted Hattie to have the same experience as she had. The Simpson had always kept horses but had recently added a couple lambs and a coop of chickens to their property.

"Half an hour," Hattie murmured, looking at her watch, "New record, Dad..."

She undid the latch of the gate, make it sure it came shut behind her before making her way down the worn dirt path that led towards the pastel blue-painted, wood structure. Hattie loved the peace the stables and the surrounding pasture brought her. Entering through the already pulled back doorway, Hattie smiled into the first stall on the left, the wooden gate separating her from the hay-filled stall creaking beneath her weight as she leaned forwards against it.

Moonshine was her prized white and brown spotted purebred paint horse who was calm and very affectionate, always loving to be loved on. She had a prominent little star and vertical stripe made of white fur the interrupted the splotches of brown that littered her snout. Her long brown mane was well-kept and shined as she in the pockets of sunlight that entered through the gaps in the lattice windows as she grazed the floor.

The horse perked up hearing her name be called from the other side of the room.

"Hi, lovely," Hattie greeted, her hand reaching out to caress the side of the animal's snout, "Miss me?"

Hattie's smile only grew as Moonshine nuzzled further into her hand, "I'll take that as a yes."

Like her father, Hattie could admit that she could be a little hot around the collar when things did not seem to be going her way. She was flawed, independent, a know-it-all, loud, but would draw the line at calling herself as callous as she viewed the Simpson patriarch to be at times. Since deciding on the Navy as a career path, Hattie had tried to prove to her father that she was capable of making her own path until he eventually made it until she was unable to do so. The two of them were identical in stubbornness and inability to see how their actions affected those around them, even if they meant well. Especially each other.

Hattie sighed to herself,feeling the anger slowly subside from her system as she affectionately brushed herhand over Moonshine's mane once more. All she just had to just keep on movingforwards with her shoulders squared and fire in her eyes, hoping for a miracle.

THE BEACH WAS A SECONDARY GETAWAY. Sprawled out on her back on a bright blue towel with her sunglasses shielding her closed eyes, Hattie let her chest sink as a pent-up breath escaped her. It was almost habitual to go to the shore after a tense visit to her parent's home, almost to cleanse herself of the negativity it brought her. The sun melted away all of her worries and the sounds of the waves became a soothing white noise in her mind.

Hattie had ditched her clothes from earlier and traded them in for more appropriate tanning attire. She wore a recently purchased bikini from an impulsive online shopping spree, it was a simple olive-green two piece with a small triangle cut downwards between the breasts.

On either side of Hattie laid two other bodies also sprawled out on towels. Cobie Thorton laid to her left, clad in an orange tankini and her brunette waves gathered up in a matching clip atop her head. Her eyes were being shielded by the book she held expertly up above her, keeping her focus trained on the words on her current page. To Hattie's right, Audrey Barr had sat up with her long, shiny legs crossed over one another, her brown eyes were obviously focused on a group of men further down the shoreline, despite them being hidden by a large, purple shades. Her lime-colored bikini stood out like a highlighter in the distance, having caught the attention of parts of the group opposite of them.

"If you keep staring at them like that, they may burst into flames," Hattie commented, her eyes still shut and hands folded over her stomach.

"I'd say they're already on fire, Hat," Audrey commented adjusting her brown and blonde ombre locks over one of her shoulders, "Who gave the right for aviators to be so hot?"

"Oh, gag me with a spoon."

The three of them giggled simultaneously.

Thick as thieves, birds of a feather- where one was, another (if not two) was close behind.

Hattie had met Cobie first upon moving to San Diego to take the apprenticeship at TOPGUN. Audrey was a bookkeeper at TOPGUN who worked in Cyclone's office, which gave the pair a foundation to get to know one another. Cobie was a lot more reserved than Hattie and would describe her perfect Friday night as being curled up on the couch with a bucket of popcorn and a good book. Cobie kept Hattie level-headed, often having to be the voice of reason or the hand that kept Hattie held back in an argument.

"Don't let Jazzy hear you calling aviators hot, it might go to his head," Cobie commented her relaxed position, eyes still skimming across her book.

Audrey smirked devilishly, "Oh believe me, it goes to both ends."

Cobie had her hands full when it came to having Hattie and Audrey together in public. Audrey and Hattie fed off one another's laughter and antics, the two of them together created the same effect as a megaphone. Audrey had quite literally ran into Hattie in one of the lounges on base, clueless on where to go in finding her boyfriend who had been recently stationed there. After laughing it off and being corrected on where to go, Audrey stopped herself from leaving and did a once-over on Hattie before demanding that they be friends. Hattie, still new to the area and admiring the woman's forwardness, agreed.

The three of them meshed well together and cherished their still growing bond. They often went out on Friday nights the dive bar Audrey worked at whether she was on-shift or not, only to spend Saturday shopping and Sunday lounging around one of their apartments watching cheesy rom-coms on TV. They enjoyed being together after the long weeks of work and Air Force drama they were forced into from all different angles. No gossip was off limits and all feelings were took into consideration amongst the trio.

Hattie snorted, her chest rumbling with laughter, "Sounds like Jazzy likes the reassurance."

"Not that he needs it," Audrey tore her eyes away from the rowdy group of aviators and looked back to her friends, "Bet it puts some of Cobie's fictional beaus to shame."

"When you find a man that lives up to my unobtainable standards, let me know," Cobie quipped, only breifly taking her gaze from her spot on the current page, "Until then, I'm okay with living in la-la land."

Audrey shook her head, gazing the extent of the beach once more, "We have got to set you up with a good, attractive aviator, I swear..."

"Pass."

"Don't put her through that."

Offended, a gap formed between Audrey's lips, "What is it that you two have against aviators?"

Hattie could write a whole damn list.

"Yo, girls!" A deep voice called out to them, the group of men Audrey had been gawking over had begun to wonder closer to them, "Settle a debate for us!"

Rolling her eyes, Hattie laid her head back against the grown, "Pass, Hazard."

Ignoring her, 'Hazard' stepped forwards, "Who's the better aviator, me or Bradshaw?"

Elliot "Hazard" Cassidy was one of the biggest flirts amongst the current class of TOPGUN students. He was lean, tall, and charming. He had freckled skin and dimples when he smiled, paired perfectly with crinkles that formed next to his dark, inviting eyes. Expensive, tinted glasses had slid down to the end of his nose. His brunette hair was wet and beginning to form into waves from the salt water that coated his locks, and the sun caused a gleam across his toned chest from the sunscreen he had applied earlier.

Cobie and Audrey cocked their heads to the right simultaneously, while Hattie let out a humorless laugh.

"What's so funny, Simpson?" A voice from the back of the group asked.

A bitter feeling settled into her chest at the sound of Bradley Bradshaw's infuriating voice.

"That either of you think you're good pilots."

He glowered at her response, quickly retorting, "Last I checked you didn't make it through flight school, so what would you know?"

An echo of ooooo's and shocked expressions followed his statement.

Hattie's jaw set tighter, propping herself up on her elbows to get a better look of him.

Vintage Aviator sunglasses shielded Bradley's unmistakably narrowed eyes from directly meeting Hattie's. He stood with his hands placed on his hips just above the band of his navy swim trunks, beads of sweat mixing with droplets of water from the ocean across his toned torso. His arms bulged as he readjusted his posture to cross them in front of him. Bradley's sandy hair had curled and become unruly from the antics of play fighting in the ocean with the others.

Oh, just the sight of him made Hattie angry.

"And last I checked, chickens couldn't fly worth a damn, Rooster. And here you are, living up to the standard."

From his spot in the background, Audrey's boyfriend, Jazzy, had forced his hand to clasp over his mouth to hide a laugh.

Hattie's gaze continued to burn into Bradley as she stared up at them, "And for that, I vote for Hazard being the better pilot."

"Fuck yeah! You hear that, Bradshaw?! Atta girl, Simpson!" Hazard cheered, clapping as a couple of his buddies joined in on berating Bradley.

As the other pilots continued back on down towards the water, shouting and shoving one another into oncoming waves, Bradley remained standing in place just at Hattie's feet.

"Can I help you, Chicken?" Hattie asked, raising her eyebrows.

Her temper was beginning to thin.

"C'mon, lighten up, Simpson. What's that thing you always say?" He pretended to think.

Hattie looked between Cobie and Audrey, who were watching the pair interact intensely, "Is he serious right now?"

"Something like...'Kick the dust up'?!" Bradley hollered the last part of his sentence, his heel raising and sending a cloud of sand her direction.

"You bitch!" Hattie yelled furiously, fully setting up as Bradley sprinted away to join the others in the water.

Hattie let out a grunt of frustration, swiping the sand from her chest and abdomen.

Despite bits of sand and shells having landed on her as well, Cobie puffed her cheeks to maintain her composure.

Audrey, on the other hand outwardly cackled, basking in the moment, "You two never cease to amaze me."

"Yeah, and how's that?" Hattie grumbled, failing to part the sand from her oily skin, "That damn bastard..."

"Fighting like kindergarteners," Audrey continued, handing Hattie a bandana from her beach bag, "Like, seriously? It's like watching two five-year-olds bicker over who's turn it is on the monkey bars."

Cobie just merely shrugged, dusting her book off, "I think he likes you."

Hattie did not look up from scrubbing at her skin, "I think you think too much, Cobie."

Rolling her eyes, Cobie placed her novel in the safety of her backpack.

"And to answer your question from earlier, Audrey," Hattie pointed at the retreating figure of Bradley Bradshaw, "That is exactly what I have against aviators."

- ˏˋ ✎ ˊˎ -

visuals:

Hattie's outfit inspiration for this chapter

Short. Simple. Mildly introductory?

I don't know, help, I haven't done this in a while.

But say hello to Hattie! She's super fun and has a long road ahead of her!

& be sure to let me know what y'all think!

published ── 02.19.23

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