Page 42 of When We Collide

“Yes Captain,” they reply confidently.

Scrambling to intercept an unknown aircraft is nothing new for me in this line of work, but the surge of adrenaline that rushes through my veins in moments like these is why I love my job. Protecting the skies of my country is more than just a job, it's a passion that fuels me every day. And now, as I prepare to take off into the unknown, that passion burns brighter than ever, especially since it’s been over a year since I last flew.

“Start her up!” I shout over the din, though I know the crew chief is already on it. The engines roar to life, vibrating through the frame of the jet. My hands move on instinct, flipping switches, checking gauges, running through the quick-start checklist I’ve completed many times before.

“Bullseye, you’re clear to taxi,” the voice in my headset crackles. I give a thumbs up and ease the throttle forward. The Typhoon responds like a caged beast, eager to be unleashed. Fuck, it’s been so long, I’ve truly miss it. The runway lights flash by in a blur as I taxi into position. Ahead, the tarmac stretches out, dark and wet from the storm the night before.

“Bullseye, you are cleared for take-off,” comes the final confirmation. I shove the throttles to full military power, then into afterburner. The engines scream, and the force pushes me back into my seat as the Typhoon surges forward, wheels leaving the ground in a matter of seconds. The exhilaration of the climb grips me, but I shove it down, focusing on the task ahead.

“Bullseye airborne,” I report, levelling off at 10,000 feet, the landscape of England slips away beneath me. The early morning sky is dewy and grey, but the radar paints a different picture—a blip moving fast, just off the coast. An unidentified aircraft, no transponder, no flight plan.

“Bullseye, proceed to intercept,” the controller’s voice in my ear is calm, professional. Just another day, but the tension gathered in my chest tells me otherwise.

I adjust course, the Typhoon responding instantly while I push the throttle forward. The target is still out of visual range, but it won’t be long now. My eyes flicker between the radar and the sky ahead, searching for the first sign of the intruder. To my left is my wingman, Lieutenant Malik flying steady alongside of me.

There you are.Straight ahead I spot the plane, just a faint silhouette, growing larger by the second. I steady my breathing, my fingers tightening on the stick.

“This is Bullseye, I have visual on the target,” I say, voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. “Moving in to identify.”

The other aircraft come into focus, a large, twin-engine jet, no markings visible in the gloom. My thumb hovers over the comms switch, ready to hail them. One wrong move here could change everything.

“Unidentified aircraft, this is Bullseye of the Royal Air Force. You are entering restricted airspace. Respond immediately, or you will be engaged.”

Silence. The seconds drag on, each one feeling like an eternity. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for a response. The intruder keeps its course, steady and unflinching.

“Unidentified aircraft, respond!” I demand, more forcefully this time. I can almost hear my own pulse in the silence that follows. Come on, you prick, respond.

Then, finally, a crackle of static, and a voice—broken, hesitant—but there. Relief floods through me, but I keep my tone firm as I guide the unknown aircraft away from danger, escorting it out of restricted airspace.

As the threat recedes and the sky is clear, I let out a long breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. The tension in my shoulders ease instantly, but I know better than to relax completely. My guard is always up.

“Bullseye, Moose, return to base,” comes the call, and I turn the Typhoon back toward base; the lights of the airbase twinkles faintly in the distance as I approach.

As I descend, the adrenaline starts to fade, replaced by the steady, familiar rhythm of post-scramble routine. The ground crew will be waiting, the debrief ready to go. But for now, the roar of the Typhoon’s engines is my only companion, a comforting presence in the early morning sky as the sun begins to rise.

Touching down feels like exhaling after holding my breath for far too long. The runway lights welcome me back, and I ease the jet to a stop, the canopy lifts with a hiss of compressed air and I climb out, legs a bit unsteady after such a long time. The cool air a sharp contrast to the warmth of the cockpit. The ground crew is already swarming the aircraft.

“Nice work, Captain,” the crew chief's voice cuts through the fading roar of the engines as I remove my helmet. I nod, still buzzing with the adrenaline that's only now beginning to ebb away. My mind is already replaying every manoeuvre, every split-second decision, as I hand over the aircraft. Descending the ladder, I jump the last step, feeling the solid ground beneath my boots. As I run a hand through my sweat-dampened hair, I catch sight of Jeyla standing a few paces away, her eyes fixed on me.

One of the crew members steps forward, taking my helmet and gear, and I unzip my flight suit, the cool morning air rushing in as I walk towards her. “What are you doing out here, JJ?” I ask, closing the distance between us.

Jeyla shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile playing on her lips as she crosses her arms and confidently strides towards me. “Did you honestly think I would pass up the chance to watch you inaction, Captain?” Her eyes sparkle with a mixture of fondness and admiration as she tilts her head back to meet my gaze. “I used to resent your job for keeping you away for so long, but seeing you up there… actually witnessing you fly is a whole different experience…”

“Is it now?” I tease with a grin, taking another step closer and gently placing my hands on either side of her face.

“Absolutely,” Jeyla replies, her voice filled with genuine admiration. “It's an incredible sight, watching you race off without hesitation, ready to protect our country.” She leans into my touch, never breaking our intense eye contact. “You were born to be a combat pilot; it suits you perfectly.” Jeyla’s words fill me with a sense of purpose and belonging, and I can't help but lean down to press a kiss to her forehead before wrapping her in a tight embrace. When Jeyla tips her head back to look up at me, our eyes interlock and I catch the hint of desire radiating deep in those emerald eyes of hers.

“You need to stop looking at me like that.”

Her dark brows fuse slightly, “Like what?”

“Like you want to take me back to my bunker, climb on top of me and have your wicked way with me,” I murmur quietly into her ear with a teasing smile. Jeyla’s face flushes a pretty shade of pink, and she stares up at me, fighting with all her might to keep a straight face but I can see the mirth in her eyes as she playfully pushes me away.

“I am not, shut up.”

A deep, rich laugh bursts from my chest as I wrap my large hands around her small waist and pull her back against me. The warmth of her body presses against mine, making my heartrace with excitement. “Did it make you feel weak in the knees, watching me fly?”

Jeyla's cheeks flush even deeper at my teasing remark, but she doesn't deny it. Instead, she runs her tongue over her full, luscious lips and nibbles on them softly. “I can't deny that watching you fly stirred something inside of me. It was... quite sexy.”

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