Viper: I flew with your old man. VF-51, the Oriskany. You're a lot like he was. Only better... and worse. He was a natural heroic son of a bitch that one. Maverick: So he did do it right. Viper: Yeah, he did it right... Is that why you fly the way you do? Trying to prove something? Yeah, your old man did it right. What I'm about to tell you is classified. It could end my career. We were in the worst dogfight I ever dreamed of. There were bogeys like fireflies all over the sky. His F-4 was hit, and he was wounded, but he could've made it back. He stayed in it, saved three planes before he bought it. Maverick: How come I never heard that before? Viper: Well, that's not something the State Department tells dependents when the battle occurred over the wrong line on some map. Maverick: So you were there? Viper: I was there. What's on your mind? Maverick: My options, sir. Viper: Simple. First you've acquired enough points to show up tomorrow and graduate with your Top Gun class, or you can quit. There'd be no disgrace. That spin was hell, it would've shook me up. Maverick: So you think I should quit? Viper: I didn't say that. The simple fact is you feel responsible for Goose and you have a confidence problem. Now I'm not gonna sit here and blow sunshine up your ass, Lieutenant. A good pilot is compelled to evaluate what's happened, so he can apply what he's learned. Up there, we gotta push it. That's our job. It's your option, Lieutenant. All yours. Maverick: Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, sir, but thank you very much for your time. Viper: No problem. Good luck.