Breaking Sky (7 page)

Pippin was still talking to his family when Chase entered the barracks hall. At the far end, a tiny closet of a room was set up for video calls. It didn't have a door—most likely to dissuade dirty talking—but that also meant Chase couldn't get by without Pippin's family seeing her in the background.

“Nyx!” his littlest brother, Andrew, called out. “Nyx! Nyx!”

Chase leaned on the doorjamb and crossed her arms. “Hey there, Andy. Still bulking up to turn flyboy?”

“Yeah, look!” The ten-year-old showed off his biceps.

“Impressive.” Chase tried to look at Andrew's eyes when she talked to him. Tried not to stare at how filthy and skinny he was or how patched his clothes were. Andrew yelled at Pippin's other two brothers off camera, and Pippin said something about one of their ticklish ears. Andrew dove off screen. A wrestling match ensued until one of them kicked the camera and the screen fuzzed before it went black.

Pippin stood up, the tiny folding chair creaking with relief. “I'm beginning to doubt if they know any other way to hang up.” His voice was stiff. “There's water rationing in Trenton. Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” Chase said.

“I know.” He drummed his fingers on his chest. “A bit deluding living up here with all the food we can eat and regular showers, clean clothes.” Pippin looked guilty.

Chase picked at her sleeve. “Janice doesn't need my living stipend, Pip. I wish you'd let me route it to the Donnet clan. I want to.”

“My dad wouldn't take it. He doesn't even like taking my money, but at least he does.” Pippin messed up his hair. It was trying to be curly and settling for fluffy. He really was boyishly cute. “Besides, they're not starving. They're just not very clean.” He took the hallway at a pace that proved he needed to be alone for a little while.

Chase slouched in the folding chair. The Second Cold War snuck up on them in weird ways. At the Star, they talked about battles and bombings. They lived right up against the border of invasion from Siberia, and yet they were protected from what Ri Xiong Di's trade embargoes did to the U.S. America wasn't just banned from taking military action with other countries. The U.S. was being “punished for a century of self-centered extravagance”—or so the infamous declaration read. No real trade was permitted, which meant the country had been forced to become self-sustaining. However, it wasn't doing so hot. Not in matters like education and medicine.

And water, it seemed.

Kale kept explaining that one concrete military advantage could upset the standoff and make the New Eastern Bloc back down. That was the hope of the Streakers. The only things standing in the way were the government trials—and Chase's famed recklessness.

She dialed her mother's number. The screen lit up with the pale purple wall in Janice's living room, ringing and ringing. The color matched Janice's always-polished nails, and Chase remembered being tiny and trying to hold her mother's hand to cross the street. Trying and failing.

The machine asked if she wanted to leave a message.

“Sure.” After the beep, Chase sat taller. “What's up, Janice? You're probably out. Want to hear a laugh? I got Tourn's attention the other day by being an idiot.” It wasn't funny, not even in the jovial way she was trying to say it. Chase had screwed up big-time. Enough to jeopardize the cold war ceasefire, but what felt so much worse was she didn't know how to stop herself from doing the same thing again. Maybe she
should
lose her wings…

Her focus blurred. Why was she reaching out to Janice anyway?

Because Janice knew that Tourn was her father, and that made her one of three people who knew the truth. That's why.

Kale and Pippin were the other two. Dr. Ritz knew as well, but Chase easily discounted the woman—she'd simply read it in Chase's file. Pippin had gotten the secret out of her one night during freshman year after she'd beat the snot out of two of her classmates. She had caught them discussing “Tourn the Mass Murderer” and had turned feral until Pippin pulled her off. He'd proven his best friend–hood that moment by taking a solemn oath to act like he didn't know for the rest of eternity.

Chase swallowed, her throat sticky. That memory never made sense. Her father had killed people. Admittedly. Why in the world would she defend him? And the academy was her home now. Pippin was her family. She should just forget about Michigan and Janice. And Tourn.

Easier said than done. Her parents were a gray cloud she couldn't shirk.

Chase deleted the message like all the others, feeling as unanswered as her mother's line.

• • •

The hangar filled with screams. Shouts. Cries.

Chase dropped her tools. She'd been helping the engineers rebuild
Dragon
's landing gear, but all that was forgotten as the red alarm light blared.

Something had happened.

Chase rushed into action, gasping. It was only now with everyone yelling that she realized she'd been holding her breath since Pippin explained what her landing in Canada could mean: Ri Xiong Di retaliation.

She waited before the hangar doors with the rest of the airmen while her father's words shook her thoughts. The Second Cold War
was
heating up. Tourn would be so pleased. She pictured him lording over some base. Kale had mentioned Texas once, but Chase only wanted to know where it was so she didn't fly over it.

The hangar doors peeled open, blasting Arctic wind and spitting ice flecks. Chase buried her face in her sleeve and pushed toward the action. An older fighter jet, an Eagle, taxied in. Hoses dumped white foam on its smoking engines.

Below the cockpit, a jagged hole bled greasy liquid and a streak of red that could be nothing other than blood.

“Get that canopy open!” someone yelled. “Get Erricks out! Get him out!”

Ramp stairs were pushed up to the cockpit, and ground crew pressed in. They hammered at the canopy joint with crowbars, but it was wedged shut from the damage to the body. An engineer called for a welding torch, and Chase ran back to retrieve the one they had been using on
Dragon
. She handed it to the airman, and he cast a cold look at her. “Get out of here, cadet! You're in the way.”

Chase stumbled back, a little too blown by the situation to register the insult. They finally wrenched the canopy open and strapped the pilot to a stretcher. He was making terrible animal sounds and grabbing at his leg, which had gotten splintered into the wreckage. It didn't look like a leg anymore. More like meat smashed up with a zoom bag.

They ran him toward the infirmary.

Chase choked on the smoke still pouring from the Eagle. A cadet tugged on the back of Chase's uniform, pulling her away from the scene of destruction. She went with him, too overwhelmed to register anything outside of what she had just witnessed.

“What happened?” she asked blindly. A familiar voice answered, but not the kind of familiar that eased her nerves.

“That's red drone damage,” Tanner said. “The Eagle was running surveillance over the North Pole. Trying to spy from the backyard. Can't believe they thought that'd work.”

A greenish bruise still highlighted his eye, reminding Chase of the pummeling he took from Sylph two weeks ago. “We should get out of here before they suspend our flight privileges.” His voice was matter of fact, in a tone that always felt like a personality trait.

They walked together, which felt as strange as it should. Chase bridged the gap from the smoke of the real war to the internal fight she felt when she looked at Tanner. Last semester, he had tutored her in history when she couldn't get her head around which country Ri Xiong Di bought first. And when his cute Asian-American features stirred up some cultural curiosity, she'd started doing the same things with him that she now did with Riot.

“Will it mean war?” Chase asked. “Put us over the edge?”

“No. The bastards knew what they were doing. They didn't kill the pilot, did they? They let him limp back here to show us a taste of what they're capable of. It's probably just retaliation. They're flexing their muscles at us.”

Retaliation for Chase's landing in Canada?

Her breath went tight. This had to be her fault. Had Ri Xiong Di attacked the Canadian base too? Did Ri Xiong Di find a way to knock
Phoenix
out of the sky? All of a sudden, the long-haired image of Arrow didn't make her want to roll her eyes.

Was he okay? He had to be.

They had to fly together again.

She came out of her thoughts slowly. “What?”

Tanner was eyeing her as though he had asked something important. “I said, why Riot?”

“Are you serious? After what we just saw…that stuff doesn't matter.”

“It matters to me.” Tanner's expression pegged her, and he leaned a little closer, reminding her of his pressing, small kisses. “I might not be on a Streaker team, but I'm better than Riot. Riot blabs to the whole academy every time you hook up. I actually like you.”

“But you don't know…” Chase's voice trailed off as she remembered Pippin's ribbing—that this had become more of a standard answer than a real response. “Why?” she asked instead. “Why do you think you like me?”

He stood a little taller. “It's a gut reaction. I look forward to seeing you.”

“But that's just you. It has nothing to do with me, you know? And seriously, Tanner, I've been terrible to you.” She stopped herself from adding,
on
purpose.
Tanner was smart and sweet, a pilot with extracurricular talents. He was ten times the boy Riot was, and as soon as Chase realized that, she'd cut him off. He didn't deserve to get tangled up with the Nyx.

“Find someone else.” Her words ended up sounding so much harsher than she intended, but it was too late. Tanner left.

Chase stood in the glass tunnel that connected the hangar to the Green. Outside, a snowstorm pressed on the navy sky. She wondered if
Phoenix
was up there somewhere. If Canada had been attacked too.
Dragon
would be fixed soon, she hoped. And then she'd look for Arrow—catch him in the sky where no satellite could hang onto their signal for long. She had to make sure he'd made it through.

Arrow didn't deserve the hazardous wake of her bad decisions either.

The night had gone past that zone of sleeplessness and into vulgar awake. Chase flipped in bed so often that Pippin put his headphones on to drown out the creaks of the bunk frame. The tramping bass of some classical tune trickled up through the silence.

She closed her eyes, only to remember the hangar and Captain Erricks's mangled leg. Guilt seized her and threw a bag over her head.

“Pippin!”

He shot up. “I'm—what?” He yawned lionlike. “Did I miss something?”

“Was the attack on the Eagle my fault?” she asked.

Pippin didn't say anything. Maybe he shrugged. Or nodded. She couldn't see him. She hung her head over the bar to look down on him. “Was it retaliation for landing in Canada?”

He took his headphones off. “I don't know, Chase.”

Coming from a bona fide genius, this answer felt stark.

“Guess then.”

“No.”

“Please, Pip.”

“I meant, no, it's not your fault. Probably not. There are many cogs turning. You're only one of them—not a small one, but only one. Make sense?” When she didn't answer, he added, “We're under enough pressure. Guilt is overkill at this point. Trust me.”

Chase did. That trust was one of the best things in her life, and she held on to it as she buried the scene in the hangar and begged sleep. Her nightmare was waiting.

Chase
crawled
on
her
belly
through
a
black
night. The mud sucked her hands past the wrists with each move. She stifled grunts—her father was watching from the tower with his men, and she didn't want him to hear.

One
more
hill, topped with a barbed-wire net, remained between her and the finish line. The recruits were supposed to jump it; she'd watched many times. They were supposed to expose themselves to rubber bullets, duck and dive. But she was smaller, no real muscles yet, and definitely no boobs. She scurried under the wire and crested the hill. Panic made her careless.

The
barbed
teeth
bit
into
her
shirt.

Explosions
. They were only flash burns, but she still screamed. Her right shoulder caught, ripping a stinging line down her arm. Another blast. Another. She knew this part; the longer she took to get to the finish, the closer the explosions would get.

Mud
rained
and
detonations
illuminated
the
red
gush
from
her
arm…

A pounding through her room slashed her nightmare.

Pippin sprang to answer the door. A technical sergeant thrust a note in his hand and ran down the hallway.

Chase leaped from the top bunk. “A drill?” Her heart was beating to the tune of her nightmare, adrenaline kicking through her veins.

Pippin watched the sergeant sprint. “They don't run that fast for a drill.” He unfolded the paper. “Emergency. We've got to get in the air.” He dropped the note and stepped into his G-suit.

Chase pulled on her own zoom bag while she tried to read the note, but it was in code followed by a set of coordinates. RIO speak. “An attack?”

“Yes.”

Her pulse was a mess as she zipped up and dug her helmet out of a pile of laundry. Within moments, they were jogging down the hall, meeting Riot and Sylph along the way.

“Drill?” Riot asked hopefully.

“Don't think so. Those tend to feel—”

“Smoother.” Sylph cut Chase off. She was tying her hair back in a braid.

“No hard feelings,” Chase said to Sylph, startling the whole group into slowing down. “Well, we might have to fight together up there. We're on the same side, right?”

Sylph sneered. “I won't punch you out of the sky, if that's what you're worried about.”

“Leah…” Riot warned, but she shot him a look that silenced him. They crossed the Green at a jog but began to run when they hit the buzz of the hangar. Airmen sprinted in every direction, and several of the old jets rolled out the door and into the black sky.

“Definitely not a drill,” Pippin murmured as Kale met them by the Streakers.

“Inbound airstrike?” Chase asked. “Red drones?”

“No drones.” Kale's voice was hoarse, probably from shouting commands. “There's been an internal bombing. High casualties. We're sending reinforcements, but they won't get there fast enough. If you push it, you'll get there with a chance.”

Chase's anxiety was mounting. “A chance of what?”

“Of helping survivors. If there are any flight-capable birds left, lead them back here. We can't afford to radio our position. Stay completely off the grid. Don't even use the shortwave. And
do
not
land.”

Sylph and Riot were already cresting the ramp stairs and sinking into
Pegasus
's cockpit. Pippin slid into his seat in
Dragon
and strapped in.

Chase's thoughts swirled. “General, I—”

Kale grabbed her leg and hoisted her up. She swung over the edge and into the cockpit, still unable to phrase her fear.

“Open up her speed, Harcourt,” Kale said. “This is your chance.”

• • •

The night was deep. Veiled stars and nothing beyond the silver streak of her bird around her. She hit Mach 3 in a hurry, knowing Sylph would fall behind. Sylph could fly as fast as Chase, but she wasn't strong enough to hold the speed for as long.

Pippin was busy with his controls, mapping out coordinates. “Balls to blackout flying,” he complained. “Can't sense a thing. We need to bounce our position off a satellite. We need like two seconds of radar.”

“Kale said to keep off the grid, Pippin. We're on our own.”

“So what do we do if a commercial plane comes at us?”

“Duck.” She punched the throttle and crested past Mach 4. More than two thousand miles an hour. They had been going southeast for too long, and although she was no geographical genius like her RIO, she could tell they were headed toward the Hudson Bay. And JAFA.

“Do you think…” Chase swallowed her words. The horizon was orange, not from sunrise but from the reach of high flames. “JAFA,” she whispered. “Where's
Phoenix
?”

“Maybe he didn't get out in time,” Pippin said. “The roofs are blown outward. Must have been an inside job. Spies. That must be what Kale meant by
internal
bombing
. Nyx, there could be bogies in the sky. I'm going to be a busy bee keeping lookout.”

“Buzz away.” Chase reined in her speed and pulled closer to the burning buildings.

Fire groped the night. The hangar was the only building not fully ablaze, but smoke poured out of broken windows. Chase couldn't see anyone on the ground. No one fleeing or fighting the fire. Kale's had spoken about survivors, but…

“There's no one,” she murmured.

“Sylph will be here in five minutes,” Pippin announced.

“This'll be over in two.” Chase bit back anger. Sylph should be faster. JAFA shouldn't be burning. She should
do
something. Chase eyed the hangar door. A blue fiery blast lit up the inside. Chase knew that color. Jet engine flashes. She dropped even closer, peering through the smoke-blackened windows.

Faces peered back. Dozens of them.

“There are
people
stuck in there!” Chase set down on the runway before Pippin could object, taxiing toward the hangar door too fast.

“What're you…Nyx!” He knew her too well. “We're not a battering ram!”

“
Dragon
is fortified titanium. She's stronger than whatever that is, right?” Chase didn't wait for a response. People were dying a few yards away. The least she could do was try. She hit the throttle and drove at the sealed door, crossing her fingers that the people inside saw her coming.

That they moved back.

She smashed into it, screeching metal on metal, and pushed all the way to the front edge of the cockpit. When she rolled back, a frame of wreckage hung from
Dragon
's nose, but the door was punctured. Smoke chugged out of the gaping hole.

“Come on!” she whispered.

The platform of ramp stairs appeared on the other side of the hangar door. People began to jump from the stairs and through the hole, helping each other down. They were young. Cadets just like at the Star.

“Nyx, we won't be able to take off with that scrap stuck to us. And we need to get out of here.”

“I have to help them.” She hit the canopy switch and leaped out, hitting the pavement hard enough to fall and mangle her knees through her G-suit. She shook out the stinging pain and ran.

Older airmen and officers appeared among the survivors, directing everyone toward the woods beside the runway. Chase helped a few cadets out of the fiery hangar, all the while searching for a sign of Streaker Team
Phoenix
.

Arrow was among the last. She met his eyes with soft shock—relief and something else. He stood on the ramp stairs, helping an elderly woman in a white lab coat through the hole. When the woman was through, he leaned out and yelled to Chase. “I'm going to get my bird out. Clear back.”

The last of the survivors ran into the woods beyond the runway.

Chase headed to
Dragon
, tugging at the metal frame on her jet's nose. It was too heavy. She pulled, only budging it a few inches. Any second,
Phoenix
was going to slam blindly out of the hangar doors—and right into her. They'd all be dead in a flash of scorching jet fuel.

“Pippin! Help!” Her words were lost in the roaring collapse of a nearby building. Chase went back to the scrap and pulled with everything she had. This was going to end badly. Both Streakers would be blown up. Both teams would die because she had to break orders. Had to land.

She yanked harder, choking on swears, but suddenly, her hands weren't alone. Her arms were a pair among many as shoulders pushed into her own. The group pulled as one, and the piece screeched as it slid off
Dragon
and smashed on the ground.

Before anyone could speak,
Pegasus
flew by with a shriek of furious speed. Arrow threw out a protective arm that slammed into Chase's chest.

“That's just Sylph,” Chase yelled over the fire's destruction. She loosened his grip on her chest and pushed him away with both hands. “She's on our side.”

“Mostly,” Pippin croaked. Arrow's RIO laughed at that—a desperate sound amid the chaos.

“Come on. I'll lead you—” she started, but Arrow cut her off.

“We're forgetting something.” His eyes searched the runway, his demeanor slightly frozen. Black smears ran down his face and into his long hair. Finally he pointed.

The fuel truck was mere feet from one of the burning buildings. Chase watched as the ground underneath it began to burn.

“Down!” Arrow yelled. He was on top of her so fast, over Pippin and his RIO too, shielding them with his body.

The sky lit up like daylight.

The explosion shook the air and speared his hearing.

Moments later, they were all standing, staring. Dazed.
Pegasus
flew by again, but this time Arrow was struck still. Chase gripped the shoulders of his T-shirt and yelled his call sign into his face. The orange blare of fire danced over his blue eyes, but they were static.

She shouted at his RIO. “Help him!”

The RIO smacked Arrow. Hard. “Tristan!” he yelled. “Snap to. We've got to get out of here.”

Arrow pulled at his ears and worked his jaw like the blast had taken out his hearing.

She took hold of his shirt again. “Tristan.” His eyes locked on hers. Unlike his call sign, his name was a link straight through to him. “Get in your bird. Follow me home.”

He nodded.

Chase and Pippin climbed into their Streaker while
Phoenix
's team returned through the hole in the smoking hangar. In a few rasping breaths, she'd flung
Dragon
up into the night. Pippin held on to her shoulder while they circled what was left of JAFA.

“You think they'll make it?” His question was barely out when the hangar roof began to collapse.

“Come
on
,” Chase whispered.

As if he didn't want to make her wait, the rest of the building flew apart as
Phoenix
broke through the flames and into her sky.