Torn Sky (Rebel Wing Trilogy, Book 3) (Rebel Wing Series) (3 page)

Aris held Dysis’s cool, limp hand as Calix and another mender ran for help.

“Come on, Dysis, come on,” Aris murmured, over and over, even as Calix loaded her onto a med-bed and wheeled her quickly inside.

“She’ll need surgery,” Calix said as they ran. “The bleeding must have been slow, or she’d have died hours ago. We won’t be able to tell which organs were affected or how extensive the damage is until we get in there.”

Aris shivered at his words. But her faith in Calix hadn’t faltered, even if their relationship had. She’d seen him nurse everything from broken-winged birds to her mother’s best friend back to health over the years. If there was anyone she trusted to save Dysis, it was Calix. “You can fix this, right?”

Calix paused for one instant outside a room filled with chrome machines and a flurry of other menders and assistants, all prepping for surgery. His leaf-green eyes met hers with an expression she couldn’t read. “I’ll try, Aris. That’s all I can promise. I’ll try.”

She finally had to let Dysis’s hand go when Calix wheeled the med-bed into the room. A white door hissed shut in Aris’s face. She pressed her palms and forehead against it, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she prayed.

Milek found her there an hour later.

“Aris. I’m so sorry.” His quiet empathy nearly undid her. He drew her away from the door and laid her head against his chest, smoothing her hair.

Milek didn’t tell her Dysis would be okay, or offer empty promises. He knew as well as she did, better even, how senseless and unexpected war could be. Neither of them could promise Dysis would live. Neither could promise
they
would survive the next battle, the next day.

All they had was this moment, each moment at a time.

“What happened this morning? The mission . . .” They’d left Spiro expecting to rescue two stranded soldiers, but found the village eerily empty, no soldiers or villagers left. Everyone had been evacuated. They’d assumed the call was a mistake—it happened sometimes—until their approach to Spiro, when the horizon had disappeared beneath waves of smoke.

Milek shook his head. “I don’t know yet. A diversion, maybe? The timing is too strange not to be related.”

Aris stared at the blank door of Dysis’s room. “She didn’t tell me she was hurt. She didn’t tell anyone. I would have ordered her to the infirmary.” She should have
made
her see a mender when they arrived at Mekia. Instead she’d halfheartedly asked her to rest, a request Dysis had ignored.

“As if anyone could order Dysis to do anything,” Milek said.

Aris tightened her arms around him. “I’m afraid . . . after Daakon . . . I’m afraid she won’t fight.”

Milek cupped her face and forced space between them, so she had to meet his eyes. “This is
Dysis
. She doesn’t know how
not
to fight.”

The words were a small comfort. Aris focused on Milek’s face to keep from staring at the door of the operating room. Once, when she hadn’t known him very well, he had seemed to wear masks: the hard-eyed commanding officer, the worn soldier, the worried son. Now she saw all of his facets, all of the time. The hardened officer lived in his scar, in the twist it gave to the edge of his lips. The embattled soldier in the dark shadows under his eyes, the tiny wrinkles that deepened when he squinted into the sun. And there, in the softest hint of a smile, the slow-burning heat as he looked at her, she saw the man who loved her, who saw a future for them, despite the devastation and uncertainty of war.

The sheer magnitude of what they faced suddenly hit her. “I know we have duties . . . we have to regroup, figure out . . .” she began, then faltered. This morning she’d woken with a smile on her face. There’d been two weeks of triumph, knowing Elom was captured and things were finally going their way. And now, in an instant, their stationpoint was destroyed, their unit decimated.

Commander Nyx had said they’d continue with their search and rescue missions, but they had few wingjets and even fewer soldiers. How
could
they continue?

Milek settled his hand on her shoulder. “You should be here. I can brief you later.”

She dropped her gaze to the square of white floor between their feet. “Just until I know whether . . . if . . .”

He bent to kiss her forehead, just above the tip of the scar Elom had burned into her skin. “Find me as soon as you hear. I’ll be praying for good news.”

***

The quiet hiss of a door rattled Aris awake a few hours later. Calix walked out of the room, his own face haggard with exhaustion. She searched his expression.

“She’s okay,” Calix said, before Aris had the chance to ask. “She lost a lot of blood and nearly lost her kidney, but she’ll recover.”

“Thank the Gods.” Aris fought back tears of relief. “Is she awake?”

“Not yet.” Calix sagged against the wall. His short dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his white mender tunic rumpled. “She’s not going to be happy when she does. This kind of injury requires at least a couple months of recovery. She’ll be out of commission for a long time.”

Aris winced. “Maybe we shouldn’t lead with that.”

Calix cracked a tired smile, then yawned. “Yeah, maybe not. Probably best to ease her into it. Let her be happy she’s alive for a little while first.”

“You should get some sleep,” Aris said. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, heading that way.” With a soft groan, he straightened and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head a little as if to wake himself up. “You should, too. It’ll be a few more hours before Dysis regains consciousness. I can send someone to let you know when she’s cleared for visitors.”

“Yes, please.” The moment lengthened. Aris bit the inside of her cheek. “So, I guess we’re going to be here at Mekia for a while. Hope it’s . . . okay . . .” She trailed off.

Calix lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “We’ll manage. It’s a big stationpoint. And, you know,” he added, his face softening, “it’s not a
bad
thing to see each other now and again, is it?”

Aris smiled. “I guess not.”

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he said.

“I hope you find happiness, too,” she said softly.

“I will. Someday. Maybe after the war.” He rubbed his eyes. “For now I’ll settle for a soft pillow and a quiet corner. See you later, Aris.” He headed down the hallway toward the dormitories.

Aris watched him for a second before starting off in the other direction, toward Commander Nyx’s makeshift office. As she rounded the corner, she almost collided with Pallas, who was pacing the hallway.

“Oh!” Aris skidded to a stop, her boots squeaking against the shiny white floor.

Pallas jumped. The bright, sterile lights of the corridor cast sickly shadows across her skin. “Aris—I mean Lieutenant.”

“You should be asleep.” Aris straightened her jacket, rumpled from the hours she’d spent hunched in the chair outside of Dysis’s room. “Haven’t they assigned you a room yet?”

Pallas ran a hand through her short blond hair. Her fingers trembled.

“I wanted to see . . . is Dysis going to be okay? There’ve been rumors that she wasn’t doing well.” Pallas’s voice was as shaky as her hands.

Aris squeezed Pallas’s arm. “She’s going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good news.” At the rumble of voices Pallas turned, just as two men emerged from a room at the end of the hall.

Aris waited until they rounded the far corner before saying, “Try to sleep, Pallas. I know today was rough.” Aris didn’t know the final casualty number yet, except that it was too high. Always too high. “Who’s your roommate?”

“Dysis.” Pallas rubbed the back of her neck, hard, as if trying to wipe away her Military brand. “So I guess I’m on my own for a while.”

Looking at the frightening hollows under her friend’s eyes, Aris made a split-second decision. “No, you’re not. I’ll stay with you until she’s released from sick bay.”

Milek would understand. She wasn’t sure Commander Helos, head of Mekia, would allow them to share a room anyway.

For a moment, Pallas looked like she wanted to argue, but all she said was, “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Then she started down the empty hall, her footsteps echoing.

Aris hurried on toward Commander Nyx and Milek. At least amidst the tragedy, she had good news to share.

Mekia’s rec room vibrated with voices and raucous laughter. Specialist Tia Pallas sat in a lumpy chair in a corner, her gaze fixed on the small group of Spiro soldiers playing splots a couple tables away.

Her gunner, Baksen, sat with his back to her. From this angle, she could see his neck tattoo: two bony hands running on either side of his Military brand, fingers bent as if ready to crush his skull. Otto, Mann, and Nyal sat with him. A white bandage covered part of Nyal’s neck. All four men sagged over their cards, and none of them looked particularly invested in the outcome of the game. Even Otto didn’t engage in his usual trash-talking.

Tia felt Dysis’s absence keenly. And Aris was busy with official Spiro business, now that she was a lieutenant and Promised to Major Vadim. That meant Tia was the only woman from Spiro in the room. Nearly the only woman, period. There were a couple female mender assistants watching a news vid, but that was it.

A row of tables along the far wall was filled with menders sending comms to their families. She thought about comming her family, but what would she say? That because of a flubbed rescue call, she was alive while most of her unit was dead? That her hands were still shaking, and she couldn’t seem to draw a full breath?

When she looked back at Baksen’s table, more soldiers had joined the game.

Oh Gods.

She gasped as she stared at their faces. Galec, with short ginger hair and kind eyes. Evander, his every inch of skin covered in colorful tattoos.

And there was Lieutenant Daakon, sitting just beyond Otto, his brown eyes serious. He was staring at her.

Tia heaved to her feet, heart pounding in her temples with the force of a hammer.

“You’re . . . you’re all dead.” The words slipped out of her throat.

Throughout the room, skeletal faces turned toward her, their skin burnt black or torn away in strips. Black uniforms of Safarans, interspersed with Atalantan green. The memory of smoke clung in the back of her throat, choking her.

She stumbled forward, knocking over a chair. Its clatter cut through the noise, louder than the roaring of her own blood in her ears. Or maybe it was their blood, rushing toward her in cascades of red.

She resisted the sudden urge to tear apart the specters that haunted her and fled instead, pushing through the crowd, oblivious to the curious or sympathetic looks she earned in passing. She gasped as she burst into the empty hall, but still the sounds of battle followed her. The pounding concussion of explosions, the hiss of solagun fire.

The screams of all the men who’d died.

Pressing her hands to her head, she tried to shut out the noise, tried to erase the memories, but they dogged her down the hall, into the washroom. She made it just before a wave of bile silenced the voices.

Afterward, she leaned back against the cold, metal wall, knees to her chest, and rocked. Tears burned her cheeks. The waking nightmares were getting worse. Even now, her heart raced so fast it felt like it might explode, and sweat slicked her neck.

The washroom door hissed open.

“Pallas?”

The tension in her shoulders eased a tiny bit. With a sigh, she said, “I’m here, Baksen.”

Her gunner squeezed himself into the washroom stall and sank to the floor across from her. His muscular body looked awkward and cramped in the small space, but his square-jawed face remained relaxed. He looked at her for a few moments.

“That’s your third episode in two days.” A small furrow appeared between his steady brown eyes. “It’s getting worse.”

Tia wanted to shrug it off, to make denials as she always did. But there was little point this time. “Everyone is dead, Baksen. We didn’t get back in time . . . and I just keep seeing them everywhere.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been the one screaming in pain. “Yes, it’s worse. But I just need a few days—”

“You
need
to speak to Major Vadim. Or Commander Nyx,” Baksen interjected, his face drawn with concern. “You need help dealing with this. You’re not the only one who’s been struggling, you know. It’s okay to ask for help.”

Tia shook her head vehemently, a thread of panic sliding through her. “No, I can’t. They won’t let me fly. They’ll send me home.”

“Maybe that’s a good—”

“Please, Baksen,” she begged. “I can’t lose this. I need to fly, okay? This is all I have.” She didn’t want to cry again, not in front of him, but the tears slipped out anyway.

Baksen didn’t argue or threaten to tell them himself. He didn’t try to hug her, or fill the silence with empty platitudes. He just leaned his head back against the wall and waited. The only thing he said was, “I’m here. You tell me what you need.”

Tia swallowed. “I just need a few minutes. Then I’ll be okay, I promise. It’s easier . . . not being alone.”

Baksen nudged her knee with his. “You’re not alone.”

For a long time, they sat in silence on the cold washroom floor and waited for her demons to loosen their hold.

Mekia’s jogging track snaked through a patch of forest just behind the stationpoint, along the tall metal fence that separated the Military installation from the village. As she ran, Aris reveled in the steady, quickened pounding of her heart.

Milek ran beside her, a gray shadow in the predawn gloom.

When they reached a thicker stand of trees, they slowed to a walk. Milek grabbed her hand and pulled her into the darkness. Aris twined her arms around his neck.

“I missed you,” she purred against his lips, even though they’d spent most of the day before together, locked in meetings with Commander Nyx and standing in formation with the other Spiro soldiers. They’d kept their distance. They were officers, first and foremost.

“I love you,” Milek said, as he kissed along her throat. “I couldn’t sleep last night without you next to me.”

“When the war is over . . .” she began, but stopped. Too many of their conversations began that way. The war had trapped her hopes for their future behind a big black wall, unknowable and out of reach.

“Talking about life when the war is over feels like trying to plan my next dream.” Milek sighed against her collarbone.

“Maybe if we just focus on the here”—she ran a finger across his lips—“and the now”—a light touch along his neck.

Milek cupped her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the lips, and for a while, she didn’t think about the
if
s,
when
s, or
maybe
s.

“It’ll be lights-on soon,” she murmured at last. “We should get back.” Even as she said the words, her hands and body remained pressed into him, filling both of their minds with other possibilities.

When they jogged out of the shadows and into the bright light of the landing pad, Commander Nyx was waiting for them on the tarmac, next to a large green wingjet. One from Ward Nekos’s personal fleet.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Nyx’s steely gray glare made it clear that
looking for them
was a wholly unacceptable activity.

Aris straightened automatically. “We went for a run.”

“Sir—” Milek began.

“Major, your mother is here.” Commander Nyx turned on her heel and stalked into the building, not giving them time for excuses.

“That explains the wingjet.” Aris shot a look at Milek. “Did you know she was coming?”

He frowned. “I didn’t.”

Aris steeled herself as they followed Nyx into the building.

The Commander’s makeshift office was a small room with a single tiny window and a chipped desk pushed up beneath it. Low metal benches lined the walls, and dust motes floated in the early rays of sun. Nyx settled onto the edge of her desk, arms crossed, and glared at them.

Ward Vadim rose from her perch on one of the metal benches as soon as she saw Milek. She didn’t reach for him, but the tension in the woman’s frame revealed how much she wanted to.

“I’m glad you two are alright,” she said, her eyes never leaving her son’s face. “I needed to see for myself.”

Aris was grateful they hadn’t been at Spiro during the attack, but she’d spent the last few days wishing they’d returned faster, that somehow they could have gotten back in time to prevent it.

“We’re fine. It was kind of you to check on us, Ward Vadim,” Milek said formally. Then he broke into a boyish grin.

Commander Nyx cleared her throat.

A fresh focus showed in Ward Vadim’s eyes. “I’m also here because of the wingjets.”

“Ward Vadim comes bearing a shipment of invisible wingjets,” Commander Nyx clarified. The blood-red scars around the officer’s neck caught Aris’s attention, as always, but it was her words that sent a shock down Aris’s spine.

Invisible wingjets? A whole shipment?

“Those wingjets are our best hope for finding the bomb,” Ward Vadim said. “Ward Nekos and I are concerned the attack on Spiro may have been related to those jets. The shipment was originally scheduled to arrive at your stationpoint last week, but it was delayed.”

“Did anyone know about them? We certainly didn’t.” Milek sounded confused.

“Commander Nyx was the only one at Spiro who knew,” Ward Vadim said. “But the only other potential target would be the two of you, given your status and involvement in the Elom affair.” She glanced from Milek to Aris, her scarred face drawn into a frown.

Aris shivered at the thought that she might once again be in Ward Balias’s sights. “Be that as it may, you said the shipment of wingjets is here now. What are we supposed to do with it?”

Ward Vadim turned toward Commander Nyx. “Your commander can explain. Ward Nekos and I have asked her to take point on this matter.”

Nyx straightened and stepped away from the desk. “Your objective is to find and destroy the flaming scorpion before Ward Balias destroys Atalanta.”

Of course it was. Aris almost laughed, even as her heart pounded hard enough to make her dizzy. Nyx continued. “Haan, you’ll be leading a new unit of elite flyers. Only the best.”

Aris barely kept herself from staggering back a step. Commander Nyx was putting
her
in charge of a whole unit?

The woman shifted her glare to Milek. “Major Vadim, you’ll support the Lieutenant and help coordinate each mission. You’ll be the liaison between Mekia’s command, as well as Ward Vadim and Ward Nekos. When we have actionable intel, you’ll help Haan get the authorization from Ward Nekos to move forward.”

“Yes, sir,” Milek said immediately.

Aris registered his smile, but her mind was still processing the words
invisible wingjets
and
leading a new unit
, trying to make sense of them.

“No one on point can know that the wingjets are invisible,” Nyx continued. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Aris and Milek said in tandem. Aris’s voice cracked a little. She cleared her throat.

Commander Nyx tapped a hand against her thigh. “I’ll work with you on recruitment. Flyers from other stationpoints, Ruslana . . . anywhere we can find skilled,
trustworthy
people. Everyone will need to go through additional security screening.”

Milek cocked his head. “Additional screening? That’s not the usual policy.”

Commander Nyx glanced toward Ward Vadim, who nodded.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air a moment longer, before Nyx said, “There was a spy at Spiro. One of our own people was responsible for the attack.”

“Excuse me?” Aris burst out, just as Milek took a step back.

“How can that be?” he said.

A new tension pulled at the corners of Nyx’s eyes. “We thought at first it was just comm hacks, lucky shots at our tech. But . . .”

Aris sucked in a tiny breath, her brain still foggy. “But what?”

Commander Nyx sighed as she rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. “The attack at Spiro began within. Less than a minute before Safaran forces arrived, a firebomb was detonated inside the building. It was planted.”

A bomb
within
Spiro? Aris couldn’t wrap her head around it.

“There’s a team sifting through the rubble, looking for more evidence,” Nyx said. “It may have been a suicide attack. Or the perpetrator could still be alive and stationed here with us at Mekia.”

Milek shook his head. “Most of the survivors were instrumental in rescuing Aris from Safara.
Our
team. They’re not, they can’t be . . .”

“Then let’s hope the traitor blew himself up,” Ward Vadim said shortly. Her hands clenched into fists at her side.

Aris swallowed.

“You must choose your team wisely, Lieutenant.” Nyx’s eyes narrowed. “Be very careful who you trust.”