Torn Sky (Rebel Wing Trilogy, Book 3) (Rebel Wing Series) (8 page)

The blast threw Aris to the ground next to Milek. And then screams rent the night.

“A bomb, just like at Spiro,” Milek shouted. “That means—”

They stared at each other, the same realization hitting them at once. Aris staggered to her feet and grabbed Commander Stone’s shoulder. “Evacuate your people right now. Get them out of here by ground, not in the air. As fast as you can.” Her gaze flew to the edges of the landing pad, which were lost in darkness. Beyond, at the center of the stationpoint, flames illuminated the night sky. “How many wingjets do you have?”

Stone shook his head, his eyes wide and staring. “Two med-jets and a transport, that’s all. We’re a mender stationpoint, we’re not equipped—”

“Get those jets in the air and prepared for combat,” Milek barked. He ran back to their wingjet, Aris following closely at his heels.

She flung herself into the cabin, hands flying over the nav panel to begin the start-up sequence. Beside her, Milek commed Commander Nyx. “A bomb inside Feln, like Spiro . . . attack imminent . . . backup . . .”

Aris didn’t pay attention to his report. She focused every ounce of energy on getting the wingjet in the sky, being up there to protect Feln. She pulled into a hover, just as a handful of soldiers ran onto the landing pad. She willed them to move faster.

The Safarans would be here any moment.

“Invisible or no?” she asked hurriedly.

“No,” Milek replied. “We’ll need to coordinate with the Feln flyers. Too much risk going invisible.”

Aris turned on the heat-seeking tech to help warn them of incoming Safaran fighters and shot toward the southwest, the direction from which enemy forces would likely arrive. No hot spots showed up yet. Milek scrambled to initiate comms with the other jets.

“Backup from Mekia is fifteen minutes away,” he said. “Commander Nyx is going to call up some wingjets from the nearest combat unit as well. But—”

“But they won’t arrive any sooner. So we need to hold the Safarans off. For fifteen minutes.” Aris tightened her hands around the controls.

“Feln Recon One coming in,” a voice said over comms, just as a flash of red lit the nav. It was the only warning Aris had—the darkness hid all visible signs of the black Safaran jets.

“There are seven, no, ten . . . I can’t count them all.” Aris flashed panicked eyes from the nav to the night sky.

Fifteen minutes. That’s all you need.

She dove and spun, flipping upside down beneath the incoming jets. Milek was ready, blasting a volley of fire before the enemy had time to change course. Two wingjets were hit. One fell out of the sky, its tail burning red. The other kept flying. The remaining wingjets sent out a round of fire but stayed in formation.

“They’re not coming after us,” Aris yelled. She flipped upright and twisted to follow them. “Why aren’t they engaging?”

“Recon One, at least twelve wingjets heading your way,” Milek reported. Then he tapped the button to mute his next words. “They’ve been ordered to bomb Feln. They won’t engage unless we make them.”

“Then let’s make them.” Aris zipped above the formation this time, and Milek shot another of the wingjets. It exploded on its way to the ground.

Three new blotches of heat appeared on the nav.

“Engage as many as you can,” Milek said to the flyers from Feln. “We need to draw them away from the stationpoint.”

“Will do, sir.”

Even Aris could hear the wobble in the man’s voice. These flyers were trained for transferring the most gravely injured patients to the larger mender clinics closer to Panthea, not for combat.

Aris dove toward the Safaran wingjets, trying to drive them out of alignment. Milek kept the guns firing. Eyes narrowed, Aris used her recon to pierce the night like an avenging angel. The Safarans
would
move.

And, sure enough, they did. Aris nearly hit one of the jets before it peeled away and out of the range of her guns. After that, it was chaos.

The Feln flyers joined the fight, their weaponry lighting the sky. Aris stayed above the fray as much as she could, warning the others before she dipped to draw more of the Safaran jets away. Just beyond the stationpoint, the enemy finally broke formation and returned fire.

Aris whooped as two jets followed her up toward the stars.

She dodged and spun and dove, drawing them with her into a deadly dance. The night air swished against the glass above her head, and all around them, guns flashed like fireferns.

“We’ve got two wingjets on our tail,” Milek reported to the others. “Keep drawing out the rest.”

Aris dipped, just in time to see a red-orange explosion fill the black.

“
Damn.
” Milek slammed the glass with the side of his fist. “That was one of ours.”

Aris’s stomach sank with sorrow. Two more Atalantans dead.

Their odds in this fight hadn’t been good, but now they were only three wingjets against at least seven, possibly even ten.

A flash skimmed along their flank. Aris spun and set Milek up for a shot. He took down one of the wingjets following them.

“Recon Two and Transport One, keep at them. Stay light and watch your backs.” Milek’s voice had the ringing calm of a commander, but the glow of the nav illuminated the tension in his hands.

“How long has it been?” she asked as two more Safaran wingjets chased them down. She wove through their fire like a darting fish, the panicked beeping of the nav guiding her, but she wouldn’t last much longer without support. There was an element of luck to avoidance; at some point she’d spin the wrong way, or they’d send more wingjets to overwhelm her.

“Five minutes,” Milek bit out, as he unleashed another volley.

Five minutes?

It had felt like fifty.

Just then, one of the red blips on the screen streaked out of range of the nav. Toward Feln.

“Did you see that?” Aris gasped. She dove again, twisted out of the line of an enemy missile. “One of the jets—it’s broken away. Heading for the stationpoint.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Milek’s helmet tilt into a nod. “Can you lose these guys?”

“Yes, sir.” Aris spiraled higher into the sky, saying a prayer for the Feln flyers. Once she disengaged, they’d be on their own, severely outnumbered and outmatched.

The dark embraced them, burning points of stars above and the raging, red-edged flashes of wingjet fire below.

“A little more distance, there you go . . .” Milek said.

Aris continued climbing, her body weighted back in the seat, hands damp on the controls. “What’s the plan?”

“On my mark . . .” Milek eyed the nav closely. The beeping of an incoming missile exploded around them. His hands flashed on the gunner controls.

“Go invisible! Now!” he shouted.

Aris flipped the switch. Just below them, the two missiles collided, making the wingjet shiver and shake. She eased out of her precipitous climb, leveling off and slowing.

None of the wingjets followed.

She laughed. “You made them think we’d been blown up.”

In the light of the nav, she could see his grin peeking around the edge of his helmet. “I knew we couldn’t go invisible with them watching. But a little well-timed explosion . . .”

Aris sped up, streaking toward Feln.

“If we shoot the wingjet, they’ll know we have advanced tech. There will be no other explanation.” Aris said, her voice low. At the edge of the nav, the Safaran wingjet came into view.

“Not if we destroy them,” Milek said, his voice tight.

Aris reached the wingjet seconds before it flew over Feln. Milek took the shot, and the enemy fell in a blazing sphere of light. It hit just beyond Feln’s landing pad, taking several trees down with it. Their black branches reached above the fire like skeletal hands.

Aris swept away, her stomach tight.

“So this is where the party is,” came Lieutenant Riatta’s cheerful voice over the comms.

Fifteen minutes.

Their reinforcements were here.

Fifty floors up, Galena looked out onto Panthea in awe. The city was a galaxy, lights glittering like millions of stars in the inky night. She ignored the reflection of her scarred face in the glass; it threatened to ruin the view.

The room behind her was opulent: delicate marble archways, thick carpet the color of fresh basilis leaves, pristine white chairs and sofas clustered around gold-filigreed tables. It was a room for news conferences and cocktail parties for Panthea’s elite.

Tonight it hosted a war meeting.

“They’re targeting our noncombat facilities,” Pyralis was saying. “Why?”

Galena turned away from the window. “Is it that surprising that Ward Balias is trying to take out your support points?”

Across from Pyralis sat Commander Freni, whose weathered face was shadowed by grizzled stubble, and Commander Quin, who pushed his glasses up his narrow nose. Lieutenant Latza stood off to one side.

At least Milek and Aris had saved Feln, or most of it. Several people died in the initial blast, but the toll was much smaller than it would have been if the Safaran air raid had succeeded.

Galena bit back a sigh. As always, even with good news, there was a thread of bad running through it.

Gods, I’m tired of the bad.

She was scheduled to travel to Ruslana in the morning, to meet with her own advisors and commanders, and she was already dreading it. Everyone wanted solutions, and all she came to them with was problems.

“I think the bigger concern, Wards, is how.” Commander Freni’s face twisted into angry lines. “As with Spiro, a bomb blew
within
Feln’s walls. Before the attack began.”

“Was it a spy?” Pyralis rolled a stylus between his fingers, a nervous habit. “I thought we’d concluded the man died by his own bomb in the Spiro attack.”

Commander Quin cleared his throat. “Truthfully, we don’t know. We thought the leak was isolated to Spiro, but now—”

“Now we’re back to square one.” Galena moved away from the wall of glass, pausing behind a high-backed velvet chair a few steps away. Her frustration spilled out. “And we’re facing an enemy who has no respect for human life or the rules of war. Ward Balias has entrapped his own people, abused his dominion’s children. He’s abducted a foreign leader, used spies to weaken our defenses, and is developing a weapon that will destroy us all. And how have we responded?” She pounded her fist on the back of the chair. “With weakness! We need
more
. We need to use his methods against him.”

Pyralis twisted to stare at her. “What do you mean?”

Galena clutched the chair with white-knuckled hands. A wellspring of righteous fury bubbled from deep within her, overshadowing everything else. “I mean ending trade with Castalia until Ward Rosum agrees to send troops to our aid. I mean bombing Safara’s power grid. I mean assassinating Balias.” She stared at Atalanta’s commanders, both of whom were turned toward Pyralis, gauging his reaction. “Safara is winning because Balias is ruthless. That’s what we need to be.”

“The Peace Accords—” Pyralis began.

“I don’t care. We don’t have the
luxury
of honor anymore.” Galena’s jaw snapped shut. Maybe she’d been spending too much time in Elom’s cell after all. But she was tired of being on the defensive. Tired of constantly being one step behind. “We’ve already killed some of the Balias doubles. Let’s kill the real man. We know where he is now.”

Pyralis’s shock unsettled her, but she hardened herself to it. This was war. One they
had
to win.

“Where is Alistar?” Galena asked, turning her gaze from Pyralis to Lieutenant Latza. “Has he made any progress?”

Latza’s expression remained impassive. “He’s reached the palace and requested an audience with Ward Balias. The meeting is set for tomorrow.”

“Good,” Galena stated. “Have him do it.”

Pyralis stood up abruptly. “That’s not your call. You may be an ally, but this war is Atalanta’s.”

For a long minute they stared each other down, as much adversaries as they were ever allies.

With a dangerous edge to her voice, she began, “If we take him out—”

“We’ll ensure retaliation. Against Alistar
and
Atalanta.” Pyralis made his way to her, ignoring everyone else in the room. He stopped on the other side of the chair. “We need to find the bomb
first.
Killing Balias won’t stop the invasion while they still hold all the cards. You know this.”

Galena’s wave of frustration and anger began to wane. He was right. This wasn’t her dominion. She’d made it Ruslana’s fight, yes, but Pyralis would choose how far to go.

“What if Alistar can’t get the location of the weapon?” she asked, her voice softer. “What reason does Balias have to trust ‘Elom’ now, after his fall out of favor? If Alistar kills him, at least we’ll have struck a major blow. Their military will be in disarray. Perhaps the Safarans opposed to the war will rise up. Our ‘Elom’ could take over the leadership and broker peace.”

Pyralis shook his head, but he no longer stared at her as if she were a stranger. “It’s a pleasing thought. But it’s a risk we can’t take until we have the bomb.”

She opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of the risk of not acting, but he held up a hand. “We have to give our operative the chance to get the intel.” Pyralis stepped closer, never breaking eye contact, as if willing her to understand.

Galena leaned against the back of the chair, suddenly tired. She felt the threads of the war slipping away from them. No matter what they did, Balias always seemed to stay out ahead.

Lieutenant Latza cleared his throat.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Pyralis didn’t turn around.

“Alistar isn’t going into his meeting with Ward Balias empty-handed.” The Lieutenant gave Galena an earnest look. “Alistar will share intel with Balias, enough to get back into his good graces. Ward Nekos authorized the plan.”

Galena flicked her gaze to Pyralis. “What intel?”

Pyralis headed back to the table. “He’s going to tell Balias we know about the bomb, that we questioned him about it.”

Her eyes widened. “Won’t that give Balias an even
bigger
advantage?”

Latza shook his head. “It’s sound intel that Balias can use other spies to back up. It’ll help Alistar gain his trust. And if Balias thinks the weapon is threatened, he’ll send more troops to defend it, or he’ll transfer it to a safer location. Between Alistar and our other channels, we’ll know when and where . . . and we’ll make our move.”

Looking around at the men gathered in the room, Galena tried to accept that this was all they could do. They’d put their trust in Alistar, in this plan. Perhaps more drastic measures wouldn’t be necessary.

Pyralis glanced at her over his shoulder before turning back to the commanders. “Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.” Pyralis waited for them to close the door before he got up and returned to Galena’s side. “What was that?”

She turned away from him, to look once more at the glittering city. She was trying to save all this, just like he was. “I apologize,” she said. “I should have shared my concerns with you privately first.”

She wished Pyralis would take her back to his house, where they could sit on the balcony, blanketed by the night, and try to slough away the jagged shards of this day.

“I’ve never heard you speak like that,” Pyralis continued. “What you suggested . . .”

Galena abandoned the view for the man beside her. She stepped up to him, cupping his face in her hands. “What I suggested may become a necessity. Can’t you see that? We may
have
to be ruthless. Brutal. In the end, it could be the only thing that saves us.”

She waited for him to answer, willed him to understand. She would do anything to protect this dominion. Even if it meant becoming a monster.