His other arm came around her waist, his strong hand finding her back and sliding down to her butt, gripping her, pulling her closer. She groaned and rocked into him, wanting his every contour pressed against her. The hard bulge against her stomach incensed her, and she rose on her tiptoes, almost climbing him in her eagerness to feel him against the hot moistness gathering at her core. She wanted to feel him in her core. He pushed into her, grinding against her, his breaths heavy and fast. He wanted it too.
They just needed to get him out of that suit. If he wasn’t flying, he didn’t need it. She reached for the fastener at his collar.
A clank came from the foot of the ramp.
Val jumped away from Gregor, feeling like a teenager caught vandalizing the toys at the park. Admiral Summers stood down there, his customary sneer even deeper than usual. The other man was with him, and he dropped his atlases as he stared up at them. The men looked like they had been passing by and nothing more, but Val wanted to crawl under one of the seats and hide from the admiral’s condescending gaze. If he had thought mercenaries were inept imbeciles before, this surely wouldn’t improve his opinion.
“It looks like you’re going to get that job you’re trying out for,” Summers told her, his tone as dry as a charred piece of hull blasted off during a laser fight.
Val groped for a clever response, but he walked out of sight before she could come up with anything. She should have forgotten cleverness and told the sanctimonious bastard to screw himself. If she’d had anything at hand, she might have thrown it at a wall, but that was hardly professional, so maybe it was just as well that everything in the shuttle was bolted down.
She wanted to look at Gregor, but she was ashamed that she had tackled him so in a place that wasn’t nearly as private as she had thought it would be. That damned admiral was more ambulatory than a sprinter at the Galactic Games. But it was her fault. She should have waited, come to him tonight, or… after she was hired, damn it, so it couldn’t possibly seem that she was using him to try to get the job. After the admiral’s words, how could he be thinking anything else? That urge to kiss him—to do more than kiss him—had been nothing more than a gut reaction, a surge of feelings that had overwhelmed her. She snorted to herself. More like a surge of lust.
She finally looked at him, wondering where they stood now.
Gregor didn’t seem to notice; he was staring at the deck, breathing heavily, trying to gather himself maybe. Another time, she would have been glad she could have that effect on him, but she was too busy wishing he would give her a hint of his thoughts.
He finally straightened, though he avoided her eyes—he looked out at the stone hangar wall beyond the ramp. “Cadet Calendula,” he said, his voice stiff, and she slumped. Yes, he was distancing himself from her, from what had happened. “We should return to—”
A voice on a speaker interrupted him. “Zimmerman to Command. Command, do you read?” The pilot sounded breathless, harried. The distant whine of laser fire punctuated her words.
Surprised the audio was coming in for anyone to hear, Val walked out on the ramp. Commander Anstrider jogged out of a tunnel not ten meters away. The admiral and the atlas-carrying man had already been there, waiting for her perhaps. She raised a finger to them and pulled out a comm unit. “I’m here. Go on, Theresa.”
The response didn’t come over the speaker, so Val couldn’t hear it, but Anstrider’s weathered face grew grimmer. “I understand. I’ll see what we can muster.” She lowered her hand and faced Summers. “Admiral, you originally trained as a pilot, didn’t you? Any chance you want to go up there?” Anstrider noticed Val standing on the ramp, and Gregor had come out by that point too. She held up a wait-there finger toward them.
“I’ll go,” Summers said. “Is it dark out there, now? This may actually be the time for your geologist to take his team out and slip away.” He pointed at the nervous man clutching the atlases. Val had a hard time imagining him leading anything, except perhaps a panel of science-trivia enthusiasts.
“You already have a working tectonic bomb?” Anstrider asked the geologist.
“Bomb?” Val whispered to Gregor, wondering if he knew more than she.
“It sounds like they’re hoping to cause an earthquake,” he said.
“We have a prototype,” the geologist said. “Engineer Marion Meister helped put it together, and I’ve located a likely fault. If we can get to it.” He glanced at Summers.
“If we can strike them hard in their homeland, they’ll think twice about harassing us for a while,” the admiral said, “but we’re running out of time. The team can refine it en route, as long as we can get them away safely. If their ship is attacked… Let’s just say that we don’t need that bomb going off over our own continent.”
The face of the already-pale geologist grew a few shades lighter.
“Whatever you think is best, Admiral,” Anstrider said. “In the meantime—” her gaze shifted toward Val and Gregor again, “—I hear you two like to fly.”
A muscle flexed in the admiral’s jaw, but he didn’t object this time. He actually seemed more subdued around Anstrider than he had been when he first walked out of the shuttle. Maybe she had laid into him and let him know this was her command. Val hoped so.
“We are prepared, ma’am,” Gregor said.
“There are three fighters left. We’d appreciate any assistance you could give us. Especially if a team needs to sneak away while you’re out there.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gregor didn’t have a large emotional range for his voice, at least not insofar as Val had noticed, but he sounded subtly delighted at this request.
She tried to muster a similar feeling. This was what she had wanted. Yeah, so why were some of those tectonic bombs going off in her gut right now?
Chapter 10
The winged fighter rattled as it made its way through the tunnel toward an exit on the side of the mountain. Not encouraging. If it rattled when it was cruising at 600 miles an hour… Ducking and weaving to avoid enemy fire, that might be understandable—if still alarming—but this? Val imagined herself shooting out of the side of the mountain and plummeting into ice and rocks a thousand feet below.
She kept herself from complaining on the comm, but only because there weren’t any lights flashing on the dash. And because Gregor was in the jet in front of her and Admiral Summers was coming behind her. She didn’t want to give the old man a reason to test his weapons on her. He had already damaged her enough with his wit.
The tunnel widened. They were getting close to the end, where it would spit them out onto the steep slope of the mountain. This was the only runway they had.
Gregor’s fighter picked up speed, its thrusters flaring orange in the dim tunnel, and he took off with a roar that made the walls tremble almost as much as the bombs that dropped from above. Those, at least, had subsided since the first squadron had gone out. Even so, Val expected to find the outside of their mountain more crater-laden than an asteroid.
Between one blink and the next, the flare of Gregor’s burning fuel disappeared. He had to be out of the tunnel. Since night had fallen, Val had a hard time seeing the exit, but the onboard sensors told her it was there and that the way was clear.
She took a deep breath and accelerated. The stone tunnel walls blurred past. The rattle intensified, making her wish she was wearing a corset under her flight suit—anything to keep her boobs from jiggling as if they were in a blender. Then she reached the exit, shooting out like a torpedo, and the ride smoothed out. Despite her fears, the old craft didn’t drop out of the sky. It sailed into the air, faithfully responding to the helm’s commands. A panorama of black sky and white stars spread out overhead, with the blues and greens of the Anyaro Nebula above the white peaks to the north. The mountains framed the sky on all sides, and Val might have paused to admire the view, but the HUD on the clear canopy bubble was already lighting up with warnings. Enemies in close proximity.
She located the friendly gr
een blip that represented Gregor’s craft and flew up to join him, settling in behind his starboard wing. The admiral hadn’t said a word to them, so she wouldn’t assume he would fly with them. They would have to be a squadron of two until they got close enough to link up with the rest of the defenders. Of course, neither she nor Gregor had experience flying with them, so it might be better to stay out of their way. With an intra-planetary defense force, there was no guarantee they used any of the same formations or squadron battle tactics espoused by the military.
“Commander Thatcher and Cadet Calendula, Charlie One and Two, reporting to Squad Leader Zimmerman,” Gregor spoke over the comm.
Val was happy to let him do the talking. She was concentrating on staying on his wing, watching the dozen-odd displays flickering across the canopy in front of her, and trying not to let the crimson and orange lasers streaking through the night sky above them worry her. Just because she and Gregor were flying toward those lasers…
Val grimaced, her hands already damp with sweat in her gloves. She hadn’t engaged with the enemy yet, and she was already as nervous as a first-year cadet. She was already starting to miss the days of quiet and boredom in the freighter lanes.
“Hope you’ll appreciate this one day, Yarrow,” she muttered, as if her brother could hear her from his jail cell across the system.
“Ready, Val?” Gregor asked. It was a private message, not one that went out to all of the fighters.
It probably pleased her more than it should that he used her first name. Maybe it meant he wasn’t upset with her over her… impulsiveness. And the fact that the admiral had witnessed her impulsiveness. “Yes, sir. Ready.”
“Good. Follow my lead. Looks like the admiral has gone to clear the way for his team to escape. Since he didn’t ask for our assistance, we’ll help the main squadron. We’ll fly a basic Terino Tandem. Pick off the strays. If a more appealing target presents itself, we’ll consider it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Val followed him above the mountain peaks. A big bombing barge came into view, along with another of those cloaked ships. It didn’t show up on her sensors, but its dark form was visible against the night sky. The Malbakians were already targeting the bomber, and Gregor veered to the side, aiming for four enemy planes escorting the bigger craft. Scarred and charred, the Orenkan fighters weren’t exactly pristine, but they were at least twenty years more recent than what Val’s side was flying.
Laser fire blasted from twin guns on the front of those fighters, raking across Zimmerman’s squadron, trying to drive the formation away from the barge. Some shots missed, and some were deflected by shields, but one of her pilots was hit. A thruster faltered, smoke spewing from the back of the craft as it lost velocity.
“Let’s take out those support fighters, so our people can focus on the bomber,” Gregor said.
“With you, sir.”
Val wouldn’t have minded focusing on a big, slow-moving target, but she stayed with Gregor, zipping up toward the stars until they were well above the escort, then banking to come back down behind them. With gravity and the thrusters hurling her craft toward the stark, white earth below, shudders wracked the fighter again. Val hung onto the stick as if she would be hurled from the cockpit if she let go. If Gregor hadn’t been leading the way, she would have cut speed, but she didn’t want to fall behind.
A dark blur against the white backdrop below, his craft barreled toward the rearmost fighter. Its pilot must have seen him coming, but the evasive maneuvers were weak—too slow against Gregor’s deft touch. How he made that old clunker of an airplane move so agilely Val couldn’t guess, but she trusted he would take that craft down, so she aimed for the one in front of it. Not certain of her aim with the craft trembling around her, she fired both guns at once, hoping she would luck into a debilitating blow. Once the enemy decided she and Gregor were a serious threat, they would send fighters after them, and she wouldn’t get any more free shots.
Her target dipped and rolled its wings, evading one of her lasers, but the orange beam that shot from her second gun scorched across the dark sky and struck the belly before the pilot finished his maneuver. The fighter blew up in a startling orange blast that lit the night for a long moment before the charred wreckage tumbled toward the mountainside.
Val gaped, shocked by the effectiveness of her shot. The fighter’s shields must have been depleted from previous encounters; she was surprised the pilot hadn’t disengaged and gone back to its base. She glanced back in Gregor’s direction—she could see the dot that was his craft on the HUD and knew where he was, but she was curious to see him, even if his helmet hid his face. Had he seen her shot? Might he give her an approving thumbs up through the clear canopy of his cockpit?
But he was busy blowing up his target while dodging two of the escorts that had flown over from the other side of the bomber. Actually, that was his second target. His first had already disappeared from her display, and she glimpsed smoke wafting up, gray against the pale snow below. The one he was firing upon also blew up in a surprisingly explosive ball of orange.
“Squad Leader Zimmerman,” Gregor said over the comm, “have the enemy fighters been treated with an incendiary product?” Ah, he thought those explosions were strange too.
“You could call it that.” Zimmerman must be exhausted, but a smirk came through in her tone. Well, well, the downtrodden and nearly defeated continent had a few secret weapons.
“An incendiary product,” someone snorted. “We call that Boom Tar.”
“Have all of the enemy craft been treated?” Gregor was dodging those two fighters that had come after him, but his voice remained utterly calm as he weaved through the air, keeping the Orenkans from targeting him.
“Some of them. We have a gunner near the base that’s hurling up the bombs—think water balloons that splatter on their hulls. The bomber’s too well shielded for it to matter, but we’re trying to wear those shields down.”
“Understood. I will assist with the bomber as soon as I’m able.” He clipped the wing of one of his attackers while dodging a coordinated blast of orange laser fire. It would be a moment before he was ready to attack anyone else.
None of the enemy had veered toward Val—they must have known Gregor was more of a threat—so she flew up toward the dogfight, searching for a way to damage more fighters without risking hitting Gregor.
The enemy was aware of her—she spotted a helmet turning in her direction when she zipped in close. That pilot turned away from Gregor, focusing on her. She fired before the pilot’s guns came to bear on her, but she was too eager to pull up, knowing his own lasers would be streaking toward her soon, and she only clipped his wing. Alas, it wasn’t coated with Boom Tar or anything else that would magnify her hit.
He fired toward her, but her twitchy finger took her to the side before the beams streaked out, and they burned harmlessly past below. A heartbeat later, the night erupted in a now-familiar orange. Without the help of the computerized display, she might not have realized what had happened, but Gregor had taken care of the craft when the pilot was focused on her. He flew past the fading explosive brightness and banked, already turning back to square off with the other fighter.
“That’s me, mosquito for my commander,” Val muttered, wishing she could do more but glad she had at least distracted the enemy so Gregor could take advantage.
“You’re doing well, Val,” came Gregor’s voice over the comm, just for her.
She blushed. She hadn’t meant to transmit her self-deprecating mutterings. Before she could thank him for his praise, a new voice sounded in her cockpit, a quiet and muffled one. She frowned in confusion. That wasn’t coming from the speaker.
“Do you read, Commander Thatcher?” the muted voice asked. “ETA three minutes. There’s a skirmish outside the door of your base. Should we avoid it or help? We have your spare parts.”
“Lieutenant Frog,” Gregor said, his voice muted now too. “Your demolitions experience would be u
seful on that bomber. Cadet Calendula and I are in the air with the base’s forces.”
“Happy to oblige, sir,” the first speaker purred. “Happy to oblige.”
Frog, that was one of the shuttle pilots from the Albatross. The puzzle pieces clicked together, and Val almost laughed. They were talking on her Mandrake Company comm system—she still had one of the patches stuffed into the pocket of her trousers. She was pleased to know they had backup for this fight and that Gregor had been right: either he—or the shuttle—was too valuable to lose, so the company wasn’t going to abandon them. She just hoped nobody tried to ask her a question, because her pocket wasn’t accessible under her flight suit.
“The cloaked thing, too, sir?” Frog asked. “That’s the Orenkans, right?”
“Yes. Feel free to blast that from the sky,” Gregor said, a hint of relish in his usually matter-of-fact voice. He must not have forgiven that craft for catching him off guard.
Bolstered by the appearance of the Mandrake Company shuttle, Val found her spot again at Gregor’s wing and helped him bring down eight more fighters. She could only claim one kill for herself, and that one had been assisted along by the incendiary concoction, but she fulfilled her mosquito destiny by distracting a few of the pilots targeting Gregor. She was fine with the role—even as a young cadet, she had never been a hot shot—though she hoped it would be enough to impress Gregor. She had applied for the job of combat pilot, after all. When she compared her flying to Frog’s, she couldn’t help but feel she was lacking. Shuttles weren’t known for maneuverability, but he had a reckless style that kept the enemy confused as he looped and dove, strafing the big ships and finishing with flair that tended to blow things up. After one such attack, the black ship that had vexed Gregor spewed an impressive explosion from its stern; then its nose dipped, leading it on a slow but inexorable dive into a cliff. The crash was so big that Val heard the screeching of metal on rock even through the cockpit canopy and the sides of her helmet.
Trial and Temptation (Mandrake Company) Page 14
