Breaking Sky

by Cori McCarthy

  “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.

  BRAVO

  13

  LOST THE BUBBLE

  Which End Is Up?

  The syrup was a golden brown lake spreading across Chase’s plate. Her French toast was a raft to nowhere.

  “Hey, Ender, come back to the starship,” Pippin said from across the table.

  “I hate when you call me Ender.” She skewered her fork through the starchy stack. “And what does that even mean?”

  “It means I’m worried about you.”

  “Wasn’t Ender the boy the military used to beat all those bugs?”

  “It’s just a story,” Pippin said. “What I wouldn’t give to be battling swarms of crickets instead of the Ri Xiong Di.”

  Crickets? What was happening? Chase’s ears still hummed from the roar of collapsing buildings, her throat stung from the smoke, and yet it was French toast morning in the chow hall. “This doesn’t feel right.” She motioned to the crowd of cadets elbow-jostling over vats of syrup. “Everything seems normal.”

  Six hours ago, the flight back to the Star had been the tensest experience of Chase’s life. Her fists had stayed tight, her body hunched forward—all the while expecting red drones to drop in at her, missiles hot. Her still-depleted adrenaline levels left her feeling like her head was sliding off her neck.

  Chase skewered her stack with her fork. “Surely we’re at war after last night.”

  “The whole thing’ll be classified.” Starchy globs rolled around Pippin’s mouth with each word. She knew better than to try to talk to him now; he was serious about breakfast.

  “So many people died,” she murmured. It couldn’t be swept under the rug. And what about Streaker Team Phoenix? As soon as they landed at the Star, Kale and a handful of other officers had swept the Canadians into the cadet-restricted section of the base. Chase might not see Tristan again until they faced off at the government trials in two and a half months.

  Tristan. She couldn’t think of him as Arrow. Not after the way they had blown into each other through the explosions and flames.

  There had to be aftermath. Not the least of which might be that she’d broken direct orders in landing on JAFA’s runway, and she’d rammed that hangar door open. Would Kale call Tourn again? Would her father appear to discipline her? She could only imagine what Tourn would say if he found out that she used a multibillion-dollar jet as a battering ram…

  When she looked up, Pippin had paused mid-chew. Stunned. “Can we help you?” he asked.

  Sylph sat down beside Chase, nearly on top of her. The blonde’s tray banged into Chase’s, knocking her fork across the table. “The enemy of our enemy is our friend.”

  “Come again?” Pippin asked.

  Riot put his tray down beside Pippin and gave Chase a smile that she glanced away from.

  Sylph sighed. “It means—”

  “I know what it means, Sylph,” Pippin said. “Do you?”

  “We need to stick together.” Sylph took Chase’s shoulder, violating their long-standing “no touching unless assaulting” policy. “That third Streaker team is our enemy.”

  “For the trials,” Chase amended.

  “For everything. We have to win, and we’ll last longer if we gang up on them.” Sylph looked around the table like she was about to give an executive command. “We’re going to take Phoenix down. I don’t know what they’re playing at, but I’m. Not. Going. To. Lose. Especially not to Canadians.”

  Chase shifted under Sylph’s glare. Before last night she might have had a similar drive, but things had changed when she’d worked with Tristan and his RIO to get the wreckage off Dragon’s nose. “So your plan is what exactly?”

  “Step one is discussing our weaknesses. I’ll tell you what you do wrong, and then you share how you think I might improve.”

  “That sounds like it will go well,” Chase muttered.

  Pippin started choking on a muted laugh.

  Sylph wasn’t budging for humor. “We’re going to best them before the trials. Learn their weaknesses and exploit them.”

  Chase fetched her fork and reskewered her breakfast.
“Sylph, we probably won’t even see them again until January. No doubt they’re on the other end of North America by now.”

  “Lesson one.” Sylph turned Chase’s head by her chin, aiming her attention to a table overflowing with cadets. Tristan and his RIO were seated among them. Laughing. The image hit her all wrong. After last night, what in the world could they find funny?

  “You have no peripheral vision, Nyx. It’s how I’ve outmaneuvered you like ninety percent of the time.”

  Chase shrugged out of Sylph’s hold at the same time Tristan eyed her across the room. He got up immediately and began to cross the distance between them, RIO in tow.

  “Game on,” Sylph whispered in Chase’s ear. Chase swatted her away just as Streaker Team Phoenix stopped before them.

  Riot broke the silence. “Hi…guys. How are we liking our stay at the Star? Looks like you’ve already made some ground crew friends. A little tip? Flyboys don’t hang out with them.”

  Chase caught herself rolling her eyes on that point. After last night, she had trouble imagining how it could possibly matter who hung out with whom. They could all be at war by tomorrow. She was just about to tell Riot to shut up when Tristan maneuvered first.

  He stuck out a hand to Sylph much like he’d done to Chase when they first met, an easy smile on his face. “You must be Sylph. I’m Tristan Router. Lovely flyby last night.”

  Sylph ignored his hand, stood, and swept her long braid behind her shoulder. “I’m aware of who you are. Don’t daydream that I’ll celebrate it.” She faced the group. “Kale ordered us to report to the conference room next to his office for debriefing at oh eight hundred. All of us.” Her whole body seemed to go ice-hard as she shouldered past Tristan and his RIO. More so than she ever did around Chase.

  Sylph headed for the door, and Riot and Pippin stood to empty their trays.

  Riot banged his tray over the trashcan and chatted up Phoenix’s RIO. “I’m Riot. This is Pippin.”

  “Really, I’m Henry,” Pippin said. “You remember me. You stood on my face.”