The Tide of War, page 15
“Standing by.” Ogrufina fell in behind him, and they skimmed along the ground, so low Andrei would’ve been nervous if anyone else were his pilot.
“Pull up!” Lewis said.
Both fighters went up hard, heading straight into the bellies of a tight formation of three Menarians. Seven Tango fired, and as soon as Andrei had a clear shot, he did too.
Their radar beeped furiously as a barrage of missiles came at them from behind. One hit the ground just below them, another just missed their canopy.
Ogrufina swore in Russian. “Where’d those two come from?”
“We’re taking fire!” Andrei eyed the radar. “Seven Tango, watch your six! They’re coming in hot.”
“Roger,” Lewis replied.
Ogrufina banked sharply, and a missile blew past them.
Right into Lewis’s left engine.
“Shit!” Andrei cringed at the sight of the craft falling from the sky.
The fighter didn’t explode on impact, though. It grazed the ground, bounced a couple of times, and then skated along the surface, carving a shallow gash and spraying bright-orange sparks in its wake. A missile landed near it, and the explosion sent the fighter careening in another direction. It spun and then slammed into a berm.
“Shit,” Andrei muttered to himself.
Ogrufina pulled up and sped away from the crash site, leading the Menarians on her tail toward more of their own. “Fighter down,” she said into the radio. “Available crew, destroy the site.”
“Seven Foxtrot, approaching the crash site,” Blaine said.
“Roger,” Ogrufina replied.
The Menarians on their tail fired again, but then three of Squadron Seven’s fighters broke through the clouds and loosed a volley of missiles in their direction. Ogrufina dived again, and the missiles took out one, then two of the Menarians.
“We’ve got one more,” Andrei said, watching the glowing dots on the radar. “Seven Foxtrot, we need you on our six.”
No response.
Another missile. Ogrufina banked again and then dived so hard, Andrei nearly blacked out, but they hadn’t been hit.
“Nice flying,” he muttered.
“Just shoot the son of a bitch,” Ogrufina said. “Visual in three seconds.”
The craft leveled out, and sure enough, they were now behind the Menarian. Andrei aimed, locked, and fired.
When the craft exploded, he exhaled. “All right, let’s get out of here.” Into the radio, he said, “Seven Foxtrot, confirm the crash site has been destroyed.”
“Negative, Seven Alpha,” Kyle said. “We’re going in low. Stand by.”
“Going in low?” Andrei glanced at Ogrufina. Even through the visors on their helmets, he could see her puzzled expression. “What the . . .”
“Seven Foxtrot, what’s your status?” Ogrufina asked.
“Oh fuck,” Andrei muttered as the crash site came into view.
The crash site that was still intact. A black fighter circled above it at a low and decreasing airspeed.
“What are they doing?” Ogrufina muttered, then spoke into the radio. “Foxtrot, are your weapons systems malfunctioning?”
“Negative, Seven Alpha.” Kyle’s voice was taut, as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. “Our systems are fully—”
“Then drop the missile and get the hell out of there.”
No answer. Kyle’s craft circled lower.
“Foxtrot,” Ogrufina said. “Drop the—”
“There could be survivors.”
“And you have your orders,” Andrei said. “Get out of there.”
“He’s an idiot.” Ogrufina pushed the control stick forward, and Andrei’s stomach jumped as the dive dramatically increased the g-forces. “Be ready to fire. I’m going in before he gets himself and Blaine killed.”
“Da,” Andrei growled. Though the g-forces pressed hard against his chest, he breathed slowly and evenly, and aimed at the downed craft. They swooped in low, and as soon as he had the shot, Andrei fired. A second later, the bird exploded.
“Fuck!” Kyle said, probably unaware his radio was still on. “That son of a—”
“We have our orders,” Andrei said. “Get the fuck out of there and return to base, Foxtrot.”
“Copy that, Alpha. Returning to base.”
Andrei threw his helmet. It hit the metal deck, and he heard the visor splinter, but he didn’t give a fuck. “Lieutenant Commander West, what the fuck was that?”
Facing him, Kyle clenched his jaw. “A chance to save a crew that—”
“They were down, West. They were already gone.”
Kyle stood his ground. “They could’ve survived that crash.”
“And you had orders,” Andrei snarled.
“And I give a shit about this squadron, so—”
“You think I don’t?” Andrei stopped just inches from Kyle, resisting the urge to grab his flight suit and shake him. “I lost a good pilot and gunner out there, Lieutenant Commander. And don’t think for a second I don’t give a shit about them. But we have a standing order, and you understood that order. We cannot save downed fighters.”
“They were away from a city with no Menarians in sight,” Kyle threw back. “Tell me why the fuck you—”
“It’s not for you to question,” Schwarz interrupted and got right up in Kyle’s face, and by extension, Andrei’s. “You could’ve gotten us all killed when we went in to bail you—”
“Schwarz,” Andrei snapped. “Back off.”
“Commander, his stupid maneuver and—”
“I don’t need your input.” Andrei glared at him, narrowing his eyes. “Stand. Down.”
Schwarz hesitated, meeting Andrei with a steely, insubordinate gaze, but then he backed off.
Andrei turned to West again. “You had your orders out there.”
“I was trying to save—”
“I don’t give a fuck. Do something like that out there again,” Andrei said through his teeth, “and fucking see what happens.”
With that, he stormed off.
Kyle was ready to let a volley of insubordination and disrespect fly at Dezhnyov’s back, but Emily’s gentle hand on his arm stopped him.
“Don’t. Go run for a while or something. Blow off some steam.” She tilted her head toward the Russian. “We’re in the same squadron and he’s one of our leaders, so you guys had better figure out how to get along.”
Kyle glared at Dezhnyov again, but then nodded. “All right. I’ll see you later.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Just don’t break anything, okay?”
At that, he managed a laugh. “No promises.”
She glared at him. “Kyle . . .”
“Okay, okay.” He showed his palms. “I won’t break anything.”
“Damn right you won’t. Now go.”
“I’m going, I’m going.”
She smiled, and he returned it. As much as he wanted to finish having it out with Dezhnyov, he knew she was right. Better to let it go and learn to be on the team together. For a hothead like him, a calm voice of reason like hers was a lifesaver.
Kyle went back to their quarters, stripped out of his flight suit, and changed into his PT gear before he headed to the gym. Fortunately, the place was almost empty, with nearly every treadmill and weight bench vacant. Now he just had to decide if he wanted to run until he couldn’t walk or lift until he couldn’t move.
Don’t break anything, he heard Emily say in the back of his mind.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t break anything. Got it.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He had the strange feeling someone was watching him, and when he turned around, it shouldn’t have surprised him to see Dezhnyov in a gray T-shirt and black PT shorts.
Fuck. The last person on this station he wanted to be anywhere near right now. And damn it, the man saw him.
“Commander,” Kyle said with a curt nod.
Dezhnyov returned the nod. “We’re out of uniform. Call me Andrei.”
Kyle swallowed. He’d just been verbally reamed by this guy, damn near got himself demoted, added insult to injury by firing off his mouth, and now this? The first name informality had been weird enough the first time, but now? He didn’t know what to make of it.
Dezhnyov—Andrei—quirked an eyebrow. “I had a feeling you’d be here.”
“Yeah?” Kyle resisted the urge to fold his arms. “You come by to warm up for your workout by chewing me out again?”
Andrei’s expression didn’t change. “I suspect I’m here for the same reason you are.” He tilted his head a little. “Perhaps we can PT together.”
“After all that?” Kyle snorted. “No, thanks. I think I’d rather PT with Schwarz.”
Andrei laughed. “That fucking idiot? Good luck with him.”
Kyle raised his eyebrow. “You don’t like him?”
“I like him well enough to keep him on my squadron, even if he’s got a problem with Americans.”
“Oh really?”
Andrei nodded. “You’ll find a lot of the members of the Elite Squadron aren’t fond of Americans.”
Kyle wasn’t sure how to take that. “Do, um . . . Are you? Fond of Americans, I mean?”
Andrei shrugged. “I take each pilot and gunner on their own merits. If they’re good enough to be here, then . . .” Another shrug. “I don’t have to like them.”
“That sounds an awful lot like a no.”
Andrei shook his head. “Let’s just say I’ve disliked plenty of people on this squadron, no matter what colors they have on their collars. And I can’t deny that many of the Americans who come to Epsilon are arrogant. There are some who believe the rest of us are merely guests on an American base.”
Okay, so that did sound like a lot of the guys Kyle knew. He’d flown with men and women of every flag, and plenty of Americans thought they should lead every team and formation for no other reason than that they were American.
“Fair point,” Kyle said. “Well, I hope you don’t assume we’re all like that.”
An odd smile tugged at Andrei’s lips, adding a crinkle to the corners of his eyes and making Kyle’s head spin. Andrei clasped his hand firmly around Kyle’s arm. “I make very few assumptions about you.”
That . . . wasn’t the response Kyle had expected. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, only that Andrei had this weird way of saying exactly the right thing to throw him off. Verbal trip wires.
Kyle cleared his throat. “Well, um, for the record, I’m here to destroy the fuckers who are destroying my planet. Everything else is incidental.”
Andrei studied him for a moment. It was only when he released Kyle’s arm that Kyle realized he’d still been holding on.
“Everyone’s running hot up here, Kyle. None of us want to lose more people. There’s not a man on this station who doesn’t understand why you’d try to save them.”
“Yeah.” Kyle laughed bitterly. “Aside from Schwarz, right?”
“Schwarz will leave you alone. And if he doesn’t back off on his own, I’ll see to it that he does.”
Maybe it was Andrei’s Russian accent, or maybe his evidently dry sense of humor, but Kyle wasn’t entirely sure the man was joking right then.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Kyle couldn’t decide how he felt in Andrei’s presence. The man had done crazy things to him ever since he’d appeared on a recruiting poster in the subway a couple years back, and those crazy things weren’t negated by the shouting match that still seemed to echo through the corridors of Epsilon. He’d gone toe-to-toe with men before—commanders and lovers alike—but he wasn’t sure how to walk away from this one. Write Andrei off as an asshole squadron leader? Call it a one-time thing and forget it? Settle it because he actually gave a damn what Andrei thought of him?
And why wasn’t Andrei writing him off as nothing more than a pilot with a big mouth? Why did he give a fuck about—
Clearing his throat, Andrei gestured toward the ring at the end of the large room. “Do you box?”
“I have, but it’s been years.” Kyle paused. “I saw you and Captain Teterev, though. Impressive.”
Andrei’s eyebrow quirked. “I could teach you.”
“Me?” Kyle shivered at the memory of just watching Andrei’s powerful, half-naked body in that ring the first night. “No, that’s okay. I’ll pass.”
“Good way to let out some frustration.” His eyebrow flicked upward.
Kyle swallowed.
“It’s a good skill to learn anyway,” Andrei insisted. “And you’ll need an outlet here. This isn’t like being stationed on Earth.” He looked around, and Kyle couldn’t be sure, but he thought the Russian shuddered. “There’s no getting away from the base anymore. Not even when you want to escape from someone who’s pissed you off.” Eyes darting back toward Kyle, his expression unreadable, he added, “So sometimes it’s good to just face them and be done with it.”
And who needed to face whom in this case? Kyle glanced at the ring, chewing the inside of his cheek. Andrei had a point. There would be no running for miles and miles through the cities and countryside when the war got to him, or when he was pissed off at someone in his squadron, or when he and Griff had been fight—
He cleared his throat, pretending the mere thought of Griff didn’t physically hurt. “Hell. Why not?”
Andrei gestured for Kyle to follow, and led him to the ring.
He dug out a pair of gloves from a locker beside the ring. Another pair already hung off the back of a chair, probably left there by Andrei earlier in anticipation of sparring with someone. Kyle in particular? Maybe his wife was on her way down?
Don’t overthink it. Just see what happens.
Kyle put one of the gloves on but then realized the other wouldn’t go on quite so easily with his fingers tucked inside the padding.
“Here.” Andrei took the glove. “They’re not easy to maneuver on your own.”
“So I noticed.”
Andrei chuckled. Kyle would have too, except he was having a hard time doing anything except noticing how unnervingly close Andrei was standing. The Russian pushed the glove onto Kyle’s hand, and when his fingers brushed Kyle’s wrist, their eyes met.
Yeah, I meant to do that, his gaze shamelessly said.
What the fuck? This was the same man who’d been screaming in his face, what, half an hour ago?
Kyle swallowed. He’s psyching me out. Intimidating me before he takes me on.
Except the effect Andrei was having on Kyle was definitely not intimidation. It was distraction. Though, that probably had the same effect in the ring, putting him off-balance and off his game. More trip wires.
Andrei put on his own gloves, and then led Kyle into the ring, where they faced each other.
“Usually you’d use a mouth guard,” Andrei said. “But it’s hard to tell you what to do with a chunk of plastic in my mouth. So you don’t hit my face, I won’t hit yours.”
“Deal.”
Andrei’s eyebrow arched. “You do hit me in the mouth, you’ll be coughing up teeth.” He smacked one glove against the other. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Duly noted,” Kyle said. “So I’ve boxed a few times in my life, but you have way more experience. How do we do this? You beat the shit out of me until I’ve had enough?”
Andrei laughed, which made Kyle’s heart beat faster. “Well, it’s no fun if you don’t fight back.”
“I never said I wouldn’t fight back.”
“Good. Keep your chin down and your hands up.” Andrei inclined his head and raised his gloves. “Mouth shut and don’t look at your feet.”
“At my—” When he glanced down, Andrei jabbed at him.
“Don’t look at your feet.”
It had been years since Kyle had boxed, but Andrei started out easy on him. Before long, Kyle had his feet under him and remembered what to do with his hands. His form wasn’t perfect, and Andrei got in more hits than Kyle did, but he held his own. The more he and Andrei sparred, the more they picked up speed. Soon they were putting more strength into their attacks. The hits weren’t enough to do damage, but enough to hurt. Andrei was fast and relentless, and so was Kyle.
Jab. Block.
Attack. Defend. Attack.
Jab. Jab. Block.
All the fury from earlier bubbled to the surface, and Kyle could see the same thing happening in Andrei’s eyes. Remembering to look straight at the man wasn’t difficult. Concentrating on anything other than Andrei, however, was a challenge. This was the asshole who’d dressed him down in front of the squadron, who’d ripped him up one side and down the other for attempting to save two men’s lives. The asshole! All in the name of regulations? Orders? Obedience? Fuck you, Andrei. Fuck. You.
Jab. Jab. Block.
Attack. Attack. Attack.
Jab. Block. Jab.
And damn it, all righteous anger aside, Kyle still hadn’t learned to breathe while face-to-face with the man he’d idolized for the last few years. Andrei was even more enthralling in person than in the posters. Here, in the flesh. He was every bit as heart-stopping as he’d been in photos. The accent, the quietly snide sense of humor, the way he carried himself both in uniform and in sweat-soaked PT gear—it all combined to make a man who could throw Kyle off-balance with a look.
Block. Jab. Block.
Defend. Attack. Defend.
Block. Block. Jab.
Defend. Stumble. Defend.
Kyle took a shot to the ribs. Andrei took one to the gut. They were both out of breath, both sweating, but they didn’t quit. Kyle was in damned good shape—the Fleet demanded it—but his muscles were starting to ache. He wasn’t ready to stop, though. Not with all this pent-up fury demanding an outlet, and not with Andrei egging him on, meeting him punch for punch and block for block. Running could never be as violently cathartic as this.
The shouting match from earlier, the undeniable attraction Kyle kept close to his vest, the guilt he felt over looking at Andrei this way when the loss of Griff and Brendan still stung in his veins—it all blurred, disappeared, and then there was nothing left but this intriguingly primal concentration. Kyle and Andrei fixated on each other’s movements, each other’s faces, searching for weaknesses and ways around defenses.
