The Tide of War, page 2
Admiral Bodner had taken command of Epsilon and the Elite Squadron eight months ago, and Andrei didn’t like the asshole one bit. Ogrufina had some choice words for the man’s methods too, but neither of them spoke of it outside their quarters. Though, if things kept going the way they had been since Bodner came on board, Andrei was liable to lose his shit. Assuming, of course, that Ogrufina didn’t beat him to the punch. She’d likely be a little more . . . direct than he would.
At the admiral’s door, Andrei entered his access code into the keypad. The light stayed red, which meant the admiral hadn’t yet bothered to acknowledge the entry request. It was a little game the son of a bitch loved playing to keep his men at his beck and call. As if they all needed additional reminders that they were under his command.
After nearly thirty seconds, the light turned green, and the lock clicked.
Andrei pushed the door open and went in ahead of Ogrufina. She had no patience for chivalrous bullshit and would have done the same had she been the one to open the door. She closed it behind them, and they both snapped to attention in front of the broad, polished metal desk. Andrei thumbed his wedding ring, the only tic he could get away with that didn’t draw attention to the nerves that always accompanied him into the admiral’s office.
Behind the desk, Admiral Bodner sat ramrod straight in his oversized chair. He acknowledged each of them with a subtle nod—first Ogrufina, then Andrei. “Captain Teterev. Commander Dezhnyov.”
“Sir,” they both said sharply.
The admiral gestured for them to come toward his desk. They did, and he folded his hands in his lap but didn’t offer either of them one of the two empty chairs, so they remained standing. “Thank you for coming. I’ll be brief.”
Yeah, right.
The admiral put a hand on an electronic tablet on the desk and slid it toward them.
In a motion that was both sharp and graceful, Ogrufina picked up the tablet and took a step back from the desk. The room was silent for a moment except for the quiet sound of Ogrufina’s fingers tapping the tablet as she entered her access code. Once the screen lit up, casting a whitish glow onto her black uniform, she silently perused the orders. Then she handed the tablet to Andrei.
He read it over quickly, just skimming for now. A targeted bombing raid. Nothing entirely out of the ordinary. Not something they had the manpower or machinery to be doing quite as often as they were, but not out of the ordinary. Andrei set the tablet back on the desk and looked at the admiral, awaiting further instructions.
Bodner touched the screen and pulled up a few grainy satellite photos of the planet’s surface. Andrei and Ogrufina both leaned forward to get a better look.
“This structure”—Bodner tapped one building near the center of the photo—“is where we believe the Menarian intel headquarters is located. We take that out, and we deal a severe blow to their ability to monitor our orbiting stations and anticipate our attacks.”
A fairly basic structure, if larger than most of the ones Andrei had taken down.
“The coordinates are on your orders.” He handed Ogrufina a small chip, which they’d use to upload all the information to her tablet. “It’s a heavily protected area with some extremely dangerous fighters in the vicinity, but you’ll have two squadrons as escorts. They should be able to hold off the defense long enough for you to destroy the structure.”
Ogrufina and Andrei exchanged glances.
She slid the memory chip into her pocket and then held out her hand. “Let me see the orders again.”
Bodner tightened his jaw—he’d never been thrilled with Ogrufina’s direct manner of speaking—but gave the tablet back to her. While Andrei and Bodner watched in silence, Ogrufina reread the orders, lips tight and brow furrowed.
After a full minute, Bodner drummed his fingers on the desk. “Is there an issue, Captain?”
Ogrufina closed the folder and cleared her throat. She straightened her posture a little, setting her shoulders back. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”
The admiral offered a slight nod as he folded his hands on the desk. “Granted, Captain.” There was a warning in his voice, a subtle suggestion that she speak freely, but not too freely.
Ogrufina swallowed. “Are we certain a targeted attack on a core Menarian structure is wise at this point, sir?”
“What else would you suggest, Captain?” A note of terseness hinted at the man’s waning patience, and his chair squeaked quietly as he leaned back, eyeing both of them from beneath lowered eyebrows. “Why in the world would we delay the delivery of a crippling blow to such a critical target?”
In an equally terse voice, Ogrufina said, “With all due respect, sir, Squadron Four is down to three fighters. Our own squadron has lost—”
“I am aware of the status of the squadrons under my command, Captain,” the admiral snapped. “Make your point.”
“A target such as that will be heavily defended,” Ogrufina said. “Can Epsilon afford the inevitable casualties of such an attack?”
“Or adequately defend against a retaliation?” Andrei added.
The admiral’s gaze slid from Ogrufina to Andrei and back. “You have your orders.”
Ogrufina and Andrei glanced at each other again.
“Captain. Commander.” The admiral’s graying eyebrows slid farther downward, darkening his narrow eyes. “What do you want me to do? The Menarians cannot be allowed to recover from the damage we’ve already inflicted. The Fleet is addressing the personnel and mechanical shortages, and we can’t force pilots and gunners into the Elite Squadron. There are very few who qualify anyway. And we’re manufacturing aircraft and ordnance as fast as we can.”
“Is there perhaps another strategy for disabling the intel center, sir?” Andrei asked.
“I assume you have a better idea?” The admiral’s tone made it abundantly clear he had no genuine interest in Andrei’s input.
Still, Andrei said, “What about a ground attack?”
“That would be suicide, Commander,” the admiral snapped. “You know that.”
“I do, sir.” Andrei swallowed. “But if we’re in a position where an attack on this target must happen before we’ve had time to build the squadrons back up, then I’m not sure what alternative we have.”
The admiral lifted an eyebrow. “Are you volunteering?”
Andrei cleared his throat. “I . . .”
“No, Admiral,” Ogrufina broke in. “Not for a suicide mission. But perhaps a ground mission isn’t a suicide—”
“Enough,” the admiral growled. “Every option has been duly considered by the strategists. This”—he tapped the tablet emphatically—“is the decision we’ve come to. Now . . .” He folded his hands beneath his chin and raised his eyebrows again. “You’re the best crew I have. Top gunner, top pilot, best of the best. Can I count on the two of you to carry out this order and keep the casualties to a minimum?”
“Yes, sir,” they both said without hesitation.
“Brief your crews and get some sleep.” He sat back again. “You fly at 1500 hours. Dismissed.”
They saluted sharply and then turned on their heels and left his office.
They walked side by side through the corridors from the admin wing toward the briefing room. Ogrufina paused to summon their squadron via the loudspeaker, but as they continued down the corridor, neither said a word. All the way through the station, past the entrance to Hangar Three and the training decks, they were silent.
That memory chip in Ogrufina’s pocket made the skin on Andrei’s neck prickle. Missions like this were getting more and more common. Strategic targets that needed to be taken out, even when manpower and machinery were dangerously low, because time was of the essence.
They needed more pilots. More gunners. More ammunition. More birds. With the amount of resistance they faced, two or three more squadrons wouldn’t hurt.
A sick feeling twisted in Andrei’s gut. While he and Ogrufina were proud to be the best of the best, it was also a burden neither one cared to carry all the time. It was up to them to take out this target. It was up to them to do it quickly, cleanly, and get out before the Menarians shot them—or the rest of the formation—down. Ogrufina’s flying had to be flawless. Andrei couldn’t miss a single shot. And with a structure that size, it would take two or three blows to bring it all the way down. Once it fell, they'd have to come around again and drop two bigger missiles to make sure any subterranean bunkers were obliterated, as well.
If he missed, if she didn’t get him close enough, if either of them miscalculated anything, it would drag out the mission. A second pass to try again. A third if they really fucked up. Then still the return pass to finish off the bunkers. All of that opened windows for Menarian fighters to swoop in and pick off the rest of the squadron.
A hand on his arm startled him.
Ogrufina peered up at him. Then she gestured at the door beside them, and he realized he’d nearly walked right past the briefing room.
“Sorry. I was . . . preoccupied.”
They entered the room, and most of their squadron was waiting. Ogrufina loaded the memory chip into the projector at the front, and Andrei leaned against the podium, waiting for the stragglers to arrive. Though Ogrufina outranked him, he was usually the one to deliver briefings to the squadron. As much as it irritated both of them, some of the men still chafed at listening to a woman, even if that woman could outfly them with a blindfold on.
One of the pilots, Lieutenant Commander Lewis, got up from his chair and approached Andrei. “Commander, can . . .” His eyes darted toward the others, and then he lowered his voice. “Can I talk to you outside?”
“I need to brief the squadron. Can it—”
“I know. But . . .” The pilot chewed his lip and shifted his weight. Andrei eyed him—Lewis was one of the most levelheaded pilots on Epsilon. Being so visibly agitated was alarmingly out of character for him.
Andrei looked at Ogrufina and spoke to her in Russian. “Grushka, would you give the briefing? I need to speak to him.”
She glanced up from the projector, and her eyebrows rose when she saw Lewis. “I can handle this one.” She nodded toward the door. “Go ahead.”
Andrei and Lewis stepped out into the corridor.
“What’s going on?”
“Listen, uh . . .” Lewis’s eyes darted toward the door again, and he kept fidgeting. “I think something’s wrong with me. With my head.”
Andrei folded his arms loosely across his chest. “What do you mean?”
The lieutenant commander ran a hand through his hair. “I, um.” He paused and cleared his throat, staring at the deck between them. “On the last mission, I . . . I started seeing shit.”
“Seeing what?”
“I don’t know. That’s the thing.” Lewis exhaled hard. “It was like everything I saw through the windscreen changed. My console, my controls—those stayed the same. But the view . . .” His eyes lost focus. “It was all wrong. It . . .” He shook his head. “One second I was seeing Menar, and the next I was seeing Earth, and then it was back to Menar.”
“And your gunner, did she—”
“She was looking at her console anyway, but—” He waved a hand. “She thinks I’m losing my mind, too.”
Andrei nodded slowly. “I do think it would be wise to have a psych eval, and—”
“Fuck.” Lewis lifted his gaze and swept his tongue across his lips. “So I am going crazy?”
“No, no.” Andrei put a hand on the pilot’s shoulder. “But this war and this space station, they do things to people’s heads. A psych eval is standard, but I think some time off would do you good, too. You might just need to relax.”
Lewis released a long breath. “You think that’ll do it?”
“You’re not the first who’s mentioned this to me.” Andrei smiled. “It’s not just you.”
“Well, that’s . . . reassuring. But the squadron’s already short-manned. If I—”
“If this place is getting to you, then you’re more of a liability out there than anything.” Andrei squeezed the man’s shoulder and then let go. “As of now, you’re grounded until the psych deck clears you to fly.”
Most pilots bristled when they were grounded, even when it was for their own good and for that of the squadron, but Lewis relaxed.
“I’ll report to the psych deck first thing in the morning.”
“Good. I’ll have the maintainers check your fighter, too. A pilot in Squadron Nine had an O2 system malfunction last year that led to him and his gunner hallucinating, so I’ll have it checked just to be sure.”
“All right. Thank you, Commander.”
“We can’t afford to lose another crew.” Ogrufina slipped her hand around Andrei’s elbow on the way back to their quarters.
“I know. But if he’s seeing things, he’s got no business flying.”
She nodded. “Da. I’m just worried about the rest of the squadron.”
“Me too.”
She punched in the code beside the door, and the latch released. As she walked in ahead of him, she said, “Lock the door.”
Andrei had long ago gotten used to her habit of barking orders, but he wasn’t in the mood for it now. He also wasn’t in the mood to argue, so he locked the door.
She sat on the edge of their bed and unceremoniously dropped the memory chip beside her. She stared at it, and as Andrei watched, her battle-hardened exterior cracked, fell away. Chewing her thumbnail, Ogrufina transformed into the girl Andrei imagined she’d been before the war had hammered her into the cold, steel fighter pilot she was now. Her eyes were wide, her shoulders hunched, and she suddenly looked too small for her jacket and medals—a child playing dress-up with her mother’s uniform.
“You all right, printsessa?”
She nodded. “Da. Just thinking about the mission.”
“Me too.”
She shoved the top button of her collar through its keeper and released a breath. Then she sat back, propping her hands behind her, and looked up at him. “This mission is foolish. They’re going to wipe out the entire squadron if this continues.”
Andrei grunted in agreement as he tugged open the top button of his own uniform. At least now he could breathe. “Truthfully, I’d be less concerned if I thought we were accomplishing something. Right now, it seems like we’re dropping structures and taking out targets, but we’re not gaining any ground.”
Ogrufina sighed, thumbing the edge of the duvet. “I wonder if our orders would be different if Bodner had to go with us.” She snorted derisively. “If he ever had to leave Epsilon and get close to Menar’s surface, things—”
“He’d shit himself before he made it through the atmosphere.” Andrei turned around, concentrating on unbuttoning his dress jacket, which seemed to take more effort than usual. “He’s not fit to command a squadron of fighters.”
“Ugh. Listen to us.” Ogrufina exhaled sharply. “We sound like the fucking Americans.”
His eyes flicked toward her reflection as he continued undressing. “How so?”
“They don’t respect their leaders. Question every order they’re given. Want explanations.” Rolling her eyes, she added, “Especially from anyone giving orders who isn’t also American.”
Andrei sighed. “Perhaps there’s more to that than insubordination.”
“We’re not here to make strategic decisions. We’re here to follow orders.” Her voice lacked its usual sharpness, and her shoulders dropped as she stared at the memory chip lying beside her. “It’s not . . . it’s not for us to question. We’re the fighters. It’s what we do.”
“It is. But if they’re sending us out to get killed—”
“Then we die.” Her voice had hardened even more. She stood and met his eyes in the mirror. “We’re soldiers.”
“I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to die for this, I’d at least like to bring some of those reptile bastards down with me.”
“As would I.” Ogrufina put her arms around his waist and rested the side of her head between his shoulders.
Andrei sighed, lacing their fingers together on top of his partially unbuttoned jacket. “I just wish we were getting somewhere down there.”
“I know, Dyusha.” She rubbed his thumb with the pad of her own. “But even if we’re not getting anywhere yet, I’m not ready to lie down and give up. Not with the things they’ve done to our home.”
Andrei shivered. He’d seen enough smoldering wreckages, burned corpses, and mass graves to last him till the end of his days.
“I’m not ready, either. We’ll keep fighting to the end.” He gently freed himself from her embrace, faced her, and pulled her against him again. Looking into her dark eyes, he caressed her face. “We came here to win or to die trying.”
“And we will.”
Andrei smiled, smoothing his wife’s short black hair. He admired her for countless reasons, but it was that unbreakable resilience that filled him with the most awe. She bent—everyone had to bend in this war—but she never broke. Ever. If Ogrufina did crack one day, if she snapped and crumbled, it would be after the Menarians had destroyed any reason she had to keep fighting. And as long as there was a scrap of ground on Earth that wasn’t soaked in human blood or occupied by Menarians, she would keep fighting.
And as long as she kept fighting, so would he.
He cupped her face and kissed her forehead. “We fly tomorrow. We should rest.”
“Agreed.” She stood up, kissed him lightly, then stepped back and began unbuttoning her own jacket.
They stripped off their dress uniforms and changed into more comfortable sweatpants, and Ogrufina put on a loose T-shirt. They climbed into bed, Andrei on his back and Ogrufina on her side next to him.
She was undoubtedly running through every nuance of their mission in her head, mentally flying between the gleaming metal buildings and memorizing approach and escape routes. By all rights, Andrei should have been going through the same thing himself, calculating his shots from every possible vantage point. Where to hit the structure to take it down with the least amount of ordnance. Which missiles to use for which points of the structure. Which one could take out the underground bunkers.
