The Tide of War, page 23
Kyle found him first, though.
Andrei was in the otherwise deserted gym, and the sight of him was nothing short of heartbreaking. Still wearing his dress uniform, he sat motionless and silent in a metal chair. His shoulders were slumped, his elbows on his knees, and his hands clasped in front of his lips.
And he stared up at the empty boxing ring.
On the posters in the subway stations back on Earth, he and Ogrufina had been unbreakable. Unyielding strength personified, a pair of powerful fighters who would never give the Menarians even the smallest taste of victory. They embodied the kind of hope people needed to believe they could see this through to the end.
Now Ogrufina was gone.
And Andrei was broken.
He’d kept it together through the memorial. Jaw set, shoulders back, eyes dry. Now, though, he looked ready to collapse under his own weight. The very picture of the bone-deep grief Kyle wished he couldn’t so easily understand. The fact that that kind of pain could reach someone like Andrei was difficult to comprehend, and it added to the heaviness and hopelessness tugging at Kyle’s gut.
Slowly, he approached Andrei.
At first, Andrei didn’t move at all, didn’t shift his gaze away from the empty ring, and Kyle wondered if he was even aware of his presence.
But then Andrei turned his head. His eyes were wet now, and the sight of Kyle didn’t change anything in his expression. As Kyle closed the last bit of distance between them, Andrei faced the ring again.
Kyle would have sold his soul to be able to read Andrei’s mind right then. Did he want to be alone? Did he want words of comfort? Silence? Hell, did he even know where he was?
“I, um . . .” Kyle cleared his throat. “I just came to see how you were doing.”
Andrei didn’t respond.
“If you want to be alone, I can go,” Kyle said.
“No.” Andrei looked up at him, and for the first time, his expression changed, his eyebrows pulling together. “No. Please stay.”
Kyle brought a chair over. He sat beside Andrei, but for the life of him, had no idea what to say. Or what to do. He’d been there all too recently himself, and there were so many things he hadn’t wanted to hear.
The silence went on. Maybe Andrei was reliving the crash. Maybe he was remembering all the times he and Ogrufina had blown off steam in this very ring, boxing like pros until they were exhausted. Or remembering the many, many years he’d spent at her side, probably never imagining he’d ever have to be without her like this.
After a while, Andrei spoke.
“If I could live that day again,” he whispered, his accent thicker than usual, “I’d have stayed with her.”
Kyle’s heart dropped. “I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t leave you there.”
Again Andrei fell silent, and Kyle still didn’t know what to say.
A full minute passed. Another. Then Andrei spoke.
“You should have left me there.”
Kyle sat up, drawing away slightly. He couldn’t decide if he was imagining the hostile undercurrent in Andrei’s tone. “I . . .”
“You had your orders.”
Swallowing hard, Kyle shifted in the metal chair. “You said yourself if you ever saw an opportunity to rescue a crew, you’d—”
“You couldn’t save us both,” Andrei snapped, glaring at Kyle, his eyes flashing with sudden fury. “Did you think I wanted—”
“Hey, easy.” Kyle put up his hand. “I had no idea until I landed. I just . . . I wasn’t going to leave you behind.” He swallowed hard. “I wasn’t going to leave either of you behind.”
Andrei’s hostility vanished as quickly as it appeared, his shoulders slumping as he looked up at the ring again.
“I’m sorry, Andrei.” Kyle lowered his hand. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” What else could he say? He knew survivor’s guilt and the pain of losing someone that close to his heart all too well. There were simply no words.
“I always imagined we’d die together.” Andrei’s gaze was still fixed on the ring. “Sooner or later, we’d be shot down just like everyone eventually is.” He sniffed sharply. “And we’d both be dead. I wasn’t supposed . . . I wasn’t supposed to walk away while she stayed behind.”
“She would have wanted this,” Kyle said, and the words sounded so lame and useless. “I know losing her is hell, but . . . I’m glad you’re still here.”
Andrei looked up at the ring, and his eyes filled with tears as he whispered, “What is a gunner without his pilot?”
Kyle wrapped his arms around Andrei. Neither of them made a sound. The only indication that Andrei was finally letting go was the subtle trembling, the shaking that threatened to rattle Kyle’s foundation to pieces.
“I don’t know how to do this.” Andrei’s voice was as unsteady as it was quiet. “It’s been her and me since . . .” He drew back from Kyle’s embrace and sighed as he wiped his eyes.
Andrei’s palpable grief brought Kyle’s own sorrow bubbling to the surface, but he tamped it down. He couldn’t cave in now. Not when Andrei needed him.
“Andrei.” Kyle touched his face. “Listen to me. I know damn well how much it hurts. Believe me, I know.” He swallowed hard to push back the ache in his throat, and tenderly stroked Andrei’s cheek with his thumb. “I’m not going to tell you that you’ll wake up one morning and you’ll be who you were two days ago. But Ogrufina wasn’t a woman who’d love a weak man. We both know that. You were strong enough for her, and you and I both know—and she knew, Andrei—that you can go on.”
Leaning forward, Andrei bowed his head, wringing his hands between his knees. “Every man has his weaknesses. I just . . . I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on.”
“You will,” Kyle said softly, running his fingers through Andrei’s hair. “I know that’s impossible to believe right now, but you will.”
Andrei was quiet again, eyes closed, completely motionless except for his restless hands.
“They think I killed her.”
Kyle winced. “The crash did. And even if it hadn’t, Emily and I dropped that missile. You know that and so do they.”
Andrei pushed out a ragged breath and finally opened his eyes. “I need someone to know the truth. I can’t carry this alone.”
Kyle’s blood turned cold. “Tell me.”
Andrei turned, locking eyes with him, as if searching for any reason to distrust Kyle. He looked so lost now, even boyish. The battle-hardened warrior crushed back to a state of childlike innocence.
“I lied to the disciplinary board,” he whispered. “About Ogrufina.”
Ice slithered through Kyle’s veins. He took Andrei’s hand. “What about her?”
“She didn’t die in the crash,” Andrei whispered, lowering his gaze to the floor between his dress shoes. “She was . . . alive. But there was no way she’d make it. Even if I could have gotten her out, she . . .”
“Andrei.” Kyle gently rubbed the back of Andrei’s neck, his hand hissing against the starched collar. “You can’t blame yourself for this. You didn’t kill her.”
“No, I did.” Andrei faced him, and fresh tears had filled his eyes. “I did kill her.”
Kyle’s throat tightened. “What do you mean?”
“She was never going to make it out,” he said. “And she told me to run so when the craft was blown, I could survive, but she was trapped. Badly injured. There were Menarians coming up fast, and I . . .” Trailing off, Andrei covered his face with one hand. “I couldn’t leave her like that.”
Kyle’s heart dropped. “You couldn’t . . . What happened?”
Andrei flinched. His shoulders sank a little more, like he was just a little closer to collapsing in on himself.
“Andrei. Look at me.”
With what seemed like a lot of effort, Andrei raised his gaze.
Kyle touched his face, brushing a tear from his cheek with the pad of his thumb. “If that had been Emily and me, and I’d been pinned and injured while she had a chance to get out, I’d damn well hope she would do the same thing.”
Andrei’s eyebrows rose a little.
“None of us want to be captured,” Kyle said. “And I wouldn’t want Emily to be captured or killed trying to save me if she could get out safely on her own.” He took Andrei’s hand again and squeezed it. “Ogrufina put that bird down the way she did because she wanted you both to live. When she was hurt too bad to go on, that didn’t mean she wanted you to stay behind and die with her.” He brought Andrei’s hand up and kissed it softly. “The only reason I can think of that she wouldn’t have wanted you to kill her right then was because she wouldn’t have wanted you to live with the guilt.”
Andrei winced, pressing his lips together tightly.
“After that crash, her death was inevitable,” Kyle said. “What you did was an act of mercy when Ogrufina needed it most.”
This time, Andrei broke down completely. He shielded his face with one hand, his shoulders slumping, and the barely audible whisper of “printsessa” tore Kyle apart. He wrapped his arms around Andrei again and choked back tears of his own as he held on to the man he’d idolized, respected, befriended, and taken as a lover. He’d once thought Andrei was in a class all his own, a larger-than-life hero whom Kyle could only aspire to be. He still believed that, but here, in a couple of metal chairs beside an empty boxing ring, they were one and the same. Two men who’d lost more than they could comprehend, each trying to shoulder the same kind of hellish grief. They’d each fought too hard to keep from breaking, and as soon as one cracked, they both collapsed, holding on to each other because in that moment, what else was left?
Eventually, they pulled apart, trembling and struggling to compose themselves.
Andrei sat up straighter, wiping his eyes. “Christ. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Kyle wiped his own eyes, wondering when his hands had become as unsteady as Andrei’s. “You can’t always be a rock.”
“No, maybe not.” Andrei faced him, his expression contemplative in some way Kyle couldn’t quite read. He swept his tongue across his lips. “You knew the standing order when we went down. You knew damn well Bodner would have your ass if you . . .” He paused, and when he spoke again, it was in a shaky whisper. “Why did you save me?”
“I couldn’t leave you.” Kyle ran his fingers through Andrei’s short hair. “If there was a chance, I . . .” He swallowed hard. “We’ve both lost too many people already. I couldn’t lose you if there was something I could do to save you.”
“The orders . . . Your career . . .”
“I don’t care. I’ll take whatever consequences come. I’m just glad you’re still alive. I know you’re hurting right now, Andrei. I’ve been there, and I’m still hurting myself.”
Andrei released a breath. “Thank you. For saving me.”
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” Kyle held him tighter and kissed his forehead. “And if I could have saved Ogrufina, I would have.”
“I know,” Andrei whispered. “I know you would have.” He took a deep breath, his spine slowly straightening as he inhaled. He wiped his eyes again. Tugged at his stiff collar. Piece by piece, he seemed to put himself back together, though his eyes promised that would be a much longer process than he probably cared to imagine.
“I trust you, Kyle,” he said, slowly and softly. “More than anyone I have on this station, aside from Ogrufina.”
Kyle didn’t respond. Something about Andrei’s tone said he wasn’t finished.
“If there’s anyone still alive in this place who I can trust with this, it’s you.” He stood, moving as if it took every bit of strength he had left. “There’s something I think you should see.”
Andrei closed the door to his quarters behind them.
“What’s going on?” Kyle asked.
“There’s . . .” Andrei exhaled. He folded his arms across his chest, his medals crunching quietly. “You believe I’m sane, yes?”
Kyle blinked. “Of course. Why?”
Andrei lowered his gaze, and Kyle thought there was a little extra color in his cheeks. “I’ve . . . I’ve been questioning that the last few days.”
“Your sanity?” Kyle asked without a touch of humor. “Or whether I think you’re sane?”
“My sanity.”
Kyle put his hands on Andrei’s shoulders and then gently drew him in. “I don’t think any man can feel completely sane after the last few days.”
“Maybe not.” Andrei looked up at him. “But the thing is, I . . . saw things down there. On the surface. I told medical and the board that the blast and the surface air had disoriented me, and I was hallucinating, but the more I think about it . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t think I was hallucinating.”
Kyle swallowed. “How do you figure?”
“I was breathing surface air for, what, a couple of minutes? And the blast, it—” he gestured at his head “—fucked me up.”
“Right . . .”
Andrei swallowed hard and met Kyle’s eyes. “But I wasn’t as out of it as everyone thinks.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the things I saw,” Andrei said quietly. “They’re so clear. I remember them. The details, they’re . . . I didn’t fucking imagine it.”
Kyle shifted his weight. “Hallucinations can be pretty convincing, though. And between the Menarian atmosphere and the missile dropping so close to you, it—”
“I know, I know.” Andrei waved his hand dismissively. “I was thinking all that too. But what if I had proof that at least something I saw down there was real?”
Kyle’s heart skipped. “Do you?”
“Maybe? I can’t even make sense of . . . I’ve . . .” He held Kyle’s gaze, eyes full of the heartbreaking desperation of a man completely lost. “I think I do.”
“Show me,” Kyle said.
Andrei’s eyes flicked toward the door. Then he looked at Kyle. “Let me get it. Wait here.” Andrei threw another wary glance at the door before he went to his bed and knelt beside it. He reached under it and, a second later, produced a small metal box.
Kyle’s stomach somersaulted, and his heart pounded. He wanted Andrei to be sane, wanted him to be rational and not blinded by grief, but he knew all too well how easy it was for a man in emotional tatters to claw at anything that might mean his painful reality wasn’t real. He wanted to believe Andrei was too strong for that.
Andrei sat on the edge of the bed with the box in his lap, both hands on either side of it as if he expected someone to jerk it away from him. He stared down at the lid rather than looking at Kyle.
Kyle sat beside him, giving him a few inches of breathing room but staying close enough to remind Andrei he was still there.
Andrei traced a fingertip along the box’s edge. “After the crash, I kept dreaming about everything that I saw. The way the whole planet’s surface just seemed to change after the missile dropped. And I was pretty sure I was out of my fucking mind. I thought it was a hallucination. I mean, memories of a hallucination that—” He waved a hand and shook his head. “That what I was remembering wasn’t real. But then I checked the pockets of my flight suit.” He lifted the lid of the box and reached inside. “And I found this.” He held up a strip of torn, dirty white plastic. A wrapper of some kind.
Kyle took the plastic.
There was writing on it. “Is that . . .” He blinked. “Spanish?”
“Yes.”
“But you said . . .” He turned it one way, then the other. “I don’t understand.”
Andrei touched the wrapper in Kyle’s hand. “One of the things I remember was seeing that and picking it up. I thought I was losing it, so I pocketed it. Just in case.”
Kyle lifted his gaze to meet Andrei’s. “You found this . . . on Menar’s surface?”
Andrei nodded. “Yes.”
Staring at the wrapper again, Kyle swallowed. It seemed like such an ordinary little thing, something insignificant, but it was suddenly earth-shattering. It could change everything.
“Can you be absolutely sure you found it on the surface?” Kyle asked. “That it wasn’t just something you remembered picking up on Earth or—”
“I’ve never seen a wrapper like that,” Andrei said. “I found it after the crash, and I don’t think it’s fucking Menarian.”
Kyle shook his head, still staring at the strange strip of printed plastic. “No, it’s not.”
Blowing out a breath, Andrei sat straighter. “So what the hell does it mean?”
Neither of them spoke. The answer was obvious, and deep in his chest, Kyle could feel the truth burning and just itching to be spoken, but he couldn’t make that kind of claim yet. He needed more than this before he could breathe life into his theory.
“Let’s not jump to any conclusions yet,” he said.
“We need to get back to the planet’s surface,” Andrei said. “Look around.”
“Not yet, we—”
“No, sooner than later.” Andrei held Kyle’s gaze. “The longer we wait, the more bombs are going to fall.”
Kyle chewed his lip. “But how do we do this? You’re going to be grounded for a while, and the admiral will be watching my ass like a hawk.”
“We’ll think of something. We have to.” Andrei took the wrapper back and shut it inside the box again. “At least I’m not fucking crazy.”
“No, you’re not.” Kyle put an arm around Andrei’s shoulders. “But let’s talk to Emily. After we’ve both had some sleep, and after tomorrow’s review board. Because we’ll be hard-pressed to make a plan if we don’t know whether or not Emily and I can still fly.”
Andrei blew out a breath. “Da.”
“Tomorrow, then. We should . . . we should try to sleep for now.” Kyle didn’t imagine sleep would come easily for a long time.
Andrei nodded, though. “All right. Sleep is good. And . . . thank you. For not assuming I was crazy.”
Kyle grinned cautiously. “I already knew you were crazy, Andrei.”
Andrei held his gaze for a moment, almost as if he didn’t understand what Kyle had said, but then he laughed softly. “Takes one to know one, yes?”
Kyle chuckled and kissed Andrei’s forehead. “I guess it does.” He drew back and met Andrei’s eyes. “Will you be all right? For tonight, I mean?”
