The Tide of War, page 26
The contents of his stomach nearly made it upward and out this time.
Emily sat back, her face paling. “Do you really think they were so desperate to transfer us to the Elite Squadron they sabotaged our fighter and killed your family?”
“It’s possible,” Kyle whispered. “The Menarians have always had an advantage over the Fleet. Maybe they wanted to keep it that way. And why does it . . . Why are they even doing this? What’s the point?”
Emily rubbed a hand over her face. “I’m not sure I even want to know.”
Andrei closed his eyes and cursed in his mother tongue.
“This is too much,” Kyle breathed. “I can’t . . . I can’t fit this all in my goddamned mind.”
Emily folded her arms across her chest. “Maybe Andrei was right earlier. That we all need to just let this sink in before we do anything else.”
“But we don’t have much time,” Kyle said. “We could be sent out on another mission at any moment.”
Emily shuddered, some more color slipping from her face.
“Our squadron’s not on call tonight,” Kyle said. “Let’s just try to get some sleep—”
“Yeah, right,” Andrei said bitterly.
“I said try.” Kyle rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “But we need to think this through. Figure out our next move while we have clear minds. As clear as they can be, anyway.”
“Good idea.” Emily exhaled. “And we can’t say a word about this. To anyone.”
“Da.”
Kyle nodded. “Of course. Anyone finds out we’re even discussing this, we’re all fucked.”
“Assuming we aren’t already,” Emily muttered. She rose, her knees shaking a little. “Andrei, do you want to stay here tonight?”
He shook his head and slowly got up. “No. I can stay on my own. I need to just think for a while.”
Kyle stood too. “Are you sure?”
Andrei nodded, and God, but he looked so lost and shell-shocked. He swallowed. “I’ll be fine.” He started toward the door.
Emily and Kyle exchanged glances. Then she went back into the bedroom, and he followed Andrei.
“You can stay here,” he said as they both stopped beside the door. “You don’t have—”
“I need to go,” Andrei whispered. “I’ll be fine. I promise.” He touched his forehead to Kyle’s and stroked his hair. “I am so sorry, Kyle. I didn’t know, but it doesn’t change the fact—”
Kyle silenced him with a gentle kiss. “You didn’t know.”
Andrei drew back. “I do now. But . . . I’ll be all right.” He gestured toward the bedroom. “Stay with her. I need to be alone for a while. Just . . . to clear my mind a little.”
Kyle touched Andrei’s cheek. “You’re not going to—”
“I’ll be fine.” Andrei kissed Kyle’s palm. “I promise.”
“If you need me, you know where to find me. Don’t hesitate.”
Andrei nodded. “Thanks.”
They embraced once more before Andrei left.
When Kyle went back into the bedroom, Emily was already huddled beneath the covers. He slipped in beside her and draped an arm over her. God, she felt so tiny against him tonight.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She turned over and cuddled closer to him, seeming to collapse in on herself and shrink beside him. “I don’t think any of it’s sunk in yet. What about you?”
“About the same.” He kissed the top of her head. “We’ll find a way through this. I don’t know how, but you, me, and Andrei . . . we’ll make it through this.”
Emily didn’t speak. She just held on to him.
Kyle woke up alone.
He was surprised he’d nodded off at all and figured he’d only been asleep a little while when he’d been jolted out of a restless half-nightmare.
It was late. Early? Just after 0230. Any other night, he’d have thought Emily had taken off with her lover down on the maintenance decks, but she’d been beside him when he’d gone to sleep.
Something didn’t feel right.
He slipped out of bed. He was already wearing a pair of gray sweats, so he pulled on a T-shirt and left the quarters.
At least two shifts of maintenance workers and defensive pilots were awake at all times, but with the offensive squadrons and their crews asleep, the station was as good as deserted. The corridors were empty. No one was in the mess decks except for a small cluster of bleary-eyed maintainers clinging to coffee cups.
If Emily had wanted to be alone, there were a handful of places on this station, including one he’d used himself a time or two. He headed down to the hangar deck to see if she was there.
A few of the maintenance workers and on-duty pilots milled around the hangar. They acknowledged Kyle with half-assed nods, but he didn’t get on their cases for military bearing or lack thereof. He looked up at the catwalks. About halfway down one of them, midway across the hangar, someone’s silhouette darkened the metal grate. Relief and concern mingled in his gut.
He took the ladder up. Straight ahead, Emily sat against the railing. Her knees were bent close to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and she turned something over and over in her hands.
“Hey,” Kyle said, approaching slowly. “What are you doing up here?”
She didn’t look up. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He sat across from her, leaning against the other side of the railing and stretching his legs out beside her.
Metal rattled quietly as she continued fidgeting with whatever was in her hands. Her eyes were wet and her face was red, and he’d never seen her carrying that much pain so visibly.
Her hands stopped flipping but still shook, the object between them threatening to slide free.
Kyle sat up and leaned forward to take her hands. He held his other hand beneath hers, and gently tugged at her fingers. Her grasp finally relaxed, and a medal slipped from her hand into his.
His throat tightened as he stared at the medal now lying across his palm.
Both the ribbon and the intricate medallion were warm from her fiddling with them. Across the bar at the top of the green-and-black ribbon were two gold stars and a silver one. If they awarded it to her again this year—and they would—that last silver would turn gold. No one before her had ever received a second gold, never mind a third. Kyle didn’t even know what award came after that.
The medal and its decorations left no room for doubt: Emily was the single greatest gunner in the Fleet. More confirmed kills than anyone, past or present, living or dead, since this war began.
And with the truth the three of them had discovered, Kyle couldn’t begin to imagine how that “honor” tore her apart now.
Kyle got up and moved so he sat right beside her. He put his arm around her, gently pulling her toward him, and his heart broke a little more as she sank against him.
“None of us knew,” he whispered. “None of us had any idea.”
“I killed people, Kyle.” Her voice was thick with tears. “People. Civilians.” She tugged the medal free from his hands and held it up, staring at it. “God, how many children did I kill?”
“It wasn’t just you,” he said. “We were all in this.”
“But I’ve killed more than anyone. They gave . . . they gave me a damned award for it.” She dropped the medal onto the catwalk with a subdued clang. “No one in this entire war has killed as many people as I have, Kyle. No one.” She looked up at him, eyes wide, her forehead creased in the same expression Andrei had worn beside the boxing ring all too recently: the proud warrior reduced to a lost child. “How am I supposed to live with that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his own voice cracking. “I’m still figuring that out myself.”
She sank deeper against him.
He hugged her gently. “We’re both exhausted. Tomorrow, we’ll put our heads together with Andrei and—”
“And do what?” Her voice was both sharp and unsteady, like she was caught between grief and fury. “We can’t leave Epsilon. We can’t just . . . just stop. What can we do?”
Kyle closed his eyes and held her tighter. “I don’t know.”
She sighed. “I am exhausted, though. I guess for now we should go back and try to get some sleep.”
“Think you can sleep?”
“No.”
“Neither can I.” He kissed her temple. “Believe me, I’ve tried. I just don’t know what else to do right now, and I’m too exhausted to think.”
“Me too,” she whispered. “You’re probably right.” She rubbed her face. “At least the bed’s more comfortable than this.”
“It is. You ready to go back?”
Emily nodded. “Yeah.”
He stood and extended his hand. She took it and got up. With his arm around her waist, letting her lean heavily against him, he led her down the catwalk toward the ladder, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous hangar below.
They were nearly back to the ladder when Emily stopped abruptly. “Wait.”
“What?”
“I—” She shifted her weight and glanced back the way they’d come. “I shouldn’t leave that medal up here.”
Kyle took his arm off her waist. She took two tentative steps from him, almost like she thought the metal grate might collapse beneath her. After a moment, though, she continued. Then, halfway between Kyle and the medal they’d left behind, she stopped. Glanced to the right side of the catwalk. The left. Back to the right.
“Emily?” Kyle asked. “You all right?”
She turned around, facing him. “I can’t do this.”
“You can’t—” His heart stopped when he realized how much finality was in those four words. “Emily—”
“I’m sorry, Kyle.” She took another backward step. “I know you and Andrei can put a stop to everything that’s happening. Everything we’ve done. But I—”
“Em, please.” He cautiously stepped toward her.
Emily shook her head. “I’ve killed thousands of people. I’m not . . . I’m not strong enough to live with that.”
“Yes, you are.” He took another small step. “You’re stronger than you think, Em, and no one thinks for a second you’d have fired if you’d known—”
“Does that bring anyone back?” She wiped her eyes, and Kyle’s stomach lurched as her gaze shifted to the deck far below them. Then she looked at him again, and his throat tightened as she whispered, “I’m just not strong enough to carry that weight.”
“Please, you’re—”
“I’m sorry, Kyle.”
“Emily, no!” He lunged for her, but she moved faster than he could.
She grabbed the railing.
Swung her legs over it.
And was gone.
The sickening sound brought Kyle to his knees. He didn’t look. He couldn’t look.
He squeezed his eyes shut and clapped a hand over his mouth. He didn’t breathe as shouts and footsteps erupted below him.
“Holy shit!”
“Call medical!”
“Oh my God . . .”
As quickly as it had started, the panic seemed to ease. People moved quickly but not so frantically. Shouts became more hushed. Someone vomited.
“All available medical personnel to Hangar Four immediately,” a male voice shouted over the loudspeaker. “Medical personnel to Hangar Four.”
Kyle kept his eyes shut tight and both hands over his mouth, but that wasn’t enough to keep the tears from slipping free. The activity and voices down below didn’t cease, and no matter how hard he tried, he didn’t wake up. The dream didn’t end.
Boots clanged on the ladder. The catwalk vibrated beneath his knees.
“Sir?” a male voice said. “Sir, you all right?”
Kyle looked up. He blinked the tears away enough to see who it was.
The military police officer’s hand was on his belt near his sidearm, but he didn’t seem threatening. “Sir?”
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Kyle said, barely able to form the words.
The man nodded. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Oh God.” Kyle let his face fall into his hands. “Oh my God. Emily . . .”
“I know this isn’t easy,” the MP said. “But I need you to come down with me. Can you get down on your own?”
Kyle’s first instinct was to nod, but he hesitated. Could he? “I don’t even know.”
The MP took a step toward him and held out his hand.
Pride was long gone, and Kyle clasped his hand around the MP’s forearm. Holding the railing with his other, he got to his feet. The world lurched and spun. One wrong move or ill-timed breath and he’d be sick, but at this point, he didn’t really care.
“Can you make it?” the MP asked, still holding on to Kyle’s arm. “Down the ladder?”
Kyle nodded. “I think so.”
“All right. Then I need to take you down to security so we can talk.”
“Talk?” Kyle drew back a little. “Do you think I pushed her or something?”
“I don’t know what happened, Lieutenant,” the MP said. “But I need you to come down so we can sort this out.”
“Sort . . .” Kyle paused. “Is she . . .”
The MP raised his eyebrows.
Kyle swallowed hard, forcing back the nausea burning in the back of his throat. “I don’t want to see her. Like that.”
The MP leaned over the railing. Then he faced Kyle again and nodded. “You won’t, sir.” At the bottom of the ladder, the MP took Kyle’s arm again.
They didn’t cuff him. They didn’t read him his rights.
Still, Kyle could feel every pair of eyes on him. The firm grip on his arm wasn’t a friendly one, either.
The MP pulled his arm a little harder. “Come with me, Lieutenant.”
“I told you.” Kyle’s voice was hoarse, his throat sore, and mouth parched. “I tried to stop her.”
The security Master Chief’s expression didn’t change. He was already irritated after being dragged out of bed by his MPs to interrogate a pilot, and what little patience he had was waning. Staring at Kyle from across the cramped, brightly lit room in sick bay, he said, “And you said she was distraught before she jumped.”
He nodded. “Yeah. But I didn’t think . . .” He leaned down, putting his head between his knees and rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t think she was . . .”
“I see.” The Master Chief released a sharp, impatient breath and pushed himself to his feet. “If you remember anything else, let me know.”
Kyle nodded but didn’t speak.
The door shut behind the Master Chief, and the latch clicked loudly into place. It wasn’t a holding cell, but he still felt confined. Time and again, they’d told him he wasn’t under arrest, but given what had happened, they were concerned he was a danger to himself. The interrogations had been interspersed with lengthy psychological evaluations, and everyone who came through here peppered him with questions about whether or not he too wanted to die. Half seemed convinced he’d pushed her; the other half seemed to believe he’d wanted to go down with her.
He couldn’t make sense of any of it. It all seemed like a terrible nightmare, something his mind had conjured out of the hellish images and truths he’d had to comprehend over the last twenty-four hours. Or however long it had been. He’d lost track of time since he’d been here, since he’d been numbly reeling from what had happened—what he thought had happened—and trying to answer questions that barely made any sense.
Every time the door opened, he expected Emily to walk in, concern written all over her face. Maybe some good-natured ball-busting to make him smile. In spite of what he’d seen and heard and all the things people kept asking him, he couldn’t make himself believe she was gone. He couldn’t handle this reality, the truth about Menar and this fucking war, without her. He needed her, and she needed him, and they needed to see this through to the end, whatever end may come now that things were so fucked up and confusing and didn’t make a goddamned bit of sense anymore. Everything that had been real was a lie, and everything that was real didn’t make sense, and he . . . he just didn’t fucking know what to believe. Think. Feel.
Someone tapped on the door. Kyle cringed. No more questions. No more fucking questions. Not until he could sort out nightmare from reality.
The door opened. He looked up.
His stomach flipped.
He’d seen Emily fall, and he’d heard her land. He’d been interrogated for hours.
But when he saw Andrei’s face, saw the palpable shock in the man’s blue eyes, suddenly it was all real.
Andrei didn’t just see the dam break in Kyle. He felt it. He remembered exactly what it was like, that moment when his wife wasn’t ever coming back, and as Kyle collapsed into his arms, Andrei fought back his own emotions.
“I tried,” Kyle whispered, choking back sobs. “I tried to—”
“I believe you,” Andrei said, holding him closer and stroking his hair. “I know you’d never hurt her.”
Kyle seemed to break down a little more, trembling in Andrei’s arms. Kyle and Emily’s marriage had been different from his and Ogrufina’s, but Andrei didn’t believe for a second that the absence of physical passion reflected their love for each other. The love they’d shared was undeniable. Like Ogrufina had been for Andrei, Emily had been a pillar of strength and a voice of reason for Kyle. She’d been his companion, his trusted teammate in the air and his best friend on the ground.
And losing her so close on the heels of losing his partner and son . . . Andrei couldn’t even imagine the pain.
And she’s dead because of a lie.
Emily and Ogrufina are both dead because of that lie. And Kyle’s family too.
And Murari. And Nabhi.
Andrei banished the thoughts for the sake of his sanity. One thing at a time. One devastating, heartbreaking thing at a time.
After a while, Kyle sat up and wiped his eyes.
Andrei kept an arm around his shoulders. “I’d ask if you were all right, but—” he exhaled, reaching up to caress Kyle’s cheek “—I know better.”
