The Tide of War, page 5
Nabhi trembled against Andrei, gaze fixed on the smoldering fighter as she murmured what Andrei assumed was a prayer.
A moment later, the medics emerged from the fighter carrying the limp, bloody form of Murari Kamdar, Nabhi’s pilot and husband—and Andrei’s former lover.
A lump rose in Andrei’s throat. Nabhi cried out something in her native tongue and clung to Andrei as the medics carefully laid Murari on the stretcher.
Andrei’s breath caught. Murari was barely conscious, the insignia on his black flight suit stained red. Medics held blood-soaked bandages against his neck and chest, and Andrei caught the words “transfusion” and “vitals dropping” as they wheeled him toward the hangar door.
“No. No, please . . .” Nabhi dropped, her knees cracking hard against the deck. She cried out, and though the word wasn’t one Andrei understood, her anguish was palpable, shaking him straight to the core.
Ogrufina knelt beside her and gestured for Andrei to go to Murari. Andrei hesitated, not wanting to leave Nabhi behind, but his friend was in good hands with Ogrufina, so he hurried after the stretcher.
Running alongside the gurney, he gripped Murari’s bloody hand. “Stay with us, old friend. That’s an order.”
Murari’s eyes fluttered, and for a split second, he looked up at Andrei. Then he closed his eyes again, face contorting with pain, and he squeezed Andrei’s hand, grinding the bones against each other. The groan he released was weak and sickening.
Andrei held his breath, his heart pounding as if it could somehow beat for both of them if it just tried a little harder. Andrei willed Murari’s bloodied chest to keep rising and falling. As his friend’s grip started to go slack, he held tighter. “Murari, you’ll be fine.” He struggled to keep his teeth from chattering. “You’ll be all right. Just hang in there.”
When they reached medical, one of the medics gruffly ordered Andrei to wait outside.
He let go of Murari, and then the door banged shut, and he was alone, standing there with his blood-stained hand hovering in the air as his heart thundered and his stomach churned. Around him, two other stretchers rushed into medical. One patient was badly burned. The other didn’t have a mark on her, but she was ghostly white and barely conscious. More medics brought in others who were obviously in pain, but more or less mobile. Uninjured crew members joined Andrei in the waiting area, pacing nervously and gnawing thumbnails, eyes darting toward that metal door.
Andrei leaned against a wall and just prayed and prayed for Murari to pull through. If there was a friend on this station he couldn’t bear to lose . . .
They’d been lovers for only a little while. Ogrufina had known from the beginning that Andrei was bisexual, and just as Nabhi had done with Murari, she had always given him her blessing to have men on the side, though he hadn’t had many over the years. A few months after the beautiful Indian couple had arrived on Epsilon, Andrei and Murari had become intimate. They’d drifted apart over time, though, especially being on separate duty rotations—more often than not, one of them was flying while the other was sleeping—so they rarely had time for each other, and their interludes had stopped almost a year ago.
And now Murari was hanging by a thread.
Please, please, don’t die. Don’t you dare leave Nabhi alone.
He didn’t know how much time passed. Those with minor injuries slowly emerged from the back, bandaged and tired. A doctor came out and told the squadron leader—and everyone else waiting to hear—that while the burned gunner wasn’t out of the woods yet, he was stable for the moment.
Andrei stayed close to the squadron leader, craning his neck every time the woman got a report about one of her crew members.
Another doctor Andrei hadn’t seen before came out, and his heart slowly sank. The grim expression, the quiet voice—Andrei knew. Deep inside, he knew.
But he still nearly collapsed when he heard the words: “Lieutenant Commander Kamdar did not survive his injuries.”
Those gathered collectively gasped, and several murmured among themselves. The squadron leader thanked the doctor, and as he walked away, she put a hand to her mouth and released a ragged breath.
“Captain,” Andrei said softly.
She turned to him.
He steeled himself. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll tell his gunner.”
The captain held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you, Commander.”
Andrei headed back to the hangar, blood pounding in his ears. He and Ogrufina had been tasked more than once with breaking terrible news to people within their squadron. A family wiped out. A hometown destroyed.
But this? Andrei was certain this would kill him.
He owed it to Nabhi and Murari, though. And the squadron leader had enough to deal with after her squadron had taken such a beating out there. In her position, he’d have been grateful to anyone who stepped up and took something like this out of his hands.
He paused outside the hangar, took a deep breath, and set his shoulders back. Then he stepped inside.
Nabhi was sitting on the ramp of her fighter with Ogrufina’s arm around her shoulders. Other members of the squadron milled around, looking equal parts exhausted and anxious. In a heartbeat, all eyes were on Andrei, and as he slowly made his way across the hangar, he pretended not to feel the weight of every stare that followed him. The entire hangar was deathly silent except for Andrei’s boots on the deck.
Nabhi locked eyes with him. As Andrei came closer, she stood, hugging herself and shivering. “Is he . . .”
Andrei stopped. He swallowed hard and pulled in a breath.
There were no words. None. Not in any of the languages he knew.
“Andrei,” Nabhi pleaded. “Please. Tell me he’s . . .”
Andrei stepped a little closer and finally managed to whisper, “I’m sorry, Nabhi.”
His friend’s eyes widened. “No. Murari, he’s . . . he’s all right, isn’t he?”
Slowly, Andrei shook his head. “He . . . The medics tried. They—”
“Andrei, no.” Nabhi’s already wet eyes welled up further. “Please . . .”
“He’s gone.” Andrei’s own words hit him in the gut. “Murari’s . . . gone.”
For a moment, Nabhi just stared at him.
Then she buried her face in her hands. Crumpled to her knees.
And screamed.
It was the most pained sound Andrei had ever heard, and as he knelt beside Nabhi and embraced her, he knew it was a sound that would haunt his dreams until the day he died.
He stroked her hair and tried to keep himself together. “I am so sorry, my friend.”
“Murari,” Nabhi sobbed in his arms. “No. No, Murari . . .”
Andrei’s eyes stung, and he just held on.
The Fleet loved their married pilots and gunners—especially since fatalities usually claimed both, and there were no widow’s benefits paid if there was no widow—but this was the downside none of them ever wanted to acknowledge. Yes, spouses had a degree of intimacy that let them communicate like few other pairs, some of them on an almost telepathic level. Yes, a pilot wasn’t quite so reckless when a false move could kill not only himself but his wife. Yes, lovers would go to the ends of the universe to save each other.
But when a Menarian’s aim was true and a craft was damaged, that didn’t necessarily mean both pilot and gunner were killed. And when only one survived . . .
Andrei held Nabhi tighter, stroking her hair and wishing there was something he could say. A good friend was gone, leaving behind a devastated partner. Feeling Nabhi sob against him was beyond excruciating.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
And words had never sounded more useless.
Andrei saw Nabhi to the psych deck—standard procedure for someone who’d just lost a pilot or gunner—while Ogrufina attended a briefing about what happened on the mission.
Losses were part of the game up here, but Murari . . . he was just too close. Losing him was unbearable and watching Nabhi grieve tore him apart. Especially since he was fairly certain he’d have had to bring Nabhi up to the psych deck even if it hadn’t been standard. The woman was inconsolable. It was as if she’d been steel-strong all this time, even after their city was destroyed and their families killed, for Murari’s benefit, and now that Murari was gone, all that pent-up grief was crashing down on her. She sobbed until she was sick, vomited until she couldn’t breathe, and then cried out Murari’s name over and over until she retched again.
The only reason she was calm now was that the psych nurses had finally been able to restrain her enough to inject her with a heavy sedative. She’d fought them, she’d fought the drug, but finally, she’d gone limp.
Now she was out cold. Head lolling to one side, she snored softly. She might’ve even passed for peaceful if not for the restraints on her wrists and ankles.
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” one of the nurses told Andrei as he herded him out. “Someone will be with her around the clock.”
“And you’ll let me know when she’s awake?”
“Yes, of course. Go get some rest, Commander.”
Rest. Right.
Andrei returned to his stateroom, and Ogrufina was already there.
“How is Nabhi?” she asked.
“They had to sedate her.”
Ogrufina winced. “I can’t even imagine.”
“I don’t want to,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. For a long moment, they just held each other, neither moving nor saying a word. He tried to put himself in Nabhi’s boots, but he refused to let that thought settle in. He held Ogrufina tighter and breathed her in, reminding himself with every breath that she was still here and alive.
After a while, they loosened their embrace.
“What happened to him?” Andrei asked. “Did they say in the briefing?”
Ogrufina nodded. “The missile that hit them wasn’t enough to cripple their navigation systems, but it caused a small explosion inside the craft. On Murari’s side. The shrapnel is what injured him.”
Andrei swore in Russian and sank onto the edge of the bed, cradling his head.
She put a hand on his shoulder. “The craft was so badly damaged, I don’t even know how they didn’t crash or lose their O2 system.” She shivered. “It’s a miracle they even made it back to Epsilon.”
Andrei lifted his gaze and met her eyes. “Somehow I don’t think Nabhi would agree that it was a miracle.”
Sighing, Ogrufina sat beside him. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair just like he’d done for Nabhi in the hangar. “I’m so sorry, Dyusha.”
“This is going to happen again,” Andrei whispered. “Over and over and over. It’s . . .” He shook his head, exhaling hard. “Something’s got to change. All we’re doing is going out there and getting slaughtered.”
“I know, Dyusha.” She held him a little tighter. “We’re not gaining any ground, and . . .” She trailed off.
Andrei closed his eyes and sighed. “We need a new strat—”
“Squadron Seven to Hangar Three,” the voice on the loudspeaker cut in. “Squadron Seven, Hangar Three.”
Andrei stared up at the speaker. “They aren’t serious.”
Ogrufina sighed and stood. Holding out her hand, she said, “We’ll find out, won’t we?”
He took her hand and rose as well, his legs weak and his stomach twisting into knots. He and Ogrufina walked down to the hangar deck in silence.
The entire squadron was already there, wide-eyed and shell-shocked but present. Andrei gulped. They’d flown immediately after another squadron’s bad mission before, but every crew had their limits.
“Captain, Commander.” Admiral Bodner’s voice turned Andrei and Ogrufina around, and the admiral beckoned to both of them. They stepped out into the corridor. “I assume you and your crew will be suited up and ready to fly at 1500.”
Andrei blinked. “I . . . beg your pardon?”
Bodner’s eyes narrowed. “Was I unclear?”
“Admiral,” Ogrufina said. “With all due respect, we’ve got a crew member on psychiatric stand-down, and we’ve just today lost friends from—”
“This is combat, Captain.” Bodner glared at her. “It’s hell and it doesn’t wait for us to mourn our dead. Unless you can’t handle that?”
Her lips parted. “I—”
“Jesus Christ, Admiral,” Andrei snapped. “What difference does it make if we fly the mission now or in a few hours?”
“What difference does it make?” The admiral stepped right up in his face and thumped a finger in the center of Andrei’s chest. “Commander, every second we’re sitting around on Epsilon, the Menarians are recovering. They’re gathering intelligence, strategizing, building more ordnance and more birds. You can grieve after you’ve completed your mission.” He stepped back. “But your mission will be carried out. Understood?”
Andrei swallowed. “This is an extremely precise mission. I need to be able to focus enough—”
“Then I would suggest you focus,” the admiral growled. “You have your orders, Commander, and we have a mission out here. You want to avenge your friend’s death?” He gestured sharply at the fighters. “Get in your fucking bird and follow your orders.”
Ogrufina put a hand on Andrei’s back and spoke calmly. “Admiral, our squadron needs to regroup and—”
“I’m not asking your opinion, Captain! Fly your fucking birds, or I will court-martial your entire squadron for dereliction of duty.”
Ogrufina and Andrei glanced at each other.
“The station will be in position over your target at 1500,” Bodner growled. “Understood?”
They exchanged another glance, then both muttered, “Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Alarms. Red lights.
Emily and Kyle both dropped the tablets they’d been reading and sprinted out of their stateroom. Doors flew open on both sides of the corridor, and the other members of their squadron were hot on their heels.
When they reached the hangar, the maintainers were scrambling to get their tools and scaffolding out of the way as pilots and gunners jumped into their fighters.
“Come on, come on,” Kyle muttered at the maintainers as he pulled on his O2 mask. “Out of the way, boys.” He kicked on the engines, and the maintainers moved even faster. By the time Emily lit up the weapons systems, they were clear.
He released the brake and eased the throttle forward.
And nothing happened.
One by one, the other birds rolled out, took the sharp turn beyond the hangar door, their engines screaming and afterburners flaring to life just before they snapped forward to launch into the air.
But Kyle’s didn’t move. At all.
“What the fuck is happening?” Emily shouted.
“Nothing!” Kyle frantically searched for something—an alarm, a light, anything—to indicate what was going on. “Nothing’s happening. That’s the problem!”
“Shit . . .”
He clicked the radio over to the aircrew channel. “I need aircrew over here for an undetermined malfunction. Now!”
“On it, sir.”
He didn’t even need to use his call sign or identify his fighter. There was only one bird left on the ground, and it was his. Aircrew came running from all directions.
“Come on, come on, come on,” Kyle muttered, tapping his fingers on the control stick. They didn’t have time for this. They had to fly. Right now.
Panels opened. Closed. Others opened. Closed. Warning lights came on. Went off. Came on again.
“What the fuck?” someone said on the radio. One of the men popped up from beneath the left wing and gestured for two others to join him.
Kyle’s heart stopped. That wasn’t good. “What the fuck is going on down there?”
Someone held up a gloved hand in a just a minute gesture. Just a minute? He didn’t have a minute. He didn’t have thirty seconds. His guys were about to be taking fire out there, if they weren’t already.
Digging his teeth into his lower lip and squirming in the cockpit, he stared helplessly at the hangar door. Though there was a cacophony of sound around his craft—voices and mechanical alike—the silence of the rest of the hangar threatened to drive him insane. The noise around his craft echoed through the empty, cavernous building.
And still, the bird didn’t move.
“What the fuck?” he barked into the radio. “Give me an update, guys. I need to get off the ground.”
“Uhhh . . .”
Kyle closed his eyes. Fuck. “Come on. Status update.”
“Sorry, sir,” a voice crackled on the radio. “This thing isn’t getting off the ground.”
“What the hell do you mean it’s—”
“With all due respect, sir,” the crewman snapped. “This isn’t something you can override. This aircraft is grounded pending major repairs.”
“Major repairs?” Emily said. “That’s not possible.”
“Come down and take a look, ma’am.”
Emily and Kyle got out of the fighter and dropped onto the concrete floor. They joined the crewmen who’d gathered around the wing.
“It was flying just fine yesterday,” Kyle said. “What the hell is—”
“That’s fine and good, sir.” The man gestured at the open panel. “But with those wires melted together like that, you’re not getting off the ground, and even if you did, you’d crash and burn before you made it past the flight line.” He looked Kyle in the eye. “Whatever happened here, it must have happened while you were in the air yesterday. You two are lucky you managed to land safely at all.”
Kyle’s blood turned cold. He stepped closer and inspected the damage. Several wires had burned through their insulation and melted together. He didn’t know for certain which wire went to what, but it was bad. Very bad.
“How did everyone miss this?” Kyle shouted, jabbing his finger at the damage. “How did anyone not see this on the preflight?”
“I don’t know, sir,” the crewman said. “But if you’ll get out of the way, we’ll fix it as fast as we can.”
