The Tide of War, page 7
Ogrufina rolled her eyes. “I’m starting to think I didn’t beat you hard enough in the ring.” She tapped the side of his head. “Or maybe too hard.”
“Very funny.” He picked up his gloves. “I’m serious, though. They’re just sending us out to get killed, and we’re . . .” He focused intently on tying the gloves’ laces together. “There has to be another strategy. What we’re doing now, just flying raids the same way the Menarians do on Earth . . . It’s foolish.”
“I know, and so does Bodner, I think.” She ran her fingertips along the back of his neck. “But he’s desperate for a victory. Just like we all are.”
“Yes, but these orders he keeps giving us?” Andrei looked up at her. “They’re not going to lead us to any kind of victory. It’s madness.”
She nodded.
He took her hand and rested it against the side of his neck, clasping their fingers together. “He won’t listen to reason. He’s going to waste our ordnance and probably get every last fucking one of us killed.”
“What do you suggest we do?” She arched one slim, dark eyebrow. “Mutiny?”
“I . . .” Shaking his head, he sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I get the idea of giving the Menarians a taste of their own medicine, doing to their cities what they’re doing to ours.” He rubbed the back of his neck with the wet towel. “But if we don’t have enough of that medicine to dispense, then what’s the point? Giving the entire planet a few thousand gnat bites just doesn’t seem . . .”
“A single bullet wound would be more effective.”
Andrei nodded. “Yes, exactly.” Shaking his head, he sighed. “The Menarians are getting better by the day. You saw Squadrons Five and Eight.” He shuddered, recalling all too well the desperation in Nabhi’s voice when she’d called for a medic. “We could lose an entire squadron in a single fucking night. And then what?” He waved his hand and swore. “Then it’s months before any replacements can get here, and with the way new pilots and gunners have been trickling in the last two years, don’t tell me they can produce a squadron of this caliber overnight.”
“Of course they can’t.” She let go of his hand and slung her gloves over her shoulder. “Which means we should try not to let the lizards wipe us out, eh?”
“Try, yes.” He laughed dryly and stood, muscles still shaking a bit from their match. He put his gloves over his shoulder as she’d done and slipped his arm around her waist. “Let’s get some water and get out of here.”
She looked up at him. “Perhaps we should meet with the admiral.”
He eyed her. “Do you think that will help?”
“It’s worth a try if it means a chance at keeping the squadron from being wiped out.” She swallowed. “If it keeps any more of our friends from dying like Murari.”
Andrei winced at the sound of his friend’s name.
“Bodner is not a complete fool,” Ogrufina said softly. “It’s worth a try.”
“Agreed. Let’s go.”
Andrei’s muscles ached furiously beneath his stiff, scratchy dress uniform. He watched the red light above the keypad, waiting for it to turn green. Finally, the light changed and the latch clicked. Ogrufina pulled open the door, and Andrei followed her into the admiral’s office.
The look Bodner gave them from behind his massive polished desk suggested he was this close to rolling his eyes, but apparently the Americans had some military bearing in their upper ranks.
“Captain. Commander.” He gave them a curt nod. “At ease.”
Andrei relaxed enough to stand comfortably. “Sir, we’d—” His gaze darted toward Ogrufina, who nodded. “We’d like to discuss the squadron’s current offensive strategy.”
“Oh?” The admiral sat back, folding his hands in his lap and narrowing his eyes, silently challenging both of them. “Go on.”
Andrei swallowed. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Bodner waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Speak, Dezhnyov.”
Ogrufina shifted slightly beside him, her sleeve just brushing his. It was the closest thing they could have to a reassuring touch when they were in here.
He cleared his throat. “In light of the conditions of Squadrons Five and Eight after their recent mission, as well as Squadron Four, which is still recovering from losing so many of their own fighters, Captain Teterev and I are concerned that our strategy is . . . flawed.”
Bodner’s eyebrows climbed. His blood pressure probably did too. His lips thinned into a straight line, and he folded his hands tighter. “Oh, are you, Commander?”
“Yes, sir.” Andrei subtly pushed his shoulders back. He cleared his throat again, resisting the urge to tug at his tight collar. “We’re concerned that our small-target raids are doing nothing more than pissing on the proverbial hornet’s nest. Even on Earth, the Menarians only make so much progress that way. If anything, they’ve merely terrorized us without actually crippling our defenses or gaining ground. They keep coming back with more and more reinforcements, killing our people and destroying structures, but the planet is still ours.”
Bodner watched him silently for a moment. “Go on.”
“The Menarians may be able to keep up that kind of constant assault without gaining ground, but we don’t have the resources to sustain this.”
Bodner put a hand on the desk and emphatically drummed his fingers. “Well, your input is certainly noted, but what do you suggest we do? Sit back and let them continue to reinforce the military that’s terrorizing our home planet?”
“No, sir.” Ogrufina’s posture straightened. “But Commander Dezhnyov and I both believe focused, small-target attacks are neither effective nor sustainable enough. We take out an intel center; another pops up elsewhere. We bring down a few buildings; they’re rebuilt.” She paused. “Sir.”
“I see. Well, while I appreciate your candor,” Bodner said with no small amount of sarcasm, “unless you have a better strategy in mind . . .” His raised eyebrows finished the challenge.
Andrei glanced at Ogrufina. She gave another slight nod, and he faced the admiral again. “Maybe what we need to do is create one gaping bullet hole instead of a few hundred irritating gnat bites.”
Bodner tilted his head. “I’m not following.”
“One city,” Andrei said. “Send us in to bomb anything and everything. Destroy the whole city. Raze it to the ground. Nothing left standing. It’s only one city out of hundreds, but it’ll be a blow to their morale. As soon as we have the ammunition, we take out another. Do it to enough cities, even over several months, and the damage to their supply lines, defenses, and offenses will suffer.” He shrugged. “It’s the only thing I can think of short of hunting down their squadrons before they leave for Earth, but I think we can all agree that was a pointless waste of fuel the last few times.”
The admiral’s eyes lost focus, and his lips quirked.
Andrei went on, “Obviously the attacks I’m suggesting would be more effective with nuclear—”
“Nuclear weapons are not an option right now,” Bodner snapped. “You know that, and there’s nothing any of us can do about that at this time.”
“Of course, sir,” Andrei said. “But using what conventional ordnance we have, we need to make sure we’re dealing the Menarians some actual damage.”
Ogrufina nodded. “We need the lizards to know we mean business and that they’ve tangled with the wrong planet.”
“And letting them continue to massacre us because we’re not carrying out effective attacks doesn’t convey that message,” Andrei said.
Bodner rested his folded hands on the edge of the desk. “The question is, is Earth prepared to cope with the aftermath if the Menarians retaliate in kind? We’ve seen them mimic our attacks before.”
“If they’re willing and capable of such an attack,” Ogrufina said quietly, “then they’ll carry it out sooner or later anyway. We need to go on the offensive. There will be casualties on all fronts, but we haven’t gained any ground since we started fighting. Perhaps we can make progress that hasn’t been made in the last decade.”
“I see.” Bodner’s silence lasted for the better part of two minutes. Impatience simmered beneath Andrei’s skin, but he kept his posture and expression as neutral as possible while Bodner thumbed the armrest of his chair and stared at the desk with unfocused eyes, twin creases deepening between his eyebrows.
Finally, the admiral took in a deep breath and looked up at them. “We’ll try your plan. If it doesn’t work, we continue with our current strategy.”
“Understood, sir,” Andrei said.
“I would, however, suggest we pull back for now.” Ogrufina put up her hand before the admiral could protest. “Just until the next wave of reinforcements arrives. Then we’ll have the ammunition and the manpower to carry this out effectively.”
“Indeed,” Bodner said. “After the recent missions, I’m pulling all squadrons back temporarily to repair and resupply.”
Andrei slowly released a breath. The missions came in waves—intense schedules of run after run after run followed by long periods of abject boredom—and the entire squadron was worn thin, ready for the inevitable downturn. Within a week, the monotony and cabin fever would be driving them all out of their minds, but at least they’d have a chance to catch their breath, fix their birds, and fucking rest.
“Understood, sir,” he said.
Bodner waved a hand and went on. “There are two ships en route now that are due to land soon, and they’re bringing supplies and personnel. After the new pilots and gunners are settled, you’ll await your orders and be prepared to carry out the mission.”
“Yes, sir,” they both said.
Relief and renewed apprehension washed through Andrei. The admiral’s idiotic strategy was shelved for now, but this new plan carried with it the added pressure of Andrei’s own endorsement. If it failed, and people died, then they would die as a direct result of his plan. It had to work.
The admiral dismissed them.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Ogrufina said in Russian, “That went better than I anticipated.”
In the same language, Andrei snarled, “I still think he’s a fucking moron.”
“Of course he is. But at least he sees reason once in a while.”
Andrei snorted. “I think he’s just afraid we’re right and he’ll look like an ass.”
“Either way, he’s given us new orders.”
“He did.” Andrei exhaled. “Now let’s just hope things don’t get worse.”
“They will, Dyusha.” She slipped her hand around his elbow. “They always do.”
Kyle wanted to be anywhere but on base, to be as far away as possible from that crippled bird that had kept him grounded when he’d desperately needed to fly. But where could he go?
His home was gone. His family was gone. Any reason he had to venture off this base was just . . . gone.
He sat alone in the officers’ mess, elbows resting on either side of a cold cup of coffee and hands clasped in front of his lips.
A news reporter spoke on the television behind him. “The damage to London’s densely populated south end is unimaginable, with casualties estimated to be in the tens of thousands, though it may be weeks before the total is known.”
Kyle winced. Exhaling hard, he rubbed both hands over his face.
The reporter went on. “In light of the recent waves of devastating attacks and citing the need for a united front against the Menarians, world leaders have pressured India and Pakistan to reach a peace agreement after the tension between the two nations put Asia on the brink of nuclear war just a few weeks ago. A ceasefire was signed last Tuesday, and the Unified Earth is overseeing negotiations for a permanent treaty.”
Always a silver fucking lining.
Kyle scowled as he pushed away his long-abandoned cup of coffee. At least the Menarians hadn’t come back for more, and it didn’t look like they would be anytime soon. They’d been hammering Western Europe for a couple of weeks now, but there’d been nothing for almost forty-eight hours. Maybe this meant it was over for a while. That was how they fought—they’d bomb the hell out of an area for a few weeks, and then there’d be nothing. Sometimes there wouldn’t be any Menarian activity for months. Then, about the time the cities had recuperated and started to repair the damage, the invaders would be back in another part of the world. A few weeks’ worth of attacks, and then nothing.
The Menarians just bombed, disappeared, and bombed again. It seemed like a stupid strategy, a waste of their energy and resources, but year after year, the aliens terrorized Earth’s cities. Sometimes it seemed like they were just doing it for sport. Or maybe they had a long-term plan and they were just incredibly patient, happy to keep at it until Earth’s morale and resources collapsed. God knew what would happen then.
And when it did, Kyle would be as powerless to stop it as he was two days ago. He’d just keep dogfighting against these invaders, trying not to get shot down. They would keep coming, and people would keep dying.
What was the fucking point?
Especially now that he’d lost Griff and Brendan. As far as Kyle was concerned, the Menarians had won. They’d taken away his son and the love of his life. If not for Emily, he’d have had nothing left at all.
Nothing except these silver wings that he’d worked so hard for. What good did they do him now?
He looked down at the wings on his chest. It was tempting to tear them off and drop them into the cold coffee, just for the hell of it. They were suddenly heavy, now a symbol of the Sisyphean task of holding back an assault that would just keep coming until long after he was dead, whether he died an old man or a young pilot.
And dying an old man or a young pilot, flying again or ripping off the wings—none of that mattered because nothing could bring back his family.
The sickening grief that had burned in his chest for the last few days started to ebb for the first time. He wasn’t feeling any better—not even close—but the grief waned in favor of red-hot rage.
Somewhere, those hideous creatures were doing their equivalent of a victory celebration, high-fiving over the shots they’d fired and the buildings they’d dropped and the tens of thousands of people they’d killed in one fell swoop. And there’d be more. More destruction, more deaths, more aliens celebrating, and more and more fighters coming in from that distant planet to keep chipping away at Earth’s defenses. They would never fucking stop.
This couldn’t go on.
He wouldn’t let it go on.
Kyle abandoned his coffee and left the officers’ mess. For the first time in the last forty-eight hours, he felt something that wasn’t soul-sucking grief. There was more he could do. Maybe he was delusional, but he didn’t care. He had a reason now, a purpose.
He found Emily in their stateroom, poring over something on her tablet.
“Hey.” She put the tablet aside. “How are you holding up?”
“We can’t stay here.”
She blinked. “You . . . Okay. We’re not on call, so we—”
“No. I mean we can’t stay here.” He sat beside her on the bed. “On this base. On Earth.”
Emily’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“The Menarians, they . . .” He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair. “They just keep coming. Bombing everything, killing everyone, and they’re—”
“Kyle. Sweetheart.” She touched his arm. “Slow down.”
He paused and took a breath. “Let’s go to Epsilon.”
Her eyes widened. “Eps— Are you serious?”
Kyle nodded.
She studied him for a moment. “Kyle, I know you’re devastated over losing your family, but you—”
“Em, think about it.” He took her hand in his. “We’re not doing a damned thing here except fighting them off whenever they decide to attack. I want to go to the source.”
“But, before . . .” She shook her head. “You said yourself that—”
“I know. But I’ve been thinking the last couple of days, and I don’t want to just sit here anymore and wait for them to come to us.” Fury burned beneath his skin as he added, “I want to fuck their world up like they’ve fucked ours up.”
Emily lowered her gaze. “Our squadron needs us here, we . . . I can’t . . .”
“Em, we’re not getting anywhere here. Maybe over there, maybe we can do something. Make a difference in this fucking war.”
She bit her lip. “Would it be any more of a difference there than here?”
“We can hit them where it hurts if we’re on Epsilon. Take out some of their civilians.” He paused, squeezing her hand. “They’ve taken everyone and everything from both of us.” She flinched, dropping her gaze. “Em, we’ve got nothing left here. Let’s go to the source and fight there. Until every last one is dead.”
Emily was quiet for a moment. Then she met his eyes and nodded slowly. “Until every last one is dead.”
He didn’t speak, and he didn’t let go of her hand. She held his gaze. He held hers. Maybe this wasn’t a decision that should be made without weeks or even months of consideration, but the Menarians had taken too much away from him this time. He’d leave Earth behind forever if it meant taking a pound of scaly, mottled flesh from every last one of them for what they’d done to his planet and to both his and Emily’s families.
“We’ll sleep on it tonight.” Emily rubbed his thumb with hers. “But if we’re both still on board with this tomorrow, I’ll transmit the request.”
“Okay.” Kyle ran his other hand through his hair. Part of him wanted to go down and transmit the request immediately, but he could wait. One night wouldn’t make a difference.
Besides, the screening process wasn’t as lengthy as it used to be. The Elite Squadron was too hard up for manpower. Everyone was screened regularly so that if they decided to volunteer, they could be sent on the next vessel heading to the planet. With as much as the command had been pressuring both of them to join the Elite Squadron, Kyle would have bet good money all their paperwork had already been filled out and just needed their request to push it through. From the time their signatures dried, it would be a week at most before they left Earth. After that, a few weeks in stasis for the journey. Then they’d be on Epsilon.
