Breaking Sky (6 page)

Chase couldn't sit down. She swept through Kale's office, touching the waxy-leafed plants and fingering the bowl of old bullets.

Expulsion.
The word was a vicious crosswind, tossing her from question to question. Why did the Canadians have a Streaker? Why did Arrow know her name? And more importantly, would Kale make her leave?

She had nowhere to go. He knew that; he'd met Janice.

Chase knew she was in the wrong. She'd broken orders, engaged
Phoenix
, and set down outside of the Star. All things she could rightly get expelled for, but everyone was acting like the situation was worse. Like war had been declared. When
Dragon
slid into its spot in the hangar, Kale and a number of senior officers had been waiting. Kale took Pippin by the elbow in one direction while an MP escorted Chase to the brigadier general's office.

To wait forever, apparently.

She'd been there for over two hours with nothing to go on except her worst thoughts. The MP guarded the door the whole time, making sure she stayed put but otherwise refraining from giving her a single answer. She'd already nicknamed him Sergeant Pillar Face.

Chase tossed herself into her favorite leather chair and balled the small piece of paper with Kale's message on it. That note, in and of itself, was a huge question. What was Kale doing in contact with the Royal Canadian Air Force? What huge secret had she stumbled upon?

Pippin had brought up the Declaration of No Assistance, but that felt more uncomfortable than ominous. Ri Xiong Di had hundreds of declarations, but most of them were empty threats. This one was about countries aiding the U.S.—Chase paid attention long enough in history class to know that much—but could Ri Xiong Di really be pissed about her landing in Canada for ten minutes? That did not constitute “aid.”

Chase remembered the story of a British cargo fleet that had tried to fly in medicine during an influenza outbreak years back. Those birds had been hacked and crashed kamikaze-style into the Atlantic by Ri Xiong Di. Now
that
was the Declaration of No Assistance. She shivered, her body near exhaustion from flying. Her face and neck were covered in dried sweat, and she itched all over. Something bigger was going on, and it had everything to do with
Phoenix
and that pilot.

Arrow
. His call sign was too simple. Too straightforward. It was too good, that's what it was. He had been so smug about saying her name. How in the blazes did he know her?

“Chase Harcourt?”

Oh no. Chase had been waiting for Kale. Not Crackers.

Dr. Ritz walked in and sat behind Kale's desk. “Brigadier General David Kale asked me to check in on you.”

“So I'm not the only person you go full title on,” she muttered.

“What was that?” Ritz asked.

“I said, ‘Great to see you!'”

Ritz touched the corner of her glasses. “I know you're under a lot of pressure. The trials in January are important.”

“Dive right in, why don't you.” When she didn't respond, Chase added, “No, really?”

“More than you seem to understand. What you did today was appalling. The Canadians might not have manpower equal to the Star, but JAFA is just as essential to eventual victory.”

“Jaff what?”

“The Royal Canadian Junior Air Force Academy. JAFA.”

Chase popped her knuckles. “Didn't know its name. So wait, if you know about it, tell me why they have a Streaker.”

Ritz's tight expression proved she knew more than what she was saying, but the crafty woman switched directions. Had they been maneuvering in the air, Chase might have been impressed. “If those jets are as capable as their reputation suggests, the Second Cold War could be coming to an end. Depending on
you
.”

Missile lock.

“Christ, Crackers.” Heat scorched up Chase's neck. “Why would you…are you
trying
to make me crumble under the pressure? I'm aware of what's at stake.”

“Are you?” Ritz asked. “Because I'm having trouble believing that the military's best option is putting our future in the hands of young cadets. In
your
hands.”

“And Sylph,” Chase said fast. Kale acted the same way, like even though she was one half of the Streaker project, she was the half that mattered. “Why don't you go give Sylph this little pep talk?”

“Because Leah Grenadine is a model student. She completes her homework on time and visits me regularly to discuss the trials.
She
doesn't use study sessions to break the tender hearts of other students.”

Chase's blush went viral. “Didn't realize that you're also a love doctor, Crackers.”

“I've been summoning you over the past few weeks to talk about Tanner Won. He's been in to see me following your romantic encounter.”

“You should thank me. Tanner now knows he shouldn't let emotions sucker punch him. There's practically a war on.” It was a bold lie to say that she'd helped Tanner. She'd hurt him. That's what she'd done, but Chase suppressed that knowledge under the idea he would come out of this stronger. “Whatever doesn't kill you, right?”

A clock ticked loud seconds. Ritz didn't respond. Chase was swept up into asking her real question. “Is Kale working on my expulsion?”

The psychiatrist frowned. “I think he's fighting to keep you. Does that surprise you?”

“Fighting with who?” Chase shouldn't have asked that question. She shouldn't have let the words—followed by the very real possibility—enter her world. Kale answered to few people, all higher-up generals without direct authority over the Star. With one exception. The highest of them all who had a say in everything. Five stars to Kale's solitary one.

The General of the Air Force.

Chase tucked in her limbs, made herself tight and tiny against the idea that Kale was arguing with
him
. The very person whose existence reminded her that she did not belong at the Star.

Her father.

Ritz made a
tsk
sound. Apparently being a psychiatrist did not entitle her to an understanding of body language. Either that or the woman wanted to poke Chase when she was down. “What made you believe you could engage in such a reckless flight with so little regard for the consequences?”

“I proved I'm not crazy,” Chase said. “I wasn't imagining that Streaker.”

“And in the process you've endangered Canada. And America. You do see that.”

“I didn't start this!” Chase couldn't stop herself from yelling. “If I had been told about that Canadian Streaker, none of this would have happened. I should have been trusted.”

“You're supposed to trust your superior officers.” Kale's voice came through the room like a gale. It blew Ritz to her feet and sent her out the door. He closed it behind her. “You risked your life, your RIO's life, and the lives of Streaker Team
Phoenix
. Not to mention what you did to
Pegasus
. You don't deserve to keep your wings beyond this conversation.”

“General, I…” Chase couldn't breathe. “I had to prove I wasn't going crazy like Crowley.”

“Cadet Crowley? What does he have to do with this?” Kale sat behind his desk before he caught up with the reference. “Oh, I see. You thought…” He cleared his throat. “Your RIO just spent an hour explaining your actions. Donnet insists it was our fault for daring you. He turned that brain on me and said I should have known better, since I claim to know you so well. He got six demerits for his cheek.” Chase made a mental note to give Pippin's big brain a kiss the next time she saw it. Kale's voice slid low. “So. You feel swindled. Is that it?”

She answered with silence.

Kale's hair was wild, like he'd been tugging on it. “Deception and misdirection have always been tools in the military, Harcourt. That doesn't mean I'm making excuses. I detest it. I wish I had a way around it, but there are certain ways things must be done in the business of the nation's safety. Your RIO might have a point, but I had to report to General Tourn all the same. I'm waiting for his decision now.”

Chase stood, but inside she was falling—straight through the tile. Through the earth's crust and into its liquid-burning core. “You can't leave it up to him. He'll throw me away.”

Tears strode down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to wipe them.

Kale looked hard in the other direction. “You didn't leave me a choice.”

The phone rang, and Kale answered using his sharpest tone. Chase trembled when she heard her father's voice over the line, aligning commands like a ripple of thunder. She touched the back of her right arm as memory-pain lit up her scar like lightning.

“Yes, General. Every satellite. We'll have warning if they launch an airstrike.” Kale's scowl deepened with each new order. Chase knew full well what that felt like.

“Of course, but she'll want to speak with—” A clapping order cut Kale off. Chase sat down, shaking. Her father would ship her back to Michigan where Janice was scratching out a living. Tourn wouldn't care if she starved or had to fight off one of Janice's drunken boyfriends in the dead of the night.

He'd left her to that life once before.

“I'll give her the message.” Kale hung up and sat back in his desk chair. He scrubbed his face with both hands until Chase thought she might detonate from the silence.

Finally, Kale sat tall. “To cut to it, you're not expelled. You retain your wings. General Tourn believes you are too vital to the Streaker project to lose in light of the upcoming trials. You are, however, on restricted duty for the rest of your life. Hear me?”

Relief slid around her like a lava flow, painfully measured. “What else did he say?” She held herself back from adding,
Did
he
tell
you
I
shouldn't be here?

“He said he believes it's time for action.” Kale blew out a long breath. “It doesn't matter to him that we're not ready to face Ri Xiong Di's forces. He's ready for the cold war to
heat
up
. That's actually what he said. The man's a warmonger.” Kale's expression released. “That was out of line. Forgive me.”

Chase nodded, ready to do anything for him. “He is, General. You don't need to tell me that.”

“Of course you know what he's like.” Kale's tone had gone warm—he was trying to make her feel better. Build her up. Chase knew this wasn't over. She might have only spent one summer with her father, but it was long enough to know the man was never finished until he'd punched her with his words.

“What was his message?”

Kale hesitated. “This is Tourn's message, not mine.”

“Understood.”

“He said, ‘If she breaks orders again, I'll come there personally and take her wings in front of the whole academy.'”

Chase imagined it down to the crisp smell of the Green. Her father would stand over her, striking her with insults before steel-straight lines of her uniformed peers. Then everyone would know she was the daughter of
the
general—the only five-star general designated in the Air Force since the 1980s—Lance Harold Tourn.

Always those three names together. Like the assassin he was.

Chase squeezed her knuckles until they hurt, and her secret fear found voice. “General Kale, if the other cadets knew he's my father, they'd say he got me in here. That I didn't earn my wings. Wouldn't they? That's why you told me not to tell anyone during my first week.”

“If they said that, Harcourt, I'd say you've proven them wrong. You tested to the head of your class and then the head of the academy. You learned how to fly a Streaker when a dozen of your peers washed out. You did that. Tourn can't take that from you.”

Kale was detached enough from his teenage years to believe that gem. Good for him. Chase knew the truth. The rest of the academy was filled with cadets who had spent years—and their families' savings—on the training and tests in order to be selected. With the exception of Pippin, whose IQ planted him in the military's line of sight like a neon flag.

Her classmates would burn her in effigy on the Green. And she wouldn't blame them.

Kale cleared his throat. “I shouldn't have to tell you to keep your discovery about
Phoenix
to yourself, but I will. Not a word to the other cadets, including Sylph.” Chase nodded, and Kale added, “Don't forget. Restricted duty. You're dismissed.”

She stood and held on to the back of the leather chair. “I have a question, General.”

“I imagine you have many, and I bet I can't answer a single one of them,” Kale said. Chase began to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door. “Ask your question, cadet.”

“How did that pilot know me?” Thinking about Arrow made all her father feelings evaporate sharp and fast. “He knew my call sign. My name. He knows the way I fly like he's studied me.”

Kale lifted an eyebrow, and she didn't need an answer.

She'd crashed into the truth all on her own.

After her morning classes, Chase headed to the weight room. Restricted duty meant she could train and run through her schedule—but no free time. No rec room. No fun.

So it was a good thing Kale didn't know how much she enjoyed the bench press. There was something about being pinned beneath the weight, fighting to control the plunge before sending the bar up with a grunt—a little like being locked under a dare.

Chief Master Sergeant Black waved her in and handed her a pair of weightlifting gloves before barking at a trio of freshmen who were manhandling the medicine balls. Chief Black ran trainings like boot camp, but Chase kind of liked him for it. His clipped way of speaking reminded her of her father, and not in ways that made her shrink like a smacked child.

Pippin was late. Chase loaded the bench press, and the first few reps were nothing. Images of
Phoenix
and its laid-back pilot zoomed through her thoughts. She was being too tough on Arrow, maybe, but she couldn't help it. He'd come on so strong with the laughing and the showing off that he knew her name.

Chase's left arm wobbled beneath the weight, then her right lost integrity. The bar sunk on her chest and pinched the breath out of her lungs. She knew better. She'd been in physical training forty hours a week since she started at the Star. Flyboys had to be all-over strong to fight high-g. Every limb needed to be squeezed solid so that her blood made it to her brain despite the multiplied pressure and weight of gravity. G-LOC was a pilot's worst nightmare. The “LOC” standing for “loss of consciousness.”

Lights out meant life out.

Black spots popped into her vision as she did her best to get the situation back under control. No luck. Pippin appeared, grabbed the bar, and lifted it onto its supports. Chase sucked in air. Her head spun, especially because Pippin reeked of the caustic soap they used in the kitchen's industrial-sized dishwashers.

“Did you…you…”

“Aerate, Chase. You're purple.” Pippin sat beside her on the bench.

She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. The weight room's sounds and smells trickled in. The clank and whirl of machines. Metal and salt in the air. When she lifted her head, the world felt lighter. Straighter.

“Working off those demerits?” she asked. “Kale told me you gave him cheek.”

“Just finished,” he said.

This was where she should say thanks. Thanks for standing up to Kale on her behalf. Instead, she looked up and gave him a guilty half-smile. He thumped her on the back like he knew what she was thinking. But did he? His teasing in the canyon—about her not knowing him—came back like a bad taste at the back of her throat.

“Next time, I insist you pull some of those Nyx strings and get me on hangar cleanup. Kitchen duty is frightful. The cook told me I had a cute butt.” Pippin looked truly horrified, but Chase couldn't stop a snicker.

On the other side of the room, freshmen dropped a payload of weights on the floor, and Chief Black threatened their lives in a way that made everyone in the room stifle laughs.

“I've been thinking.” Chase paused for emphasis. “He watched our flight tapes. That's how he knew us.” It took Pippin a few moments to catch that she had switched to discussing
Phoenix
. “Maybe the government hired them to run some sort of combat test during the trials. How long will it really be before Ri Xiong Di copies the Streaker engines and we're fighting our equivalents up there. Right? We need to prove we can take down other manned jets.”

Pippin pushed her off the bench and fixed his weightlifting gloves. “Drones are one thing, but I don't like the idea of missile locking on other pilots. No matter what side they're on.”

“But it makes sense, doesn't it?”

Pippin executed five smooth reps before his neck strained and a red blotch lit up old acne scars. “So this Arrow and…what's his RIO's call sign?”

Chase kept two fingers of each hand on the bar until he finished. “The caveman? He threw his helmet before I could read it.”

“Would we call him a caveman?” Pippin was upside down, but he still looked weird. Angry maybe. She'd never seen Pippin riled about something outside of Middle Earth.

Chase turned her head sideways to get a better look at him. “That was a brow ridge to best all other brow ridges. You didn't notice?”

“Not when he was standing on my face, no.”

Chief Black walked by with a freshman tucked in a headlock beneath his bulging, hairy arm. “Harcourt. Donnet. Don't forget to work your back with your chest.” He demonstrated on the freshman, bending him into a hunchbacked creature. “See? That's too much back, not enough chest work.” The chief made the freshman puff out his chest like…well, like Sylph. “Too much front, not enough back. Never neglect inverse muscles.”

Chase waited until the sergeant was a safe distance away. “What I can't figure out is, why Canada?”

“Hey. Declaration of No Assistance,” he said lowly. “Drop it.”

She leaned in to whisper, “I still don't know how that applies to this situation.”

“They're obviously working with us on the Streaker project. And if the New Eastern Bloc finds out, they'll label Canada an ‘active enemy.' That'll get ugly fast.” He made a noise like a dozen explosions going off at once.

“They'll be destroyed.” Chase thought about Arrow with his wavy, black hair and his kickback attitude. “Their Air Force is ill-equipped.”

“That's grossly naive, Chase, but it's true they wouldn't last long. No one would. That's the point of the declaration. No joining forces against the New Eastern Bloc. Our landing in Canada was probably the first satellite-visible interaction between our two countries in twenty years. And you can bet your wings that Ri Xiong Di saw it.”

“That's why everyone was upset?”

“That's why.”

“Christ.” Chase pinched her leg hard enough to make her nerves shriek. “But if Ri Xiong Di saw, we'd be at war already. So they didn't see.”

He shrugged. “That's what no one knows.”

Riot entered the weight room with a grimy towel over his shoulder. “Sylph's looking for you, and I mean that as a life or death warning.” He sauntered toward the free weights.

“I still haven't run into Sylph since I took out
Pegasus
,” Chase explained to Pippin. “I have a strong feeling it's not going to go well.”

Pippin didn't say anything, and Chase was suddenly more than muscle tired. Facing down Sylph meant acknowledging how crazed Chase had been when she was on the hunt for
Phoenix
.

On the other side of the weight room, Riot grunted through bicep curls while watching himself in the mirrored wall.

“What a winner.” Pippin shook his head. “The whole academy to choose from and you've landed on that one.”

“I know, right?” Chase fixed her gloves. “Whatever. He's decent. He's around. He doesn't mind my reputation.”

“That's because he thinks he'll get laid. Boy, is he in for a disappointment. Sylph will kill you if this tryst follows established patterns.”

“Sylph should realize that her RIO can make out with whoever he wants.”

“You'd be mad if someone broke my heart,” Pippin said.

“What hearts? There are no hearts involved. Just some lips and skin. I've pretty much told Riot that.” She shoved Pippin's shoulder with her own. “Besides, you would have to show interest in a girl before hearts could be broken.”

Pippin positioned himself under the bench press. “Not till God makes women out of some other metal than earth.”

“English translation?”

“Indeed.”

Chase let Pippin be Pippin. She eyed Riot and thought about Streaker Team
Pegasus
. It didn't feel right that they were out of the loop. “I kinda wish Sylph knew about
Phoenix
.”

“Kale said shut up, so we shut up.”

“Donnet!” Chief Black shouted. He stood beside an upside-down freshman who was hanging from the ceiling bar by his feet. “You've got a family call. Hustle to.”

Pippin disappeared so fast that Chase felt his wake like a pass of engine heat. She couldn't blame him. Up in the near-Arctic and so dependent on the military, she often felt like there was no one else. After all, Chase didn't have a family waiting on her calls. But Pippin did, and they loved him and missed him.

Chase lay back under the bench press and forced herself through a chest ache that had nothing to do with her muscles.

• • •

Kale often called Chase a glutton for punishment. She didn't deny it.

After her arms were jellied with muscle fatigue, she set off in search of Sylph. It was time to take another pounding. One she deserved.

She found Sylph in the hangar. The cold seeped through the concrete walls, making Chase wish she were wearing the uniquely light insulation of her zoom bag. She held her chest over her T-shirt, bit the ball chain of her dog tags, and jogged around the old planes, drones, and helos. When she arrived at the Streakers, her arms fell to her sides. Her mouth hung open.

Chase hadn't realized it was this bad.

The engineers had completely dismantled
Pegasus
's right wing while
Dragon
sat on blocks, her landing gear stripped down to its nuts and bolts and struts. Chase left Sylph standing with her back to her beneath
Pegasus
and went to
Dragon
first. She put her hand on the jet's nose. The metal skin was always a little warmer than the chilled air in the hangar, which made it feel alive.

“I'm sorry,” she told her bird. An airman cast her a dirty look, but she kept touching
Dragon
, pressing her face to the jet and whispering her regrets. There were so many.

Sylph grabbed Chase and spun her by the shoulders. Chase fell backward onto her butt. Her palms burned from hitting the concrete floor so hard.

“You reckless, stupid,
stupid
girl!” The blonde raised a fist destined for Chase's face but then stopped. They both had tears stinging at the corner of their eyes. They both noticed it. “You don't care about anything or anyone.”

Chase looked past Sylph to the beautiful, broken Streakers. “That's not true.”

“Prove it next time.” Sylph's fist reared back some more, and Chase was going to let her plant one on her nose, eyes, mouth—whatever the girl needed to hit to make them square again. But Sylph's hand dropped instead. Chase stared at her loose fingers. “You don't even understand what you did wrong.”

“I do,” Chase muttered. If anyone was acutely aware of her failings, her callousness, and her tunnel vision, it was Chase.

“You're not worth the bruised knuckles.” Sylph stomped away.

Now Chase knew another truth: the only thing worse than getting punched in the face was not getting punched in the face when you deserved it.