The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (20 page)

Gradually, the demons
eased, the flames cooled. The torture stopped. Slowly, slowly, Galena began to remember what merely moderate pain felt like. Then mild. Then the absence of pain all together.

But still she kept her eyes closed and screamed.

Because when she screamed, when she writhed in the fiery aftermath of what he’d done to her, Elom left her unrestrained. When she was incapacitated with pain, she was free.

And while hell laughed in her face with the gleam of Elom’s smile in the endless black night, she formed a fever-foolish plan.

•••

At last, when she felt ready, Galena stopped screaming. Eyes closed, she let her breath drift, whisper-thin, in and out of her lungs, and she kept her body still as death, her unshackled hands turned up at her sides.

It was hours before Elom entered the room, to find her quiet as the grave.

He had the nerve to whistle a cheerful tune under his breath as he bent to examine her. When he was so close his breath nearly choked her, she silently sucked in more air.
Now
. She shoved the base of her palm into his face with all the force adrenaline, terror, and rage could muster.

His head snapped back.

Galena surged up and hit him again. He fell back against the bed, and she clamped one of the arm restraints onto his wrist. He grunted and scrambled for her, hatred in his eyes, but his nose was pouring blood, his arm was chained to the bed and, for a few seconds at least, she was free.

She ran to the door, pulling her white robe closer around her, and slipped out of her room. Elom yelled and rattled the bed but she didn’t turn around. She waved a hand over the blank white wall outside her cell, and the door hissed closed.

Her breathing was shallow, her heart pounding in her throat. Already she felt weak; though the near-coma state had been an act, she’d had little food and no exercise for a long time. But it didn’t matter. She would keep going until she fought her way to freedom. Or they killed her.

She found herself in a long white hallway lined with doors. They were all closed. And there was no helpful red blinking light indicating the exit, as most buildings in Ruslana had. She listened for a moment, heard nothing but the faint rumble of Elom’s voice within the room.

Only two choices: right or left. She chose right.

Her bare feet slapped on the cool carbonate floor as she fled down the empty hall. As she passed the endless blank doors she wondered if they held other prisoners, felt regret that if they did, she could do nothing to help. She tried sweeping her hand across the scan pads along the wall, but none of the doors opened.

Just as she reached the end of the hallway, a crash exploded behind her. She skidded around the corner, snuck a glance back, and found to her horror that Elom had already escaped and was barreling after her, blood streaming from his nose.

She ran faster.

Air heaved and rattled in her lungs and her throat burned. Her face burned. The muscles of her legs burned. Galena was a woman on fire.

She burst through a doorway into a large open room and slid into a table, slamming her shins against the bench bolted to the floor. The whole room was filled with tables where people sat eating something that resembled the brown soup Elom often fed her. The murmurs of conversation died and dozens of faces, most gaunt, some battered, stared up at her. Along one wall, pallets were set up. Along the other, a line of grim-faced guards.

Panicked, she looked around, desperately seeking a door, a way out. No one moved. She started to weave through the tables when she heard Elom’s voice yelling, “Stop her!”

A rush of movement. All around her, people were standing up. Some started shouting. The guards sprang to action, raising their weapons. One slammed the butt of his solagun into a gray-haired man’s head, knocking him out of the way.

She weaved through the rush of prisoners, trying to duck out of view of the guards. But they kept tracking her movements, pushing bodies aside to get closer.

A scream built inside her chest. She would not let them take her.

Dodging around a bench, she tripped over a young woman who cowered on the ground, arms up to protect her face. The noise increased, screams of pain now punctuating the chaos. Galena twisted and pushed in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding a guard. In a break in the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Elom’s bloody face. He’d made it to the doorway.

He kept a hand on his nose, and somehow, even through the movement and madness, his piercing, merciless eyes immediately found hers. She turned away, looked instead at a man sitting at the table beside her, an island of stillness. His short hair suggested that he was a soldier; the fresh and fading bruises that covered his face spoke of prolonged torture.

“Please help me,” she begged him. Carefully, he stood, hands splayed across the table. His eyes shifted to the left once, twice. A signal. She glanced in the direction he indicated. There, through the crowd . . . she wasn’t far from a wall. A door. In all the upheaval, the door had been left unguarded.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a guard raise his solagun. She turned away from him and ran toward the door.

But it was too far. She wouldn’t make it.

Still, she didn’t stop, didn’t slow. She wanted her last moment to be her own. She would die knowing she didn’t cower or beg.

She, at least, would know that she’d fought to save herself. To save her dominion.

A shot rang out, and an incredible pressure exploded in her back. She slammed into the floor face first. As the smooth, hard surface caressed the destruction that was her face, she gave the scream that had been building its release.

Too soon, the sound died.

With a final prayer that her son would be safe, Galena closed her eyes.

“Two for two
this week, Mosquito,” Dysis said as she leapt from the wingjet. “Not bad.”

Aris grinned as she released the clasps on her body armor. A cool, early-evening breeze blew across the landing pad, raising goosebumps along her neck. “You and Lieutenant Daakon were amazing. That Safaran jet just screamed out of nowhere, and the way you two got the guns around in time. . . .” She whistled in admiration.

“And don’t forget my superior retrieval skills.” Otto pushed his way through the crowd of returning soldiers. His shiny, round face broke into a sly grin. “The cable wasn’t even
close
to snapping this time.”

Dysis rolled her eyes. “Only because you retrieved a five-year-old girl. A girl so small she was practically smothered by that belly of yours, I might add.”

“Many women would consider that a glorious way to die.”

Aris and Dysis erupted in laughter. Eyes flashing mischievously, Dysis had just opened her mouth to reply when Lieutenant Daakon bumped into her, throwing her off balance. In the second it took her to rock back on her heels, a blush bloomed along her cheeks. But all she said was, “Watch where you’re going,” under her breath.

Daakon didn’t look back at their small group. Aris sighed and followed the straggling line of soldiers entering the building.

Galec caught up to them as they reached the door. His breath was coming fast and his eyes shone. “Did you hear?”

Aris raised a brow. “Hear what?”

He looked at Dysis and opened his mouth. “Your—”

“Haan, Galec. Commander’s office. Now.” Major Vidar’s roar filled the narrow hallway.

Galec shrugged and hurried after Major Vidar, Aris trotting to keep up.

“Close the door,” Commander Nyx ordered when they arrived. His bald head was shiny with sweat and his uniform the slightest bit rumpled, as if he’d been working all night. The rest of the officers stood along the wall. Aris glanced at Galec; he kept brushing a hand over his fuzz of ginger hair.

“We have a situation that must be handled delicately.” The Commander’s eyes flashed from his monitor to the row of men standing before him. “And quickly. Two wingjets: one recon, one transport. Specialist Haan, you’ll fly Major Vidar. Galec, you’ll be Lieutenant Wolfe’s retriever. Lieutenant Talon will be gunner.”

Major Vidar as her gunner, again. Lovely.

“I’ve received intel that a soldier has escaped from a Safaran prison camp,” he continued. “He’s probably injured and most certainly being pursued.” The Commander ran a finger along one of the many scars that crisscrossed his neck. Aris glanced from his face to Major Vidar’s; they both wore matching unreadable expressions.

With a sigh, he continued. “We believe the soldier in question may be Dysis’s brother, Lieutenant Latza.”

Aris’s face lit up. She wanted to cheer. “That’s wonderful news! Sir,” she said, restraining herself with an effort. “Have you told Dysis yet? He’ll be so—”

The Commander held up a hand. “Specialist Latza will not be part of this mission.”

Aris looked at him in confusion. “But that’s why he came here, to find his brother . . .”

“We don’t have confirmation yet that Lieutenant Latza is the escaped soldier, and we know nothing of his condition. But if it
is
him, we must proceed with utmost caution. The Lieutenant is an important asset and, contrary to his brother’s beliefs, his recovery is a top priority of this sector. I can’t have Dysis on a mission this crucial and risk the possibility that his personal feelings could jeopardize our efforts. Do you understand?” He turned to Galec, who looked just as shell-shocked as Aris felt. “Specialists?”

Together they murmured, “Yes, sir.” Aris tried to keep her face blank, but already she was torn between excitement for Dysis and terror that something would go wrong. Without meaning to, she glanced at Lieutenant Daakon. His jaw was clenched, and a vein throbbed at his temple.

“You have one hour to eat and then I need you all on the landing pad. Aristos, wait until after dinner and then tell Dysis to come see me,” Commander Nyx said.

Before she could nod, Daakon stepped forward. “Commander, I’ve spoken with Specialist Latza about his brother before. With your permission, I’d like to be the one to tell him.”

Commander glanced from his monitor to Daakon. “Very well, Lieutenant. I’m certain I don’t need to remind you that it is paramount that Dysis understand he is
not
authorized for this mission. He
will
stay on point. You will impress on him the severity of punishment should he choose to disregard my order.”

Lieutenant Daakon nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Galec, Haan. You’re dismissed.”

As they left, Aris could hear the murmurs of Commander Nyx speaking with Major Vidar and the other officers. She glanced at Galec. “Not letting Dysis go on the mission . . . I don’t know. If it were my brother—”

“I wouldn’t want to go,” Galec said.

Her eyes widened. “But what if things went wrong? Wouldn’t you blame the others, wonder if the outcome would have been different if you’d been there?”

Galec shrugged. “I’d be devastated regardless. And you heard what the Commander said. This mission is bigger than Dysis. As much as I hate to say it, I do think his feelings would get in the way.”

“Still. Blighting hell.” Aris rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, across the nearly imperceptible hardness of her veil. “I suppose we shouldn’t say anything to him at dinner, but I don’t know if I can hide it.”

He smiled grimly. “You won’t have to. There are rumors already. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.”

“Wonderful.”

“Just get Otto talking. That heathen could distract anybody.”

•••

But Dysis didn’t appear for dinner. In fact, Aris didn’t see her until she went back to their room to collect her body armor. Her sectormate was sitting on her bed, alone, when Aris walked in.

Dysis didn’t look up.

“Did Lieutenant Daakon speak with you?” Aris asked, when it became clear Dysis wasn’t going to say anything.

Slowly, Dysis nodded. Voice hoarse, she murmured, “He said he wanted to be the one to tell me.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not allowed on the mission. I’ve been
ordered
not to save my brother.” Her face twisted, teetering on the edge of emotion, but her voice remained flat, expressionless.

“I know. I’m so sorry.”

Aris took a step closer and pressed a hand on her sectormate’s shoulder.

Dysis raised her face, her brown eyes glassy. “You bring him back, Mosquito,” she said, the agony finally emerging, lining the edges of her words. “Whatever you have to do, you bring him back to me, you understand?”

Aris didn’t remind her that they weren’t even sure it
was
Jax. She didn’t explain how dangerous the mission was, how it wasn’t just up to her but to the entire team. She didn’t do anything but nod and squeeze Dysis’s shoulder once, hard, before leaving the room.

“The villager saw
the man, on foot, traveling east toward Bieza,” Major Vidar said into his comm, transmitting to Lieutenant Wolfe’s transport.

Aris listened as she steered the recon toward Hevensak, a small town near Atalanta’s border with Safara.

“Hasn’t Hevensak been evacuated?” she asked. “It’s so close to the border. Bieza is farther east, and it’s held by Safaran forces.”

“The man’s an old salt. He refused to comply with the evacuation order. Didn’t want to leave his farm. It’s not the first time he’s called in something suspicious, apparently.” Major Vidar glanced at her. In such close quarters, holding his gaze without blushing was a trial.

Quickly, she asked, “But—why didn’t the villager offer to help the soldier, sir?”

To her relief he turned forward again, and she did the same. “He didn’t know he
was
a soldier. He just saw an injured man in tattered clothing hiking under cover of darkness to the north of the village. The villager had the impression the man did not want to be seen. About two hours before the sighting, we got a hit on an old, unused emergency transmitter in the area. We think Lieutenant Latza—or whoever it is—activated that transmitter intentionally.”

Aris concentrated on the topographical map on the nav panel. She was constantly making small adjustments to their course; the night was blustery and damp, the wind buffeting them as they flew.

“Enemy threat?” Lieutenant Wolfe asked over the headset.

“We believe the missing person is being pursued. Enemy engagement probable,” Major Vidar replied.

Aris swallowed.

“Turning on thermal imaging,” she said as they passed over a village to the east of their destination. Between here and Hevensak ran some of the roughest country in Mittaka. The rolling land was pocked with crumbling ruins, deep ravines, and hills that had been carved into vertical drops millennia before. It was beautiful, but deadly all the same.

“Sir.” Aris gestured to the nav panel. Deep within a narrow ravine, the faint pink blob of a heat signature glowed. “Could that be Lieutenant Latza?”

Major Vidar nodded. Over the headset, he said, “Possible target located. At the bottom of the ravine. Proceed carefully.” He glanced closer at the monitor. “Wolfe, you see the wider stretch at the southern point?”

“Yes, sir,” Wolfe’s voice scratched over the line.

“Land there. We’ll head farther in, toward the target.”

Aris skimmed along the edge of the crevice. She spared a moment’s regret that it wasn’t a daytime mission—flying in close quarters was easier when she could see where she was going instead of relying on the nav. She descended farther, until the black around her changed, felt more solid.

Aris fought back a sudden wave of claustrophobia. She glanced at Major Vidar. “It feels a little close in here. Are you sure—”

The nav panel exploded into panicked beeping, just as the night swelled with yellow light.

“Evade!” Major Vidar yelled, hands busy returning fire.

Aris pulled sharply on the controls, and the wingjet shot up out of the ravine. She flipped them sideways so they were hugging the edge of the cliff, giving Vidar a clear shot at the emplacement at the edge of the promontory. Another flash. She spun, narrowly avoiding the missile. How had the enemy’s heat sig not shown up on the nav? The pink blob they’d seen had been small, human-sized. Not large enough to indicate a wingjet.

“Wolfe, come in. We’re under fire. Status!” Major Vidar yelled into the crackle of the headset.

Aris sent them down into the ravine again, spiraling and swerving to avoid two more flashes.

Lieutenant Wolfe didn’t respond.

“Wolfe, Talon! Status!” Major Vidar’s voice was harsh. “Aristos, take us up, I want to give the sons of asses something to worry about.”

She pulled out of the dive and blasted into open sky, taking her cues from the insistent beeping of the nav panel. Her palms damp, she kept her elbows pinned to her sides so her arms wouldn’t shake.

The ominous silence on the headset lingered. “Sir, the transport . . .”

“Wolfe! Specialist Galec—one of you report immediately!” he yelled again.

Aris skimmed along the cliff a second time. Fire bloomed beneath them as Major Vidar’s missiles found their targets. But still the flashes continued.

“Lower now, Aristos. Beneath them.” His voice was tight, and instinctively she knew what he wanted to do. According to the map, the lip of the canyon protruded slightly, curving back into the hill. If they could destroy enough of the ledge, the whole thing would go.

Then a blast rocketed them sideways. They tumbled toward the canyon floor like a burst balloon.

“Aristos!” Major Vidar’s voice thundered over the whistling of air through a gash in the wingjet’s side.

Desperately she manipulated the pedals and levers. A screeching crash erupted around them. They’d grazed the side of the cliff. Her fingers slipped on the controls.

In a last-ditch effort to save them, she increased their speed, engaging the jets to propel them forward, while yanking as hard as she could on the controls.

“What the hell?” Vidar roared.

“The thrusters are out!” she shouted. “But if I can get her nose up—” Slowly, too slowly, the wingjet’s trajectory shifted. It wasn’t going to happen.

She slammed her feet on the pedals, arresting their forward movement as much as she could. Without the thrusters she couldn’t hover.

They were going to crash.

Aris did her best to slow them down and get the nose up, but in the end, they still went careening along the stream bed, plowing a gash through the mud-dark water. When one wing hit the cliff wall and they went spinning, a sudden jerk and
crunch
threw her back against her seat and into darkness.