“Inbound airstrike?” Chase asked. “Red drones?”
“No drones.” Kale’s voice was hoarse, probably from shouting commands. “There’s been an internal bombing. High casualties. We’re sending reinforcements, but they won’t get there fast enough. If you push it, you’ll get there with a chance.”
Chase’s anxiety was mounting. “A chance of what?”
“Of helping survivors. If there are any flight-capable birds left, lead them back here. We can’t afford to radio our position. Stay completely off the grid. Don’t even use the shortwave. And do not land.”
Sylph and Riot were already cresting the ramp stairs and sinking into Pegasus’s cockpit. Pippin slid into his seat in Dragon and strapped in.
Chase’s thoughts swirled. “General, I—”
Kale grabbed her leg and hoisted her up. She swung over the edge and into the cockpit, still unable to phrase her fear.
“Open up her speed, Harcourt,” Kale said. “This is your chance.”
? ? ?
The night was deep. Veiled stars and nothing beyond the silver streak of her bird around her. She hit Mach 3 in a hurry, knowing Sylph would fall behind. Sylph could fly as fast as Chase, but she wasn’t strong enough to hold the speed for as long.
Pippin was busy with his controls, mapping out coordinates. “Balls to blackout flying,” he complained. “Can’t sense a thing. We need to bounce our position off a satellite. We need like two seconds of radar.”
“Kale said to keep off the grid, Pippin. We’re on our own.”
“So what do we do if a commercial plane comes at us?”
“Duck.” She punched the throttle and crested past Mach 4. More than two thousand miles an hour. They had been going southeast for too long, and although she was no geographical genius like her RIO, she could tell they were headed toward the Hudson Bay. And JAFA.
“Do you think…” Chase swallowed her words. The horizon was orange, not from sunrise but from the reach of high flames. “JAFA,” she whispered. “Where’s Phoenix?”
“Maybe he didn’t get out in time,” Pippin said. “The roofs are blown outward. Must have been an inside job. Spies. That must be what Kale meant by internal bombing. Nyx, there could be bogies in the sky. I’m going to be a busy bee keeping lookout.”
“Buzz away.” Chase reined in her speed and pulled closer to the burning buildings.
Fire groped the night. The hangar was the only building not fully ablaze, but smoke poured out of broken windows. Chase couldn’t see anyone on the ground. No one fleeing or fighting the fire. Kale’s had spoken about survivors, but…
“There’s no one,” she murmured.
“Sylph will be here in five minutes,” Pippin announced.
“This’ll be over in two.” Chase bit back anger. Sylph should be faster. JAFA shouldn’t be burning. She should do something. Chase eyed the hangar door. A blue fiery blast lit up the inside. Chase knew that color. Jet engine flashes. She dropped even closer, peering through the smoke-blackened windows.
Faces peered back. Dozens of them.
“There are people stuck in there!” Chase set down on the runway before Pippin could object, taxiing toward the hangar door too fast.
“What’re you…Nyx!” He knew her too well. “We’re not a battering ram!”
“Dragon is fortified titanium. She’s stronger than whatever that is, right?” Chase didn’t wait for a response. People were dying a few yards away. The least she could do was try. She hit the throttle and drove at the sealed door, crossing her fingers that the people inside saw her coming.
That they moved back.
She smashed into it, screeching metal on metal, and pushed all the way to the front edge of the cockpit. When she rolled back, a frame of wreckage hung from Dragon’s nose, but the door was punctured. Smoke chugged out of the gaping hole.
“Come on!” she whispered.
The platform of ramp stairs appeared on the other side of the hangar door. People began to jump from the stairs and through the hole, helping each other down. They were young. Cadets just like at the Star.
“Nyx, we won’t be able to take off with that scrap stuck to us. And we need to get out of here.”
“I have to help them.” She hit the canopy switch and leaped out, hitting the pavement hard enough to fall and mangle her knees through her G-suit. She shook out the stinging pain and ran.
Older airmen and officers appeared among the survivors, directing everyone toward the woods beside the runway. Chase helped a few cadets out of the fiery hangar, all the while searching for a sign of Streaker Team Phoenix.
Arrow was among the last. She met his eyes with soft shock—relief and something else. He stood on the ramp stairs, helping an elderly woman in a white lab coat through the hole. When the woman was through, he leaned out and yelled to Chase. “I’m going to get my bird out. Clear back.”
The last of the survivors ran into the woods beyond the runway.
Chase headed to Dragon, tugging at the metal frame on her jet’s nose. It was too heavy. She pulled, only budging it a few inches. Any second, Phoenix was going to slam blindly out of the hangar doors—and right into her. They’d all be dead in a flash of scorching jet fuel.
“Pippin! Help!” Her words were lost in the roaring collapse of a nearby building. Chase went back to the scrap and pulled with everything she had. This was going to end badly. Both Streakers would be blown up. Both teams would die because she had to break orders. Had to land.
She yanked harder, choking on swears, but suddenly, her hands weren’t alone. Her arms were a pair among many as shoulders pushed into her own. The group pulled as one, and the piece screeched as it slid off Dragon and smashed on the ground.
Before anyone could speak, Pegasus flew by with a shriek of furious speed. Arrow threw out a protective arm that slammed into Chase’s chest.