“I know I’m not supposed to be friendly with him or whatever, but we’re wingmen.” She felt strangely proud of herself all of a sudden.
Kale scrubbed his hands through his hair. It reminded her of the time Tristan had done that in the locker room, how it wasn’t an attractive look but one that bled anxiety. “You aren’t going to say you’re in love with him, are you?”
Chase couldn’t tell if he was joking or crazy. “No, General. He and I…we’re just similar. We understand each other in the air. I trust him.”
As soon as she said it, she knew it was true. It made her stand taller, although Kale only laughed like his terrible day had just received a punch in the nose. “That’s so much worse.” He got up and held the door open. “The intel you’re after is above my pay grade, Harcourt. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”
She readied objections but didn’t have the chance. He pushed her out the door. Shut it.
Chase stood in the dead hall. It was past curfew. The timed lights clicked off in sequence down the administrative offices hallway, and Chase made her way to her room by the red glow of the emergency signs.
29
PUNCHING OUT
When Flying Is Falling
The back of the cargo plane opened, revealing flat land patched with varying greens. Farmlands in a Midwestern state Chase didn’t recognize. She glanced back at Pippin, but he was looking at whatever wasn’t her—and had been since yesterday.
Chase was weary from a midnight exercise fest. When she’d gone back to her room after talking to Kale, Pippin wasn’t even there. And as soon as she’d tried to lie down, her thoughts about the trials left her sleepless. She went to the weight room and took a treadmill at its highest speed. Her heart rate shot up while her body lapsed into training mode. Muscle and motion. Strain and sweat.
She had pushed the track elevation to its steepest setting, feeling the burn in her calves. She had made herself think about Tourn’s impending arrival instead of Pippin. It was a surprisingly easier subject. What would Tourn be like after five years? Would he try to talk to her? No. She knew that answer in her pulse. Tourn was all business. Cold and mechanical. A cog in the military machine. Careless.
She’d crashed. Literally. Tripped and shot backward off the treadmill, hitting the floor with a thud. The proof was a livid bruise on her knee this morning. She’d wanted to show Pippin, but he’d shown up late with Romeo, chatting in French.
But he couldn’t escape her now. They were strapped into a metal pod Adrien had built during the night. It looked like a Streaker cockpit, except for the fact that there was no jet around it. Just two seats in a metal-skinned frame.
A rush-swirl of crazed air filled the C-130 Hercules. The plane probably hadn’t seen atmosphere in a few decades, and yet she was about to parachute out its backside. The gusts tugged at her breath, and although Chase enjoyed the push of high winds during flight, she preferred a canopy. A glass shield.
Not this time.
Adrien fussed over the straps on Chase’s harness. The engineer was red-eyed and huffing, more exhausted than Chase.
“This will work, right?” she yelled.
“You will survive,” Adrien yelled over the engines. “We have two backup parachutes. You’ll be jettisoned from the frame in your chairs and connected to each other under one double parachute. Questions?”
Chase shook her head. She’d watched the other two Streaker teams drop out of that door first; she was fairly certain it would work a third time.
“I got one. Why aren’t we using dummies for this?” Pippin yelled.
“To test you as much as the ejection mechanism. So you’ll know what to expect and how to react if you have to punch out. Especially in the likely chance of a water crash.”
“Likely?” Pippin cried.
“We’ve skydived before, Pip,” Chase said, holding on to the X of the harness over her chest. “We’ll be fine.” Her courage might not mean anything to Pippin right now, but she gave it to him anyway.
Adrien and a handful of airmen rolled the whole pod toward the doorway and stopped at the lip of the drop. She glanced back at Pippin and saw that he was also not enjoying the torturous sensation of being half out the door.
“Okay,” Chase yelled over the racket, looking into the wisp of clouds. The air combed at her skin and hair, and she fought to breathe. “Okay, do it!”
The pod clanked as it dropped from the Hercules. The height of the fall was overshadowed by the click of things happening in the metal frame. They fell and fell and fell until Chase began to hyperventilate. Pippin shouted the all clear, and she yanked the ejection lever. They shot out of the metal frame, their chairs connected in a churning plunge before their parachute snapped open, caught the wind, and jerked them to a slow drop.
“Pippin? You all right?”
His answer was a string of curses.
“I’d say it works.” She watched the metal frame pop its own parachute far below. She felt the seat beneath her and the parachute above, ballooning and wafting. The ground became clearer, more detailed. A tiny house stood at the corner of one lot and a dirt road ran down the center of another. Cows spotted the field.
She twisted around and found Pippin looking pale. “You all right?”
“Glorious.” His voice was punchy.
“We’ll touch down and get picked up. No problem.” She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, remembering Kale’s insistence that she talk to her RIO. Now.
She dragged the words out, kicking and screaming. “I don’t know what to say to you, Pippin. You keep looking at me like there’s something I can do to fix this, but I have no clue. I’m really bad at this,” she admitted.
“You are,” he said.
Something dawned. “But so are you.”