“So?”
Things began to line up. Tourn lived as an outcast, seldom leaving his base. Never answering the criticisms on the bombing of the Philippines, which the media dug up whenever ratings were low. It was a wonder he even had that one-night stand eighteen years ago. And when he had finally met the product of that encounter, he’d been so obviously unhappy with her.
“Did he reject me because I’m too much like him?”
Pippin was quiet. She felt a change in his breathing through the amplified sound in their helmets. “Chase. Listen to me. You’re both pilots. That’s where the similarity ends.”
“I always thought I couldn’t cut it, but maybe he didn’t want a clone.” Chase had shown up at his base, ready to enlist. A ridiculous twelve-year-old who bragged she could do fifty push-ups. The way he’d looked at her…so startled. Taken aback even.
“Think of it this way, Chase. If there’s any kind of decent in that man, he would have kept you far away from him. Protected you from his reputation.”
“You mean like change my last name to Harcourt instead of Tourn?”
“Your last name was Tourn? Chase Tourn? That sounds like a comic book hero.”
“He paid Janice to change it—a week after he sent me back. My stitches were still bleeding,” she said.
“Your stitches? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Chase.” Pippin’s voice was all nerves. “We shouldn’t fly right now. You’re really upset.”
“We have to.” She fired the engines and felt the roar envelop her. Phoenix and Pegasus were already on the runway. “Can we check in with Arrow…and Sylph?” she added, hoping to camouflage the fact that she just wanted to hear Tristan’s voice.
“There’s no shortwave radio connection allowed,” Pippin said. “We’re on our own up there. Archmen covered that in the rundown, remember?”
She directed Dragon out of the hangar and watched Phoenix screech into the sky. Tristan held his hand up. A cocky wave that brought her back to her wings ablaze and the blue silver of Dragon. “I can do this,” she told herself. “I have to.” She took a deep breath. Then another. “Ready, Pippin baby?”
“Always, Nyxy muffin.” Pippin’s tone didn’t have its usual zip.
Perhaps he knew better.
34
REDLINE
Breakneck Speed
Chase pulled it together enough to win the speed test by the length of the Green, hitting Mach 5. Tristan held on to Mach 4, while Sylph made herself comfortable at three.
Chase’s body thrummed with adrenaline by the time she reached the coordinates for the maneuverability test. Hundreds of old fighter jets hung in the air, creating a cloud of bogeys that reminded her of the swarm of drones she’d seen a few months back.
“Look at that, Pip.”
“They’re set up like a maze. You’ve got to maneuver through them like an obstacle course.”
A sour taste filled her mouth. Obstacle courses weren’t her thing. And if she made a false move, she’d smash into a jet with a poor pilot inside like a sitting duck. She settled herself between Phoenix and Pegasus on an imaginary line and waited for the go-ahead while her hands grasped the throttle and stick uneasily.
When the signal came, she took off with her heartbeats striking noticeably in her chest. Sylph sprung ahead, showing off her impressive maneuverability. She even looked like she was going to win for half of it, but Tristan picked up a rhythm and ended up beating her by a Streaker wing.
Pippin and Chase had a good view of Sylph’s swearing, slamming anger in her cockpit a few hundred yards away. “She’s going to make Riot’s ears bleed,” Pippin said.
Chase eyed Phoenix off and on, feeling flashes of the previous night’s engagements. She held on to the image of him kissing her, making her laugh. And then the conversation that stretched on and on until they were punchy with exhaustion. The memory almost managed to push away her stinging thoughts about Tourn.
And her thumping anxiety over the final test.
“What now?” she asked Pippin.
“We wait to find out what this combat is all about.”
They didn’t have to wait long. The fighter jets started to weave. All of them. Dragon’s missile lock alarm went off, making Chase seize in her chair.
“Every single one of those birds is engaging!” Pippin yelled.
Chase watched the cloud of jets come to life and turn at her. “Holy shit, they’re trying to lock on us!”
The Streakers split up, and the fighters chased. They weren’t fast enough to keep up, but there were enough of them to get in the way and completely muck up her escape. Plus, she knew deep down that she wasn’t supposed to escape. This was the combat portion of the test.
A dogfight to end all dogfights.
Chase pulled Tristan’s maneuver, the back loop, and missile locked on an F-18 Hornet. The jet bugged out as soon as it had been tagged. “Well, there’s the secret. We have to tag every single one of these suckers. Here we go.”
Pippin didn’t answer; he was too busy keeping their tail clear.
Chase glanced over and saw that Phoenix and Pegasus had caught on too, and the long pursuit began. It seemed to take many hours, although it probably wasn’t more than two. Chase’s eyes went blurry from exhaustion. Her ears stung from hearing the warning alarms when the jets flew too close, but in the end, the Streakers proved they could outfly and outmaneuver every single jet up there.
Dragon felt like a hummingbird among crows, darting circles, in and out before the jet in question saw her. Her body lined with sweat, and her hands were shaking by the time there were only three jets left in the sky. Three Streakers.
“Are we done?” Chase asked Pippin.
“Nope. We’re supposed to get flagged when it’s over.”