Page 180 of Enemy of My Enemy
Falling for his country’s leader, and Russia’s best hope for her future, was the best and stupidest thing he’d ever done.
But he'd made peace with his hopeless desire. Accepted what he could have, and tried not to dream of what he could not. He lived in the yearning, in the way he could quietly love Sergey from his side. He could bask in his love like it was a warm summer day, let Sergey—all of what he was—permeate his soul.
And he'd just throwneverythingaway.
“Final preflight brief in thirty minutes.” Sasha headed back for the hangar, leaving Sergey and his own broken heart frozen at the base of the MiG’s ladder.
I will get through this moment like I have gotten through everything else.
And, by the end of the day, the hurt, the silent scream, wouldn’t matter anymore.
* * *
“My flight will takeme through the Urals and north by northeast to the Kara Sea. I will stay beneath the radar deck, out of sight of the air defenses. The peaks of the Urals will cover my flight from the North Fleet, based here, in the Barents Sea and around Murmansk.”
“Much of the North Fleet went to Moroshkin,” Sergey grumbled.
“They are likely scattered, with the invasion over the pole into Canada and whatever they are doing in the Arctic ice.” Sasha fingered the map, tracing the target zone he’d circled in red. To the west, the long, finger-like Severny Island stretched into the Arctic. He tapped the ice-covered island. “This is my western boundary. I will fly over Novaya Zemlya—” He pointed to the archipelago of scattered ice islands in the Russian arctic. “—and into the Kara Sea. After, I will call my report in on the sat phone.”
Sergey clenched Sasha’s paired sat phone in one hand. His arms were crossed and he glowered over the table, ignoring Jack’s questioning looks.
“I will begin my return flight then.”
Silence. Sasha waited for Sergey’s protest.
He said nothing. He turned his head and stared at Sasha’s jet.
“They’re going to fight back when they see you overflying.” Scott stood at Ethan’s side, wearing Sasha’s radio and carrying his old rifle. He’d fallen back into his former days as a soldier with seeming ease, and surprisingly, Sasha had discovered he liked the older man’s dry observations and even dryer humor, once they spent time on the same side. He’d given command of his patrol team to Scott, and his people were around the airfield, keeping watch while they prepped for his flight. Sasha had heard a few comments about the burly American, but for the most part, his people listened to Scott’s commands.
“I am expecting a few moments of confusion. After that, yes. They will open fire.”
Sergey growled.
“Our training makes us fight each other. Air Force against Navy, Army against Army. I am used to their tactics. I know what to do.”
Jack and Ethan shared a long look, unreadable to Sasha. He chanced a glance at Sergey, hoping, stupidly, for a special look of his own.
Instead, Sergey scowled and stormed out of the hangar.
They all followed, and then it was time. Sasha slipped into his G-suit and shook Jack and Ethan’s hands. Ethan held on for longer, and Sasha tried to smile at him. Ethan had been kind when he didn’t have to be. Memories danced, but bitterness sat on the back of his tongue. Ethan had gotten his desire.
Sasha never would.
Scott nodded his good-byes.
Sasha searched for Sergey.
He’d moved far away, standing apart from the group and down the runway. Far away from Sasha.
Fine. Sasha nodded once to Sergey and headed for his jet.
There weren’t any ground crew to guide him out of his lane or send him into the lineup for takeoff. Everything was on him as he fired up the engines and lowered the glass canopy over the cockpit. He propped up his folded map and compass, tucked the sat phone into his chest pocket, and started the crawl down their cobbled runway. Spray paint warned him away from cracks and potholes.
As he passed Sergey, he glanced out the cockpit window. One last look.
Devastation clung to Sergey, rage and fury and desperate anguish twisting his features.
Agony lanced through Sasha’s heart.
