Page 32 of Enemy of My Enemy

Cooper nodded. “I’ve got Marines to collect. I’ll be in touch.” He headed out, walking away from the stockade and the Humvees waiting out front. Whatever had happened, whatever had caused the fight, it was over now, and Cooper was no longer General Bell’s man. He was Ethan’s, and if Bell wanted to cause a ruckus over that, he’d bring it right back.

But there was something there, some deep-seated tension running through Cooper, and Bell had run into the tripwire for whatever it was.

He’d have to keep an eye on Cooper. Make sure he leveled out.

The airman didn’t quite know how to handle Lieutenant Cooper’s release, especially since his incarceration had come with General Bell’s explicit orders to “let him rot,” but Ethan offered to sign for him, and the airman gratefully accepted.

After, he and Daniels hopped into their Humvee and were driven back to the airfield and their waiting jet. Ethan confirmed that the plane Irwin had sent had actually landed and was waiting in a hangar downfield for Cooper, and then they took off, just as the sun was setting over the Gulf of Mexico.

Daniels watched as Ethan gazed out the window. The weight of his stare was heavy.

Ethan finally turned to his friend, eyebrows raised. “Something on your mind?”

Daniels couldn’t meet Ethan’s gaze. “That general was an asshole,” he finally grunted. “Took everything I had not to lay him out.” He shook his head and glared, eyes pinched and lips pursed. “I don’t understand why people hate you and the president.”

“It’s not just me and Jack being together.” Ethan swallowed, and he frowned down at his hands in his lap as he tried to find the right words. “That’s a big part of it, but it’s not new. I’ve been dealing with this my whole life.” He looked up. “This… complete dismissal of me as a person. As aman. To them, since I’m gay, and especially since I’m out about it, I’m not worth the same as a straight man. My masculinity. It’s always suspect. I’m always looked at as half of a real man. And, my sexuality? It’s a constant battle. Being promoted to the Lead Detail? That was higher than I ever thought I’d get. There was so much against me, for so many years.” He shook his head, staring out the window. “I just never wanted Jack to have to deal with this bullshit.”

Daniels stayed quiet. Ethan settled back in his seat and watched the clouds and the sky darken as day turned to night.

Finally, Daniels spoke. His voice was choked, but he looked Ethan dead in the eyes. “I’ve never met a better man than you, Ethan. Swear to fucking God.”

* * *

Chapter 8

Russia

Andreapol Air Base

Sasha pulledinto Andreapol Air Base, four hours north of Moscow, just after five in the morning. He’d grabbed another cup of coffee on the drive, keeping awake for his all-night trek home. He’d slept through the day before, readying himself for his bolt down to Moscow to relieve the itch he’d had in his blood and for his next day’s overflight of the capital.

As one of the pilots assigned to the 773rd Guards Fighter Regiment, he was one of the best of the best MiG fighter pilots in the Russian Army Air Force. A top gun, a god amongst mortals. He and his wingmen owned the skies. On some flights, they climbed high enough to break the edge of space, seeing nothing but blackness above and the curvature of the earth below. His pencil had floated through the cockpit once, weightless. On the roll and dive back down to Earth, they’d broken the sound barrier, reaching Mach 2.5 before leveling out over Murmansk and the Barents Sea.

There was nothing, not a thing, that could beat that.

He parked in the pilots’ lot and hopped out, grabbing his flight bag from his squeaky trunk. A few other cars dotted the parking lot, squadron mates he recognized.

There was a spring in his step as he headed into their hangar. He’d gotten his need out of his system, for the next six months at least. After a shower, he’d change into his flight suit and hang out in the ready room until the morning brief. No one would ever know where he was the night before, or what he’d done.

The halls were empty inside the hangar. No chatter of pilots or loud guffaws as someone called bullshit on another’s wild story. Sasha peered into the ready room but kept on toward the showers. Maybe they were all out at a flight line check.

He found everyone in the locker room.

Nine guys, his fellow pilots, his wing leader, and the regiment commander all leaned up against the lockers, out of uniform and in old, ratty sweats. Everyone wore leather gloves and some were flexing their fingers, squeezing their hands into fists over and over. The group was talking quietly, trying, it seemed, to not be noticed. The hum of the fluorescent lights above droned over their soft words.

Sasha slowed when he saw the hockey sticks in the hands of four of his fellow pilots.

Guys he’d called friends.

When the group turned and saw him, he realized he didn’t have a single friend in the room.

“Poluchit’ gryaz’,” his wing commander growled.Get that piece of filth.

Sasha tried to run, but they cut him off at the door, trapping him in the locker room. Sticks banged on the lockers, harder, faster, a heavy clang that rattled the walls and shook the lights above. He bared his teeth and threw up his fists.

Not without a fight. Not without a fight, damn it.

“Grebanyy pedik!”Fucking Faggot!