Page 47 of Silver Elite

Cross briefs us in the bomber jet. It’s the B-8, a new tactical aircraft we learned about during the Program. Our instructor spent a lot of time raving about this experimental three-seat model with its brand-new, cutting-edge air-to-ground weaponry system. We take two of them for the op, with me, Cross, and Xavier in one; Kaine, Tyler, and Jones in the other.

“Our radar caught a solo jet flying erratically at low altitudes,” Cross says over the comm feed. “By the time we got a drone out there, the fighter had already crashed in the forest. Drone shows the engines on fire, cockpit empty. Marks in the dirt indicate the pilot dragged himself away from the crash site.”

“Is he still in the area?” asks Xavier from the pilot’s seat. He skillfully propels the jet through the black sky, making me wish I’d paid more attention in Basics of Flight. New operatives to Silver Block aren’t allowed to fly any aircraft without extra training, though, so I’m not worried about being thrust into the pilot role anytime soon.

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Cross replies. “The plane is one click from our depot, which was decommissioned a few years ago. They might have old intel and think it’s an active one. Intelligence thinks they were trying to bomb it when the plane crashed.”

The B-8 banks as we near our destination. From the air, the weapons depot is barely visible. Not until Cross points it out to me.

It doesn’t resemble a military installation. Nestled in the rugged terrain of an isolated valley, the depot is small and unassuming, little more than a collection of nondescript buildings hidden among the trees. The main warehouse looks like a barn. Squinting, I make out old crates stacked near a sagging chain-link fence and other random pieces of debris littering the dusty ground.

“Anyone can waltz up to this,” I say in surprise. “That warehouse doesn’t even look like reinforced steel.”

“The whole point is that it’s in plain sight. It’s supposed to look inconspicuous. When it was operational, the entire compound was wired with explosives. Crawling with land mines. Motion sensors. Drone security. It used to contain an arsenal of weapons and munitions. But it’s been abandoned for years.”

Once we’re on the ground, we split into two teams. One to investigate the plane, the other to secure the perimeter of the depot. I’m with Cross and Xavier again, delving into the forest in search of the fighter jet.

Something feels…off. I wonder if the guys agree, but I don’t ask them as we move through the darkness. I smell the smoke when we’re about half a mile out. Jet fuel.

As we near the crash site, a knot of foreboding tightens in my stomach.

“Keep your eyes open,” Cross murmurs. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

I readjust my grip on my weapon. A sniper rifle is too cumbersome for this op, so I’m outfitted with the smaller version of the REMM-4. The 3. It’s equally delicious and fixed with the same night sight that the other model uses.

My senses remain on high alert as we approach the smoldering wreckage of the downed jet. Cross signals for me to venture to higher ground, gesturing that he and Xavier will investigate while I cover them. I nod and move up the rocky outcrop. They don’t move until I’m in position, covering them as they creep closer to the plane. Thanks to the rifle’s night sight, I see them clearly in the dark.

I scan the area for any signs of movement. All looks calm, yet still I feel vulnerable, exposed.

“Clear,” Cross says a few minutes later.

“We’ve got a trail of blood.” Tyler’s voice comes through the comm. “Heading for the main building now.”

“Be careful, Dixie,” Xavier warns, using her call sign.

“Dove, are you seeing anything?”

It took a while, but Cross finally dropped the “broken” from my call sign, which has been a relief.

I sweep the area again. “There’s nobody here.”

“Well, there’s definitely somebody here. ” Kaine’s voice now. “Bloody footprints everywhere.”

“Dixie. Proceed with caution,” Cross says. “Any hint of trouble, retreat and wait for us.”

“Copy that.”

The line falls quiet. But only for a few seconds.

Tyler returns, her unease unmistakable. “Captain, something’s not right here—”

An explosion goes off in the distance.

I hear it in my ear, too, just a split second of deafening thunder before the feed cuts and the silence returns. I’m already on my feet. Cross and Xavier come running.

“Dixie!” Xavier shouts. “Come in.”

No response. The channel is completely silent, eerily so.

Without delay, the three of us race toward the source of the blast. I see the flames the moment we reach the depot, burning hot in the side of the main building, smoke gusting out of the gaping hole left by the explosion.

“Condor,” I say urgently, tapping my earpiece.

Silence.

“Kaine, come in. Please.”

“Tyler.” I hear the note of fear in Xavier’s voice.

“Kaine.”

“Jones. Tyler, damn it.”

We’ve abandoned call signs as we plead for our fellows to answer.

Silence.

Despite my instincts screaming danger! I run toward the warehouse, but I only make it five steps before I’m being yanked backward. Cross shoves me behind him moments before a second explosion rocks the night.

A blinding burst of light illuminates the darkness like a thousand suns, sending shock waves of embers and debris hurtling in our direction.

We flatten ourselves to the ground, and I watch in despair as the weapons depot is transformed into a hellish inferno, flames licking hungrily at it, thick plumes of black smoke billowing into the sky. The force of the blast shattered windows and sent broken glass raining down like deadly shrapnel. A shard of it is lodged in Xavier’s cheek.

When he tries to get up, Cross issues an order. “Stay down.”

A sickly scent fills the air. Sweet. Mingling with the acrid stench of smoke. As the fire rages unchecked, the walls of the depot begin to buckle and groan. With a series of earsplitting cracks, they give way, collapsing in on themselves as flames continue to consume everything.

“What the hell bomb was that?” My eyes water as I stare at the building, utterly helpless. “I’ve never seen an explosion like that.”

“Sugar bomb,” Cross says.

The building has been reduced to a smoldering ruin. Nobody could have survived that second explosion. The first one, maybe.

But not the second.

The stinging of my eyes gets worse, and it’s no longer from the air quality. Battling my tears, I jump to my feet. “We need to…They might still be…”

I take several steps toward the raging inferno, but even from twenty feet away, the sheer heat of it singes the tiny hairs on my face.

Cross pulls me back. “Stand down. Do you want to burn alive?”

“ They’re burning alive.” Vomit bubbles up my esophagus. “We need to get to them.”

“They’re gone, Wren,” he says, confirming my grim thoughts. “Nobody survives that.”

Xavier is the one trying to make a run for it now. When Cross locks his arms around him from behind, forcibly restraining him, Xavier unleashes an elbow into Cross’s throat.

Cross growls. “Stand down, Lieutenant.”

“Tyler’s in there.”

“I know.” He sounds utterly defeated.

Several long, painful minutes pass. The fire continues to rage. We continue to stare at the scorched ground where a whole building used to be.

Hope bursts inside me when I suddenly hear static in my ear. I suck in a breath, waiting for Kaine’s lighthearted voice to assure me he’s okay, that no explosion could stop someone so dashing and handsome.

But the crackling ends as abruptly as it starts.

“The hell was that?” Xavier demands. “Did you all hear that?”

“Something’s not right.” Cross’s features sharpen.

“Of course something’s not right! You fucking prickhole. You just stood there and let them die. You should’ve let me try.”

“Would you have preferred to die, too? Is that it?”

As they face off, I register another sound. A gust. The faint roar of an engine. I tip my head, and I swear I see a shadowy blur in the sky.

I frown. “We need to get to the airfield.”

Cross arches a questioning brow.

“I think I just saw a plane.”

Without further discussion, we take off, hiking through the brush in the direction of the airfield. When we emerge from the trees, we stop in our tracks.

Of the two B-8s that brought us here, only one remains.

It was a trap.

The pieces of the puzzle click into place. They crashed their fighter on purpose. Their pilot was never inside the depot. He sprang the trap and then waited. Waited for us to go to the crash site, for Tyler’s team to investigate. They used the crash as a diversion, a smokescreen to cover their true objective, and while we were distracted by the chaos of the explosion, they stole one of our most advanced bomber jets.

Our?

Confusion fogs my brain. I realize I’m thinking of myself as part of the Command.

Their jet, I mean.

My people stole their jet.

But the lines are blurring. God, they’re blurring.

“The planes are fitted with cameras,” I say. “There’ll be footage of it, right? Showing whoever took it?”

Cross responds with a cynical look. “They just lifted our bomber from right under our noses. You think they didn’t come up with a plan to disable the cameras?”

Beside him, Xavier has fallen silent. His gaze is unfocused, face drained of color. I’m confused for a second until the reminder slaps me in the face.

Tyler’s gone.

Jones.

Kaine.

A sob gets stuck in my throat.

“Check the perimeter,” Cross tells Xavier, who nods dully.

The second he’s out of earshot, Cross’s voice rumbles inside my head.

“Did you know about this?”

I gape at him. “What?”

“You’re working with them. Did you know what they were planning?”

A slice of hurt penetrates before I’m able to steel my expression. “I swear, I had no idea.”

“You expect me to believe you were just as blindsided as the rest of us?”

His doubt is unambiguous. So is the anger.

“I didn’t.”

He grabs my arm. Hard. Holding me in place as his gaze bores into mine. He doesn’t believe me.

“I promise you, Cross. I didn’t know. I would never, ever have led them into an ambush. Not Kaine.” Agony rips through me at the notion of never seeing Kaine’s impish grin again. “He’s my closest friend here.”

My eyes feel hot again. I shrug his hand off me.

“I didn’t know.”

At that, I spin on my heel and go help Xavier secure the perimeter.

—

The funerals are held two days later in a small cemetery on the grounds of the base. It’s a depressing affair. Three flag-draped caskets sit side by side. They’re empty, of course. Our three fellows were nothing but ashes by the time we were able to send a team to go through the bomb site.

My gaze falls on the Company flag, its navy backdrop with the white crest in the center. Everyone stands in respectful formation, but most faces are bereft of emotion, including grief. They might not care, but I’m grieving. Grieving for a golden-haired young man with mischief in his eyes.

I cry for my friend. I don’t care if it’s wrong. I don’t care that six months ago, I would’ve secretly been cheering for the deaths of three Primes. Three Command soldiers, for that matter. Bonus! Tana and I would’ve shared a drink in the town square and toasted to their deaths.

But Tana is not here.

And there’s nothing to celebrate.

The loss weighs heavily on me. I know he was the enemy…but he didn’t feel like it. I stare at Kaine’s portrait being projected from behind his casket, and my chest clenches with sorrow. My gaze shifts to Tyler’s image. That doesn’t make it better. I didn’t know her well yet, outside the context of instructor, but she was someone Xavier cared about.

He doesn’t cry for her like I cry for Kaine. He stands in his dress blues. Expressionless. Jaw hard.

When their commanding officer is asked to step forward, Cross moves in front of the three caskets. Rather than deliver a speech extolling their virtues, he simply recites their names, rank, and ward.

“Tyler Struck, 2nd Soldier, Ward A. Kaine Sutler, 1st Soldier, Ward D. Noah Jones, 1st Soldier, Sanctum Point.”

There’s a low growl at Noah’s name, and I turn to see a man with jet-black hair and murder in his eyes. He wears a tailored suit, impeccably fitted to his lean frame, and the expensive clothing and diamond-studded watch speak to wealth and privilege. He exudes power. He’s also one of the few people here who is visibly overcome with grief.

This must be Jones’s father, the capitalist. I wonder why he gets to attend when Kaine’s and Tyler’s families are conspicuously absent. Lyddie, who’s clutching my hand like it’s a life preserver, told me that the General doesn’t like “emotional fanfare” with his funerals.

Noah’s father stands next to Travis Redden, who seems to be having trouble maintaining a composed expression. Flashes of barely restrained fury keep breaking through the mask.

With a sinking feeling, I realize that heads will roll for this.

The burial is short and concise, just the way the General likes it. He’s not even here, our esteemed leader who values his military above all else. The ceremony draws to a close with the slashing of the flags. Two honor guards step forward in unison to hold the Company flag taut for Cross. He reaches into his belt and slides a knife out of its sheath, the silver blade winking in the morning light. His face has been impassive since we got here, but when it’s time for him to slash the flag, I notice his throat dip, the first hint of emotion.

I never understood this tradition. Slicing the flag down the center but stopping short of tearing it in half. It’s supposed to represent resilience or some shit. Damaged yet not destroyed. I remember the General uttering those words during a televised funeral for a colonel from Tin Block. I suppose a few paltry dead soldiers don’t warrant his attention the way a colonel does.

One by one, Cross slashes the navy and white pieces of fabric. The guards’ movements are synchronized as they carefully drape the flags over the caskets again. And that’s it. We’re dismissed.

I want to talk to Cross, but he’s intercepted by various officers. I keep my distance, waiting for him to be free, despite the fact that he glances over his shoulder at one point to pin me with a hard look. We haven’t spoken in two days. He’s kept his distance. I sent him a message on his comm, and he ignored it. He won’t come to my quarters. He won’t let me link with him as Wolf, and he won’t let me talk to him as Cross.

He thinks I knew about the ambush, but I wasn’t lying to him when I insisted I didn’t. For the past two days, I’ve been cursing the Uprising for keeping me in the dark, and the conversation I had with Adrienne about it after we returned to base that night hadn’t done shit to appease me.

“I don’t appreciate being kept out of the loop,” I’d snapped at her. “I’m Elite. I could have—”

“What? You could’ve done what? Made the operation go even smoother than it did? We got what we wanted without you.”

“The plane.”

She neither confirmed nor denied it. “ You don’t call the shots. We do. If we had needed you for that mission, you would have been part of the mission. And we didn’t need you, Darlington. In fact, prior knowledge of it might have endangered the whole op.”

“What? You don’t trust me?” I said bitterly.

“It’s not about trust. It’s about sincerity. Your reactions. The entire operation was exactly what we needed it to be. You were going in to investigate a fallen aircraft. If you’d known it was a decoy, you might’ve tipped them off.”

“I’m better than you think.”

“And worse than you think. You’re young and you’re arrogant. With that said, there are some things coming down the pipe. We’ll need your help with the Jubilee.”

Anticipation tightened my gut. “What are you planning?”

“We’ll be in touch,” was all she said, and I haven’t heard from her since.

I try to act nonchalant as I trail after Cross at a discreet distance. Like a lovesick puppy.

My spine stiffens when he stops to speak with Jones’s father. The man is clearly livid. Whatever Cross is saying, Mr. Jones is not having it. When the volume of his voice rises, Travis touches the man’s arm and leads him away from his brother.

Nearly fifteen minutes pass before Cross breaks away from the crowd and stalks toward the entrance of the building.

Anxiety flutters through me. I need to talk to him. He has to know I had nothing to do with that ambush. I stride after him, watching him disappear through the door. I’ve lost sight of him, but I know where he’s going. Our war room isn’t in this building, but his office is.

I reach that door— Captain of Operations —in time to hear glass breaking. I’m about to push it open when I realize he’s not alone.

“How the hell did you let this happen?”

Travis.

“What the fuck is the point of your godfucking elite unit if you let your own people die in a fucking ambush?”

“You might want to take a look in the mirror, Colonel.” Cross’s voice is pure ice. “You’re the head of Intelligence.”

“You’re my boots on the ground! You should have known about this. How am I supposed to explain to Wexton Jones that his only son is dead? Died because my brother walked him directly into a trap.”

Cross doesn’t say anything.

“Fix this,” Travis snarls.

“I’m sorry that this is inconvenient to your friendship with Wexton Jones.” Cross is mocking him now. “I know you had big plans for him for when the General retires and you take your place at the helm. Is that still your dream, Trav?”

His brother doesn’t answer.

“Because you’re fooling yourself if you think the General will ever hand over the reins to either one of us. For someone who outlaws God, his God complex sure is big enough. He thinks he’s the only one who can lead the people. Keep the order. Contain the Aberrant.”

“The hell are you babbling about? Fix this. Find the people that stole our plane. Do your job.”

At the approaching footsteps, I duck into the open doorway nearest me. I wait until Travis’s angry footfalls disappear around the corner.

There’s a moment of silence, then another crash from Cross’s office. More broken glass.

I bite my lip. It’s evident this isn’t the time to talk. Maybe that’s for the best, though.

There’s something I need to do first, anyway.