Chapter 1 #2
For good measure, he reached to one side and pulled on the levers beside him, releasing the two small bombs under his right wings. He quickly switched hands and released the bombs under his left wings as well, balancing the weight once again.
Behind him, Merrik’s machine gun chattered before even more bombs exploded.
Cheers filled the radio.
“Yes!”
“Got ’em!”
“That will teach them to attack the Alliance!”
Across the farm fields, a line of tanks rumbled forward on their tracks.
Dwarves hunched behind the armored vehicles, likely stomping and humming in rhythm since a protective shield stretched between the tanks, using the large chunks of metal as anchoring points.
Behind them, ranks of elves, trolls, and humans crouched low as they hurried forward in a controlled charge.
Even as he turned his aeroplane toward the sky, wheeling it back toward the Alliance troops, Fieran shoved another wave of his magic outward.
It danced over the dwarven magic, adding another layer of protection.
It didn’t merge quite as happily with the shield as it did with Pip’s magic, but Pip’s magic was rather special like that.
Fieran glanced over his shoulder, checking that the last of his Flight had finished their run and were lifting back into the sky once again.
Down below, the Alliance forces smashed into the Mongavarian line.
Fieran grinned as he toggled the radio back to channel 4. “Foe Hammer, come in. Over.”
“Well done, Half-Breed!” The radioman sounded as if he might have been cheering a moment before. The vague sound of cheers and shouts could be barely heard in the background. The radioman must be with the rearguard command position rather than in the front lines currently engaged with the enemy.
“Do you need us to make another run? Over.” With the armies so locked together, Fieran wasn’t sure he and his squadron could make another strafing run. But they could join the overwatch and wait for an hour or two to see if another run was needed.
Fieran scanned the skies as his aeroplane climbed higher. The dogfight was over, and he couldn’t spot a single Mongavarian aeroplane left.
There was a pause before a new voice came over the radio. “Half-Breed, this is Col. Fletcher. My commendations on a job well done. We’ve got it from here. Over.”
“Yes, sir. Half-Breed out.” Fieran switched back to channel 1. “Well done, Half-Breed. We can head back to Engleston Aerodrome.”
Fieran perched on a log near one of the campfires, stretching out his bare feet toward the flames to warm them up after the flight. His socks lay on stones as close to the fire as he dared. Hopefully the dry heat would somewhat cut the smell while it dried them.
On the next log over, Merrik had his prosthetic leg off and in his lap as he cleaned out a few of the joints and fiddled with the adjustments.
His socks, too, dried out near the fire, including the stocking he wore over his stump.
As he stretched out his left leg, he wiggled his three remaining toes on that foot.
A few scars wrapped around his foot and up his ankle from where he’d been pieced back together.
Lt. Rothilion, Lije, Stickyfingers, Tiny, and Murray lounged on the other logs around this campfire, although Stickyfingers was leaning so far backward that he was in danger of tipping over as he talked with Lt.
Nellie Blair where she sat at a nearby campfire with most of the flygirls, both human and elven.
Lije sniffed at his shirt and grimaced. “I’m ready to get back to Fort Defense and get a proper shower.”
The Engleston Aerodrome had a few outdoor showers behind makeshift curtains, but the water was ice cold. Laundry had to be scrubbed in a bucket and set out on a line to dry, something Fieran and his squadron had been too busy to do in the past few days.
“The return to proper accommodations will be much appreciated.” Lt.
Rothilion scrubbed at the mud splattered on the ends of his trousers and tilted his head toward where their two-person army tents were tucked beneath the trees at the very edge of this mountain meadow, the ground falling away to a gorge on the far side.
To the other side of their fires, their aeroplanes were parked beside the airfield, scattered far enough apart that they wouldn’t all be destroyed in case of a bombing raid.
Beyond the airfield, the haphazard buildings of the aerodrome perched amid piles of muddy earth while the skeleton of a half-finished hangar rose against the night sky.
“And away from the mud.” Merrik peered into the small space at the ankle joint of his prosthetic.
“At least it isn’t raining tonight.” Fieran shot a glance at the clear night sky arching overhead, the stars winking.
This high up in the Whitehurst Mountains, the night was somewhat chilly, even this far south in Escarland.
At this time of early autumn, most of southern Escarland was still gripped in hot, humid weather, and as that air piled into the mountains, it resulted in frequent rainsqualls.
“Not yet,” Lije grumbled as he shifted one of his damp boots closer to the fire.
“We’ll be back at Fort Defense tomorrow.” Tiny heaved a sigh, his eyes going somewhat distant. He was likely dreaming about donuts…and the troll girl who worked in the donut shop.
Lije rolled his eyes and elbowed Tiny.
Stickyfingers was so wrapped up with his conversation with the flygirls at the other campfire that he hadn’t even noticed.
Fieran resisted the urge to heave a lovesick sigh of his own. He missed Pip. Missed joking with her. Missed tinkering on an aeroplane together. Missed evening walks with her hand in his.
For the little over a week that the Half-Breed Squadron had been supporting the southern two invasion forces, the squadron’s mechanics had been left behind at Fort Defense, along with most of their gear.
They’d camped in large fields, highland meadows, and makeshift aerodromes where they could borrow mechanics and purloin spare parts as needed, only occasionally having access to the luxuries of showers and hot food that they’d grown accustomed to at Fort Defense.
Now Fieran’s squadron had finally been ordered to return to Fort Defense. The invasion was making good progress, and their aeroplanes were in need of maintenance and repairs.
Not to mention, all of them needed rest. They’d flown long hours, traveling up and down the border, and engaged in numerous battles both in the air and in support of ground troops.
It was beyond time for a day off. A plate of donuts. A walk with his girl.
And a hot shower. Definitely the hot shower.