Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
As more of the Half-Breed Squadron rose into the sky to join their circling pattern, Fieran could almost feel Merrik’s impatience wafting from his aeroplane in the wingman position behind Fieran’s.
In the days since they’d arrived at their new station, Fieran had set up a rotation with Flight A flying overwatch one day and Flight B the next day. That way, everyone had one day on, one day off. Besides overwatch, they’d flown numerous scouting missions.
But today, the Alliance armies were making a big push, and the whole squadron was taking to the sky to provide air support.
When the last of Flight B took to the sky to join the formation, Fieran pressed the button for the radio. “Flight B is in the air and headed for the front. Flight A, head for the front after you’ve formed up.”
Rothilion acknowledged, even as Fieran swung his aeroplane toward the east, the formation of aeroplanes forming around and behind him.
Trampled and torn ground lay below as their aeroplanes flashed overhead. Lines of trucks rumbled over rutted, makeshift roads. A tiny Mongavarian town was ringed with vehicles, under martial law now that the Alliance had captured it.
The explosions of dirt and fire grew closer until they flashed over the meandering, dug in trenches and foxholes that formed the current front lines.
The front stretched for as far as Fieran could see in either direction with one flank anchored against the flooded farm fields from the re-routed Chibo River and the other end stretching toward the Hydalla River.
With each day that passed, the Alliance armies forged deeper into Mongavaria, swinging the front down and forward from the northwest. To the north, another army of elves and trolls had crossed the Hydalla River, led by Fieran’s cousin Ryfon, to form another invasion spearpoint.
A few Alliance airships hovered high over the battlefield, providing more protective air cover. Although at the moment, Mongavaria had mustered neither airships nor aeroplanes to harass the advancing Alliance army.
At the vanguard, a blaze of blue magic surged outward, covering miles in either direction even as a storm of magic whirled in the center. Somewhere in that maelstrom, Dacha and Adry were fighting as the warriors of the ancient kings had always fought: with blades and blood, magic and steel.
If Fieran had made other choices, he would have been down there with them. He well-remembered what it had been like, holding his dacha’s swords, the weight of history in his hands, as he faced down the Mongavarian Army.
He didn’t regret the choices that led to him taking to the sky instead of fighting at his dacha’s side. But there was just a hint of a bittersweet could-have-been stirring in his chest regardless.
Giving himself a good shake, he flipped the radio to channel 4. “Half-Breed reporting in. Any changes to the strike points? Over.”
“Half-Breed, standby. Over.” A voice came over the radio.
Fieran flew along the front lines, taking in the way the Alliance Army was pressing forward.
At one point along the line, the trolls had created a blizzard of snow and ice, driving the Mongavarian Army back.
At another spot, the elves turned a small forest against the Mongavarians, and the enemy were in full retreat as they ran, likely screaming, from the vengeful trees.
And, of course, the dwarven armored unit formed a wedge behind their armored vehicles as they slammed into the enemy line.
After several minutes of waiting, the voice came again. “No changes to the strike coordinates. Over.”
Fieran acknowledged. He’d spent far too long in the past few days in the nearby town, standing in on the various planning meetings for this offensive. If he’d known how many meetings he’d have to attend, he might not have been as eager for this assignment.
After he flipped back to channel 1, he sent off the squadron in groups of six to hit the various strong points and villages that lay in the Alliance Army’s path.
Once Rothilion arrived with Flight A, he divided them up as well until finally just he, Merrik, Lije, Stickyfingers, Rothilion, and Aylia remained.
“I saved the best spot for us.” Fieran grinned as he unleashed his magic, shoving it outward into a protective network over their six aeroplanes.
With the lack of Mongavarian aerial attacks, he hadn’t shoved his magic over the squadron. They would be too scattered along the miles of front for him to hold the network once they started their strikes. Instead, this would be an additional test for Pip’s protective shields.
“It is hardly the best spot if only those protected directly by your magic would be able to make this run.” Rothilion’s voice was just as flat and calm as he always was when going into battle.
Seemingly not at all worried that his aeroplane might be incinerated in the next few minutes, if Fieran couldn’t hold his magic against the coming onslaught.
The Mongavarian guns would be the least of his worries.
“We have faith in you, Fieran.” Lije’s voice was a cheerful note.
“It’s going to be spectacular!” Aylia punctuated her words with a whoop.
“Are we going to keep talking or are we going to make our run?” Merrik’s voice sliced with an almost stern, lecturing tone instead of joining the banter.
“Someone is eager to impress his girlfriend,” Stickyfingers hooted into the radio.
Fieran didn’t have to see Merrik to know he was gripping the stick in white knuckles, his jaw working. “All right, everyone. Let’s put Merrik out of his misery. Starting my dive…now.”
Then he rolled his aeroplane and dove, the force pressing him into his seat, the wings straining.
This was exactly where he was meant to be. In the sky. The control column of an aeroplane gripped in his hands. The wind rushing past his face and tugging at the strands of hair that had fallen free of his flight cap.
As he neared the ground, he plunged into the edge of the crackling blue magic. The bolts lashed at him, clashing against his magic. He gritted his teeth and poured more magic into the shields around the six aeroplanes, preventing Dacha’s and Adry’s magic from incinerating them.
Large armored vehicles, more clunky and rudimentary than the dwarven-built ones, rolled forward with the Mongavarian Army huddled around them. The armored vehicles must have had some of that deflecting magic on them for Dacha’s and Adry’s magic skipped off of them, bouncing back into the sky.
Fieran leveled out and headed toward the leading armored vehicle, skimming only a few yards over the ground. Dropping the bombs from underneath his wings was horribly imprecise, so the closer he was to the ground, the more likely he was to actually hit one of those vehicles.
He mentally counted the seconds before he gripped the control column with his knees so that he could grasp the bomb levers. When his countdown hit zero, he pulled first the lever on the right, then the one on the left.
His aeroplane shot upward as the weight dropped from the wings. He quickly grasped the control stick in his hands again and pulled back, pointing his nose toward the sky.
He’d barely gained altitude before an explosion shoved against his aeroplane, shrapnel bursting against his magical shield.
He didn’t dare glance over his shoulder until he’d roared higher into the sky. Once he had enough height, he rolled his aeroplane onto its side.
The first of the armored vehicles lay on its side, two others tangled together as if they’d collided while trying to avoid the explosion. Even as Fieran watched, Merrik dropped his bombs on those armored vehicles and, within moments, they disappeared into a fireball.
Even as Fieran and Merrik rose upward, Lije, Stickyfingers, Aylia, and Rothilion dropped their bombs on the other armored vehicles, the bombs striking close enough to destroy or disable all but one of them.
The magical storm parted, and Dacha stepped into view, followed by Adry. Adry lifted one sword in salute before she and Dacha descended on the advancing Mongavarian Army.
Merrik circled one last time, waggling his aeroplane’s wings, before he returned to his spot as Fieran’s wingman.
Fieran grinned and shook his head. Showing off for his girlfriend was right.
Voices burst over the radio, reporting that the various coordinates had been hit.
As they sounded off, Fieran balanced a small pad of paper on a knee and checked off the strikes.
“Remain in station above the various points along the line and await further orders. The ground forces might request additional strikes.”
Even if they didn’t, the army would need the aerial protection, and the generals at headquarters would want a final scouting mission over the length of the front at the end of the day to confirm the new location of the front lines.
Fieran settled as comfortably as he could on the thin leather padding. This was going to be a long day now that most of the fun was over, at least for those in the sky.
As the sun hung low on the western horizon, Fieran climbed out of his aeroplane, his legs wobbling slightly at actually having to hold his weight after hours flying. For a moment he just stood there, holding on to his aeroplane while his legs remembered how to work.
A few yards away, Merrik climbed out of his aeroplane and sagged against it, shifting from leg to leg as if he couldn’t decide which leg was better suited to hold him up at the moment.
Fieran managed to push away from his aeroplane and tottered to Merrik. “How are you holding up?”
“Still standing.” Merrik leaned his back against the fuselage of his aeroplane. “That is about all you can expect at the moment.”