Page 1 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

Chapter

One

A s Capt. Fieran Laesornysh stepped out of the underground hangar at the top of the cliffs of Dar Goranth, the chill breeze whipping off the ocean cut through his green military uniform shirt, despite the calendar stating that it was supposed to be early summer.

To one side of the cave mouth, his flyboys lined up as they took in the new squadron landing at Dar Goranth. The sky filled with the shapes of circling aeroplanes waiting for their turn to land, their shadows casting shapes across the low grass and heather covering the island’s craggy landscape.

“Ooh! That’s going to hurt in the morning.”

“I give that landing a one out of ten.”

“Better luck on the next landing.”

The flyboys punctuated the cheerful ribbing with clapping and whistles, even as the sound of whining aeroplane engines and thrumming propellers reverberated from the sky.

On the airfield ahead of them, the ground crew struggled to right an aeroplane where it sat tipped onto a wing after a mild crash landing.

Another biplane—painted gray-green with the Alliance red, gray, and green circles on the wings—wobbled its way downward toward the airfield.

A gust of wind kicked up, and the aeroplane danced in the sky.

The pilot must have given it more power to attempt to straighten the craft, and it veered to the side, too far to attempt a landing.

“That’s not looking good.” Pretty Face had his arms crossed, his mustache waxed and styled in what was currently popular among Escarlish nobility. “Better circle around.”

Farther down the line, Lt. Saranthyr Rothilion stood near a cluster of the elven pilots of Flight A, his long honey-blond hair tossing in the breeze.

He gave a soft snort and shot a look at Pretty Face.

“Your Flight was hardly a stellar example of airmanship when you landed at Dar Goranth the first time.”

“Yes, but we’re humans—well, mostly humans.

It’s expected of us.” Pretty Face gestured at the aeroplane that barely made it high enough back into the sky to avoid clipping the hill at the far end of the airfield.

“These are elves attempting to land, and they aren’t making any better a show of it than we did. ”

“Don’t you mean they’re creating quite the show?” Stickyfingers grinned and elbowed Pretty Face.

Lije eyed Lt. Rothilion, his smile showing off the gap between his two front teeth. “Makes me wonder what your Flight looked like when you landed the first time.”

Aylia, a rather exuberant female elf pilot and Lt. Rothilion’s newly promoted second-in-command, grinned back from where she stood bridging the gap between the human pilots of Flight B and elf pilots of Flight A. “We were quite terrible.”

“And you gave us such a hard time about our poor showing.” Pretty Face heaved a sigh and smoothed a hand over one side of his mustache, as if to ensure it was still properly in place.

As much as Fieran wanted to join the joking, he was the captain of the whole squadron. Maintaining discipline was now his duty. Even if it meant being a killjoy.

Was it too late to fetch Merrik and send him instead? Fieran could delegate distasteful jobs to his second-in-command, right?

Fieran sighed and strode the rest of the way out of the shadow of the hangar mouth.

He couldn’t give Merrik all the less-than-pleasant jobs, tempting as it was.

“All right, flyboys and flygirls. Cut them some slack. We need to give our replacements a warm welcome to Dar Goranth, and we all know they haven’t had adequate flight time for the difficulties of landing here. ”

These poor pilots had even less flight time and training than Fieran and his men had when they arrived. From what Fieran heard, the training programs for the Flying Corps of both Tarenhiel and Escarland had been shortened to keep up with the demand for more pilots.

As one, the massed elf and human pilots spun to face and salute him. “Yes, sir!”

Fieran suppressed a grimace at having his friends salute him, although it was rather gratifying to receive the gesture from Lt. Rothilion. After saluting back, Fieran strode to the center of the two groups and joined Aylia standing there.

“Has everyone cleaned their things out?” Fieran swept a glance down the line as they nodded and chorused “Yes, sir,” once again .

Merrik was checking their former rooms now, ensuring that everyone had, indeed, carted all their things down two levels of Dar Goranth’s warren of tunnels to their temporary quarters for the night before they left for Escarland in the morning.

That vacated the upper two levels for this incoming squadron.

Erendriel, Rothilion’s former second-in-command, was with Merrik, making sure that everything was ready for his new squadron.

Orders had come for someone from Flight A to stay behind and assume command of the new squadron of elves so that a commander with experience at Dar Goranth would remain while the rest of them took up their new post at Fort Defense.

Lt. Rothilion had turned down the offer, which would have let him remain as the acting commander of a squadron, and instead the post had gone to Erendriel. Fieran wasn’t sure what to make of the formerly snobby elf lieutenant’s choice to remain under Fieran’s command.

As more of the new elven pilots fumbled their way through their landings at Dar Goranth, Erendriel appeared beside Fieran, giving him a salute.

After returning the salute, Fieran tilted his head toward where the ground crews had parked the first of the aeroplanes, the pilots beginning to climb out. “Let’s welcome your new squadron to Dar Goranth.”

With the new squadron welcomed and placed under Erendriel’s command, Fieran made his way through the far too quiet and empty hangar. He followed the sounds of hammering and muttering to the back corner, where the remnants of the two older-model aeroplanes they’d used to test gun mounts rested.

The two aeroplanes were little more than wrecks at this point.

After the Battle for Dar Goranth, the biplanes had been stripped of anything that was useful for fixing the squadron’s aeroplanes until actual replacement parts could be sent from Escarland.

What was left of the fuselages showed the holes from moving the gun mount into a variety of positions, and both aeroplanes lacked propellers.

One listed on its side since the wheel struts had broken during its final testing run for the guns.

Yet now they sported even more damage than the last time Fieran had seen them. One of the wrecks had blackened streaks all down the sides and what was left of the lower wing had the canvas completely burned away.

Pip stood on a ladder by the other aeroplane, her head in the engine compartment as she muttered and fiddled with something.

Patches of grease and what looked like burn marks creased her green coveralls while what he could see of her dark brown hair was tied back in a messy knot at the back of her head.

He did his best not to look at her petite, curvy figure. He was, after all, the one who’d said they couldn’t have a romantic relationship until the war was over. He needed to keep his mind and eyes firmly where they belonged for just a friend.

“Still working on your mysterious project?” Fieran rested a shoulder against the aeroplane’s side next to her ladder.

Pip jumped and banged her head on the top of the engine compartment. Rubbing the back of her head, she ducked out of the compartment and glared at him. “Failing my mysterious project is more like it. Why does your magic have to be so volatile? ”

The project really must not have been going well if Pip was getting this snappy. Fieran had grown up around enough inventors to recognize the look. Usually, this was the point where it was best to back away slowly and leave the person to their frustration.

But when it came to Pip, Fieran found he couldn’t help himself most of the time.

“I’m afraid volatile is the nature of the magic of the ancient kings.” Fieran let a bit of his blue, crackling magic spark over his fingers before he curled his fist and snuffed it out. “What seems to be the trouble?”

Pip sighed and jabbed a hand first at the engine, then at what seemed to be a system of wires running along the outside of the aeroplane, held a few inches away from the biplane’s skin by ceramic brackets.

“After the success I had with the shield for the base, I thought I could apply the concept to a shield for the aeroplanes. If each aeroplane could have its own personal shield, then…well…”

Fewer pilots would die. Fieran swallowed, forcing the memories of falling aeroplanes and faces he’d never see again out of his mind. “You’re trying to protect the squadron.”

“Exactly.” Pip’s shoulders slumped as she turned so that she could sit on the lip of the engine compartment, her toes resting on the ladder.

“It’s just so much more fiddly on the aeroplanes than it was in the ground.

The ground and air naturally insulate it, and the dome shape is very stable.

The magic was easier to control. But on the aeroplane, I need to boost the magical power cell’s output for the magic to be strong enough to incinerate bullets.

But the more I increase the magical output, the more it keeps shorting out all the delicate wiring.

When I reinforce the wiring, the magic still leaps from the wire to all the flammable canvas.

Not to mention, it drains the magical power cell so quickly that flight time would be considerably reduced, even if I could get the magic under control. ”

Fieran waited for another moment as she dragged in a breath, making sure her words were fully exhausted before he spoke.

“I get it. I do. I’ve come perilously close to incinerating my own aeroplane a time or two, and that’s when my magic is under my control.

Without that direct wielding, it might be impossible to direct like this. ”