Page 14 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

Chapter

Seven

P ip hopped off the tram, her stomach growling, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth after the long day in the hot hangar.

As soon as she’d gotten off duty, she’d changed into clean, non-sweaty clothes and washed up as best she could without a full shower.

With evening falling, the temperature had finally cooled to something pleasant for walking.

Fieran stepped off the tram after her, followed by Merrik, Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, Lije, and Tiny. The other flyboys poured off the tram and streamed toward the officer’s mess.

The elven pilots glided from one of the other tram cars. Most of the elves strolled toward the mess as well, though Aylia drifted in their direction. Lt. Rothilion, too, lingered on the platform rather than join the rush for food.

Mak pushed away from the wall of the nearest building. “Are all of you coming on the tour of Little Aldon?”

“There will be food, right?” Stickyfingers pressed a hand over his stomach.

“Yes, though it will be a bit of a walk.” Mak shrugged as he set out in the direction of Little Aldon. “But it will be a lot better than what’s served in the mess, if you don’t mind spending some of your pay.”

“We’ve been stuck on an island with no chance to spend any money.” Pretty Face patted the pocket of his trousers. “I’m more than ready to hit the town.”

“Do they take Tarenhieli coin?” Aylia fell into step on one side of Pip.

“No, everything is in Escarlish currency to keep things simple on the merchants and civilians who have been authorized to run shops in Little Aldon.” Mak slowed his pace to match Pip’s stride on her other side. “But there is an exchange for you to change currency if you need it.”

“Easy enough.” Aylia gave Pip one last grin before she dropped back to join Pretty Face and Stickyfingers, the three of them talking as if already conspiring to get into some kind of trouble.

Fieran hurried to catch up to take Aylia’s spot next to Pip. She resisted the urge to smile at him, drift closer, or otherwise give in to the urge to treat him as anything but another one of the flyboys.

Merrik had joined Lije while Tiny tromped behind them. Strangely, Lt. Rothilion trailed at the rear, as if he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to admit that he was part of the group, but he didn’t want to be left behind either.

Tucked between the bluffs and the river as it was, the section of base dubbed Little Aldon had only a single road connecting it to the railyard, commissary, and the rest of that part of Fort Defense.

There was likely only a single road running out the other side toward where the main body of the Escarlish infantry was stationed.

Escarlish Army military police patrolled the stretch between the bluff and the river while a guard shack stood next to the road .

After the MPs halted them, Fieran, the flyboys, and the elven pilots showed their papers to prove they were officers with permission to enter Little Aldon at will. If they’d been enlisted men, they would have needed passes from their commanding officer.

Pip and Mak produced their paperwork, showing they were civilian mechanics, also allowed into Little Aldon whenever they were off duty.

Once past the checkpoint, Mak led the way into the bustle that was Little Aldon.

The large main road ran down the center while all kinds of smaller roads and alleys branched off into a warren of shops, cafés, restaurants, and entertainment venues.

Human army officers, troll officers standing a head taller than those around them, and equally tall but slimmer elves choked the streets.

Most of those around them were men, but there were a few women.

Most of the human women were dressed in civilian clothing—some in skirts and some in bicycle bloomers or other forms of trousers—but female elves and trolls wore the uniforms of their kingdoms.

Mak gestured around them, having to raise his voice over the noise of so many people packed in the streets.

“Only the tamer variety of entertainments are available here in Little Aldon, as it is technically inside of Fort Defense. Some of the taverns can serve alcohol, but the MPs watch them closely.”

“Let me guess, those who want something more tawdry must leave the base to find it?” Pretty Face stood on his tiptoes to see around the cluster of trolls in front of a donut and ice cream shop.

“Don’t even think of it.” Stickyfingers jabbed Pretty Face in the ribs.

“I’m not!” Pretty Face squirmed away from the jab. “I’m just curious. It’s good to know which invitations to avoid. ”

“There’s a shanty town upriver, or so I’ve heard.” Mak grimaced and half-turned to ease between a group of elves packing into a leatherworks shop and a bunch of human civilian women who were chatting in the middle of the road. “I’ve never gone there myself.”

Pip had to dodge as one of the elves stepped back, nearly running into her. The elf didn’t even look down and probably hadn’t seen her there.

She hurried to catch up and placed herself closer to Fieran again to use his height as a shield.

He glanced down at her and grinned. “Trying to avoid being run over?”

“It’s harder than you think.” Pip had to just about press herself to Fieran’s side when a troll came straight at her, his gaze fixed above her head. The troll likely thought the gap between Fieran and the rest of the group was open.

As soon as the troll had passed them, Pip leapt away from Fieran, all too aware of the way her shoulder had been brushing his arm.

“Ooh, look at that!” Lije halted in front of a large glass window of another shop.

The window showed a set of semi-historical elven armor on a stand with various sepia-toned photographs pressed against the window.

In each photograph, groups of people posed wearing what appeared to be historical armor from Escarland, Tarenhiel, and Kostaria. “What’s this?”

“A photograph booth for tourists. Calafaren had one, though we never made it out that way while we were in Fort Linder.” Fieran halted next to Lije. “They usually have costumes you can dress up in to pose for a souvenir photograph.”

“My mama would love something like this.” Stickyfingers peered at the photographs before he shifted to stand in front of the price list. His shoulders fell, and he took a step back.

Pip shuffled out of the way as a group of about ten trolls filed past the flyboys to enter the photography shop.

Mak halted a few feet away, as if he’d just realized they’d stopped. “Yeah, I’ve been eyeing that shop too. It’s popular. You need to make a reservation.”

“Besides, we wouldn’t want to wait in a line tonight. I’m starving.” Pretty Face steered Stickyfingers away from the window.

As they moved away, Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, and Lije clustered together, talking quietly and glancing over their shoulders as if plotting something.

Mak turned down a side alley, which was thankfully less crowded than the main street. Smells of cooking meat and seasoned vegetables wafted from various buildings, and Pip’s mouth watered.

Mak took several more turns, working his way down increasingly more maze-like alleys until he popped out next to a ramshackle wooden structure with a metal roof.

It didn’t have much for walls while a single countertop stretched down the center of the space.

In the back, a male troll bent over a fire built inside a stone circle.

A metal grate lay over the fire, and beef patties lined up there, sizzling and wafting savory smells.

“Mak!” The troll flipped patties with utensils gripped in each hand. He paused in flipping long enough to jab a spatula at the rest of them. “I see you brought some friends. I haven’t seen them around before.”

“This is my sister Pip.” Mak set a large hand on her shoulder for a moment. “And these others are pilots from the new squadron that just came in a few days ago. Pip is their chief mechanic. ”

“Welcome to Fort Defense. Take a seat.” The troll gestured toward the other side of the open-sided shelter.

Tables with chairs filled the rest of the space beneath the roof. Only one table was occupied with two male trolls dressed in coveralls.

A plump troll woman bustled between the tables, cleaning dishes, wiping tables, and serving the food and drinks.

Mak halted next to one of the tables. “Mind if we rearrange things?”

“Go ahead.” The troll woman smiled, her hands full with a pitcher and a cleaning rag.

Mak, Fieran, Merrik, Tiny, and Pretty Face worked to move the tables so that they stretched in a long line.

Pip helped Aylia, Lije, and Stickyfingers move the chairs around.

Lt. Rothilion hung back for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure what to do, before he shifted a single chair to its place next to their rearranged tables.

As everyone shuffled into their spots around the tables, Pip found herself between Mak and Fieran with Merrik on the other side of him.

Aylia, Pretty Face, Tiny, and Stickyfingers took the other side of the table with Lije at the end of the table.

After a moment’s hesitation, Lt. Rothilion took the seat at the other end of the table, placing him between Mak and Aylia.

The troll woman bustled around their table, setting glasses in front of them. She filled the glasses with either root beer or water, depending on which each person wanted.

The only option for food was a beef patty sandwich with a variety of toppings. As the male troll slapped the sandwiches together, the female troll served them in baskets with a side of deep-fried potatoes .

As his sandwich was set in front of him, Lt. Rothilion glanced around the table. “Where are the utensils?”

“You eat these with your hands.” Fieran picked his up. The toasted bun teetered on a stack of bacon, pickles, ketchup, cheese, and lettuce layered on the patty.

Lt. Rothilion’s mouth curled. “You humans have an obsession with eating with your hands. It is highly unsanitary.”

The elves of Flight A had turned up their noses when they’d been served the sandwiches for lunch while on standby. Only their hunger had driven them to pick up their food with their hands.

“But it’s much more fun. I could get used to this.” Aylia picked up her sandwich and bit into it without hesitation.

Pip grinned as she lifted hers. Elves never ate with their fingers if they could help it. They even had small tongs that could be used to eat carrots, grapes, and other items that anyone else would consider finger foods.

Dwarves weren’t like that at all. In that way, they had more in common culturally with humans than they did elves, even if dwarves were one of the longer-lived magical races.

On the other side of Fieran, Merrik hesitated a moment before he picked up his beef patty sandwich, and Pip had to smother her grin still further. His elven side was showing.

As they ate, Pip glanced around the table, something inside her warming.

She’d missed this. They hadn’t had a chance to just relax off-duty like this at Dar Goranth, and the hole-in-the-wall shack reminded her of the soda parlor back in Bridgetown that had become their hangout spot during basic training.

She swallowed hard, the warm feeling dying. That soda parlor had taken a direct hit during the bombing of Bridgetown. She’d never heard if the shop’s proprietor had survived or not.

Shoving the darker memories aside, she took in the table again. Their little group had grown since those basic training days. They’d added Aylia while at Dar Goranth. And now Mak here at Fort Defense. Perhaps even Lt. Rothilion, if he continued tagging along.

Tiny raised his glass of root beer. “To the Half-Breed Squadron.”

Stickyfingers reached over to clink his glass with Lije’s. “May we rule the skies.”

“And give Mongavaria a whupping they won’t soon forget.” Lije grinned as he lifted his glass of root beer.

“Yes to that!” Pretty Face clinked his glass against the others so hard that his root beer sloshed.

“It certainly won’t be boring.” Fieran raised his glass, glancing around before he leaned forward and clinked his glass against Lt. Rothilion’s, as if to force Lt. Rothilion to participate.

The elf lieutenant had his hand on his glass of water, but he hadn’t raised it yet, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. He flinched at Fieran’s gesture, but he picked up his glass and took a sip afterwards.

Pip clinked her glass with Mak’s before taking a sip.

Now if only her flyboys always returned to the ground safely, that would be all she could ask for.