Page 25 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

Chapter

Fifteen

F ieran paced between the parked aeroplanes filling the hangar as the constant, sharp drumming of the rain on the metal roof nearly deafened him.

The low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and reverberated through the ground.

At least the breeze blowing around the mostly closed doors brought with it the scents of rain and damp earth, washing away the cloying stench of body odor and burnt metal that clung to the hangar.

In the week since he’d destroyed the Mongavarian attack, their patrols hadn’t seen hide nor hair of an enemy aeroplane or airship. That didn’t mean Fieran had destroyed everything Mongavaria had. Just that they were keeping what they had left out of sight.

Despite an exhaustive search of the base, none of the debris from the battle had any of that strange magic left. The mystery itched at Fieran, though there was nothing he could do to solve it.

They had, at least, found bits and pieces of what seemed to be an interrupter gear, which would prevent the Mongavarian machine guns from shooting their propellers. Such a thing would be a leap forward in technology, and the wreckage had been sent to the AMPC for piecing together.

That morning the hot and dry weather had broken into a thunderstorm that carried with it cooler temperatures and a chill rain.

While Fieran enjoyed the reprieve from the heat, the incessant rain and approaching thunderstorm kept all the squadrons grounded, further contributing to his boredom.

Capt. Fleetwood’s squadron—the one that would have been on standby if it hadn’t been downpouring—also lounged about the hangar, bored out of their minds.

Some of the pilots were reading books. Others had hauled out decks of cards or various board games, setting them up on makeshift tables to play.

Many of the elves of Flight A had set up eshalma boards and were currently engrossed in teaching some of the flyboys the traditional elven board game that was somewhat like chess with multiple players and various colored glass marbles.

Still others, both humans and elves, were sprawled on the floor, taking naps.

Fieran couldn’t seem to sit still long enough to try any of those options. He itched to take out his swords for something to do, but even his pacing was making his flyboys restless. The best thing he could do was stay out of their way so they could relax.

He found Pip sitting cross-legged on her workbench, cleaning her tools.

Fieran leaned against the workbench, grabbed a spare rag, and picked up one of the sockets waiting in a pile. He had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the tinging of the rain on the metal roof and sides of the hangar. “I see you’re as bored as I am.”

“Between the rain and the lack of enemies, I don’t have anything to do.

” Pip’s head remained bent over her work as she polished a wrench as if her life might depend on it.

“The new wire has been installed on all the aeroplanes of the squadron. I’ve reorganized the spare parts and labeled all the crates so you know what’s inside them. ”

“Even if we weren’t on standby while we wait for a break in the weather to patrol, it’s too nasty to make the trip into Little Aldon.” Fieran scrubbed at the socket, sticking his finger with the rag into the inside to clean out any dirt and grease.

Most of Capt. Kentworth’s men—the squadron currently off-duty—had headed into Little Aldon before the rain had worsened.

It was probably better than hanging around their barracks, which was a hastily constructed metal building with a roof that leaked like a gas balloon shot full of holes and was just as drafty.

After all their modifications to their shelters, the tents for Fieran’s squadron were less damp.

Though, that could change if this rain kept up.

Right now, the raised platforms constructed from the spare wood from the crates and pallets kept the tents off the mud and provided a dry floor.

The rows of trees that formed the corners of the tents spread leafy branches over them, sheltering the canvas from the rain as much as possible.

All the canvas had been recoated to shed water, and so far it was doing its job to keep everything dry.

But it was only a matter of time before the damp got to everything.

“At least it would be something to do.” Pip finished with the wrench and hung it on the pegboard behind her. She picked up another wrench, falling silent.

For a few minutes, they worked quietly. Fieran shifted, not sure if Pip found the silence comfortable or as tense and laden as he did.

What should he say? He found himself increasingly struggling to talk to her. The easy camaraderie that had characterized their friendship so far seemed to be fading, and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

“Pip, I—”

“Fieran—” Pip spoke as he did, looking up from her work for only a moment before ducking her head.

“You first.” Fieran finished yet another socket and added it to the drawer where the various sockets were organized by size.

Pip kept working for a moment before she set aside the tool, though she kept fiddling with the greasy rag. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. It’s—”

Footsteps pounded on the cement floor a moment before Lije skidded into the bay. “Lunch isn’t coming today.”

Fieran shared a glance with Pip. It seemed their moment was at an end before it had a chance to begin.

She returned the look before she hopped off the workbench. “What do you mean? Isn’t the mess sending up sandwiches?”

“No.” Lije grimaced as he gestured toward the nearest hangar door.

“All this rain caused part of the bluff to give way, and it’s taken out the tram tracks and the road between here and the mess.

The only way to get from here to there is by foot or by horse.

The private they sent to inform us was soaked to the skin and covered in mud to his knees. ”

Sandwiches would never survive such a trip without becoming a soggy mess.

“Are they sending up some kind of field rations or something more waterproof?” Fieran glanced at the hangar door again. A waterfall of runoff poured from the hangar’s roof, creating a veritable wall of water between them and the world beyond.

“No.” Lije shook his head, a hand pressed over a stomach that growled loudly enough for Fieran to hear from several feet away. “We’re on our own.”

Fieran scrubbed a hand over his face. As tired as he was growing of the same ham and cheese, roast beef and cheese, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every third day, the same old food was far better than no food at all.

“I saw a crate of field rations mixed in with our spare parts. It was probably supposed to be for one of the airships or for the army at the frontlines.” Pip pointed toward the door that led to Bay 3 and their storage area. “I labeled it and put it on the shelves with our other things.”

Sensible. It would have been far more of a hassle to submit the proper paperwork to send the crate to where it belonged than to simply store the thing.

“Let’s take a look and see what we can scrounge.” Fieran set off in that direction, Lije and Pip hurrying after him. “You didn’t tell anyone else about the food situation yet, did you?”

“Not yet.” Lije shook his head.

“Though everyone probably knows something is up. The half-drowned messenger would have been a giveaway.” Fieran suppressed his sigh.

Lije’s panic would have also sparked interest, and even now rumors about what was happening would be flying around the hangar.

“Well, let’s hope we’ll have a solution by the time we tell them. ”

He’d rather tell them Mongavaria was attacking than mention they didn’t have food for the day.

When they stepped into Bay 3, Pip trotted to take the lead between the rows of racks that now held the spare parts and crates instead of the chaos of detritus it had been when they’d arrived. She halted before a small crate set on one of the middle shelves. “This one. ”

Fieran lifted the crate’s top, which had been left pried open rather than nailed back on. Inside, cans filled most of the space while paper boxes of hardtack biscuits filled the rest of it.

Just as he’d feared. It would be better than nothing, but he well remembered living off such field rations when they’d done their week in the field at Fort Charibert. He didn’t envy the infantry stationed at the front lines who lived off such pickings all the time.

He picked up a few of the cans, reading the labels. “Looks like we have tinned pork and tinned beans. Maybe a few random cans of beef.”

“Let me see.” Lije crowded in next to Fieran, all but pushing him out of the way. “I can whip up a pot of mountain gruel from this. I’d just need a pot and a way to heat it.”

“I can rig up something.” Pip gestured at the shelves around them. “There’s enough junk lying around.”

“I can help.” Fieran stepped out of the way as Lije picked up the crate, hugging it to his chest as if he’d found treasure. “After I break the news to the whole squadron that lunch is going to be somewhat delayed.”

At least a delay was better than no food. Assuming Lije could turn a crate full of dubious tinned rations into something edible.

Pip lay on her back beneath the contraption she’d put together, fusing the last few pieces of the base together. Three coil springs for army trucks had been turned into heating coils while she’d turned angle iron into a base to hold the heating coils in place. “All set here. ”

Fieran fiddled with the connections between the heating coils and the magical power cell. “This should be all set too.”

“Ready for cooking?” Lije sat on the floor, surrounded by stacks of various cans that he’d sorted from the crate.

“Almost. Let us test it first.” Fieran met Pip’s gaze, his mouth going lopsided. “This will either work great or explode. Not sure which.”