Page 29 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

The two Mongavarian aeroplanes converged on Lt. Blair, blasting at her with their machine guns. Fieran’s magic absorbed most of it, but he was stretched thin, trying to hold magic on his scattered squadron and burn away that other power.

“Lt. Blair!” Fieran gripped the control stick, still too far away to help, as the aeroplane Lt. Blair had been chasing flared its wings and flipped around to join in the attack on her.

She didn’t bother to answer, likely so focused that she wasn’t even hearing what was being said on the radio. She juked her aeroplane, dodging the streams of bullets before her machine guns blasted. At the last moment, she flipped her aeroplane over and turned on the enemy behind her.

She could fly, Fieran would give her that. But that didn’t excuse her recklessness, even if it was a mistake many of them had made in the early days.

And…he couldn’t believe he was the one thinking that. How this war had changed him.

The two chasing aeroplanes scattered away from her before heading out again.

Lt. Blair turned again to chase all three enemy aeroplanes, as if not caring that they were luring her still farther away from the rest of the squadron.

Even worse, they were slowly dropping lower in the sky.

Perhaps they realized that if they lured her far enough away, she’d lose the protecting magic. They’d catch her in a deadly crossfire.

And if she got far enough away, Fieran would have to let them. He couldn’t leave the squadron or the bombers unprotected. They would be his priority, not one reckless pilot.

“Lt. Blair, halt your pursuit and turn around now.” Fieran tried his best impression of his dacha’s hard, unyielding tone, hoping his voice would cut through whatever battle haze was currently gripping her. “That is a direct order.”

For another long moment, she continued chasing the Mongavarians. Then she wheeled her aeroplane around, headed back toward Fieran. When the radio crackled, her voice held a trace of disorientation, as if she hadn’t realized just how far she’d gotten from the squadron. “Yes, sir.”

An honest mistake made in the heat of battle, but Fieran would have to take her aside once this was all over and impress on her just how much of a mistake it had been.

The Mongavarians wheeled around as well, but they did so at a more leisurely pace. They weren’t giving chase, not with Fieran right there.

“Bomb! Bomb!” Stickyfingers shouted. More shouts came over the radio.

Heart in his throat, Fieran yanked his aeroplane over to point his nose the other way, just as a fireball exploded within the cluster of aeroplanes wheeling in the sky.

He was too far away. His magical protections had gone weak around them, slipping entirely off the farthest aeroplanes. He couldn’t reach out and grab the bombs. He couldn’t suppress the fire and shrapnel that tore into the nearest aeroplanes.

Another incendiary bomb burst, showering flames in all directions.

Fieran pushed his aeroplane as fast as he could, ignoring the way the power gauge leapt far too close to the red line.

He didn’t bother to check if Lt. Blair had fallen into place as his wingwoman.

At this point, he didn’t particularly care if she followed his order or went off on her own again. Because of her, he was out of position.

“My aeroplane is hit.” Pretty Face’s voice sliced through the tumult on the radio, even as an aeroplane peeled away from the others, one of its wings on fire.

“Hold on another moment. I can suppress the flames once I’m closer.” Fieran’s gaze locked on the aeroplane dropping from the sky in a controlled, wide spin.

He’d already lost Merrik because he wasn’t there to protect his back. He couldn’t lose Pretty Face too.

“Wouldn’t do any good.” Pretty Face’s voice had gone extra tense, as if he spoke through gritted teeth. “It knocked out something in my engine too. I have to set down.”

The words were a rock landing in Fieran’s gut. They were hundreds of miles into Mongavaria. There would be no setting down in Alliance territory. No way to even send in a rescue party.

For a moment, the radio waves fell silent.

Another aeroplane shadowed Pretty Face’s dying aeroplane—Stickyfingers, most likely, protecting Pretty Face. A moment later, Sticky’s voice came over the radio. “Just set down safely. You can sneak back to the Alliance.”

“They will expect you to head west for Escarland.” Lt. Rothilion’s voice remained steady, even now. “It will be about the same distance to head north for Tarenhiel.”

“Whichever direction, keep your head down and stay wary.” As Fieran neared, he got a better grip on his protective magic again, strengthening it.

Once that was done, he wrapped his magic over the last of the enemy aeroplanes still in the sky.

He wasn’t going to let a little bit of mysterious magic prevent him from taking down the enemy.

“Will do.” Pretty Face’s voice was taut, his aeroplane circling even lower in the sky. Black smoke rose from his wings, the fire spreading.

Would he be able to put down before the fire engulfed him? Or the wings gave out?

Fieran tightened his magic on the enemy as it ate through the last of the other magic. He didn’t even look as his magic incinerated wood and canvas, blood and bone. He kept his gaze focused on Pretty Face’s aeroplane as he glided down, down, down until he was lined up on a large field.

There was a chance whatever was wrong with the engine wasn’t serious. Fieran might even be able to fix it, if he set down and took a look at it. He could fix it and both he and Pretty Face could take off once again.

But doing so would leave the squadron and the bombers vulnerable as they were nearing their heavily fortified and protected target.

“Capt. Laesornysh.” Lt. Rothilion’s voice was almost gentle. “The bombers are getting ahead of us.”

Fieran squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his chest tightening. He wanted to stay. He should stay to protect his friend.

But duty demanded that he leave.

“Sticky, Lije, Tiny, Murray, stay with Pretty Face until he’s on the ground. Everyone else, form up around the bombers.” Fieran turned his aeroplane away, pointing his nose toward the squadron of bombers.

Lt. Rothilion and those who had fought off the frontal attack were already there, spreading out into a protective formation once again.

For several tense minutes, Fieran waited. His knuckles white as he gripped the stick. His breath catching. If the engine fully cut out before Pretty Face could make a good landing…if he hit the ground hard enough to set off the four bombs under his wings…

“He’s on the ground!” Stickyfingers all but shouted over the radio.

“I’m setting the engine to overload, then I’m bailing out.” Pretty Face’s voice was back to something almost cheerful. “Happy flying, Half-Breed Squadron.”

Fieran caught up with the last of the bombers, and he dove once again to provide protection from below.

Moments later, a large burst of static filled the radio.

“Stickyfingers, did he get out? Did he get far enough away?” Fieran took up his position at the head of the Flight below the bombers, his heart hammering even as it ached.

“He got out, but I can’t see him.” Stickyfingers almost sounded like he was crying. “I can’t see him.”

“I think he found cover in those trees.” Lije’s voice, too, rang roughly over the radio. “The aeroplane is destroyed.”

Those were the new orders, which had come down from headquarters. If they set down behind enemy lines, they needed to overload the engine to blow up the aeroplane to keep the new synchronization gear and the magical power cell from falling into Mongavarian hands.

“Good. Rejoin the squadron.” Fieran worked to keep his voice steady. He needed to be strong. Be the squadron’s leader. Finish the mission.