Page 37 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

She climbed the ladder again to close the engine compartment. As she clambered down once again and pushed the ladder out of the way, the ground crew arrived to wheel the aeroplane to the airfield.

Fieran wrapped his scarf around his neck, tugged on his cap and goggles, and gave Pip one last quick kiss before he hurried to follow his aeroplane outside.

By the time he climbed into his aeroplane and let the engine spin up, most of Lt.

Hadley’s and Capt. Fleetwood’s squadrons had already taken off, headed for their longer flights to turn back the distraction attacks.

When Fieran glanced over his shoulder, Lt.

Rothilion’s aeroplane had taken up the spot behind him, ready to take off once the airfield cleared.

Finally, the crew took out the wheel chocks, and Fieran’s aeroplane rolled forward. He steered his aeroplane to the end of the airfield, even as the final two of Fleetwood’s squadron lifted into the sky on the other end.

Fieran’s aeroplane bumped and rolled over the dead grass as it gained momentum. The aeroplane grew light a moment before the wheels lifted off the ground. He poured on the power as he tipped the nose toward the sky.

Lt. Rothilion’s aeroplane lifted off in his wake, following him as they climbed higher into the sky.

“Enemy incoming!” The mechanic serving as the radio operator shouted over the static and sounds of the other two squadrons communicating with each other. “Mongavarian aeroplanes have been spotted by the watch tower, headed for Fort Defense.”

After leveling out his aeroplane with Lt. Rothilion at his back, Fieran raced over Fort Defense, his dacha’s blue magic flaring to life below. Ahead, the black dots of enemy aeroplanes appeared on the horizon, glinting in the rising sun.

More of Flight A took off, trailing after them. But for the moment, Fieran and Lt. Rothilion were on their own.

It was too much like before. And yet Fieran couldn’t do anything but make the same decision as he had that day.

“Rothilion, I’ll come at them straight on.” Fieran kept his hands poised on the control column as he studied the small formation of enemy aeroplanes nearing the Wall.

“I will circle around to come at your target from the side.” Rothilion’s clipped tones cut through the crackling static.

Fieran bore down on the Mongavarians as they crossed over the Wall. The Mongavarians were scrambling to release the bomb canisters secured under their wings or drop bombs over the sides from the cockpit, as if they couldn’t get rid of their load fast enough.

The canisters tumbled downward, headed for the Alliance front lines. Dacha’s magic reached for them, but the canisters burst as soon as they came into contact with it. Clouds of odd-colored smoke billowed, sinking toward the ground despite the magic Dacha poured into his shield.

A gas attack.

Green magic joined Dacha’s blue bolts down below. Uncle Weylind, using his plant magic to sweep the air, cleansing it the way a tree freshened the air of a forest.

After calling up his magic, sending it out over his aeroplane, then Rothilion’s, Fieran lined up on the lead Mongavarian aircraft.

He squeezed the trigger of his machine guns, even as the Mongavarian facing him did the same.

The flares of the bullets hitting his magic filled his vision, blurring the sight before him.

Then Lt. Rothilion swept in from the side, his bullets slamming into the enemy’s engine. Smoke burst from the engine, and the Mongavarian turned his flyer back toward the border, as if he hoped to get back over before he went down.

Fieran wished the man all the luck. He knew the feeling all too well.

The Mongavarian’s wingman roared in, his bullets targeting Rothilion. Fieran turned his aeroplane, triggering his machine guns again.

This time, the enemy dodged his stream of fire. The other Mongavarian aeroplanes roared past him, engaging with the incoming aeroplanes of Flight A.

As the others came into range, Fieran stretched out his magic, adding them into his protective network. Every time his magic brushed a Mongavarian aircraft, that foreign magic made his magic skate off.

Fieran looped his aeroplane to turn around, sweeping behind the nearest enemy.

“Coming in hot!” Aylia whooped into the radio, her voice a cheerful counterpoint to the otherwise silent elven pilots.

Fieran had forgotten how dull it was flying with Flight A without the constant banter of Flight B.

He took a shot at the enemy, but the aeroplane dodged out of his path. Fieran didn’t waste time chasing the Mongavarian. Instead, he maneuvered through the whirling aeroplanes, Lt. Rothilion behind him, until he reached Aylia, Merrik in his new Soarwing Defender flying behind her.

“Ready to swap wingmen?” Fieran overshot Aylia and Merrik, casting his magic around them, before he looped his aeroplane again.

“Yep! Here is Merrik back.” Aylia sounded as if she was grinning. “Good flying with you, Merrik.”

“You too.” Merrik’s voice was a welcome sound over the radio.

Lt. Rothilion turned his aeroplane around, falling into place in front of Aylia. The two of them shot off to the left, chasing down a Mongavarian aeroplane.

Fieran took up the spot as Merrik’s wingman. If Merrik got into trouble, Fieran wanted to be able to spot it right away. “Lead the way, Merrik.”

Merrik dove at one of the attacking enemy aeroplanes. “You are not going to simply wipe them out?”

Right. Merrik wouldn’t know how much stronger that strange protecting magic had become.

Fieran grimaced as he mirrored Merrik’s maneuver, sticking slightly above to shoot over Merrik’s head.

“That foreign magic has gotten stronger. It’s quicker to shoot them down than it is to take them out with my magic. ”

“That is disappointing.” The machine guns on Merrik’s aeroplane barked.

“At least my magic still protects us from their bullets.” Fieran squeezed his trigger, also targeting the enemy.

“A good thing.” Merrik rolled his aeroplane as another Mongavarian aeroplane dove at him, as if intent on ramming him.

Fieran strafed that enemy with his machine guns before he matched Merrik’s roll, coming out onto his tail once again.

“Flight B, reporting for duty.” Lije’s voice came over the radio as the formation of Flight B soared in from over the Wall. They had formed up before setting out.

The Mongavarians were now surrounded, their line of retreat cut off by Flight B.

“Good to have you in the sky, Flight B.” Fieran grinned as he whipped his aeroplane upward in Merrik’s wake.

“Cut off any Mongavarians who try to escape. Flight A, let’s take these aeroplanes down.

We need to bring down at least one of them over Fort Defense so that the foreign magic can be tested.

If I do it with my magic, there won’t be any magic left to test.”

The various pilots of both Flights acknowledged, the radio filling with voices in elvish and Escarlish.

The Mongavarians, as if realizing their peril, were trying to escape. Three bolted northward; two others raced toward the south. Still more grouped together, heading straight west for the border that likely felt tantalizingly close.

Lt. Rothilion and half of his Flight raced after the Mongavarians heading north. More of his Flight peeled off toward the south, aided by part of Flight B.

Merrik swept toward the main formation of the remaining Mongavarian aeroplanes.

Fieran gripped the control column as he followed, pressing the talk button. “I’m going to try something.”

“A good something or an I should be worried something?” Merrik’s tone held dry humor, even over the radio.

“Good. I think.” Fieran eased his aeroplane into position slightly lower than Merrik’s.

“ I should be worried it is.” Merrik pulled up slightly so that he and Fieran were level. “Where do you want me?”

Would Merrik be safer in front of him or behind him?

“Stay above me but put a little more space between us. I’m not sure how steady I’ll be able to hold my aeroplane while I’m doing this.” Fieran reached into his chest, letting his magic build.

Unleashing more of his magic, he shoved it outward, surrounding three of the enemy aeroplanes ahead of him. He didn’t try to touch them and instead merely surrounded them in a cloud as he had before.

Now for the tricky part.

Fieran squeezed tighter with his magic. The foreign magic fought his, trying to repel it away. But since he wasn’t actively trying to incinerate the other aeroplanes, the opposing magic acted more like a magnetic repulsion.

Perfect. As he’d hoped.

Yanking on his magic, he dragged the aeroplanes backward, fighting against the force of the enemy’s engines. His magic burned in his grip, the forces pulling at him blurring his vision.

No. He was not going to give in to the dizziness. He could do this. He was a warrior of the magic of the ancient kings, and his magic was strong enough for this.

With a yell, he yanked, forcing the aeroplanes lower.

A few swear words filled the radio.

“Are you…dragging those aeroplanes right out of the sky?” Merrik’s voice held more of a trace of a laugh than the awe in the others’ words.

“Yes. Now don’t distract me.” Fieran resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. He had to remember to fly his own aeroplane, even as he fought the other aeroplanes for every yard. Just a little bit lower. Lower.

Dacha’s magic lashed upward, wrapping around Fieran’s.

Fieran released a breath, relaxing slightly as Dacha’s vast, reassuringly strong magic took over, dragging those aeroplanes the rest of the way to the ground. “There. Got three aeroplanes to Escarlish lines.”

“You were right. It is quicker to shoot them down than use your magic.” Merrik’s aeroplane appeared back in Fieran’s vision, winging overhead as he cut off a Mongavarian aiming for Fieran.