Leather straps were bolted on the inside of the aeroplane, likely to hold an additional rifle or a spyglass for scouting missions. Fieran stowed his swords alongside him and strapped them in place before he reached for the belt to strap himself in.
When he flipped the switches to turn on the engine, it roared to life with a power that vibrated through the whole frame around him. The engine spun up more quickly than his previous aeroplane’s, and the propeller soon beat the air with a humming whir.
When it was his turn to take off, the ground crew removed the wheel chocks and dashed away as his aeroplane rolled forward.
Fieran steered the rolling aeroplane to the end of the airfield. When he straightened the aeroplane out, he poured on the power. The aeroplane bumped and bounced over the cropped grass. He could feel the ridges where the farmer must have plowed the field at one point, and the aeroplane’s wheels automatically followed those ruts down the length of the airfield.
The aeroplane grew light around him, the air firming beneath the wings. His breath caught, and he braced himself to take to the skies once again.
Then it lifted off, and the knots in his stomach eased along with it. He whooped as the aeroplane soared upward, gliding on its shiny wings.
Once he had enough altitude, Fieran looped his aeroplane upside down before he threw it into a corkscrew. When he came out of that, he swooped lower over where Pip and his family still stood by the roadster, waving at him as they gazed upward. He flew upside down to wave back. He could see Tryndar, jumping on the back seat, the toy aeroplane Pip made for him in hand, as he waved with both arms.
“Capt. Laesornysh, stop showing off and take up your escort station.” The voice on the radio rang with a disgruntled authority.
He must have been someone on the ground. Likely the aerodrome’s commanding officer since none of the pilots flying the bombers outranked Fieran.
“Yes, sir.” Fieran pulled his aeroplane back to right side up before he pointed the nose toward the swarm of bombers assembled in the sky as they headed for Fort Defense.
Chapter
Eleven
His aeroplane’s wheels touched down on the familiar airfield on the bluff, the grass so dead and brown that clouds of dust billowed behind him and coated the pristine paint of his new aeroplane. When he turned his aeroplane, he had to steer it into the dust cloud to head toward the hangar.
The bombers were already parked in a long line beside the hangar, their wings too wide to fit inside the double doors. Along the right side of the airfield and perpendicular to the current hangar, the frame of a new building was going up. Probably a hangar for the new bombers.
Fieran let his aeroplane roll to a stop before the door to Bay 4. The ground crew dashed forward to claim his aeroplane even before he unbuckled himself and his swords.
He started to lever himself out of the aeroplane, but a spasm seized his leg muscles. He gritted his teeth and fell back into the aeroplane seat.
Bother. He’d known that long flight was going to be hard, but it turned out he wasn’t nearly as back to full strength as he’d hoped.
“Captain?” Lije appeared at his side, balancing on the footstep. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” Fieran sucked in a breath as he kneaded first one calf muscle, then the other. “Muscles locked up. That’s all.”
With another steadying breath, Fieran braced his hands on the sides of the cockpit and levered himself upright. Once Lije stepped down from the aeroplane, giving Fieran room, Fieran swung his leg over the side. His toes found the step, and he grabbed his swords before he lowered himself from the aeroplane to the ground. If he kept a hand on the wing to keep himself steady, hopefully no one would notice.
The heat from the summer sun beat down on him, almost instantly roasting him within his layers of flight clothing. He peeled his goggles and cap off as a mob of flyboys rushed from the hangar.
They halted before him, pausing to give him a proper salute. The elves followed at a slower, more orderly pace before they, too, saluted.
Fieran leaned against the aeroplane behind him so that he could lift his hand from the wing to return the salute. He took in the familiar faces, something in his gut easing at the sight of each one. Lije with his gap-toothed grin. Pretty Face with a smirk twitching his thin mustache. Tiny with hints of his ice magic playing around his fingers. Stickyfingers standing on tiptoes to see past the others. Aylia, Murray, and more.
Except…
“Where’s Lt. Rothilion?” Fieran glanced over the assembled squadron, even as he peeled off his far-too-warm flight jacket. Lt. Rothilion and a handful of elven pilots were missing. “And the others?”
“They’re on patrol.” Lije grinned, as if there was something humorous about that.
After shucking his flight boots and setting his gear on the wing, Fieran slung the straps of his swords over his shoulders and buckled them in place with a few practiced moves. The weight settled against his shoulders, familiar yet not comfortable.
He eyed his grinning flyboys. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing too important.” Pretty Face smirked, as if he and the others shared an inside joke. He pointed upward. “Actually, looks like Lt. Rothilion is coming in for a landing. You can see for yourself.”
An aeroplane soared overhead, the engine humming, the propeller setting up that deeper thrum, as it lined up on the airfield, which was now cleared of bombers and other aeroplanes.
