He’d thought he’d been that comfortable within his own skin. Yet here he was, wrestling within himself. “That sounds like a great childhood.”
“It was.” Pip smiled, though it faded after a moment, the expression soft as she peered up at him. “Your childhood sounds pretty great as well.”
“I wouldn’t change anything about it.” He wouldn’t. His parents had given him and his siblings the very best of childhoods. It certainly wasn’t their fault if he struggled withfiguring out how to meld his human and elven sides within himself.
Maybe that was part of his guilt. They had given him a great childhood, a great life. There was no reason he should be struggling.
Stickyfingers grew up in the slums of Aldon. Pretty Face was the son of a wastrel nobleman who led him to follow those wayward footsteps. Lije spent part of his childhood in a home with a dirt floor. Lt. Rothilion came from one of the snobbiest elven noble families.
Compared to that, what did Fieran have to struggle with? Just his dacha’s trauma, his parents’ fame, and the indescribable weight that came from carrying their legacy. Yes, it was a lot of pressure. But he’d never lacked. Not for food and certainly not for love.
“But I don’t want you to think I never struggle with having a dual heritage.” Pip shrugged as they kept moving again. “I have the opposite problem from you. I’ve never truly felt a part of either my dwarven side or my elven side. It’s lonely sometimes, not fitting in anywhere.”
“I’m sorry.” Fieran tugged her closer as they neared the hangar, yet he resisted the urge to pull her into a hug. Too many people were around for that.
“It is what it is.” Pip shrugged, as if letting the weight roll off her shoulders. After a moment, she swung their hands again, a hint of a smile returning to her face. “I’ve realized something about you.”
“What?” Fieran was more than ready to return to a lighter topic.
“You probably would have been the type to become rebellious, except that you respect and love your parents far too much.” Pip shook her head, that smile still there. “So instead,you just do these little rebellions, like joining the Flying Corps, and seek your parents’ approval afterwards.”
Fieran wasn’t sure if he should laugh, roll his eyes, or grimace at how on the mark she was. He settled for chuckling and bumping her arm with his. “You make me sound rather ridiculous.”
Pip’s grin turned even more teasing as she picked up her walking pace again. “Just calling it like I see it.”
“Ouch.” Fieran pressed his free hand over his heart as he steered them through the large door in the side of the hangar. “We’ve barely started courting, and you’re already pointing out my flaws.”
“It’s part of my job description as…” Pip’s grin faded as she swallowed. She blinked up at him, her posture hesitant. “As your girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. Just hearing her claim the title sent his head reeling and his heart beating harder. And if his smile went sappy, well, courting her was worth whatever ribbing he might get.
Chapter
Sixteen
“Keep a wary eye out, everyone.” Fieran spoke into the radio as he guided his Defender in a circle while he waited for the bomber aeroplanes to lumber into the air. The rest of the Half-Breed squadron had formed up behind him with Pretty Face once again taking Merrik’s spot as Fieran’s wingman. “Especially our green pilots.”
“Watch who you’re calling green, Captain.” The oldest of the flygirls spoke in a light drawl that earned a few chuckles over the radio. “I was flying when most of these flyboys were still learning their letters.”
Below, two more bomber aeroplanes lifted into the sky to join the formation circling over the fields to the west of Fort Defense.
“You don’t know what it’s like flying in close formation until you’ve flown a barnstorming act.” Lt. Nellie Blair, another of the flygirls, piped up. She was a short, petite young woman who appeared too small to see through the windscreen, much less fly the aeroplane. But she and the others were plenty competent at their jobs, even in the finicky new Defenders. Fieran had paired her with Stickyfingers as his wingman. Well, wingwoman.
“We’re thankful to have experienced new recruits join our ranks.” Fieran led the circle around as more of the bombers made their lumbering way into the sky.
Two days before, one of Capt. Fleetwood’s new recruits had crashed during takeoff, and another had lost control of his Defender and spiraled into Escarland’s front lines, killing himself and wounding several nearby infantrymen. Several more had come perilously close to taking out some of their fellow pilots while in the air on patrol.
At least Fieran could count on his new pilots to keep their aeroplanes in the sky.
“But…” He kept talking before Lt. Blair or the others had a chance to interrupt. “You’re still green when it comes to battle. Yes, I know you’ve pulled off incredible stunts in aeroplanes. But those stunts never involved another aeroplane shooting at you and actively trying to kill you. You don’t know how you’ll react until you face your first battle.”
That sobered up the whole squadron, and they lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence on the radio. Probably not Fieran’s best motivational speech before going into battle.
The last bomber aeroplane crawled into the sky, and a new voice crackled over the radio. “Capt. Laesornysh, Bomber Squadron A assembled and ready for our run.”
“Acknowledged. Half-Breed Squadron, take your positions.” Fieran swung his aeroplane over, then glided his aeroplane lower, followed by the flyboys—and flygirls—of Flight B. Lt. Rothilion and Flight A took up a higher position.
As the bomber formation set out over Fort Defense, headed east toward Mongavaria, Fieran’s squadron formed a sandwich above and below them. Lt. Rothilion’s Flight would protect the bombers from above while Fieran’s would protect from gun emplacements below.
