Lije reached to twist the metal cap of his soda bottle.
Pip straightened, reaching for him even though she was too far away. “No, don’t—”
Lije twisted the cap. Soda shot upward, bubbles spraying everything and everyone nearby.
Chapter
Eighteen
Fieran strode between the aeroplanes in the hangar, his new gas mask bumping against his leg.
Around the hangar, the flyboys and flygirls lounged about as they waited on standby. Beside the far wall, Stickyfingers and Lije consulted the donut recipe and double-checked their ingredients, debating whether they had enough to attempt donut-making. Tiny gripped four glass jars in his arms, stopping every flyboy and flygirl to attempt to convince them to take some of the sourdough starter off his hands.
Shaking his head, Fieran headed toward where Pip was currently fiddling with something on her workbench near his aeroplane. Her dark brown hair frizzed from her haphazard bun, a smear of grease on her chin.
The wail of the red alert siren blared through the hangar, echoing off the steel and cement in a way that made him wince, even though he didn’t have the sensitive hearing of a full elf.
He spun on his heel and instead ran toward the opposite wall, where one of the mechanics was sliding into the seat behind the spare radio Pip had set up back when they’d first arrived at Fort Defense.
Fieran skidded to a halt next to the chair. “What’s going on?”
“A small formation of Mongavarian aeroplanes is coming over the mountain pass south of Fort Defense.” The mechanic grimaced as more static and voices came through the speaker.
“More aeroplanes! Coming over the Wall into Tarenhiel to the north.” The unknown voice gave the location. Perhaps he was the radio operator on one of the airships patrolling that section of the border.
Fieran did the calculations, mentally finding the spot on a map. He spun, turning toward the flyboys. “Suit up, everyone!”
As soon as Fieran and his squadron had shrugged into their flight gear, orders came from Colonel Dentley for their squadron to stagger takeoffs with Capt. Fleetwood’s squadron. Capt. Fleetwood would go after the enemy to the south while the Half-Breed Squadron would take on the Mongavarians to the north. Lt. Hadley’s squadron would remain on station above Fort Defense.
Within half an hour, Fieran gripped the control column as his aeroplane winged over the Hydalla River along the Tarenhieli-Mongavarian border. Lt. Blair had the spot as his wingwoman since he didn’t trust her enough yet to assign her to anyone else. Flight B trailed after him while Lt. Rothilion led Flight A in a formation flying several miles inland.
Fieran scanned the skies ahead in all directions. “Anyone spot the enemy?”
“Not yet.” Lije held station above and behind Fieran.
More trees flashed by below, not giving any landmarks for Fieran—or anyone else—to navigate by. Good thing they were sticking by the river, otherwise even Fieran would likely find himself pretty much lost over Tarenhiel.
“Enemy spotted.” Lt. Rothilion’s voice came over the radio, crisp and cool. “They are flying north-northwest.”
“Moving to intercept.” Fieran turned his aeroplane in that direction. He should come up behind the enemy and slightly from the side, cutting off the enemy’s avenue of retreat.
A distant glint of sun on something human-made—certainly nothing elven—provided him a more exact heading. Within another minute, the shapes of aeroplanes appeared out of the brightness of the morning.
Fieran pushed his aeroplane harder as he bore down on a small cluster of Mongavarian aeroplanes.
Strange that there were so few of the enemy. Before, Mongavaria had sent over large raids, trying to wipe out Escarland’s air defenses. Not that those large sorties had ever succeeded in anything but sacrificing Mongavaria’s most experienced pilots to Fieran’s magic.
Was this merely a scouting run? A small bombing run?
Lt. Rothilion swooped down on the lead enemy aeroplane, machine guns blasting.
The Mongavarian shot back, one of the other Mongavarians trying to loop around to come at Lt. Rothilion from the side. Aylia, as Lt. Rothilion’s wingwoman, cut off the enemy.
Fieran took a moment to scan the skies again, searching the rising sun for the telltale dark dots of more incoming aeroplanes. He couldn’t see any, but he’d keep a wary eye out.
As he neared the fight, Fieran released his magic, letting it coat his aeroplane before he blasted it outward. His magic danced over the protective wires, protecting the other members of his squadron.
The lead Mongavarian aeroplanes flared into swift turns, protected by the aeroplanes coming up behind them. Before Fieran could even reach them, the whole group of them had performed a coordinated turnabout as they beat a retreat.
