Fieran joined Lt. Rothilion and the others in chasing the Mongavarians back to the border. As the Mongavarians keptfleeing, Fieran gave the order to hold at the border rather than pursue. The small raid might be bait to lure them across the border into a trap.
“Capt. Laesornysh to Fort Defense, the northern raid has been turned back.” Fieran held the button on the control column. “Do we need to assist on the southern raid?”
“No, that one has been turned back as well.” Colonel Dentley’s voice filled the radio waves. “Patrol the border to make sure the Mongavarians don’t come back.”
“Yes, sir.” Fieran acknowledged. He and his squadron had just pulled long hours the day before on another bombing run, but they’d be up for a day of patrols if needed.
Pip meanderedthrough the aeroplanes parked in the hangar.
The large hangar doors were open to let in the somewhat cooler evening air, although the lack of a breeze left the night nearly as sweltering as the late summer day had been. Strands of her hair stuck to the back of her neck, and she tugged her shirt away from her body, flapping it to try to cool herself.
The bustle of the day had gone quiet, and only a few mechanics still lingered as they cleaned their tools. She held up a hand to Mak but didn’t stop to talk.
She rounded the last aeroplane and finally spotted Fieran. He was propped against the inner wall separating Bay 4 and 5, his flight cap, goggles, and scarf set beside him. Despite the heat, he still wore his flight jacket and boots, as if he hadn’t had the energy to take them off. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling as he slept, slumped right there against the wall.
Poor Fieran. Poor all of the flyboys and flygirls.
For the past three weeks, Mongavaria had been sending small sorties over the Wall, usually just far enough from Fort Defense that it would take the Alliance squadrons longer to respond. Even with additional, new squadrons now stationed along the Tarenhieli border and farther south along Escarland’s border, Fort Defense was still covering a lot of territory. And, of course, Fieran and his squadron were sent up more than any of the others, thanks to Fieran’s magic.
Yet every time Fieran, his squadron, or pilots from one of the other squadrons chased down the Mongavarians, the enemy only engaged for a few potshots before they turned tail and ran.
Worse, these small sorties just kept coming. No sooner would Fieran and his men land after chasing down the enemy in one section of skies than another raid would be reported. All three squadrons here at Fort Defense were being kept busy, nearly constantly in the sky from dawn to dusk. Occasionally, Mongavaria would overlap so many raids that they’d manage to get in a small bombing run over Fort Defense, usually dropping gas canister bombs.
The change in strategy made far too much sense. Mongavaria had finally learned that sending large waves against Fieran was just a waste of lives.
But this new strategy was wearing everyone thin. They couldn’t catch a break. Couldn’t relax.
Even worse, the Alliance command was still pushing for more bombing runs of their own, and the squadrons had to fly protective formations around the bombers for the long bombing runs on top of having to turn back the Mongavarian raids.
Pip had barely seen Fieran and the flyboys in the past few weeks. There’d been no donut making. No relaxed dinners. By evening, all of them were too exhausted to do more than fall straight into bed.
About the only good news in the past three weeks had been word that the Alliance naval fleet had won a smashing victory over the Mongavarian Navy. Retributions for the losses at Dar Goranth, or so the newspapers were saying. At least Fieran’s cousins must be fine this time, for neither of the Generals Ardon had been called away.
Pip halted before where Fieran was sleeping, hesitating as she looked down at him. As much as she wanted to let him sleep, he would wake with a crook in his neck and an ache in his back if he slept the whole night sleeping propped against a wall.
She rested a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “Fieran.”
Fieran’s breathing hitched, and he blinked up at her. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She smiled and held out a hand. “Come on. You should get some sleep. In a proper bed and not just slumped against the wall. You should have already headed there.”
“I was waiting to talk to you.” Fieran smiled in return, though the expression just highlighted the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Are you up for a nighttime walk?”
“As long as that walk is in the direction of your tent, then yes.” As much as Pip wanted a romantic walk with Fieran, he needed his sleep more than she needed time with him. She’d known what she was signing up for when she said yes to courting Fieran while this war was ongoing.
“All right.” Fieran released her hand as he shrugged out of his thick flight jacket. He wiggled out of his flight boots, revealing the uniform he wore beneath. After shoving his feet into his military boots, the laces tucked inside rather than tied, he grabbed the pile of flight gear before he held out his hand again.
Pip laced her fingers with his, falling into step with him as they strolled between the sleeping warbirds, lit only by the low lights around the work stations.
Fieran tilted his head. “How are the aeroplanes looking?”
“Just fine. Despite all the hours you’ve been putting in the air, the lack of dogfights has left me very little to do.” Pip tried to keep her boredom out of her voice. She wasn’t going to complain. She’d take bored over losing another one of her flyboys. “But you’re in the sky so much I can’t even fiddle with anything to make improvements.”
She didn’t dare risk having an aeroplane in a state where it wouldn’t be ready to go up at a moment’s notice.
“Hopefully this won’t last much longer.” Fieran tugged her closer. “I can’t imagine the Mongavarians can keep up this pace any more than we can. It has to be as exhausting on them as it is on us.”
She could only hope. After all the experienced pilots Fieran had taken out early in the summer, Mongavaria had to be hurting for pilots, even if that foreign magic protecting their aeroplanes meant fewer of them were getting killed lately.
