Here, the Half-Breed Squadron whirled and fought enemy aeroplanes, though some of them peeled away to strafe the enemy ground troops.
Fieran peered over the side of his aeroplane, tilting it to get a better look. But he couldn’t spot the smoking hulks of those machines. “I think the Mongavarians took the machines when they retreated.”
“Big pieces of machinery set in a metal box and placed on tractor treads?” Lije’s voice rang over the radio from wherever he fought in the dogfight. “Yeah, they hooked up draft horses and trucks to them to haul them away. Lt. Rothilion has been keeping an eye on them.”
“They have dragged them along with their retreat, but it appears to be slow going.” Lt. Rothilion’s crisp voice was slightly distorted and hard to hear with the distance. He must be one of the Alliance fighters farthest out, over the enemy lines.
“It is a good thing we cannot hear them.” Aylia’s chipper voice held a laugh, even garbled as it was. “They appear to be swearing up a storm. The hulks keep sinking into the mud, giving them a time of hauling them out.”
They must be quite determined to keep that technology out of Alliance hands. Something that could take down the Wall would be a closely guarded secret. If they’d had more time, they likely would have set demolition charges to blow up the hulks. But between the pressure from the oncoming Alliance army and their fear of letting even a piece of those machines fall into Alliance hands, the effort of hauling the destroyed vehicles with them would have been deemed worth it.
“It has slowed their retreat,” Lt. Rothilion added. “They are putting up a much better stand than they did facing General Laesornysh when he rescued you after your crash.”
On another day, Fieran might have made a snide remark about how Rhohen wasn’t as intimidating a warrior as Dacha.
But not today. Not while he still wore the gore of combat and remembered all too well the feel of swords slicing through his enemy.
The Mongavarians hadn’t run before him as they had his dacha either. Perhaps he hadn’t unleashed the full fury of his magic the way Dacha had, and he’d been hampered by the fact that he didn’t want to leave Dacha unguarded. Maybe the Mongavarians were merely less surprised to find themselves facing a warrior of the magic of the ancient kings now that they’d done it once already.
“Where would you like us, Capt. Laesornysh?” Capt. Fleetwood’s tone held deference. His words might have been a question, but he was essentially handing over the role of commander in the air to Fieran, and doing it for every member of all three squadrons to hear.
Fieran gave a quick scan of the battlefields, both ground and air. “Capt. Fleetwood, please continue reinforcing the Half-Breed Squadron in defending the sky. Lt. Hadley, send one of your Flights to assist the ground attack while the other continues the dogfight in the air. Lt. Rothilion, take Flight A and keep aneye on those machines. General Julien Ardon is sending a team to retrieve them. When that team arrives, provide air cover and whatever other assistance you can give them.”
How Fieran would have rather given himself the job of looking after Pip. But he’d have to trust her safety to Lt. Rothilion and whatever team of soldiers Uncle Julien sent with her. Fieran’s duty lay elsewhere.
“Flight B, we’re going to hold the border. Don’t let any more enemy aeroplanes back over to attack Fort Defense.” Fieran could sense the lingering trace of magic in the ground where the Wall had once stood. He positioned his wall in the sky over that, using the marker to hold his shield steady, even as he stretched more magic around himself and Merrik.
“Fieran…” Merrik’s voice was tight. “We have a problem.”
Fieran glanced around, trying to find whatever Merrik was referring to.
A huge behemoth of an airship rounded the point of the nearest mountain to Fieran’s right, escorted by several smaller airships and another swarm of aeroplanes. The blue and white markings on the airships and aeroplanes showed that these were not Alliance reinforcements coming from the south.
“You said those machines were too large to mount on a fighter aeroplane.” Merrik’s tight tone didn’t waver, even as he brought his aeroplane level with Fieran’s.
“Yeah.” Fieran studied the incoming airship. There seemed to be a large square box mounted beneath the gondola, a hedgehog of wires trailing down. “But it would definitely fit on an airship.”
Chapter
Twenty-Six
Pip paused long enough to grab her largest, head-bashing wrench off her workbench and shouted to one of her mechanics that he was in charge before she raced out of the hangar, her heart hammering in her ears.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Running toward battle. She wasn’t a warrior. She was a mechanic.
But right now, a mechanic was what they needed. The Mongavarians had unleashed a machine so terrible that it had takenPrince Farrendel Laesornyshout of the fight. She had to do what she could to get her hands on the machine so it could be taken apart and studied.
“There’s no way I’m letting you do this.” Mak ran at her side, still glaring that big brother scowl of his.
A rather immature part of her wanted to stick out her tongue and tell him he wasn’t the boss of her, as she’d done as a kid. In fact, she was technically the boss of him at the moment.
Instead, she flashed a quick shield of her magic, enough to bump his shoulder. “You can’t stop me.”
All right, so that probably wasn’t all that more mature than sticking out her tongue. But Fieran hadn’t doubted her capability. Her own brother shouldn’t either.
A boom exploded somewhere nearby, shaking the ground so violently Pip stumbled. A gout of flame erupted from somewhere behind the line of tents and trees standing between her and the headquarters section of Fort Defense.
Hopefully that hadn’t been the main headquarters itself, where Fieran’s uncle was waiting.
