Chapter 18

Chapter

Eighteen

F og hung heavy over the harbor and ocean when the squadron took off. A light drizzle still misted down from the heavy clouds hanging low in the sky, but otherwise the storm had fully worn itself out.

The control column was cold even through Fieran's gloves as he wheeled his aeroplane higher into the sky, his toes jammed into the holds on the rudder bar. The mist fogged his goggles, and he had to lift a corner of his silk scarf to wipe them off.

But worst of all was the aching cold deep in his chest.

I like you . Those words had haunted him all night. For one moment after the words had dropped from Pip's lips, his heart had raced, his head had been light, and he'd thought he could finally stop pretending he and Pip were just friends.

Then he'd remembered Commander Druindar's lecture and the fiasco of his own impulsiveness.

For the good of his men, he'd had to pull back. He couldn't risk their lives by letting himself get caught up in a romance with Pip. As he'd told Pip, he was sure to do something foolish. While the war raged, he and Pip couldn't be anything else but friends.

The radio crackled to life, and Fieran shook himself. The whole point of breaking up with Pip—was it a breakup if they had never actually been together?—was so that he could focus on leading his men.

"Flight A, we will swing southwest." Lt. Rothilion spoke in elvish, so his pilots would understand—as did Fieran, Merrik, and Tiny—but the rest of Flight B would find the incomprehensible orders easy to tune out.

The thirty aeroplanes of Flight A wheeled to the left of Fieran's position, falling into a large formation of aeroplanes gathered in the sky. Each aeroplane in Flight A flew by itself as Lt. Rothilion hadn't adopted the pairs system that Fieran had for his Flight.

"Flight B." Fieran worked to tune out Lt. Rothilion's voice crackling over the radio. "We'll be swinging to the southeast and our primary mission is to prevent as many airships as possible from breaking through to Dar Goranth."

"Not a problem," Pretty Face drawled over the radio, sounding far too relaxed. His aeroplane gleamed with an extra glint. Had he waxed it before the battle? The artwork of himself suggestively lounging shone especially bright.

"Yeah, we have Laesornysh!"

"The Mongavarians won't know what hit them!"

"There won't be any airships left for Flight A or Battlegroup Sky!"

Fieran had to wait a moment for all the cheers to fade from the radio before he could speak again. "We'll all do our duty for our kingdoms this morning. Stick with your wingman. Watch each other's six. Be aware of your surroundings. Visibility is poor this morning between the fog, drizzle, and low clouds. No taking each other out or getting caught in the crossfire of dueling airships."

"Yes, sir!" Various voices spoke over each other amidst the crackle of the radio.

Fieran pointed his aeroplane's nose out to sea with Merrik's aeroplane just to the right and behind him. The low clouds forced Fieran to fly lower than he would have normally, trying to stick in the slightly more open spot in the sky between the clouds above and the fog hanging thick over the ocean below.

Would they even spot the Mongavarian fleet before it was on top of them? Normally, a Mongavarian ship was easy to spot from miles away. Unlike the Alliance ships, which ran on magic, the bulk of the Mongavarian ships burned coal to heat their boilers, resulting in vast plumes of black smoke blasting from their stacks, which acted like a giant finger pointing toward the ship.

Was the fog thick enough to hide an entire fleet steaming at full power? Or would the black pall so discolor the fog that it would still be obvious?

The dark gray mass of Urixidor Island was barely visible below them, its lighthouse shining a light into the gloom. The icebergs and ice floe protecting Dar Goranth were completely hidden by the fog.

Would the Mongavarian fleet follow Battlegroup Anvil into the ice floe? Such a thing was dangerous even in good weather for any ship that didn't have a troll warrior with ice magic stationed on board. But in this soup, the Mongavarians would have to be suicidal or incredibly focused on victory to follow Battlegroup Anvil into the narrow, ice-choked channel between the islands.

Ahead, huge figures of dirigibles loomed out of the gloom, the gray, red, and green circle of the Alliance painted on their sides to make them easily distinguishable from the enemy once the battle commenced.

The airships stretched into a line, ready to go into battle and bristling with guns. The nearest airships flew the flags of Tarenhiel and Escarland. Fieran searched the nearby airships, but he couldn't pick out the KAS Dominion among the fleet.

He leaned over the side of his aeroplane, trying to peer through the fog to see the assembled Alliance surface fleet. He caught a few glimpses of gray shapes and white wakes, but that was all he could see. They didn't have funnels or clouds of black smoke pouring from them, so those ships must be Battlegroup Anvil and not the Mongavarian fleet.

Fieran led his squadron above the line of airships. He couldn't see Lt. Rothilion and Flight A in the fog, but he assumed that they must be off to the right somewhere. He could hear the drumming of their engines echoing through the morning.

No, wait…Fieran tilted his head, then lifted a hand away from the control stick to pull his leather cap away from his ear to hear better.

That sound was far too loud for Lt. Rothilion's Flight. The magically powered engines didn't make nearly the amount of noise of gasoline engines or coal-powered steam engines.

Fieran pressed the talk button. "Merrik, do you hear that?"

A pause. Then Merrik's voice came over the radio. "Yes. I think—"

The fog ahead of them parted to reveal the dark gray, massive shapes of the Mongavarian airships slicing through the sky.

"Incoming!" Fieran banked his aeroplane to dive at the Mongavarian airships. If he could get among them before they engaged the Alliance airships, he would be free to use as much magic as he wished without worrying about taking out any of his own people.

As he neared the enemy airships, he called up his magic, letting it twine around his fingers and burn in his chest with readiness to be unleashed.

Even as he lifted a hand, preparing to strike, something about the nearest enemy airship seemed off. The silhouette was not the same as the one he'd seen in the skies over Bridgetown.

But it had been dark that night. He hadn't been able to see details. The airships simply looked strange because he'd never seen them in daylight.

Or maybe these were newer airships while the ones sent into Escarland had been older models in case their foray turned into a suicide mission.

But the top of many of these airships was oddly flat. Even as Fieran watched, the front wide plate lowered into a better aerodynamic form.

What was going on? Fieran almost didn't want to destroy it so that he would have a chance to figure out.

Oh, well. He could still bring it down. If he did it right, the navy could fish out a dirigible carcass or two and then they could figure out why these Mongavarian airships looked so strange.

Fieran bore down on the leading airship. Their machine gunners opened fire on him and Merrik, but Fieran blasted a shield of his magic, extending it to protect the rest of his squadron following him. The machine gun bullets incinerated in his magic, useless except for giving Fieran an easy trail to follow right back to the airships.

As he'd done in the Battle over Bridgetown, Fieran let his magic leap from bullet to bullet until he reached the airship. The enemy machine guns went silent as his magic consumed them, metal dripping down the side of the airship a moment before his magic lapped up that too.

Fieran curved his aeroplane around the airship as he unleashed his magic, letting it roar along every metal brace and beam. At one end of the gondola, men jumped out, wearing parachute packs as if they realized their airship was doomed.

The rest of Fieran's squadron zoomed past him, breaking off in pairs to engage the airships.

Fieran's magic ripped the enemy airship apart, briefly outlining the internal workings of the airship.

The inside of the dirigible had odd structures as well. What seemed to be a trolley system ran underneath the metal ramp above with four large metal cages dangling from it. There seemed to be some kind of lift at one end that led to a hatch in the ramp.

What could that apparatus possibly be for? It niggled at something in Fieran, even as the airship gave a groan, the balloons deflating, and it began falling from the sky. This was more than just metal reinforcing the airship's spine or an attempt at armoring something vital.

Those cages had held something. Something that wasn't there now.

Fieran pointed his aeroplane at the next airship. About half of the airships he could see sported the same wide, metal ramp.

A metal ramp that was wide enough for an aeroplane.

Ice ran through Fieran's veins. The schematic sketched in his head, as if he was looking at it with Pip or his dacha.

They hadn't counted on facing enemy aeroplanes today. None of the Mongavarian gasoline-powered aeroplanes had the range to reach Dar Goranth, much less make it there and back.

There had been some experimentation with trying to launch an aeroplane from a ship, but so far no ship was big enough to hold a runway long enough for an aeroplane to gain sufficient speed for a successful takeoff.

But aeroplanes wouldn't need a long runway if launched from an airship. They would just need a long enough runway to get a bit of momentum and control before they plunged off the end. The downward plunge would give the aeroplane enough speed to catch itself and fly.

It would still be dangerous, and Fieran had to give the Mongavarian pilots credit. It took a great deal of bravery to attempt a takeoff like that.

But if those cages had held aeroplanes, where were they?

That roaring engine noise grew even louder. Why did it seem to be reverberating from above and not just from all around him where the airships steamed?

"Incoming! They have—" Fieran didn't manage to get the words out.

"Fieran! Above you!" Merrik shouted over the radio even as he peeled his aeroplane away, pointing the nose upward.

Fieran glanced upward, then spat a crude word. He barely had time to cast a layer of magical protection in front of him and Merrik before a hail of bullets pounded from above. A mass of aeroplanes with the blue and white bars of Mongavaria swooped down like a swarm of wasps, already shooting.

Pretty Face added a crude word into the airwaves. Unlike Fieran, he hadn't had the presence of mind to wait to press the talk button until after he'd vented his expletives. "How did they get here? "

"Does it matter?" Even over the radio, Lije sounded like he was gritting his teeth.

Fieran gripped the control stick with one hand and blasted a dart of his power at an enemy aeroplane as it zoomed past.

His magic missed, but it at least sizzled a hole in one of the enemy dirigibles.

Fieran resisted the urge to let loose a few more crude words.

A Mongavarian aeroplane dove at one of Fieran's flyboys, stitching bullets across the wing toward the cockpit.

Before Fieran could turn in that direction, the flyboy's wingman shot at the Mongavarian pilot. He didn't get him, but he drove him off enough to save his wingman.

A Mongavarian aeroplane dove toward Fieran, the machine gun on its nose blasting. The bullets sizzled as they were incinerated in Fieran's magic, and Fieran followed the line of bullets back to the aeroplane. As soon as his magic touched the volatile gasoline fuel, the aeroplane before him exploded in a fireball.

Aeroplanes darted between the airships, hunters and hunted buzzing faster than the eye could follow. The chatter of guns from both Alliance and Mongavarian aeroplanes burst across the sky. The line of Alliance airships came into range of the enemy and opened fire, adding to the noise and smoke.

The radio waves clogged with voices swearing and shouting, yelling warnings to each other and cheering jubilantly at a good shot.

"Laesornysh, report!" Lt. Rothilion shouted over the clamor, and only then did Fieran register that it wasn't the first time Lt. Rothilion had called the order.

"The Mongavarians launched aeroplanes off their airships." Fieran threw his aeroplane onto its side to avoid another oncoming aeroplane, keeping a shield of magic around himself that trailed behind to cover Merrik. "I sensed four storage cages for aeroplanes in the airship I took down. Looks like about half of the large Mongavarian airships have those launch ramps."

"There could be twenty-eight to thirty enemy aeroplanes up here." Lt. Rothilion's voice didn't give any indication of his thoughts.

"That means we have them outnumbered only two to one. That is not that bad of odds." Aylia sounded far too cheerful.

No, it wasn't. But their squadron had never faced an aeroplane-on-aeroplane fight before. Yet if their launch off the airships was any indication, these Mongavarian pilots were among the empire's best. They had likely faced battles like this before, facing off against the other Alliance squadrons stationed along the Escarlish border. Their experience could far outweigh a numbers advantage.

"Enemy aeroplanes in sight, sir." Lt. Rothilion's second sounded like he had a pinecone stuffed up his nose even now.

"Flight A, engage." Lt. Rothilion remained as calm and collected as if he was telling his pilots to go fetch him champagne at a soiree.

Fieran maneuvered his aeroplane between two enemy airships. Just as he raised his hand to blast a wave of magic at one of the airships, a Mongavarian aeroplane roared at him, trailed by Stickyfingers, who was peppering the tail of the aeroplane with short bursts from his machine gun. Holleran flew a few yards back and above, targeting the airship next to them.

Fieran pulled back his magic before he hit Stickyfingers and Holleran. In these close quarters, he couldn't just blast his magic at full strength like he had in the Battle over Bridgetown.

Was that the point of the enemy aeroplanes? The aeroplane-launching capabilities of the airships couldn't have been designed and implemented in the month and a half that had passed since the attack on Bridgetown. They'd probably already been in the works for a while since Mongavaria would need a way to launch airborne attacks without a nearby aerodrome.

But the plan of this attack? The way the aeroplanes had hidden until Fieran had been among the airships? That had definitely been planned in response to his abilities. Even if they hadn't had specific confirmation that Fieran would be here, they had planned for his presence just in case.

The chattering of a machine gun tore Fieran out of his thoughts and back into the moment. Right. Middle of battle. Not the time to be dwelling on the Mongavarian strategy. Right now, he needed to focus on his surroundings.

Fieran absently let his magic consume the bullets. All around, the fog and smoke of gunpowder choked the air so thickly he couldn't see more than a few yards at a time. Alliance and Mongavarian airships locked in battle, pounding away at each other. Aeroplanes whipped about. Even as Fieran watched, a Mongavarian aeroplane burst into flames and spiraled toward the sea.

Tiny and Murray circled a Mongavarian airship. Murray tossed his prepared magic, and Tiny blasted out his magic, turning the water into a shard of ice that he used to tear through the airship. In between blasting out magic, the two of them fended off several enemy aeroplanes.

"Merrik, on your six!" Lije's voice came over the radio as he and Pretty Face roared by .

"Merrik, go low!" Fieran yanked his control stick and shoved the rudder with his feet, turning his aeroplane up and to the left. The motion slowed his aeroplane, putting it right in the path of the oncoming aeroplane.

The Mongavarian pilot tried to dive in Merrik's wake, but Fieran blasted out a bolt of his magic, slicing through the aeroplane's propeller, carving into the engine, and melting the two machine guns mounted on the nose. The aeroplane plunged from the sky, headed for a watery grave in the sea.

Fieran turned his aeroplane back to the right and down, falling into place behind and above Merrik. "Sweep under this airship."

Merrik soared into a curve under the airship's gondola, taking them out of the line of fire of an oncoming Alliance airship. The gun emplacement on the bottom of the gondola swung to follow Merrik's flyer.

Fieran aimed at the gun with his own guns, letting off a short burst of machine gun fire to distract the gunners from Merrik.

They swung the gun toward Fieran. Big mistake. Even as they opened fire, Fieran blasted upward and outward with his magic, consuming the bullets, the machine gun, and licking up the underside of the gondola. With a surge of power, he poured his magic over the airship, devouring the metal, the wood, the canvas.

He didn't let himself think about the bodies, the blood and the bones his magic also touched and tore. This was war. Some would survive by parachuting into the ocean. But plenty wouldn't.

Two Mongavarian aeroplanes swooped toward them, machine guns already blasting.

"Focus on the airship." Merrik swerved his aeroplane to face the enemy head-on. His aeroplane shuddered as he let loose with a burst of machine gun fire.

Fieran resisted the urge to tear his magic away from the airship to protect Merrik. He had to trust Merrik had this.

As he and Merrik swept out from under the airship, the airship gave a groan as it began sinking toward the ocean, the balloons and dirigible in tatters.

A terrific boom shattered the air as a column of fire and black smoke blasted into the air from the sea below. Something that almost felt solid blasted into Fieran's aeroplane, shoving him upward and outward with a battering force.

Fieran struggled to breathe as he fought the stick to regain control of his aeroplane.

Merrik's flyer, too, was shoved to the side. One of the Mongavarian aeroplanes tipped on the side before stalling, loosing all lift to the wings. It tumbled into a spin, disappearing into the smoke and fog so Fieran couldn't see if the pilot had regained control.

"What was that?" Lije sounded shaken. At least he was still alive somewhere in this chaos.

"An explosion." Stickyfingers wasn't cackling in glee anymore.

"A ship blew up."

"One of ours?"

"Can't tell."

Fieran leaned over the side of his aeroplane, but he couldn't see any details in the smoke and fire and fog. A few other gray shapes moved about, tongues of orange fire and black smoke blasting from the muzzles of the great guns on the turrets.

Nothing he could do to help the surface navy until he took out the airships first.

"Listen up, here's the plan." Fieran waited a beat for the radio to fall silent—or mostly silent. Flight A continued talking in elvish, but their chatter was quieter and involved less shouting and cursing than Flight B had been exchanging. "I need to focus on taking down these airships. Merrik, Lije, and Pretty Face, converge on me and keep the enemy aeroplanes off my back. The rest of you, forget the airships. Focus on taking down the enemy aeroplanes."

As his men chorused their acknowledgment, Fieran pointed his aeroplane toward the next Mongavarian airship.