Chapter 24

Pip tightened the last bolt holding the ginormous cable to the junction box. After one last tug to make sure it was snug but not reefed too tight, she stuck the wrench in her belt. "All right, how is the power cell looking?"

"All set." Fieran extricated himself from the power station attached to the junction box. Four large power cells—the size normally used for powering the surface warships—were wired into the junction box, much as they would be in an engine.

"Then we're ready for the first test." Pip dusted off her hands.

Fieran grinned, then led the way from the solid stone bunker that housed the power station and junction box.

At the top of the stairs to the surface, a troll warrior stood guard, and Pip nodded to him as she climbed out of the bunker. She stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the harbor along one of the points that stretched to either side of Dar Goranth.

In the past two weeks since the battle, most of the wreckage had been cleaned up and repairs were already underway to the buildings. With so much to do, Pip had been surprised the base's commanding officer had fast-tracked her idea.

Then again, the attack was probably the reason he'd responded to her idea with such eagerness.

The troll warrior swung the massive stone door shut, sealing everything safely inside. He then returned to his post in a sheltered spot next to the bunker.

Fieran waited a few steps away along the rocky headland, half-turned back to her.

Pip picked her way over the rocks, falling into step beside him. "I hope this works."

"It will. You designed it." Fieran's grin remained bright on his face and in his blue eyes.

It was good to see him grinning again after the weight he'd carried in the aftermath of the battle.

"You helped a lot with that. I couldn't have done it without your knowledge of magical power cells." Pip dropped her gaze, not quite able to hold his gaze with that extra warm way he was looking at her.

They'd been able to rig something to refill the power cells she'd drained during the battle easily enough. Her magic and the way it conducted his magic prevented the usual problems of incineration and explosions that normally made filling power cells a tricky thing without the proper setup.

Working on that had led to pursuing this idea and, thankfully, helped her and Fieran regain some of the camaraderie they'd had before all that little confession, almost kiss awkwardness.

Just friends. That was what they'd agreed. That still didn't stop her heart from beating harder around him or banish all thoughts of being held in his arms .

After the war. That sounded like such a long way off.

After strolling along the harbor—stopping briefly to wave at the dwarves hard at work in the dry docks to repair the ships damaged in the battle—they stepped into Level 1.

Commander Druindar and Captain Gradrah met them just inside. Captain Gradrah rested her gaze on Pip. "Mechanic Detmuk-Inawenys, is the shield ready for testing?"

"Yes, ma'am." Pip stood as straight as she could. She still felt far too tiny surrounded by Fieran and the two troll officers.

Captain Gradrah nodded, then spun smartly on her heel. She marched toward a room that had been a storage closet to one side of the communications room. It had been turned into the breaker room for the base shield she'd just finished installing.

Commander Druindar, Fieran, and Pip followed. They left the double doors open, giving a view into the harbor.

At the tiny room, they found a whole bunch of the other troll commanding officers. Everyone was so packed in that Pip couldn't even see the large lever-style breaker she had installed in the control panel.

The troll officer she'd worked with in the past week, training him how to operate the system, called out over the hubbub, "Test One commencing."

The bystanders quieted. Pip shifted from foot to foot. It was even more nerve-wracking, standing there unable to see anything but the broad shoulders of uniformed trolls.

Fieran leaned closer to her. "Do I need to fetch you a box? A ladder? Hoist you on my shoulders like I do my little brother Tryndar?"

"No. Absolutely not." Pip rolled her eyes as she gave him a light shove .

She only caught a glimpse of his smirk before she turned her back to him. That put her nose only a few inches from some troll officer's back.

Perhaps she should have asked him for a box after all. At least here in the back she'd have a good look at the shield outside when it went up.

The troll must have flipped one of the switches because a loud claxon rang out through the base.

Claxons had been installed all over the base and the harbor, giving warning to everyone that the shield was about to go up. Since this shield wasn't as controlled as a shield wielded directly by a person, there was a good chance someone would be hurt if they were standing over the shield when it activated.

For this test, the entire base had been warned, and all ships ordered to stay in the harbor.

Even with those precautions, the troll let the claxon ring for ten minutes—perhaps even fifteen—to make sure everyone was well away when the barrier went up for the first time.

The trolls remained perfectly still and composed as they waited. Pip couldn't help but shift from foot to foot. Next to her, Fieran crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. He tapped his fingers on his arm, then paced back and forth.

If she'd done everything right, once the troll flipped the switch, a signal would be sent through underground wires to that junction box. Magic would flood from the power cells into the gigantic wire that had been buried in a circle following the lay of the land, going around the harbor, up the cliffs, around the airfield, and back down again to encircle the dry docks. That wire had been reinforced with her magic so that the magic of the ancient kings would flow as designed and not just incinerate the wire .

The hardest part had been tweaking the wire and her magic to make sure the magic was directed into a full dome instead of simply going straight into the sky.

Had she done everything right? What if this just caused a massive explosion? Would the troll commanders reprimand her for wasting valuable time and resources on a project like this instead of something more practical for the war effort?

Finally, the troll called out, "Barrier going up." His words were followed by a loud clank as he lifted the lever and shoved it into place, completing the circuit.

Pip spun to face the doors. With a crackle, a dome of magic shot into the air, covering all of Dar Goranth with a shield.

Pip held her breath, waiting one heartbeat. Two. The dome remained, solid and powerful. No explosions. No power lashing out of control in unintentional ways.

"Very good. Switch it off."

The clank rang again, and the dome disappeared.

Pip released a breath in a whoosh. It had worked. It had really worked.

"You did it." Fieran reached for her as if to pull her into a hug, hesitated, gave a little cough, and instead stuck out his hand. "Congratulations, Pip. You've made me obsolete."

Pip took his hand and shook, though she would rather have had that hug. "Not so obsolete. My shield will only give a little extra protection. It won't stand up to a large-scale bombing. Just buy enough time for airships or aeroplanes to drive away attackers."

It wasn't a solution for every base and city across the Alliance. For one thing, she could only stretch a dome like that so far before her magic wouldn't be enough to handle it. She could rig something like this for a compact base like Dar Goranth, but most military bases and cities in Escarland were far too large to be protected this way. Nor would this work well for Tarenhiel with its extensive tree cover that would get in the way.

Not to mention the shield drew a lot of magical power every time it was switched on. While Fieran and his family had great reserves of power, no one wanted to risk them draining themselves too much when they were needed in so many facets of the war and infrastructure.

Besides, the raw materials to make magical power cells were limited, due to needing high grade metals and very specific resources. On top of that, there were the logistics of shipping out the magical power cells to keep everyone supplied.

This might not be a widespread solution, but it would be a boon for Dar Goranth, the most important Alliance base that wasn't protected by the Wall.

"It's a great achievement, Pip." Fieran stepped slightly closer, as if he was still thinking about that aborted hug. "Don't minimize it."

It was the kind of thing to put on a resume, if she applied to the Alliance Magical Power Company after the war. Not that her magic wouldn't be enough on its own.

She shoved that thought away. As much as she wanted to dream about the future after the war—a future involving Fieran in some way, even just to figure out if they could have a future—now wasn't the time. They had a long war ahead of them yet.

Before she could respond, Pip was swarmed by the troll commanders. She felt like a pinball being knocked between the various officers as they shook her hand and pounded her back. By the time they finished and drifted away, she was stumbling and a bit dizzy .

"You all right?" Fieran steadied her elbow, though he dropped his hand only a moment later.

"I'm fine. Trolls are very bombastic with their congratulations." Pip rolled her shoulders and drew in a deep breath to steady herself. Once she felt steadier on her feet, she faced Fieran again. "Now that the shield test is over, don't you have a medal ceremony to prepare for?"

Fieran heaved a sigh, looking rather glum for someone about to receive a medal. "Yeah. I probably should have already started. Formal uniforms take a long time to prepare. You have to measure every little thing on it to get it exactly right."

"Ah, yes. Fiddly little details. Your favorite thing." Pip nudged him, giving him a slight nudge toward the stairs. "Get going. I'll see you there."

She wanted to do one last check of the shield, the junction box, and all the wiring, now that the shield had been turned on once. If any of it showed any signs of incineration or burning or blackening, then she would need to fix the issue before it became a big problem the next time the barrier was raised.

But after her last checks, she'd hurry up to her room for a quick shower and a change into her best set of coveralls. She wasn't going to miss watching the medal ceremony.

Or the sight of Fieran in his dress uniform.

On the airfield in front of the hanger, Fieran stood at one end of the double line of flyboys, the tight collar of his uniform itching at his neck. The dress uniform with dark brown jacket and lighter brown trousers was tailored so stiffly and tightly that he wasn't sure he could actually sit down in it.

Merrik stood beside him, standing so still and seeming unbothered in his dress uniform. The rest of the flyboys lined up in two lines, looking official and solemn.

There was a small space, then the elven pilots also lined up in two lines, dressed in deep green uniforms. Lt. Rothilion stood at the far end of his front row, still a bit pale but on his feet.

Before the hangar, rows of chairs and benches had been set up, and they were currently filled with various spectators, including Rokyd, Lucien, and Sathrah. Rokyd and Lucien were both still recovering here at Dar Goranth, but they were well enough to attend.

The mechanics had the front row, and Fieran resisted the urge to break the military formation to wave at Pip.

In front of the formation of pilots, a bunch of troll officers stood at military attention, including Captain Gradrah and Commander Druindar. Aunt Melantha, Sontar, Uncle Julien, and Aunt Vriska stood with them, along with an elf official Fieran didn't recognize. He must have shown up pretty recently, given he still had a bit of a green, seasick look to him.

The base commander finished his speech, then nodded to Captain Gradrah.

Captain Gradrah stepped forward and unfolded a piece of paper. "For wounds received in combat, the following have been awarded the Tarenhieli Bronze Maple."

As Captain Gradrah read off the names of the elven pilots who had been wounded in the battle, the elf official handed the medals to Aunt Melantha, who pinned the medals on the uniforms of the elves who stepped forward, including Lt. Rothilion .

Once the elven pilots had received their medals, Captain Gradrah read off her paper again. "For wounds received in combat, the following have been awarded the Escarlish Royal Heart."

This time when Captain Gradrah read off the names, Uncle Julien stepped forward and pinned the medals on the uniforms of the flyboys who had been wounded in the battle.

Something almost painful swelled in Fieran's chest. This was the recognition his men deserved. They'd been denied it after the Battle over Bridgetown. Everyone had been reeling after the attack, and Fieran's actions had overshadowed those of his men.

Once those medals were distributed, Captain Gradrah spoke again. "Mechanic Pippak Detmuk-Inawenys, please stand and step forward."

Pip's face drained of color, her mouth falling open.

Fieran couldn't fully hide his grin now. Hadn't she realized that she would be honored today too?

After another heartbeat, her fellow mechanics chivvied her into standing. She took a step forward, straightening her shoulders and pulling herself together.

That feeling was welling in his chest again. That was his girl.

The thought popped the swelling pride like a dirigible balloon scoured with his magic. She wasn't his girl. All because he'd been too scared of doing something rash to pursue anything with her.

He still wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing in pulling away from her that night. A part of him—the rash part or the smart part, he wasn't sure—still thought he should have kissed her.

"Pippak Detmuk-Inawenys, in the Battle for Dar Goranth, you threw yourself into the line of duty, even though you are a civilian. By your actions in defending Dar Goranth with your magic, you saved many lives and preserved the integrity of this base. For these actions above and beyond the call of duty, you have been awarded the Stone of Courage, the highest honor a civilian can be awarded by Kostaria."

Fieran's aunts Vriska and Melantha strode to Pip. Aunt Vriska held out the medal, and Aunt Melantha took it from her before looping the medal's ribbon over Pip's head. Since Pip was so short, the medal fell all the way to the belt of her coveralls.

Fieran itched to run over and congratulate Pip then and there.

Once Pip had retaken her seat and Fieran's aunts returned to their spots up front, Captain Gradrah read off, "Second Lieutenant Merrik Loiatir, step forward."

Merrik took a step out of line, his head high, his shoulders back. A slight breeze tossed his chestnut hair, which reached his collar.

"Second Lieutenant Merrik Loiatir, in the aftermath of the Battle for Dar Goranth, you demonstrated remarkable skill of magic and flight to preserve the life of a fellow pilot at great risk to yourself. For these actions above and beyond the call of duty, you have been awarded the Tarenhieli Silver Beech and the Escarlish Royal Valor, the second-highest medals awarded to an elven warrior or an Escarlish soldier."

The elf official handed the elven medal to Aunt Melantha, who pinned the medal on Merrik's uniform.

Once she stepped back, Uncle Julien pinned the Escarlish medal on Merrik's uniform. But Uncle Julien didn't immediately step back. Instead, he pulled out a set of silver shoulder bars and a matching set of wings. When Uncle Julien spoke, he raised his voice loudly enough for those gathered to hear. "It is also my pleasure to announce that you have been promoted to First Lieutenant in the Escarlish Flying Corps."

It was all Fieran could do to resist clapping Merrik on the back when Merrik returned to his spot in line.

Then Captain Gradrah's voice rang over the airfield again. "First Lieutenant Fieran Laesornysh, step forward."

Fieran worked to keep his face straight as he did as ordered. He'd had an inkling he would get a medal at this ceremony today, but it still felt surreal to hear his name called. In some ways, he didn't feel he deserved a medal. Saving Lt. Rothilion hadn't been so much a brave act as one of rash desperation not to lose another man on his watch.

But perhaps all medals were awarded for things that didn't feel so much like courage in the moment. It was just doing what needed doing.

"First Lieutenant Fieran Laesornysh, during the Battle for Dar Goranth, you used your magic with great effect to eliminate much of the Mongavarian air fleet, thereby sparing many lives among your fellow pilots, the Alliance naval fleets, and in Dar Goranth. You also demonstrated great skill with your aeroplane and your magic to save the life of a fellow pilot at no small risk to yourself. For these actions above and beyond the call of duty, you have been awarded the Kostarian Stone of Duty, the Tarenhieli Silver Beech, and the Escarlish Royal Valor."

Aunt Vriska and Aunt Melantha stepped forward. The moment was so solemn that Fieran didn't even have to fight a smile as his aunts pinned first the Kostarian medal, then the elven medal on his uniform.

The Kostarian medal was made of steel with stone embedded into it. The stone was formed in the shape of the ancient rune for the word duty . The Tarenhieli medal was crafted of silver with the shape of a beech tree embossed on it.

Both of his aunts gave him a slight nod they hadn't given the others before they stepped back into place.

When Uncle Julien replaced them, he met Fieran's gaze with a hint of a smile half-hidden by his beard. He pinned the Escarlish medal, a plain brass medal featuring a stylized sword and crown, onto Fieran's uniform.

Like with Merrik, he didn't step back. Instead, he pulled out silver shoulder bars from his pocket. "It's also my pleasure to announce your promotion to Captain in the Escarlish Flying Corps."

Captain. Fieran's ears rang as Uncle Julien added the bars to each of the shoulders of his uniform.

Fieran barely heard the rest of the ceremony nor the dismissal. He didn't have time to give Merrik a thump on the back before he was swarmed by family. Uncle Julien, Aunt Vriska, Aunt Melantha, Sontar, Rokyd, Lucien, and Sathrah all gathered around him, shaking his hand, telling him congratulations, or thumping his back hard enough to make him stumble.

As the chaos began to break up, Uncle Julien pressed a folded set of papers into Fieran's hand. "Your orders, Captain Laesornysh."

Fieran didn't have a chance to open and read the papers before Uncle Julien nodded and strolled away.

As his family dispersed, Fieran finally glanced around. All his flyboys had vanished, as had all of the elven pilots. Strange, that. He would have expected a few to stay. But even Merrik was gone.

Only Pip remained. She joined him, tapping one of the medals. "These look good."

"Yours does too." Fieran grinned back. "Now let's head for the hangar. I think the flyboys are up to something. Unless you were tasked with delaying me?"

"No. Well, yes. But your family already did a good enough job of that." Pip's smile took on a mischievous tilt.

Fieran kept his stroll easy so that he didn't force Pip to trot to keep up. As they stepped into the hangar, Fieran stopped short.

All the flyboys were lined up, blocking his way and his view of much of the rest of the space.

Lije stepped forward. "We've been thinking. Our squadron is so new that it doesn't have a name."

Stickyfingers waved his hand. "Every unit needs a name."

"Not to mention, you have been sadly negligent on picking out art for your aeroplane." Pretty Face sauntered forward a step.

"So we took it upon ourselves to pick a name and paint your aeroplane." Murray gestured over his shoulder.

The pilots stepped apart, leaving an opening between them to reveal a canvas-covered aeroplane. Next to the aeroplane, Tiny gripped the canvas and yanked it off, revealing the artwork.

A pointed elven ear had been painted on the side of Fieran's aeroplane. Waves of red that looked like they could be hair turned into flames at the tips. Blue bolts twined among the red hair-flames while tiny images appeared among the blue magic and red hair-flames. An upside-down aeroplane. An airship wreathed in blue magic. Two elven swords.

It was bold. A bit gaudy. And very perfect.

But more than that, Fieran finally got a glimpse of the aeroplanes beyond his. All of them had pointed, elven-style ears painted over or incorporated into whatever design had already been there. Even Pretty Face's lounging self-portrait now sported pointed elven ears.

"We are the Half-Breed Squadron," Lije stated, grinning from ear to ear. "After all, our captain is half-elf, half-human, and that's what makes him our Laesornysh."

On cue, all of them saluted.

In a bit of a daze, Fieran saluted back. The term half-breed had been thrown at him—and Merrik and Tiny—as an insult. Yet there was something powerful in embracing it. As he'd told Rothilion. He was a half-breed, and he was proud of it.

"So is our first lieutenant." Lije nudged Merrik, who shifted and ducked his head. "Who else but another half-elf, half-human could watch our captain's back?"

Merrik gave a little cough, the tips of his pointed ears flushing pink, likely with embarrassment at so much attention. "Our chief mechanic is a half-elf, half-dwarf with magic that can channel the power of the ancient kings."

Seeming less uncomfortable with the attention than Merrik, Pip grinned and pointed to Tiny. "And we have a half-troll, half-human who can hurl shards of ice down at airships."

Shifting, Tiny gestured to Lije. "And Lije is part ogre."

Lije rolled his eyes. "A distant ancestor might have been an ogre. Maybe."

"I'm half-criminal," Stickyfingers announced, a hand patting the pocket where he must have his lockpicks stored. He nudged Pretty Face. "And Pretty Face is on the path to becoming a halfway decent guy."

The others crowded forward, all announcing ways that they were half. One had half a pinky finger. Several joked that some of the others had half a brain.

"What about us?" The voice quieted the hubbub a moment before Lt. Rothilion limped forward, leading the elves of Flight A. His tone and expression lacked the supercilious edge, instead remaining more open and almost humble. "Where do we fit into the Half-Breed Squadron?"

Fieran held Lt. Rothilion's gaze. How honest could he be? Would Rothilion take the humor as the olive branch Fieran intended? "You are half as stuffy as you used to be."

Instead of sniffing in offense, Lt. Rothilion's mouth tipped with a wry almost-smile as he nodded to Fieran. They weren't exactly friends yet, but perhaps they could stop being enemies.

"Well, I am half-crazy." Aylia flipped a lock of her hair over her shoulder as she swaggered to a halt. "Obviously."

A few of the other elves piped up, adding their own "halves."

Fieran let them talk, something in him relaxing at the way the elven pilots and his flyboys started mingling more than they ever had before.

Battle had honed and bonded them. Going forward, they would be a much more united squadron, and they would be all the better for it.

That reminded him of the papers Uncle Julien had handed him. Fieran unfolded them, quickly reading what they said.

He must have made a sound or showed something on his face, for Pip, Merrik, Stickyfingers, Lije, Pretty Face, and Tiny were soon gathered around him.

"What's that?" Pretty Face leaned forward, as if he was trying to read over Fieran's shoulder.

"New orders?" Merrik crossed his arms, his voice low. He positioned himself at Fieran's back, still the wingman even here on the ground.

Fieran glanced from Merrik, his oldest friend, to Pip, the girl he liked, to the gathering of friends he'd made during battle. And beyond them, the rest of his flyboys who had followed him so readily here at Dar Goranth. Finally to Lt. Rothilion and the elven pilots who were now under Fieran's command as well.

His duty had grown, weighing more heavily than the medals now pinned to his uniform. He'd come far too close to failing to be a true leader here at Dar Goranth. He'd have to do better at their next duty station.

Clearing his throat, Fieran raised his voice. "Half-Breed Squadron, listen up."

Silence fell, all of the pilots turning toward him.

Huh. That had worked better than he'd thought.

Focus. He was a captain now. He had to be all official and everything.

Fieran held up the papers, something in him lifting even as he said the words. "We've been ordered to Fort Defense."