Chapter 14

Fourteen

Fieran added the last item to his rucksack—in the correct layers—then hefted it to his back.

At the end of their bunk, Lije patted the bars of his mama's soap—she had sent him a fresh batch in their latest mail—and stowed them in his footlocker before closing the lid.

"Keep that soap safe. We're going to need it after we get back." Pretty Face glanced at himself one last time in his mirror before he tucked the mirror into his footlocker.

Across the way, Tiny grinned as he swung his rucksack to his shoulders. "Will you survive a week in the bush without a shower?"

"I don't know how we'll survive when you haven't had a shower in a week." Stickyfingers shoved Tiny's arm before he stood and grabbed his own rucksack.

Merrik's mouth curled a little bit, as if he was not looking forward to the lack of showers.

The drill sergeant stepped inside and yelled for them to fall in.

Lije grabbed his rucksack as the rest of them hurried to step into line.

For once, Fieran was correctly turned out, and he didn't get his stuff tossed around or had to do extra PT. He was improving. Slowly.

As they marched from their barracks, Fieran tried not to gape at the cylindrical airship that currently rested just above the airstrip, ropes tying it down to the ground and to the roof of the hangar.

The dirigible had a thin canvas sheeting stretched over metal ribs, forming the massive balloon shape. The canvas was painted a matte gray that didn't shine in the sun with the large green, gray, and red circle emblem of the Alliance emblazoned on either side.

Capt. Arfeld waited at the base of a rope ladder, standing next to a short, squat man in a dark blue uniform with gold braids on his sleeves. He must be the captain of the airship, which would take them from Fort Linder to Fort Charibert on the eastern side of Escarland.

As Fieran and his unit halted before the hangar, lined up in two long rows, Pip and the other mechanics hurried from the hangar, falling into place at the end of the column.

Fieran risked breaking formation long enough to send a small wave at Pip.

She smiled and waved back with a subtle movement of her fingers.

Fieran quickly faced forward again before he made a fool of himself by having to do a hundred push-ups in front of everyone, including an airship filled with naval airmen.

Once they were all there, Capt. Arfeld turned to the captain next to him. "Permission for my men—and woman—to come aboard?"

The other captain nodded, though he swept a sour glance over the long line of flyboys and mechanics, as if he wasn't happy about being the airship captain assigned with the duty of giving army pilots and mechanics some cross training in an airship. "Permission granted."

With a few barked orders, the sergeant had them lined up single file to climb the rope ladder.

Fieran struggled not to tap his foot as he waited for the others. Despite the training on the obstacle course, some of the men in his unit struggled with the long rope ladder, twisting and swinging as they attempted to ascend.

When it was finally Fieran's turn, he climbed the rope easily. Was he showing off a bit? Maybe. It wasn't like he was the only one with elven agility. Merrik, coming up behind him, also ascended the ladder as if it was nothing. Pip, too, likely wouldn't have any difficulty.

At the top, Fieran was directed by an ensign down a cramped corridor. The wooden floor bounced a bit while the passageway was only about two feet wide, the roof only a few inches above Fieran's head. The occasional round window gave a view of the sky, keeping the corridor from feeling too claustrophobic. On the other side, a few doors led into the officers' quarters. Every few yards, a hatch led to a machine gun emplacement in the surrounding catwalk, a reminder that this was no tourist airship on a luxury cruise.

At the end of the corridor, another ensign pointed the way into a large space, where Fieran's unit was falling into line once again. Tables with benches were bolted to the deck so that they wouldn't shift around when the dirigible was in the air. To one side, a window gave a view into the industrial kitchen.

Fieran took his place next to Lije, ignoring the looks sent their way by the cooks bustling about the kitchens. He leaned closer to Lije. "I think they're resentful they have to cook for this many more people."

"Or they're annoyed they have to cook for a bunch of army boys." Lije kept his voice low in return.

"That's probably it." Fieran shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "I'm still surprised the navy and army managed to cooperate long enough to set up this cross training."

At the moment, the army was in charge of the Flying Corps, which consisted of all kinds of flyers, aeroplanes, and that sort of thing. The navy ran the Naval Air Corps, which oversaw the airships. Various leaders were talking about restructuring to place all airborne units into one Corps, perhaps as its own branch separate from both army and navy. Not surprisingly, neither the army nor the navy were in favor of such a plan.

In the meantime, greater cooperation was being encouraged between the Flying Corps and Naval Air Corps of all three Alliance Kingdoms, especially when it came to making sure pilots could fly any type of airborne craft and the mechanics could fix anything that stopped at an aerodrome.

Merrik halted next to Fieran. When Tiny took his place, he looked a little green beneath his gray skin in a way he hadn't when flying an aeroplane. Stickyfingers peered about as if he was contemplating if he could get away with stealing something while stuck on an airship.

Pip and the mechanics came after the last of the flyboys in Fieran's unit. Fieran met Pip's gaze and tipped his head to her, grinning. This trip would be even better with her along.

Finally, Capt. Arfeld and the navy captain entered the room. The navy captain halted in front of them, hands clasped behind his back as he glared. "You are here merely on the goodwill of the navy. If you so much as set a toe out of line, I will dump you out, with or without a parachute."

"And after he is done with you, you will have to deal with me." Capt. Arfeld swept a sharp glance over them. "Do what you're told and answer to an order from Capt. Nien as you would from me."

The nod Capt. Nien gave Capt. Arfeld held a great measure of respect. Perhaps the only reason this cross training was happening was Capt. Arfeld's hero status as a pioneer of flight.

Any glint of respect vanished as Capt. Nien faced them again, a deep scowl putting grooves in his cheeks. "Stay out of my men's way and stick to your assigned areas."

With that, they were broken into groups, and each group was assigned to an airman to show them around the dirigible.

Fieran glanced over his shoulder as his group of Lije, Merrik, and several others were led in one direction and Pip's group was led in another direction.

The airman led Fieran's group through the maze of tiny tunnel-like passageways, explaining navy terms while they were at it. The floor was the deck. The walls were bulkheads. The lavatory was called the head. They had already been in the mess, and each small group would be assigned a time for breakfast, lunch, and dinner since the mess could only handle feeding so many people at a time.

The pilothouse was at the front of the gondola where broad windows provided views of the sky. The pilothouse was far enough from the magically powered engines at the rear—stern—of the gondola that the navigation station was equipped with a compass, since it wasn't affected by the magi-magnetism. There was even a gyroscope to show the horizon line and keep the airship on an even keel. Too bad the flyers weren't equipped with such luxuries. All they had was the Do not let it go red or you'll blow up magical power gauge.

Machine guns bristled all along the sides of the gondola. There were even machine guns pointing downward underneath. The ammunition was stored in an armored room in the center of the gondola.

Racks stood next to all the doors on the sides and the bottom, holding packed parachutes. Fieran exchanged looks with his fellow flyboys at that. Everyone knew that real flyboys went up without the coward's assurance of a parachute.

That, and the aeroplanes' cockpits were too small to fit a pilot and a parachute. Nor was it likely a pilot could even lever himself out of a cockpit and push far enough away from a crashing aeroplane for a parachute to do him any good.

After climbing several sets of ladders, they entered the canvas balloon part of the dirigible. Here, the metal ribs holding up the canvas were visible, along with the additional machine guns that were accessible through zippered cloth doors in the canvas or by climbing the ratlines that stretched over the outside of the dirigible balloon.

Inside, the space between the catwalks was filled with multiple air balloons that held the helium. The helium was divided between many smaller balloons so that even if one of the balloons was torn, the others would keep the airship aloft.

When Fieran pressed his hand to the warm, waxy side of one of the balloons, he could sense the faint tingle of magic emanating from inside. Likely magic from a human magician, boosting the helium's lifting power, keeping it heated, and providing a magical barrier inside the balloon to further prevent helium loss in the event of punctures. What human magicians lacked in volume of power they usually made up in versatility.

The airman paused and showed them a section of catwalk where layer upon layer of what looked like white canvas sacks hung from the metal ribs and rope ratlines. "This is where you'll sleep. You take one of these hammocks and string them like this." He demonstrated unhooking one side of the canvas hammock and tying it tight across the way. "In the event the whistle for call to arms sounds in the night, you'll be responsible for stowing your own hammock and gear so that the catwalk isn't blocked."

Only then did Fieran spot the various hooks where they were supposed to hang their rucksacks from a series of ratlines.

As several of the other groups converged on the sleeping area assigned to them, Fieran hung his rucksack from the hook next to the hammock he claimed. "This isn't too different than sleeping high in the trees in Estyra. Just less of a view."

Merrik grinned and hung his rucksack near a hammock next to Fieran's. "Yes. It is almost like home."

A few yards away, Tiny gripped his stomach, bracing himself against the handrailing of the catwalk. "I don't feel so good."

"Don't hurl in my rucksack!" Stickyfingers shifted his hook and hammock farther away from Tiny.

"Why did you sign up for the Flying Corps if you get airsick?" Pretty Face smoothed his hair, trying to peer at himself in the reflection on the railing.

"I don't get airsick in a flyer." Tiny leaned farther over the railing, giving a slight groan, his voice strained. "There's a reason I didn't join the navy."

Fieran paused to better take in the slight sway of the catwalk beneath their feet. He'd barely noticed it earlier since it was so slight, just a gentle rocking not that much different from the swaying of a tree in the breeze. The larger trees in Tarenhiel, like Ellonahshinel where his family's home was located, were so protected with magic that it took a hundred years' gale to make the branches so much as twitch. But some of the smaller trees were left to sway in the wind.

The airman smirked and crossed his arms. "The swaying will only grow worse once we're in the air."

Tiny groaned and made a gagging sound.

The airman's smirk turned into a grimace. "I had better show you to sick bay before you hurl all over something I'll have to scrub later. If anyone else is feeling queasy, you'd better come too."

As the airman led Tiny and three others away, Fieran turned to those who were left. "Anyone else feeling motion sick? Because you'd better take the bottom hammocks."

"Yeah. Elves and those with strong stomachs on top." Pretty Face gave a shudder.

A few of the other flyboys exchanged looks, then rearranged a few of the rucksacks, moving the ones belonging to those who had followed the airman to the bottom.

Fieran peered upward at the various catwalks, rope ladders, and ratlines that led upward between the helium gas bags. He thought he could see a spot where there was a hatch to the very top of the airship.

Merrik heaved a sigh. "You want to go up there."

"When else will we have the chance to sneak away unsupervised?" Fieran debated for one more second before he headed for the nearest rope ladder. "You don't have to come with me."

Even as he spoke, Merrik was already dogging his heels. He might not be as reckless as Fieran, but he was still enough of an elf to want to seek out the highest point.

The various airmen climbing about within the dirigible sent them annoyed glances, then ignored them.

Fieran led the way through the maze of catwalks and ladders, working his way upward. His grin grew with each level they ascended.

Finally, he reached a metal hatch, set in a broad, flat metal roof attached to the I-beam keel that provided stabilization for all the metal ribs that curved from this keel down to the top of the gondola. He turned the wheel to undog the hatch, then levered it open.

As he climbed out, a cold breeze smacked into his face. He sucked in a deep breath as he planted his feet on the walk on the very top of the dirigible.

This walk had no handrails. Just a metal pathway that traversed the spine of the airship.

Someone else might have had a sense of fear, strolling along that tiny walkway so very high off the ground. But this was no different than walking along one of the elven branch pathways, which sometimes were as skinny as a foot or two wide with sheer drops on either side.

Merrik climbed up beside him and shut the hatch behind them. The two of them stood there, taking in the view.

Below, Fort Linder spread out in a grid of both wood and cement buildings. The three flags of Escarland, Tarenhiel, and Kostaria flapped above the central green, which was formed by the infirmary, officers' quarters, communications center, and various other command headquarters.

They couldn't even see the aeroplane hangar directly below them due to the bulk of the airship. Only the far end of the airstrip was visible, a dusty line between waving grass, pointing toward the Hydalla River rippling and shimmering to the north.

In the distance to the west, Bridgetown's skyline broke the horizon, bordered by the Hydalla River, though Calafaren couldn't be seen among the dense foliage of Tarenhiel.

But it was the Alliance Bridge that drew the eye, arching over the Hydalla River and gleaming in the morning sunlight.

"Was this worth risking extra PT?" Fieran faced into the breeze as it raked through the short strands of his hair.

"Maybe. Depends on the PT." Merrik grimaced and gestured at the airship below their feet. "We are in the navy's hands now. They might have us swab the deck."

"I don't care."

"You will if Tiny hurled all over the deck we are swabbing."

"True." Fieran couldn't resist any longer. He just couldn't stay still in a place like this, with the open sky all around him and nothing but a small walk beneath him. Something about this place just called to his elven blood, despite the fact that it was all human-made metal and mechanics. He ran lightly along the walk, then threw himself into a front flip. He landed lightly in a crouch before he was up again.

Behind him, Merrik matched his movements, not even sighing or rolling his eyes. He, too, must have been itching to let his elven side loose after having to hold back for so long to fit into the Escarlish army's strictures.

Fieran held out his hands as if he held his swords, moving as if fighting an invisible foe. He spun and ducked and flipped, landing lightly on his feet on the narrow walk.

Beneath his feet, the airship lurched. Shouts came from below, too vague to make out the words, but the intent was clear as the ropes were loosed. The airship shot upward quickly, rising toward the sky.

Fieran laughed at the movement beneath him, not pausing in his invisible sword fighting. He released the tight clamp he'd held on his magic for weeks. It burst around him for a moment, wild and crackling, seeking to devour anything it touched.

Then he squashed down on it again, letting only a trickle of it twine around his fingers and arms.

Still, just that much of a release eased the tightness in his chest and the jitters he'd been suppressing for weeks.

Merrik, too, let his magic glow green around his fingers, despite the lack of nearby plants. He was moving through sword fighting stances of his own, as the airship below them ascended into the heavens.

Fieran gave one last flip, and Merrik mirrored his movements. Both of them landed in a crouch facing each other, imaginary swords in front of them. Both of them were breathing hard, though only a hint of sweat slicked Merrik's forehead. When Fieran broke his stance to swipe at his own forehead, his sleeve didn't even get damp.

Straightening, Fieran let out a long exhale and mimed sheathing swords across his back. "I needed that."

Merrik, too, straightened. "I know. Trust me, I did not want to risk your magic breaking loose while we were stuck on this rather incinerable airship. I would rather risk the extra PT."

"Even if it's swabbing the deck after Tiny has lost his breakfast all over it?"

"Even then."

Pip tookin the thrumming magical engines that filled the engineering space at the stern of the airship's gondola. Her fingers itched to dive in and explore all the nooks and crannies of this engineering marvel.

Banks of magical power cells lined one wall, waiting to be swapped out for depleted ones. Each of the two engines had four power cells—two on each side—for a total of eight magical power cells in use at any given time. Each engine turned a massive shaft, which whirled the even more ginormous propeller—or airscrew—on the stern. The two propellers could be controlled independently, making the airship as nimble as possible through the air.

The head engineer swept a glance over each of them, his gaze passing Pip, then flicking back to her, as if he couldn't quite believe a female had been assigned to his crew. "You will be assisting here in the mechanical spaces of the airship in shifts of four. Beyond the engines, the mechanics also maintain all the other mechanical spaces throughout the airship."

She couldn't wait to scramble all over this airship. This was the reason she'd joined the Mechanics Auxiliaries. She'd wanted to see and experience things she wouldn't have if she'd stayed tucked away at the far western side of Tarenhiel.

A series of bells sounded, and the men in the engine room jumped as if to obey a set of orders.

The deck below Pip's feet jolted. Then she had the sense of rising through the air, even though the world around her remained static.

They were lifting off. She resisted the urge to grab something to steady herself. Instead, she kept her knees loose, telling herself that she was half elf. Stuff like this should be perfectly normal for her.

As the airmen didn't appear to be paying any attention to the army mechanics unwillingly foisted on them, she walked across the space and peered out the round porthole window set into the rear of the gondola. The blades of the propeller flashed past, but between the blur she could make out the ground vanishing below.

Her stomach dropped, though she wasn't afraid. Not exactly. It was as if she was at war with herself. Part of her—her elven half—thrilled at the height. Her other half—the dwarven part of her—couldn't help a twinge of discomfort at seeing the safety of the ground disappearing so far below.

A whistle came from the door before someone called out, "Officer on deck."

All the airmen in the engine room spun on their heels and saluted the blue-coated officer who stepped through the doorway.

The officer saluted in return, then glanced around the room, his gaze falling on Pip. He strode across the room toward her. "Mechanic Pippak Detmuk-Inawenys?"

"That's me." She was rather impressed that he was able to say her name without stumbling over it. Perhaps he'd been practicing it in his mind the whole walk from the pilothouse to the engine room.

"As you are…" The officer—a young man who couldn't have been much more than eighteen or nineteen in human years—trailed off, his neck growing red.

"Female?" She guessed that was probably the reason for the awkwardness.

"Yes." The officer straightened his shoulders, regaining his professional mien. "You've been assigned a room near the officers' quarters. You've also been authorized to use the officers' head. I'll show you where to find those, if you'll follow me."

The officer spun on his heel, then strode off at a long-legged brisk pace.

Pip trotted to keep up, but she wasn't about to ask him to slow down.

By the time they reached the bow of the gondola, she was panting from jogging the whole way, though she tried to keep her panting quiet so that it wasn't so obvious that she was out of breath.

Her room was basically a closet with barely enough space to stand next to the hammock that gently swung with the motion of the airship around them.

The officers' head was at the end of that same walkway, complete with a locking door, which Pip appreciated.

While she was given special treatment when it came to her room and lavatory facilities, she wasn't invited to the captain's table for supper that night. For which she was grateful. She didn't want to be singled out quite that much. Even better, when she stepped into the mess that evening, she found Fieran, Merrik, and Lije sitting at a table. Apparently she had been assigned the same food times as their group.

She claimed her tray, went through the line where a cook placed some kind of savory beef with gravy and vegetables on her plate, and joined Fieran and Merrik at their table, squeezing into the seat beside Fieran that the others had made for her by sliding over.

Loud snickering and a few murmurs came from a nearby table of naval airmen, along with a few sneers in the flyboys' direction. As Pip took her first bite, the tension curled between the tables so tightly that her muscles stiffened.

"If you actually wanted to fight Mongavarians, you should have joined the navy." One of the airmen at a nearby table waggled a fork, his buddies snickering. "We don't sit on our rears just taking pictures and looking at the enemy. We'll actually fight the war."

Across the table from Pip, one of the flyboys clenched his fists. Another gripped the table, his body tensing as if he was going to stand.

Pip let a hint of her magic flow into her fingers, though she wasn't sure what she planned to do with her magical shield. Perhaps shield herself in the event of a fistfight so she didn't get squashed like a bug. Or perhaps prevent a fight from even starting by forming a barrier between the two combatants.

Fieran reached out and snagged the flyboy's arm, holding him in place. "Ignore them. It isn't worth starting a brawl that will just fuel the army-navy rivalry."

"Even if they deserve it," Lije muttered under his breath, his hands clenched on his fork.

Another naval airman grumbled, though he spoke plenty loud enough for them to hear, "General Julien's Follies."

Fieran's jaw flexed at the mocking mention of his uncle. Merrik turned slightly, as if to better place himself to guard Fieran's back in the event of a brawl.

While Pip hadn't heard the phrase "General Julien's Follies" until she'd come to Fort Linder, the sentiment was one spoken on the streets of Bridgetown and reported in the papers. Even a few men in the regular army units stationed at Fort Linder muttered it when they saw the flyboys.

It was a common opinion that General Julien Ardon's push for flyers was a foolish one. The accepted belief was that the war would be fought with airships, and flyers would be nothing more than scouts, too small and useless to actually take down an airship by themselves. Many in the army didn't even think it was worth arming the aeroplanes.

After seeing an airship up close, Pip wasn't sure she disagreed with them, exactly. What could a flyer—even an armed one—do against such a well-fortified behemoth? Only a pilot like Fieran with a great deal of destructive magic could take down an airship on his own. The rest of the flyer squadron would be like gnats buzzing around a grizzly bear. Annoying, but easily swatted from the air.

Still, she gripped Fieran's sleeve. "It isn't worth starting something."

Not that she would stop him if he tried. Like Merrik, she'd stand at his side if Fieran chose to fight over turning the other cheek.

Fieran sighed, shook his head, and turned his back to the hecklers.

"Shut up." An airman at another table glared at the table of jeerers before he glanced over at Fieran, giving him a slight nod.

Well, at least not all the naval airmen here wanted to play into the rivalry.

As the scoffing airmen turned back to their food with a few grumbles, Pip relaxed, letting her magic drain away back into her chest.

Fieran released the other flyboy's arm, and they all dug into their food like the tension of a moment earlier hadn't happened.

"How are the engineering spaces?" Fieran wolfed down his food between his words as if he worried that someone had mixed up their food with what was supposed to be served to the officers.

She'd heard the rumors that the navy ate far better than the army. This airship was certainly trying to prove that was true. Perhaps the navy cooks were pulling out all the stops, showing off for the army flyboys in their midst.

"I could have spent all day admiring the engines. They are marvels." Pip blew on her bite of roast beef before popping it in her mouth. The savory taste burst across her tongue. She hadn't eaten anything this good outside of the weekends in Bridgetown since leaving home. "What about you? Did you learn how to fly this thing yet?"

"Not yet." Fieran shrugged. "Hopefully tomorrow. But Merrik and I sneaked up to the top of the dirigible for a while. That was beyond amazing."

Merrik glanced around, then poked Fieran. "Do not say that so loud. No one has given us swabbing duties yet, and I do not want that to change."

Fieran just smirked at his friend. "If they haven't punished us by now, I doubt they will."

Merrik rolled his eyes and turned back to his food.

Still, Fieran lowered his voice as he faced Pip. "They have us bunking in hammocks among the gas balloons above the gondola. But I didn't see your things stowed up there."

"No. I've been assigned a tiny cabin in the officers' quarters." Pip shrugged, her shoulder brushing Fieran's arm with the movement. "It's cramped even for me. I'd almost rather have a hammock up there with the rest of you. Almost."

"Considering Tiny nearly hurled his breakfast all over our hammocks, you'll probably be grateful you don't have a hammock with the rest of us." Lije gave a shudder. "I don't have enough of my mama's soap along to salvage something like that."

Pip gave a shudder of her own. Tight as it was, she'd take her cubby of a room over risking an airsick flyboy vomiting over her during the night.