Chapter 23

Twenty-Three

Pip crawled beneath the end of a beam where it stuck out of a pile of rubble. The sound of crying came from beneath, and the army medic and four infantrymen with her stood poised at the edge of the rubble, waiting for her to lever the beam out of the way.

Gritting her teeth, Pip poured her magic into a shield over herself, spreading it out beneath the beam and the worst of the rubble. With a yell, she heaved the debris upward.

The infantrymen leapt forward, digging through the rubble until they reached the person pinned beneath. Within a few minutes, they had uncovered another bloody, dust-covered person. A woman this time, tears causing wet streaks through the dust. The medic knelt, assessing the person's injuries before they risked moving her.

Pip didn't look. She didn't want to see more blood and gory injuries.

At least this woman was alive. So far this night, Pip had seen too much, experienced too much.

She'd left home, restless and seeking. But this wasn't the adventure she'd been hoping to find.

Instead, she was trapped in a nightmare of smoke and destruction, blood and ash, death and horrors. Screams and shouts for help echoed into the night as blazing infernos threatened to consume whatever the bombs had missed.

The men loaded the woman onto a stretcher, then eased both her and themselves out of the rubble. Once they were safely out of the way, Pip let the beam fall back to the ground.

Wearily, she crawled out from under the beam, then used it to lever herself to her feet. She didn't even bother brushing off her coveralls.

As two of the infantrymen carried the woman down the road, headed for the one hospital in Bridgetown that had remained unscathed, the medic approached Pip. "Miss Detmuk-Inawenys, perhaps you should rest? You look exhausted."

"I'm fine." Pip couldn't rest. Not until they'd rescued each and every person trapped in the rubble.

But her magic was nearly exhausted. She was exhausted.

"I just need a moment." Pip braced herself against the end of the beam, willing away the haze of weariness blurring her vision. Her throat and lungs ached from choking on the acrid smoke. Her eyes burned from the smoke and her unshed tears.

Something sparked nearby. Then a wave of Fieran's blue, crackling magic slithered over the debris and lined each street and building, snuffing out the fires and consuming any smoldering rubble in the vicinity.

"Fieran." She wasn't sure if he was close enough to hear, nor did she have the strength to raise her voice to anything over a weak call.

Moments later, he stepped from the haze and smoke, a tall figure in army green, a few bolts of his magic curling around his hands.

Pip pushed away from the beam and ran to him, not even stopping to think before she hugged him. He was alive, he was here, and she just needed to be held for a moment, safe and secure in this city of destruction, despite the fact that they didn't have that kind of relationship.

His arms came around her, strong and secure. It didn't matter that they were just friends, and he wouldn't mean anything by this beyond comfort on the worst night either of them had experienced.

Before she knew it, she was sobbing, and she didn't even care. She couldn't have even said why. Perhaps the stress. The things she'd seen that night. The sheer relief that both she and Fieran had survived. The fear for the friends who might be alive or dead.

He held her tight, his grip shaky and trembling around her.

She wasn't sure how long she cried as they stood there like that amid the rubble of the city they'd both loved so much.

Finally, she gathered herself, sniffling her tears into silence. Swiping at her face, she pushed away from Fieran, not daring to meet his gaze. "Linshi."

"Tiridari." He returned her elvish thank you with a you're welcome in the same language, though the meaning was less trite in elvish. He gestured toward the rubble-strewn road ahead of them. "We should keep going."

It was all they could do.

As dawn blushedsoft on the eastern horizon, Pip was stumbling with fatigue, both magical and physical. Beside her, Fieran, too, tottered as he put out fire after fire by consuming it with his magic. His freckles stood out even more pronounced as his already pale skin took on a gray pallor.

The morning light revealed just how devastating the damage was to the city. Everything looked so foreign to the Bridgetown she had come to know and love.

Instead of the bustle of a vibrant city, now there were weary people, wandering in mute shock, digging through the rubble, or standing beside still forms laid out on the ground, sobbing for the loss of loved ones.

Several of the monuments and statues she'd laughed over with Fieran were now chipped or missing chunks. The statue of King Rharreth on the corner was now missing its head.

In their favorite park, all the trees were cracked and broken, their trunks flopped over into the streets under the force of the blast. The soda parlor where they'd spent so much time was now a smoking crater, the bricks blackened, the stainless-steel countertop a twisted thing in the debris.

Pip just halted right there in the debris-covered street, too weary to even cry.

Fieran stood next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close.

She leaned into him, soaking in his warmth, not caring if both of them reeked of sweat and smoke.

Marching boots echoed off the buildings a moment before a squad of soldiers appeared out of the haze. Their uniforms were far too clean compared to those she'd seen throughout the night, digging through the rubble or patrolling the streets to keep law and order.

Fieran snapped to attention, saluting the lieutenant leading the way.

The lieutenant saluted in return, sweeping a gaze over Fieran and Pip. His eyes were softer, more compassionate, than the hard control she usually saw in the army officers. "Are you from Fort Linder?"

"Yes, sir." Fieran stared over the lieutenant's head.

Pip tried to pretend she wasn't using Fieran as a prop to keep herself upright.

"You've been relieved. Reinforcements have arrived from Fort Freilan." The lieutenant gestured behind him to the clean and bright-eyed soldiers. "Report to the command post on Outpost Museum Hill."

"Yes, sir." Fieran saluted again before spinning on his heel.

Pip nearly toppled over with his sudden movement, and she staggered a step to regain her balance.

Fieran turned back toward her, reaching out a hand as if he wasn't sure how to help.

She waved off his help, forcing her leaden legs to move once again. She might be tired, but she was still perfectly capable of walking the rest of the way to the hill.

Together, she and Fieran trudged through the streets of Bridgetown. Occasionally, they'd come across a block of buildings that stood virtually untouched, only for the next street over to be demolished into nothing but piles of bricks and shattered wood.

Finally, they reached the base of Museum Hill. Her shoulders slumped in relief at seeing that the outpost remained untouched, though a bomb had cratered into one of the surrounding streets. At least something had survived the night.

To one side of the hill, the University Hospital—one of the two hospitals in Bridgetown—was a blaze of light and hive of activity. Men, women, and children were laid out on the street, waiting for the nurses and the handful of elven healers present to tend to them.

More bustle filled the green before the museum than Pip would have expected. Tents had already been set up while men in army uniforms hustled between them.

To one side of the temporary headquarters, long tables had been set up, providing food to the weary, hungry people of Bridgetown. A smaller set of tables had been set up farther up the hill, where the exhausted, grimy men of Fort Linder were lining up to get food.

Pip dragged her feet in that direction, the steepness of the hill feeling nearly insurmountable in her exhaustion.

"Pip? Fieran?"

She turned at the sound of the voice, her eyes already prickling with tears, her throat choking. Lije stood there, his beanpole frame seeming even skinnier with the way his uniform hung dirty and torn. Ash smeared across his face and into his hair while dried blood coated one leg. A white bandage was tied around his calf.

"You're alive." Pip blinked, then gave him a quick hug. She'd already known that, since Fieran had reassured her as they'd worked throughout the night. But it was different seeing for herself.

"What about a hug for me?" Pretty Face strode up to them, holding out his arms for a hug, though he winced at the movement. A bloodstained bandage was taped to his chin. Despite his joking words, his tone held that weary quality they all had after this night. Dried tracks carved through the dirt on his face, showing that he'd shed a few tears of his own during the night.

"Just this once." Pip gave him a hug as well. He kept the hug short.

As she stepped out of the brief hug, she glanced around. "Where are Tiny, Stickyfingers, and Merrik?"

"Tiny and Stickyfingers are back in the air." Lije gestured upward at the black shapes of the flyers maintaining a patrol over Bridgetown and Fort Linder. "Capt. Arfeld has all of us rotating through patrols."

"Except for me and Merrik. Our magic is more useful on the ground." Fieran gave a tired, rolling shrug of his shoulders. "Is Merrik still in Calafaren?"

"I'd assume so. I haven't seen him." Lije tipped his head along with his own exhausted shrug. "The commander sent a detail over the bridge to offer aid to the elves, if they need it or want it."

Even with the close alliance, the Escarlish soldiers wouldn't be able to operate on Tarenhieli soil without permission. Perhaps Merrik, half-elf that he was, would be able to smooth their way.

"After they moved the flyers you and Merrik parked in the middle of the bridge out of the way." Pretty Face waggled his eyebrows, a strained edge to the humor as if he had to work up the energy to joke. Both the humor and the strain couldn't hide the edge of awe in his voice.

Pip whirled to face Fieran, her own eyebrows shooting up. "You landed on the Alliance Bridge?"

Fieran shrugged, as if landing a flyer on a bridge—a national monument, no less—at night with no brakes and a great risk of skidding out and smashing into the stone walls on either side was no big deal. "It was the only lit, straight, and open spot last night. There was plenty of room."

Not really, but Pip didn't have the energy to banter back. Not this morning.

They were all alive. That was the main thing. All of her flyboys had survived the night.

Pip turned to the east, the morning sunlight warm on her face.

Before, she hadn't truly known what she wanted. She'd joined the Auxiliaries because she was searching for a purpose.

But now she had one. She wasn't the fighter that Fieran and the other flyboys were. Yet she would fight this war in her own way, maintaining the aeroplanes to keep her boys safe in the sky. Last night had burned a steely resolve through her. She would do her part in this war no matter what it took and where she was sent after this.

Hopefully she was sent to the same place as Fieran and the rest of her flyboys.

Her flyboys. No matter what happened in this war, she could face it as long as they were together.