Page 26 of Wings of War

She paused. He was a flyboy. He wouldn’t know what she needed. But what was the harm in seeing if he could figure it out? “Probably not. Unless you can tell the difference between gauges of wire?”

“Ah, I see.” The flyboy almost sounded like he did, indeed, understand. “That flyer has the latest Dymman engine. The wiring harness burned out, didn’t it?”

Pip froze, her middle aching from hanging over the fuselage at her waist. “How would you know that? I didn’t think the flyboys learned more about the engines than what gauges to watch in the cockpit.”

“Let’s just say I’ve had more experience with a variety of engines than most.” The flyboy gave that easy laugh again. Despite her calling him arrogant earlier, he said this last bit almost self-consciously instead of arrogantly. “Wait there a moment, and I’ll fetch a new wiring harness for you.”

While she waited, Pip checked a few of the other pieces of the engine. Calling up her magic, she reinforced the metal.

The footsteps returned, quicker and lighter than she would have expected. “I’m coming up the ladder behind you, just so you know.”

A creak of wood came from the ladder, then she could sense the warmth of someone at her back. An arm clad in basic army green reached into her view, holding out a bundle of wires in long, slim fingers.

“Thanks.” She took the wire from him, comparing it with the wires she’d taken off. Not only was it formed of the right gauges, but it was correctly bundled together and so close to the right length that this flyboy must have worked with Dymman engines before.

“Here. I wasn’t sure if you’d have the right pliers in your belt.” The hand came into view again, this time holding the large combo pliers and wire cutter.

She did, but it was all the way on the wrong side of her belt in a place that she’d have to squirm around awkwardly to try to reach.

“Thanks again.” Pip took the pliers from him. “Could you fetch—”

“A torque wrench for the bolts?” he finished for her. Strangely, the interruption didn’t feel rude. Instead, it felt like he was too eager to help and couldn’t stop himself from interrupting. The kind of interruption experienced between friends or family who were comfortable with each other.

“Yes, that would be great.” She set to work with the pliers, swapping the connecting ends from the old wiring harness to the new one. While she was at it, she called up her iron magic and sent it over the wires to reinforce them.

By the time she had the wiring harness in place, the flyboy had returned and was holding out the correct torque wrench to her. The thin wire and dial on the bottom of the wrench measured the amount of pressure she put on the bolts.

As the flyboy retreated to the ground, she torqued the bolts holding the wiring harness into place, then replaced the terminal covers and wrenched the bolts down.

As she finished, she gathered her tools and stowed them back in her toolbelt and pocket. After one last check that she hadn’t left anything undone or any tools in the engine, she squirmed again to lower herself out of the engine, feeling with her toes for the ladder.

The ladder creaked again, then the flyboy’s voice came from beside the aeroplane. “The ladder is about three inches directly below your feet. I’m holding it steady.”

“Thanks.” She shook her head, even as she was glad for the extra reassurance that the ladder was beneath her. “I’ve done this loads of times before. You get good at scrambling over stuff when you’re as short as I am.”

Once free of the fuselage, Pip straightened, her head whirling slightly. Her feet tingled as blood flowed better into her toes once again.

Now that she stood on the semi-solid though wiggling step, the flyboy let go of the ladder, stepping back before she caught a glimpse of more of him than his short-cropped, red hair.

Within moments, Pip had the hatch in the fuselage latched back in place, and she quickly climbed down the ladder.

As her feet hit the ground, she turned around and got her first good look at the mechanically inclined flyboy.

He was at least a foot taller than her with that rangy, slim build often found among elves. He even had pointed ears, hinting at some kind of elven heritage despite his presence here on an Escarlish aerodrome. He had the most brilliant red hair she’d ever seen, and the red of his hair only seemed to highlight his bright blue eyes. A hint of a smirk played around the corners of his mouth.

Aw, man. She had such a thing for tall, skinny guys. She didn’t know why. Perhaps it was her elven heritage. Or maybe, she was just a short girl with a thing for guys who were tall enough to get items off the top shelf.

Even worse, this handsome, red-haired elf with laughing eyes and chiseled features had a hint of freckles across his nose, stark against his pale skin. Freckles! How could she not get a little flutter at the freckles?

Fieran faced the tiny female mechanic he’d been slightly flirting with for the past few minutes. He’d seen her at a distance several times over the last two weeks. But she was far cuter up close. Her dark brown hair was currently knotted up in something of a messy bun, but the tendrils that fell free spiraled in curls. Her skin was a warm light bronze while her eyes were the kind of dark chocolate that made a man want to lose himself in her gaze. The points of her ears were just visible through her hair, so she wasn’t a human. Perhaps half-human since Fieran had never seen an elf that short.

Even with grease smeared across her cheeks and wearing coveralls—or perhaps because of the grease and coveralls—she was adorable.

As he swept a glance over her, a smile pursed her mouth as she took him in. She stuck out a hand. “I’m Pippak Detmuk-Inawenys. But that’s a mouthful, so most people just call me Pip.”

Pip. An adorable little name for an adorable little mechanic.

Fieran shook her hand, impressed at the way her grip was strong and firm. Nothing shirking or retiring about her, despite her size.

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