Page 59 of Wings of War

Fieran pulled down the extra lens on his goggles, painting the world in a tone of amber and changing the shades of colors on the circles painted on the wings of Lije’s aeroplane ahead of him.

All too soon, seeming far quicker than their outward journey, they circled the sky above Fort Linder’s aerodrome.

Capt. Arfeld pointed with his flag, indicating for one of the other pilots to land first.

Fieran’s heart leapt into his throat again, but this time he wasn’t thinking about himself. It was Lije’s craft he could picture burning in a pile of wreckage. Merrik’s.

The two flyers before Lije touched down without incident. Then Lije was lining up his biplane with the airfield, bleeding off speed, his craft growing wobbly in the air.

All Fieran could think about was the statistics he’d read in the paper once. That more of those early pilots died while trying to land than at any other time during flight. Recent days hadn’t disproved those articles.

Lije came in, his aeroplane a little too far sideways, the wings on one side coming perilously close to the ground. Then he managed to right the craft just enough that it was the rubber wheels that touched down. The aeroplane swerved, sliding on the short grass into the weeds alongside the runway. As the wheels snagged on the weeds, the flyer tipped forward. It was caught on the skids out the front, standing on its nose for a breathless, aching moment before it crashed back onto its wheels. Not on the airfield but unscathed at least.

After a moment Lije climbed from the flyer and waved at the sky, signaling that he was all right.

Fieran released a long breath, flexing his fingers on the control column as he followed Capt. Arfeld in circles high above. Below, the ground crew gathered around the biplane and pushed it out of the weeds and across the field, back to the hangar.

Once they were well away from the airstrip, Capt. Arfeld waved the orange signal flag again, pointing to Fieran to order him to land.

Fieran circled one last time, controlling the craft with both his feet on the rudder bar and his hands on the control column, using the loop to descend closer to the ground. When he lined his nose up with the airfield, he had bled off enough speed that the aeroplane felt heavy, less like a nimble warbird and more like a lumbering hunk of machinery.

He tried to keep his senses attuned to the craft and regain that sense of oneness with his aeroplane that he’d had before.

A slight breeze kicked up off the ground, stirring in eddies. It tried to shove his flyer over, and he resisted the urge to overcorrect the other way, instead gently leaning his biplane back the other way. Another gust sent his whole aeroplane into a sudden drop, jerking at the stick in his hand.

Gently now, even as he fought the forces that threatened to both drop his aeroplane too fast to the ground and yet also snatch it back into the sky.

The ground rushed up, closer and closer. Then his wheels touched the dirt, the stick nearly jerking from his hand as the grass seemed intent on wresting control of the biplane from him.

The forces yanking on the biplane lessened as his momentum slowed, the forces of gravity and friction winning over all the others. The tail skid dug into the ground, further stabilizing and slowing the aeroplane.

Fieran slowly turned the flyer as it jounced over the ground, heading for the hangar. Once he was just outside, he cut the engine. The flyer creaked and rolled to a crunching halt.

Fieran released another long breath, not quite sure if he was bleeding off adrenaline fueled by exhilaration or terror. Perhaps a mix of both.

He’d survived his first solo flight. Only a few more hours in the air, and he’d be able to pass his training as a pilot. Only a few more weeks, and he’d have his wings pinned to his chest.

He levered himself out of the cockpit and shakily climbed out. As his feet touched the ground, he turned just in time to see Merrik land his plane in a perfect touchdown on the grass.

Pip halted next to Fieran, glancing from him to the aeroplane behind him. “I see you brought my flyer back in one piece.”

“Yep. Not a scratch on her.” Fieran patted the biplane’s fuselage, then grinned at Pip, even as the ground crew claimed the biplane to wheel it into the hangar.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if war never came. Maybe Mongavaria would realize the futility of going to war with the Alliance Kingdoms. Or their aged queen would finally stop living on vengeance and vitriol, and her heir wouldn’t be as keen to fight the Alliance Kingdoms.

Fieran wouldn’t mind if life continued like this for a while. Low-key flirting with Pip. Flights over the countryside. Weekends spent with the guys and Pip in Bridgetown.

That wouldn’t be such a bad life, even if it meant he’d live in his dacha’s shadow forever.

Chapter

Nineteen

Aboom jolted Pip awake, even as her bunk shook so violently that she might have fallen off if she’d been on the top bunk.

One of the other girls gave a shriek as another thunderous boom tore through the night. A window shattered, the glass smashing into the cement and scattering in a tide of sharp, glittering edges. Mak’s miniature wooden train tumbled from the shutters to land on the cement floor with a sharp rap.

“What’s that? Did the munitions bunker explode?” Across the barracks, one of the secretaries was sitting up, brushing hair out of her face.

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