Page 77 of Wings of War

After all the weeks of training—the crashes, the losses, the attack during the night—they were now officially pilots.

Fieran knocked on the door to Capt. Arfeld’s office and stepped inside when called. He halted before the desk and saluted. “Second Lieutenant Laesornysh reporting as requested, sir.”

Capt. Arfeld saluted in return, leaned back in his chair, and regarded Fieran for a long moment before he heaved something like a sigh. “What am I to do with you, Lt. Laesornysh?”

“Sir?” Fieran’s stomach twisted. This almost sounded like a lecture would be forthcoming. Or like his famous family was getting involved in some way.

“The night of the attack, you didn’t wait for your sergeant’s orders. You gave commands when you had no authority to do so. You presumed to tell your commanding officer what he should do. You landed on the Alliance Bridge at great risk to yourself, your aeroplane, your fellow pilot who was crazy enough to follow you, and a rather culturally significant national monument. And…” Capt. Arfeld’s weathered face showed no hint of the softening or uncertainty he’d worn during the attack.

Fieran braced himself for whatever the captain would say next, somehow unable to regret what he’d done, even if the litany of his offenses the night before sounded quite insubordinate when put that way.

Had he gained his wings only to promptly lose them? Surely what he’d done wasn’t enough to get him dishonorably discharged from the army, especially not with the added protection of his name and relatives, much as he hated to rely on those things.

“And…you saved us all last night.” Capt. Arfeld gestured at the chair across the desk from him, next to where Fieran was standing. “Take a seat.”

Fieran sat, though he kept his back straight with military posture instead of relaxing. So…was he being reprimanded? Or commended? He still couldn’t quite read the captain’s tone or expression. It took everything in him not to bounce his knees.

“In my years as a pilot, I have lost many friends and rivals, all of them my brothers and sisters in innovation. I’ve known many a good and experienced pilot who has panicked or grown disorientated or made a mistake that led to a crash.” Capt. Arfeld’s voice lowered. “Last night, I had to order a squadron of inexperienced pilots into battle at night, knowing many of them would panic. Many would crash because of their own mistakes rather than anything the enemy had done.”

Perhaps this was where Capt. Arfeld’s lack of a military background showed through. He was speaking to Fieran as a fellow pilot and a mentor rather than maintaining military distinctions in rank.

Capt. Arfeld’s gaze sharpened. “And one of those inexperienced pilots had magic capable of wiping out not only his entire squadron but also the fort and the cities we were trying to protect, if he should panic in the face of unprecedented war.”

Fieran shifted in his seat, unable to maintain his discipline with the weight of those words settling on his shoulders. Sure, he hadn’t panicked, but Capt. Arfeld hadn’t known how Fieran would react once he took to the sky.

“And yet that same pilot was our only hope of actually fighting back, and all I could do was hope that the training I’d witnessed at Fort Charibert and the lack of panic he showed in defending the fort during the early moments of the attack would hold once he was in the air.” Capt. Arfeld’s eyes grew distant, almost as if he’d forgotten Fieran was even there. “Worse, I had no experience to lead my men or give them the orders they would need to fight effectively. Before last night, no one had ever fought a battle in the air. There is no training, no textbook, no experience that any of us could bring to that fight.”

For the first time, war had taken to the skies. Despite all of Uncle Julien’s planning for a war that would likely be fought in the air, given the barrier of the Wall, there had been no way to truly prepare for what fighting in the air would be like.

Despite spending seventy years anticipating this war, in many ways Escarland had still been woefully unprepared, complacent with the safety provided by the Wall.

Especially since many military leaders had gotten so much wrong. They’d assumed the war in the air would be fought by the behemoth airships duking it out in the same manner as the ships on the seas. Flyers were considered only useful for scouting, so no one had put much effort into trying to arm them or make them capable of fighting.

Hopefully military command would take note and put more effort into the aeroplanes. Though knowing the army as Fieran did now, last night’s battle would likely convince the leaders more than ever that flyers were incapable of standing up to airships and should remain relegated to scouting and surveillance.

Capt. Arfeld met Fieran’s gaze again. “You have great potential, Lt. Laesornysh, even beyond your magic. You have a natural talent for flying, and you have the charisma needed to become a leader. Already last night, your squadron rallied behind you. You have that extra spark that makes people look to you to lead them.”

Fieran sat even straighter. Praise, not PT. He wasn’t sure how to react to that.

“I tell you this not to make you cocky but to caution you.” Capt. Arfeld’s eyes sharpened further. “With that great potential comes a great potential for disaster. If you grow too arrogant, you will flame out in a cataclysmic mistake, leading all those who follow you into catastrophe.”

Fieran dropped his gaze. The losses of last night already weighed heavily on him, and he hadn’t been the one giving orders—at least, not most of them. “I understand, sir.”

“No, you don’t. Not yet.” Capt. Arfeld’s voice roughened, the weight of his gaze falling away from Fieran. “Even without overconfidence, catastrophes can still happen despite your best efforts. There will be times in command when you will have to order your men to their deaths.”

Like last night. The memories hung heavy between them.

“I will remain here to continue training pilots. But you and others like you will be the ones who will develop the strategies that will eventually make it into the textbooks. You will surpass me. I only hope you live long enough to see it.”

Fieran swallowed. Was this supposed to be a pep talk or a warning? It seemed to be a bit of both. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“For that reason, I’m promoting you to First Lieutenant.” Capt. Arfeld pushed a stack of paperwork across the desk toward Fieran.

The words swam, but Fieran’s name jumped out, typed in black ink. Promoted, and he’d only been commissioned for all of twenty minutes. That had to be some kind of record.

“You earned it. You proved you are capable of keeping your head during battle and not wiping out your own men with your magic.” Capt. Arfeld sighed and scrubbed a hand over the bristles of scruff on his chin. “If you were anyone but who you are, I’d likely be under great pressure to submit your name for a medal. As it is, everyone from Bridgetown’s mayor to the Escarlish palace’s press office want to celebrate you with parades and war propaganda tours.”

All Fieran wanted to do was fly. If he’d wanted to glad-hand and schmooze people, he could have done that as a prince. No joining the army necessary. “With all due respect, sir, please tell me you’ve refused their requests.”

---