Page 70 of Wings of War

A flash of orange came from an aeroplane in the distance, but Fieran didn’t focus on it. If it was orders from Capt. Arfeld, Fieran didn’t want to see it. He had his own plans of what he intended to do next, and he wasn’t going to let a simple thing like orders stop him.

Instead, Fieran slid his own orange flag out, then he whirled his aeroplane around so that he was flying past Merrik, Lije, Stickyfingers, Pretty Face, and Tiny.

Fieran would have breathed a sigh of relief at seeing all of them alive, but there wasn’t time. He started to signal, only for the magic still coating his fingers to incinerate the flag. So much magic still burned through him, and he wasn’t sure how to even rein it back in now that he had unleashed it so fully.

He signaled with his hand, his magic a bright slash through the night, that he was going to land. He pointed at Merrik, telling him to land as well. For the others, he signaled for them to stay on patrol in the air. The six airships had been destroyed, but who knew if Mongavaria would send another wave of airships to attack.

Once he received acknowledgement signal waves from Lije and Pretty Face, Fieran took his aeroplane lower, trying to find a place to land. The road, perhaps. Or one of the open farm fields.

But in the darkness and smoke, he couldn’t see anything but blackness surrounding the city. For all he knew, he’d plow his aeroplane right into the side of a farmhouse if he attempted to land.

Or…he pointed his flyer toward the one place that was clear of people and traffic, straight, long enough, and well lit.

The Alliance Bridge beamed blue light into the night like a beacon of hope despite the chaos and death of the night. Even though it must have been a target for the attack, only a few chips and dents scored the stone, not enough to truly damage it.

Fieran lined his aeroplane up, banked lower, and shut off the engine to come in on a glide. He had to lean up as precisely as possible, considering the wall that had been added to protect the lane for bicyclists and pedestrians from the two lanes for trolleys and motorized vehicles.

Keeping his flyer steady as the breezes wafting up from the river buffeted the wings, he touched down at the very end of the bridge. The wheels jounced hard against the firm stones, threatening to skid out and send his wings into the arched walls on either side. The tailskid screeched against the pavement, not doing anything to slow him as he barreled forward.

Fighting the rudder and ailerons, Fieran kept control of his aeroplane by the skin of his teeth. Finally, the upward slope of the bridge slowed him until he came to a creaking halt nearly at the apex of the center span of the bridge.

When he glanced behind him, he found Merrik in his aeroplane rolling to a halt only a few yards behind him. Merrik must have come down behind him, risking both that Fieran would crash and block his way or that Merrik’s aeroplane wouldn’t stop as fast and crash into him.

Fieran levered himself from the cockpit, climbed onto the lower wing, then leapt to the ground, landing lightly thanks to his elven agility. He jogged a few steps, reaching Merrik just as Merrik straightened from his own jump. Fieran pointed north. “Do what you can to put out the fires in Calafaren. I’ll do the same for Bridgetown.”

Merrik nodded, then launched into a sprint, racing for the elven city to the north.

Fieran jogged for a few steps before transitioning into a run, heading south toward Bridgetown.

The attack was over, but the battle to save as many lives as possible had just begun.

Chapter

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.

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