Page 27 of Stalk the Sky

Flying. Everything in him soared yet again, this time with the anticipation of the sky above and sea far below and the wind rushing past his face.

Another aeroplane soared into the sky, joining the cluster of aeroplanes circling overhead.

Fieran climbed into his aeroplane, settling into his seat and plugging the new wire running from his cap into the port Pip and Merrik had created just to the right of the seat.

He flipped the switch to turn the engine on, power flowing from the magical power cell into both the engine and the radio.

The elven moss speakers secured in the flaps over his ears crackled to life with voices.

“…new radios.”

“I can hear you.”

“What do you think about…”

The voices garbled over each other as various members of his Flight talked at the same time in their excitement to be able to communicate.

Fieran tuned out the chatter as best he could as he let his aeroplane’s engine spool up and waited for several more aeroplanes to take off ahead of him. Merrik commanded the aeroplane taking off just ahead of him, leaving Fieran’s biplane as the last one.

Once it was finally his turn, the ground crew raced in, grabbed the wheel chocks, and dashed out of the way.

Fieran’s heart leapt as his aeroplane rolled forward, gaining momentum. He pointed the nose toward the end of the field, not letting himself dwell too much on the edge of the cliff looming closer.

His Soarwing biplane bumped and jostled over the grassy stretch as it gained momentum. He waited, sensing the moment the air caught his wings before he tilted the control stick and sent his aeroplane hurtling into the sky. It clawed its way upward as he headed for where Flight B circled.

Amid the chatter, another more supercilious voice cut through the garble. “Lt. Laesornysh, channel 2.”

Fieran gritted his teeth at Lt. Rothilion’s tone as he reached forward and flipped the switch mounted next to the switch for his engine, changing his radio from channel 1 to channel 2. As soon as he did, the chatter disappeared, leaving only a vague static. He pushed the talk button on his control stick. “Changed to channel 2.”

Without the chatter, Lt. Rothilion’s voice cut sharp and clear. “Tell your motley Flight of humans and half-breed mutts to cut the chatter. The radios are to be used for military matters, not idle chit-chat.”

Fieran swallowed back his sarcastic retort at Lt. Rothilion’s insult to him and his men. “Will do. Anything else?”

“Take your Flight and circle north and west along the coast. I will take Flight A east and then circle south.” Lt. Rothilion’s tone was stuffy as he gave the order that put his Flight on patrol over the crucial eastern and southern sea lanes while Fieran patrolled the northern route and the channel between the outlying islands and Kostaria’s coast. While it was possible a Mongavarian fleet could circle around to come from the north, they would most likely come from the south or harass the Alliance’s sea trade to the east.

But all Fieran could say was, “Understood. Switching back to channel 1.”

Little as Fieran liked it, Lt. Rothilion was his commanding officer. At least he didn’t have to call Lt. Rothilion sir.

“Flight B, listen up.” Fieran finally reached his circling Flight, waiting a beat for their chatter to quiet. “We’ve been assigned the northern and eastern patrol. Cut the chatter. These radios are for military matters.”

A chorus of “yes, sir” echoed through the radio before it fell silent except for the static.

Fieran swung his aeroplane into the position at the fore as the others assembled behind him, with Merrik taking his spot to the side and just behind Fieran.

They flew in silence for several minutes as they crossed the length of Drogenvroh Island. Besides the heavily industrialized southern tip around the Dar Goranth base, the rest of the island was heather-covered hills, rocky crests, stands of trees, and tiny inlets with quaint fishing villages comprised of stone huts and a few docks, places where life for the rural trolls hadn’t changed all that much in the last thousands of years.

A few of the trolls working around the docks or tending gardens looked up, shading their eyes as they peered at the very modern aeroplanes flying over their peaceful little villages.

Finally, Fieran’s Flight reached the far northern end of Drogenvroh Island and headed north over the ocean. Below, a maze of icebergs clogged the sea, making it difficult for anyone unfamiliar with the waters to navigate close to the island. A few fishing trawlers puttered between the icebergs, a glow of troll ice magic showing how they were finding their way without issues.

Fieran waited another half an hour before he broke the radio silence. “All right. Location check.”

He pulled out the notebook, chart, pencil, and tools for taking readings for the sun’s location. Keeping the aeroplane steady with one hand, he spread the chart over his legs, took a few measurements, and ran through the calculations both by using the chart and the sun’s location and using his biplane’s airspeed and the length of time they had been traveling. The new compass also provided a heading.

After giving his Flight time enough, he pressed the talk button on his control stick. “All right, everyone. Sound off what numbers you got.”

The radio burst with the various members of the Flight reporting the numbers they got in their calculations all at once.

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