Page 39 of Stalk the Sky

There was a slight chance it was a private airship blown seriously off-course. But if that were the case, it would be frantically signaling and trying to get help, not running dark.

A Mongavarian scout, then, trying to use the storm for cover, dangerous as the high winds were to an airship.

Commander Druindar glanced between the two of them. “I’d like you to pick thirty of your best pilots from both Flights and take them up to confront the airship. The others will be kept here in reserve.”

In case there were high casualties due to the airship or the weather. No sense risking the entire squadron.

“And Lt. Laesornysh, I’d like you to avoid using your magic.” Commander Druindar’s gaze landed squarely on him.

“Sir?” Fieran flexed his fingers, not wanting to protest, but also itching at the restriction. His magic was his best weapon against airships. Without his magic, he was just another pilot with a gun.

“Right now, we don’t know if the Mongavarians know you’re currently stationed here.” Commander Druindar’s tone remained unwaveringly final. “Once you use your magic against one of their airships, they will know, and I’d rather save that surprise for the main battle, rather than waste it on what is likely a scout.”

That made far too much sense, even if Fieran didn’t like it. “I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Commander Druindar waved them off as the rest of the squadron, both elves and humans, poured into the hangar. “Now get up there and either chase off or take down this intruder before they get too good of a look at our defenses.”

Not to mention the fleet of docked airships and warships currently sheltering in the harbor. A fleet that comprised the bulk of the Alliance’s air and sea navies.

As Fieran and Lt. Rothilion headed for where their men and women had assembled in rows, gathered into Flights A and B, Fieran lowered his voice so only Lt. Rothilion could hear. “Don’t just pick your pilots from Flight A. Commander Druindar said to pick the best of both Flights.”

Lt. Rothilion sucked in a breath, as if he were about to retort that, naturally, Flight A had all of the best pilots since they were all full elves. Instead, his nose lifted slightly. “It would be unwise to risk all of my Flight for a paltry scout. Your Flight is more disposable than mine. Pick fifteen of your men, and I will pick fifteen of mine.”

And there it was. Even while complying with the order, Lt. Rothilion still managed to be insulting.

There was no time to dwell on it. Every moment, the airship was getting blown closer to Dar Goranth, and it would take time to get the flyers in the air.

Fieran faced his flyboys, Merrik halting next to him. “Only fifteen of us will be going up. The rest will stay back in reserve in case this turns out to be a larger battle than a single airship. When I call your name, grab your gear and head for your aeroplane.”

Now to decide who would go up and who would stay.

“Lije, Pretty Face, Tiny, Murray.” Fieran rattled off ten more names, leaving Stickyfingers behind. While he was a decent pilot, he wasn’t yet up for a flight like this, and his navigational skills were still abysmal. If he got blown out over the ocean in the storm, he’d never find his way back. “And Merrik.”

Because of course he wouldn’t go up without Merrik.

“The rest of you, help the ground crews get the aeroplanes onto the airfield.” Fieran gestured at the rest of the hangar, where Pip, the mechanics, and the ground crews were scrambling to push the various aeroplanes toward the hanger door.

With his orders given, Fieran raced for the lockers in the back, joining the others in throwing on his leather coat, the leather boots, his cap, and his goggles. It was going to be a wet one tonight, and even these warm layers were likely going to be soaked before the night was out.

Within a few minutes, Fieran reached his aeroplane as the first of Lt. Rothilion’s pilots turned on their aeroplanes. Some of the ground crew drew back the black curtain as the lights near the front of the hangar were switched off. Instead of having the ground crew push the aeroplanes all the way outside, the pilots maneuvered them out under power, disappearing into the driving rain.

Pip met him by the wings of his aeroplane, her hands clasped in front of her, then tucked in the pockets of her overalls, then pulling out a wrench and fiddling with it.

“I know. Bring your aeroplane back in one piece.” Fieran kept a grin on his face rather than match her grim look.

“Not even a scratch. We just got them painted.” Pip’s light words didn’t match her tone, and her smile didn’t reach her dark eyes.

“Got it.” Fieran gave her one last grin before he grabbed the wing support, stuck his toes into the footstep on the side, and bounded into his aeroplane.

As he plugged the end of his headset cord into the side of the aeroplane, voices bombarded his ears.

“…turbulent…”

“…cannot see…”

“…reported sighted to the southwest.” That last was Lt. Rothilion’s voice, muffled by the resounding roar of many aeroplane engines winding up inside of the hangar.

Most of the elven pilots of Flight A were spooled up and already leaving the hangar one by one. Several must be climbing into the sky already.

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