Page 87 of Stalk the Sky

“We are the Half-Breed Squadron,” Lije stated, grinning from ear to ear. “After all, our captain is half-elf, half-human, and that’s what makes him our Laesornysh.”

On cue, all of them saluted.

In a bit of a daze, Fieran saluted back. The term half-breed had been thrown at him—and Merrik and Tiny—as an insult. Yet there was something powerful in embracing it. As he’d told Rothilion. He was a half-breed, and he was proud of it.

“So is our first lieutenant.” Lije nudged Merrik, who shifted and ducked his head. “Who else but another half-elf, half-human could watch our captain’s back?”

Merrik gave a little cough, the tips of his pointed ears flushing pink, likely with embarrassment at so much attention. “Our chief mechanic is a half-elf, half-dwarf with magic that can channel the power of the ancient kings.”

Seeming less uncomfortable with the attention than Merrik, Pip grinned and pointed to Tiny. “And we have a half-troll, half-human who can hurl shards of ice down at airships.”

Shifting, Tiny gestured to Lije. “And Lije is part ogre.”

Lije rolled his eyes. “A distant ancestor might have been an ogre. Maybe.”

“I’m half-criminal,” Stickyfingers announced, a hand patting the pocket where he must have his lockpicks stored. He nudged Pretty Face. “And Pretty Face is on the path to becoming a halfway decent guy.”

The others crowded forward, all announcing ways that they were half. One had half a pinky finger. Several joked that some of the others had half a brain.

“What about us?” The voice quieted the hubbub a moment before Lt. Rothilion limped forward, leading the elves of Flight A. His tone and expression lacked the supercilious edge, instead remaining more open and almost humble. “Where do we fit into the Half-Breed Squadron?”

Fieran held Lt. Rothilion’s gaze. How honest could he be? Would Rothilion take the humor as the olive branch Fieran intended? “You are half as stuffy as you used to be.”

Instead of sniffing in offense, Lt. Rothilion’s mouth tipped with a wry almost-smile as he nodded to Fieran. They weren’t exactly friends yet, but perhaps they could stop being enemies.

“Well, I am half-crazy.” Aylia flipped a lock of her hair over her shoulder as she swaggered to a halt. “Obviously.”

A few of the other elves piped up, adding their own “halves.”

Fieran let them talk, something in him relaxing at the way the elven pilots and his flyboys started mingling more than they ever had before.

Battle had honed and bonded them. Going forward, they would be a much more united squadron, and they would be all the better for it.

That reminded him of the papers Uncle Julien had handed him. Fieran unfolded them, quickly reading what they said.

He must have made a sound or showed something on his face, for Pip, Merrik, Stickyfingers, Lije, Pretty Face, and Tiny were soon gathered around him.

“What’s that?” Pretty Face leaned forward, as if he was trying to read over Fieran’s shoulder.

“New orders?” Merrik crossed his arms, his voice low. He positioned himself at Fieran’s back, still the wingman even here on the ground.

Fieran glanced from Merrik, his oldest friend, to Pip, the girl he liked, to the gathering of friends he’d made during battle. And beyond them, the rest of his flyboys who had followed him so readily here at Dar Goranth. Finally to Lt. Rothilion and the elven pilots who were now under Fieran’s command as well.

His duty had grown, weighing more heavily than the medals now pinned to his uniform. He’d come far too close to failing to be a true leader here at Dar Goranth. He’d have to do better at their next duty station.

Clearing his throat, Fieran raised his voice. “Half-Breed Squadron, listen up.”

Silence fell, all of the pilots turning toward him.

Huh. That had worked better than he’d thought.

Focus. He was a captain now. He had to be all official and everything.

Fieran held up the papers, something in him lifting even as he said the words. “We’ve been ordered to Fort Defense.”

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