Page 40 of Stalk the Sky

“Flight B, listen up.” Fieran tried to tune out the chatter that didn’t apply to him as he switched his aeroplane’s engine on to start it spinning up. “Stick in your pairs. You are each other’s right hand man.”

“Don’t you mean right wing man?” Pretty Face somehow managed to get a laugh to carry over the radio.

Pretty Face had a measure of wit, when he wasn’t using it for inappropriate comments.

“Yes, wingman. Stay with your wingman, wingelf, wingtroll, or whatever the case might be.” Fieran liked the term. He’d have to keep using it. “As Commander Druindar believes this airship is a scout, he has asked that I refrain from using my magic so that I don’t give away that I’m stationed here just yet.”

A chorus of disbelief and dismay filled the airwaves, nearly drowning out Lt. Rothilion attempting to give orders to his pilots already in the air.

“Since I won’t be able to shield us as I did in the Battle over Bridgetown, Tiny, Murray, I’d like the two of you to take the lead.” Fieran settled his goggles into place over his eyes. “Troll and human magic won’t be out of place here at Dar Goranth.”

A man from the ground crew standing by the door of the hangar motioned for the next aeroplane to leave. As others of the ground crew removed the wheel chocks, Lt. Rothilion let his aeroplane roll forward into the lashing rain.

The fifteen pilots chosen from Flight A had taken far too long to take off. Fieran pressed the talk button, hoping his pilots would be up for this next order. “We’ll be taking off in pairs.”

They had practiced this, but that had been in fair weather in the daylight. Not in darkness and driving rain.

Another motion from the ground crew, and both Tiny and Murray waved to the ground crew to take away the wheel chocks. Once freed, they maneuvered their aeroplanes one after the other outside.

Lije and Pretty Face went next, then the other pairs before it was Fieran and Merrik’s turn.

As Fieran’s aeroplane rolled from the hangar, the rain was a slap, stealing his breath with the wash of cold dousing every inch of exposed skin. Rain ran down his goggles in such a torrent that the world was reduced to a watery, dark blur.

Fieran scrubbed at his goggles as he turned the aeroplane to position it near the end of the airfield, slightly forward and to the left so that Merrik had room for his aeroplane behind and to the right.

At the far end of the airfield, the previous two aeroplanes rose into the sky, banking into the wind as they clawed their way into the tumultuous storm.

High above, a shimmer of white icy magic traced across the sky, briefly highlighting the flyers already climbing into the sky. Tiny’s voice came over the radio. “I think I sense something to the south.”

“Headed to intercept.” Lt. Rothilion’s reply came sharp and quick.

“On our way.” Fieran pushed his aeroplane to full power as it rumbled forward over the ground, jouncing and bouncing over the tiny hillocks of grass even as crosswinds buffeted the wings, threatening to tumble his aeroplane onto its side before he even had the chance to get into the air.

He fought both the control stick and rudder to keep control even as the aeroplane rushed forward.

Almost before he was ready, a gust picked his aeroplane up, tossing him into the sky. Before it could slam him back to the ground, potentially damaging the wheel struts, he worked the ailerons. For a moment, his aeroplane hung, caught between sky and land as if unsure which force would win.

Then the solidness returned beneath his wings, and his flyer climbed into the sky, fighting for every inch rather than being the graceful craft it normally was.

When he risked a glance over his shoulder, Merrik’s aeroplane was a dark shape in the flashes of lightning, following in Fieran’s wake into the sky.

Crackling static filled the radio, punctuated by garbled voices. The storm was interfering with their radios, and the distance wasn’t helping.

Fieran pointed the nose of his aeroplane toward the faint sense of Tiny’s magic whispering across the sky. The higher he got, the harder the rain pounded against the wings and drove into his face until he felt like he was drowning in the sky every time he choked in a breath.

This was insane. They were all going to get themselves killed trying to intercept this airship.

What did the mystery airship even hope to gain, trying to scout Dar Goranth in this weather? In these winds and with this rain, the airship must be struggling as much as—or more than—their aeroplanes were.

The tiny pinpricks from the elven lights mounted inside the cockpits of their aeroplanes were the only things marking the location of the various squadron members, and even those couldn’t be seen more than a hundred yards away.

Fieran tried to count the lights as his aeroplane struggled into the sky, but the water streaming down his goggles and the roiling waves of rain made it impossible to count more than a handful at a time.

With a slash of something almost like pain, bits of sleet and ice sliced through the air along with the rain. From Tiny’s magic? Or was the storm turning even worse?

“Tiny, do you still sense the airship?” Fieran shouted into the radio. Was he close enough for Tiny to even hear him?

“…lost…can’t see…”

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