Page 2 of Fly to Fury
The two aeroplanes were little more than wrecks at this point. After the Battle for Dar Goranth, the biplanes had been stripped of anything that was useful for fixing the squadron’s aeroplanes until actual replacement parts could be sent from Escarland. What was left of the fuselages showed the holes from moving the gun mount into a variety of positions, and both aeroplanes lacked propellers. One listed on its side since the wheel struts had broken during its final testing run for the guns.
Yet now they sported even more damage than the last time Fieran had seen them. One of the wrecks had blackened streaks all down the sides and what was left of the lower wing had the canvas completely burned away.
Pip stood on a ladder by the other aeroplane, her head in the engine compartment as she muttered and fiddled with something. Patches of grease and what looked like burn marks creased her green coveralls while what he could see of her dark brown hair was tied back in a messy knot at the back of her head.
He did his best not to look at her petite, curvy figure. He was, after all, the one who’d said they couldn’t have a romantic relationship until the war was over. He needed to keep his mind and eyes firmly where they belonged for just a friend.
“Still working on your mysterious project?” Fieran rested a shoulder against the aeroplane’s side next to her ladder.
Pip jumped and banged her head on the top of the engine compartment. Rubbing the back of her head, she ducked out of the compartment and glared at him. “Failing my mysterious project is more like it. Why does your magic have to be so volatile?”
The project really must not have been going well if Pip was getting this snappy. Fieran had grown up around enough inventors to recognize the look. Usually, this was the point where it was best to back away slowly and leave the person to their frustration.
But when it came to Pip, Fieran found he couldn’t help himself most of the time.
“I’m afraid volatile is the nature of the magic of the ancient kings.” Fieran let a bit of his blue, crackling magic spark over his fingers before he curled his fist and snuffed it out. “What seems to be the trouble?”
Pip sighed and jabbed a hand first at the engine, then at what seemed to be a system of wires running along the outside of the aeroplane, held a few inches away from the biplane’s skin by ceramic brackets. “After the success I had with the shield for the base, I thought I could apply the concept to a shield for the aeroplanes. If each aeroplane could have its own personal shield, then…well…”
Fewer pilots would die. Fieran swallowed, forcing the memories of falling aeroplanes and faces he’d never see again out of his mind. “You’re trying to protect the squadron.”
“Exactly.” Pip’s shoulders slumped as she turned so that she could sit on the lip of the engine compartment, her toes resting on the ladder. “It’s just so much more fiddly on the aeroplanes than it was in the ground. The ground and air naturally insulate it, and the dome shape is very stable. The magic was easier to control. But on the aeroplane, I need to boost the magical power cell’s output for the magic to be strong enough to incinerate bullets. But the more I increase the magical output, the more it keeps shorting out all the delicate wiring. When I reinforce the wiring, the magic still leaps from the wire to all the flammable canvas. Not tomention, it drains the magical power cell so quickly that flight time would be considerably reduced, even if I could get the magic under control.”
Fieran waited for another moment as she dragged in a breath, making sure her words were fully exhausted before he spoke. “I get it. I do. I’ve come perilously close to incinerating my own aeroplane a time or two, and that’s when my magic is under my control. Without that direct wielding, it might be impossible to direct like this.”
“Yeah.” Pip’s shoulders slumped still further. She swung her legs, her gaze on the hangar rather than on him. “I guess it was foolish to think I could rig something like this. Surely if it were possible, your dacha or Lance Marion would have invented it by now.”
“Maybe, though they’ve had the army and manufacturing industry demanding dozens of items leading up to the war. Nor do either of them have the experience fighting with aeroplanes that we have. You’re not foolish for the attempt.” Fieran wanted to touch her. Rest a hand on her knee since he couldn’t reach her shoulder. Or, better yet, put an arm around her and hold her close.
But he’d refused that privilege. So instead he turned to the aeroplane and inspected the wire running along the side. When he touched it, he sensed the hum of her iron magic reinforcing it. His magic leapt in his chest, as if it was as attracted to her magic as he was to Pip as a person.
Her idea was far from foolish. He did his best to protect his men in battle, but it was hard enough stretching his magic over his own aeroplane without incinerating it. For the others, he usually created a stream of magic they could shelter behind.
“Actually…” Fieran let a trickle of his magic out and sent it along the wire. It eagerly leapt along it, following the thread of Pip’s magic. He stretched his magic more, letting it curl around the aeroplane with the wires as anchoring points. “It’s not quite what you had in mind, but what if actively controlled magic is the key? I can hold this far easier than I can coating my aeroplane directly.”
Pip straightened, the spark returning to her eyes. “Could you protect the whole squadron like this?”
“I don’t know.” Fieran cut off his magic, the crackle vanishing into sparks that fizzled out. “I haven’t been able to coat anyone else’s aeroplane directly. As you said, it’s too fiddly, especially during battle. There isn’t time to do anything before we leave tomorrow, but once we arrive at Fort Defense, you can start by rigging something like this on my aeroplane. Merrik’s too. Once we get the configuration right and test if I can hold it on someone else’s aeroplane, then you can add it to the rest of the squadron.”
Or, at least, Flight B. Fieran wasn’t sure how many of the elves of Flight A would be open to it. Aylia certainly would, as would the warriors who held his dacha in high regard.
The other stuffier ones…they’d follow Lt. Rothilion’s lead. While Fieran and Lt. Rothilion had called something of a truce after Fieran saved the elf lieutenant’s life—and Rothilion had chosen rather inexplicably to remain in the squadron—Fieran still wasn’t sure where they stood or how far Rothilion would back him.
Pip hopped from the engine compartment to the top of the ladder, then climbed down to the floor. “Do you often use Merrik as a test subject?”
“What am I being used as a test subject for?” Merrik’s voice echoed in the hangar a moment before he stepped around the tail of the aeroplane, coming from the direction of the stairway and the lifts that led deeper into Dar Goranth.
In their time at Dar Goranth, his chestnut hair had grown back to nearly a proper elven warrior length, and it now lay down his back over the olive green of their uniform. With his pointed ears, pale complexion, slim build, and long hair, one would never guess Merrik was only half-elf.
“The utterly casual way you ask that answers my question.” This time, the glare Pip sent Fieran’s way was more exaggerated than real. “Just what have you put poor Merrik through?”
Merrik snorted as he halted on the other side of the ladder from Fieran. “All of the broken bones I have ever gotten have been your fault.”
“Hey, they weren’tallmy fault. Or only my fault.” Fieran crossed his arms, fighting his grin. “It’s more like the two of us are Louise’s test subjects. How many bruises did we each get trying to rig the zip line back home while she and Bennett took notes?”
Bennett, Uncle Lance and Aunt Illyna’s oldest, had taken after his father when it came to having a head for inventions. Since he was closer to Louise’s age than Fieran’s, Fieran had never been as close to him as he was to Merrik.
“I seem to remember you broke your nose.” Merrik gestured at Fieran’s face.
