Page 53 of Fly to Fury
“Care to shake on it to seal our brotherhood?” Fieran held up his free hand, as if preparing to spit into it.
Merrik gave him a light shove as he released Fieran’s shoulder. “No.”
Fieran laughed as he set out for the tram to take them up the bluff to their shelters. “Not even for old time’s sake?”
“No.” Merrik repeated the word with even more emphasis even as he gave Fieran a glare.
Fieran just grinned and strolled toward the tram, his steps lighter now that he’d shrugged off some of the weight of moments ago.
Chapter
Eighteen
Fieran positioned his aeroplane at the head of the formation, keeping his speed low to match that of the two-seater aeroplane tucked in the center. He reached deep into his chest and unleashed his magic, casting it around his aeroplane, then shoving it backward until it latched on the aeroplanes of his squadron in a network of protective power with the otherwise unprotected two-seater shielded by the rest of them.
This was the Half-Breed Squadron’s second scouting patrol over the enemy lines. More torrential rains had kept all squadrons grounded the day before, even if the airship with the book tour had managed to lift off to proceed on its way, but this morning the sun peeked over the horizon to a clear sky. This early, fog curled over the ground below, obscuring its features, especially in the lowest-lying areas.
They likely wouldn’t get good quality photographs, but that didn’t matter so much as keeping up the patrols. They still had two days until the planned attack, so any photographs they took now would likely be outdated bythen anyway.
Half of Capt. Kentworth’s squadron also patrolled the skies, keeping up the aerial protection over Fort Defense, even though Mongavarian aeroplanes hadn’t been seen in weeks. A few of the pilots gave Fieran and his men jaunty salutes as they sped past, but most ignored them.
The Wall and the Chibo River flashed below their aeroplanes, then Fieran and his pilots were over the Mongavarian countryside. Just like at Fort Defense, the land had been chewed into soupy mud by army vehicles, horses, and thousands of marching feet.
The gun emplacements surrounding the sprawling Mongavarian Army complex boomed, filling the air with bullets that sizzled as they struck his magic.
Fieran swung his aeroplane lower, and his squadron followed, trusting him to keep them shielded as they flew straight into the teeth of the guns.
Gathering more magic in his chest, Fieran pressed the talk button on his control column. “Ready for attack.”
He could hear both Merrik and Lt. Rothilion giving the orders to the pilots to arrange them for their attack run.
Colonel Dentley had gotten permission from headquarters for the Half-Breed Squadron to take out the gun emplacements, and they’d used the first round of scouting flights to plan this attack.
Groups of pilots peeled off to head for the various guns scattered around the Mongavarian Army encampment. A cordon of aeroplanes remained around the two-seater, protecting it higher in the sky.
Fieran let his magic crackle out of him as the distance between him and the other aeroplanes of the squadron stretched. But the wires laced with Pip’s magic helped him keep his hold on the aeroplanes without slipping, even as he expanded his net of magic over the sky.
When he was nearly right over the gun designated as his target, Fieran put his aeroplane into a steep dive. He aimed his machine gun at the far larger gun barking its shells at him and pressed the trigger.
His machine gun spat bullets, some of them pinging off his propeller, most of them streaming forward. Merrik matched his movements, his machine gun chattering.
Fieran followed both trails of bullets with his magic, pouring more power into the sky until the bullets and his magic reached the gun below.
A stack of shells and cordite charges waited on a cart next to the gun. Fieran reached for those with his magic, quickly incinerating through the canvas surrounding the cordite. The explosion tore through the shells and the gun, dirt and shrapnel pummeling upward into the sky.
The pressure wave battered Fieran’s magic, but the shield of his power kept his aeroplane from being blown out of the sky.
Pulling back on the control stick, Fieran willed his aeroplane to claw its way back into the sky, even as the others began their runs on the rest of the guns.
His concentration split, feeling as fractured as shattered glass as he unleashed his magic over all the aeroplanes and down their streams of bullets. Reaching…stretching…finding earth, metal, cordite.
More explosions rocked the camp below, and clouds of dirt and fire burst upward into the sky. The squadron peeled away, climbing higher into the sky again.
As the dirt and smoke settled, an elven voice—the pilot deemed steady enough to fly the two-seater with the army scout in the back seat—spoke over the radio. “Photographing in three…two…one…”
Fieran drew back his magic from the center of theguarding formation, providing an opening for the scout to take photographs. He mentally counted to three before he let his magic slam back into place. After counting to four, he opened his magic again. He repeated the counts, varying the timing on the random pattern they’d set before taking off.
As Fieran’s aeroplane regained elevation and the rest of the squadron formed around him, Fieran peered over the side at the destruction he and his squadron had wrought.
