Page 110 of Storm to Victory
Scuffing boots sounded behind him a moment before Capt. Rothilion appeared beside him. Rothilion gripped the rail, a green hue beneath his silver skin tone.
“Got your gear stowed?” Fieran raised his eyebrows. Rothilion had come aboard before their ship had left the rest of the fleet, having been rowed over from a strange-looking ship patrolling in the center of the Alliance Fleet. The ship had a huge, flat top with five aeroplanes parked on top.
Rothilion’s aeroplane was currently tied down at the end of the rather unwieldy-looking ramp hastily built over the bow gun turret and stretching over Fieran’s and Rothilion’s heads even now. The ramp wasn’t long enough for a landing, but they could launch the aeroplane in case of an attack.
“Yes.” Rothilion leaned farther forward as if he was debating upchucking over the side of the ship.
“So…the flat top. Your secret mission. You flew off a ship. I thought that was impossible.” Fieran edged farther upwind. Hopefully if he got Rothilion talking, he would be distracted from his seasickness.
“Apparently the engineers figured out more or less how to balance a flat top on a ship’s keel. They are still fine-tuning it.” Rothilion sucked in a shaky breath and didn’t vomit. “They realized that the size was not that much different from the landing strips in the trees that we elves have been using. The new aeroplanes have enough power to actually take off, and they rigged a similar root catching system for landing. It is a more efficient way of creating a mobile aeroplane airstrip since a seaborne ship has more capacity than an airship.”
“They gave you command of that small squadron of aeroplanes.” Fieran gestured back toward where the main fleet was now out of sight, still holding station before Landri. “Yet you’re giving it up?”
Rothilion huffed a mirthless laugh and released the railing long enough to wave at himself. “As my current state demonstrates, I am not well-suited to life onboard ship.”
“True.” Fieran told himself sternly that he wasn’t going to laugh at the sight of a motion-sick elf. He hadn’t thought Rothilion, of all elves, would have a flaw like seasickness. “We’ll be glad to have you back in the Half-Breed Squadron.”
“It will be good to be back, for as long as the squadron remains together.” Rothilion sighed, staring at the horizon. “Once a peace treaty is signed, there will be no more need for integrated Alliance units. My half of the squadron will return to Tarenhiel, and yours will remain in Escarland.”
A lump formed in Fieran’s throat at the thought. Rothilion was right. Once a peace treaty was formally signed to negotiate the final and official end of hostilities, the Alliance would downsize from a war footing. Many of the pilots would be let go. Whole squadrons might be disbanded. As the only squadron formed of both elves and humans, the Half-Breed Squadron would likely be the first to disband, unless joint ventures were determined to still be useful.
Fieran swallowed and clapped Rothilion on the shoulder. “We will always be the Half-Breed Squadron, no matter where we go from here. That won’t change.”
“No, it will not.” Rothilion somehow managed a smile as he clapped Fieran on the shoulder in return.
As much as Fieran had longed for the end of the war, it was strange to be melancholy about the changes peace would bring.
Yet no matter what, the Half-Breed Squadron was a badge all of them would wear with honor for the rest of their lives.
After several daysof navigating up the waters of the Hydalla seaway between the various islands and shoals, the ship anchored alongside one of the deepwater wharves jutting from below the bluffs of Fort Defense.
Overhead, aeroplanes bearing the elf ears of the Half-Breed Squadron soared in one last salute before they tipped their wings and headed for a landing on top of the familiar bluffs overlooking the docks. They’d been providing an escort in the sky from the moment the fleet had entered their range, and the sight of his squadron overhead brought a smile to his face and a warmth to his chest as they guided him, Pip, and Rothilion home.
The gangplank lowered, linking the ship to the pier.
Fieran stood off to the side, his hand clasping Pip’s, as they waited for the official honor guard to disembark with the locked box containing the three copies of the signed surrender.
As the honor guard marched down the gangplank and disappeared down the wharf, a woman with her red hair and blue skirt flapping on the breeze stepped into sight.
Mama.
Behind her, Louise gripped Ellie’s hand while Adry held Tryndar on her hip.
Before Fieran could go more than a couple of steps in that direction, Fieran’s dacha all but dashed past him, taking the gangplank in three strides. He swept Mama into his arms, holding her close and murmuring words into her hair. She buried her face against his shoulder, her shoulders shaking as if she was crying.
Fieran swallowed. All through the war, his mama had been such a rock. Only now that the war was over did she let herself cry in front of them.
Mama lifted her head, and Dacha kissed her. Right there in front of all of them.
Fieran glanced away, just as another three people strode up the pier.
Pip yanked her hand free of his and raced down the gangplank, flinging herself into a group hug with her muka, dacha, and brother.
As Fieran followed at a much slower pace, Tryndar wiggled out of Adry’s grip and leapt the distance from her to Dacha and Mama, giving a shout. Dacha reached out and caught Tryndar without even looking, letting the kiss linger another moment before he and Mama pulled back.
As Dacha greeted Tryndar, Fieran reached the rest of the family, exchanging hugs with Adry, Louise, and Ellie. Thankfully his wound had fully healed, so he was in no danger of flinching and having to explain that he’d been hurt.
It was good to see them all alive and well. Adry had been fighting on the front these past weeks, and Louise, Ellie, and Tryndar had been in some kind of danger.
