Page 16 of Storm to Victory
When the last of Flight B took to the sky to join the formation, Fieran pressed the button for the radio. “Flight B is in the air and headed for the front. Flight A, head for the front after you’ve formed up.”
Rothilion acknowledged, even as Fieran swung his aeroplane toward the east, the formation of aeroplanes forming around and behind him.
Trampled and torn ground lay below as their aeroplanes flashed overhead. Lines of trucks rumbled over rutted, makeshift roads. A tiny Mongavarian town was ringed withvehicles, under martial law now that the Alliance had captured it.
The explosions of dirt and fire grew closer until they flashed over the meandering, dug in trenches and foxholes that formed the current front lines. The front stretched for as far as Fieran could see in either direction with one flank anchored against the flooded farm fields from the re-routed Chibo River and the other end stretching toward the Hydalla River.
With each day that passed, the Alliance armies forged deeper into Mongavaria, swinging the front down and forward from the northwest. To the north, another army of elves and trolls had crossed the Hydalla River, led by Fieran’s cousin Ryfon, to form another invasion spearpoint.
A few Alliance airships hovered high over the battlefield, providing more protective air cover. Although at the moment, Mongavaria had mustered neither airships nor aeroplanes to harass the advancing Alliance army.
At the vanguard, a blaze of blue magic surged outward, covering miles in either direction even as a storm of magic whirled in the center. Somewhere in that maelstrom, Dacha and Adry were fighting as the warriors of the ancient kings had always fought: with blades and blood, magic and steel.
If Fieran had made other choices, he would have been down there with them. He well-remembered what it had been like, holding his dacha’s swords, the weight of history in his hands, as he faced down the Mongavarian Army.
He didn’t regret the choices that led to him taking to the sky instead of fighting at his dacha’s side. But there was just a hint of a bittersweet could-have-been stirring in his chest regardless.
Giving himself a good shake, he flipped the radio to channel 4. “Half-Breed reporting in. Any changes to the strike points? Over.”
“Half-Breed, standby. Over.” A voice came over the radio.
Fieran flew along the front lines, taking in the way the Alliance Army was pressing forward. At one point along the line, the trolls had created a blizzard of snow and ice, driving the Mongavarian Army back. At another spot, the elves turned a small forest against the Mongavarians, and the enemy were in full retreat as they ran, likely screaming, from the vengeful trees. And, of course, the dwarven armored unit formed a wedge behind their armored vehicles as they slammed into the enemy line.
After several minutes of waiting, the voice came again. “No changes to the strike coordinates. Over.”
Fieran acknowledged. He’d spent far too long in the past few days in the nearby town, standing in on the various planning meetings for this offensive. If he’d known how many meetings he’d have to attend, he might not have been as eager for this assignment.
After he flipped back to channel 1, he sent off the squadron in groups of six to hit the various strong points and villages that lay in the Alliance Army’s path. Once Rothilion arrived with Flight A, he divided them up as well until finally just he, Merrik, Lije, Stickyfingers, Rothilion, and Aylia remained.
“I saved the best spot for us.” Fieran grinned as he unleashed his magic, shoving it outward into a protective network over their six aeroplanes.
With the lack of Mongavarian aerial attacks, he hadn’t shoved his magic over the squadron. They would be too scattered along the miles of front for him to hold the network once they started their strikes. Instead, this would be an additional test for Pip’s protective shields.
“It is hardly the best spot if only those protected directly by your magic would be able to make this run.” Rothilion’s voice was just as flat and calm as he always was when going into battle. Seemingly not at all worried that his aeroplane mightbe incinerated in the next few minutes, if Fieran couldn’t hold his magic against the coming onslaught. The Mongavarian guns would be the least of his worries.
“We have faith in you, Fieran.” Lije’s voice was a cheerful note.
“It’s going to be spectacular!” Aylia punctuated her words with a whoop.
“Are we going to keep talking or are we going to make our run?” Merrik’s voice sliced with an almost stern, lecturing tone instead of joining the banter.
“Someone is eager to impress his girlfriend,” Stickyfingers hooted into the radio.
Fieran didn’t have to see Merrik to know he was gripping the stick in white knuckles, his jaw working. “All right, everyone. Let’s put Merrik out of his misery. Starting my dive…now.”
Then he rolled his aeroplane and dove, the force pressing him into his seat, the wings straining.
Thiswas exactly where he was meant to be. In the sky. The control column of an aeroplane gripped in his hands. The wind rushing past his face and tugging at the strands of hair that had fallen free of his flight cap.
As he neared the ground, he plunged into the edge of the crackling blue magic. The bolts lashed at him, clashing against his magic. He gritted his teeth and poured more magic into the shields around the six aeroplanes, preventing Dacha’s and Adry’s magic from incinerating them.
Large armored vehicles, more clunky and rudimentary than the dwarven-built ones, rolled forward with the Mongavarian Army huddled around them. The armored vehicles must have had some of that deflecting magic on them for Dacha’s and Adry’s magic skipped off of them, bouncing back into the sky.
Fieran leveled out and headed toward the leading armored vehicle, skimming only a few yards over the ground. Droppingthe bombs from underneath his wings was horribly imprecise, so the closer he was to the ground, the more likely he was to actually hit one of those vehicles.
He mentally counted the seconds before he gripped the control column with his knees so that he could grasp the bomb levers. When his countdown hit zero, he pulled first the lever on the right, then the one on the left.
His aeroplane shot upward as the weight dropped from the wings. He quickly grasped the control stick in his hands again and pulled back, pointing his nose toward the sky.
