Page 95 of Storm to Victory
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Fieran guided the Mongavarian aeroplane toward the pink dawn blazing around the horizon ahead, reflecting off the sparkling waves of the ocean. He flexed his cold fingers on the control stick and wiggled his toes within his boots. While he was flying lower than he normally would for combat, it was still chilly in the air without proper gear.
Against the blush of dawn, the white spires of a castle glowed with the same pink, its graceful silhouette rising on a bluff high above the crashing waves. A city sprawled down the bluffs and around the harbor formed by a large river mouth. The forms of large ships barely crested the far horizon, out of sight of land but visible here from the sky.
“There it is. Landri.” Fieran had to turn his head to shout to Dacha.
Dacha gave a nod before he turned and shouted over his shoulder to Aaruk.
Fieran scanned the ground spreading out before them. He needed a long straight and flat field or road to land. But this close to the city, farms and manor plots were broken into small sections rather than large fields ideal for landing. The mainstreet followed the curves of the river with the rest of the roads branching outward in less than straight lines.
There. At the very edge of the city itself, the road straightened enough to give him a place to land. It was hard to tell at this height, but he was pretty sure the space between the brick buildings was wide enough for the wings. At least the traffic on the road was minimal, given the early hour.
Fieran circled lower to line the nose up on the road.
Dacha leaned forward and gripped Fieran’s shoulder. “That road was not designed for an aeroplane landing. Nor does it appear spacious enough for such maneuvers.”
“I think we’ll fit. Probably. This landing might be a little interesting.” Fieran gripped the control stick more firmly, feeling the way the two fuel-powered engines shuddered through the Mongavarian aeroplane.
“As long as itisa landing.” Dacha’s tone was acerbic, and someone who didn’t know him wouldn’t have heard the trace of his humor. “You are making a habit of crashing.”
“The airship wasn’t my fault.” Fieran circled one more time, the aeroplane so low that the handful of early risers below were pausing and looking up, shading their eyes.
At least the large guns surrounding the city hadn’t yet been trained on him. He was in a Mongavarian aeroplane, after all. Perhaps they assumed his aeroplane was in distress and that was why he was doing something as crazy as landing on a city street.
The aeroplane sank lower, and he feathered the engines to as little power as he could without them entirely cutting out. The tops of the buildings appeared only inches below his wheels, as if he was about to clip them.
The straight street opened before him, and he eased the aeroplane lower, the wings only feet away from the buildings on either side.
Ahead, people dove out of the way, likely screaming, although he couldn’t hear them over the roar of the engines. Horses reared as people dragged their carriages to a halt while vehicles swerved to get out of the street, clearing the way before him.
The right wings clipped an awning, and the whole aeroplane crabbed in that direction. Fieran gave one last burst of power and yanked on the rudder and ailerons to straighten the aeroplane out before it could crash into the buildings.
Then the wheels touched down on the cobblestones, bouncing and hurtling forward at a blazing speed. He switched off both engines and hung on. The tail of the aeroplane thudded onto the road, the tailskid screeching.
He’d landed on cobblestones once before. But back then, the upward curve of the Alliance Bridge had eventually brought him to a stop.
Here the road was flat and, if anything, had a downward slope. Unlike the miles he had on the bridge, there was only a limited length before a sharp curve essentially ended the runway in a brick building.
Dacha gripped Fieran’s shoulder, his fingers tight and near bruising.
Fieran braced himself, flaring the ailerons to do whatever he could to slow the aeroplane. What he wouldn’t give for a little bit of elven plant magic to catch the wheels and halt their careening flyer.
The aeroplane hurtled down the street, rushing closer, closer, closer, toward a head-on crash with a solid brick building.
His magic crackled against his hold in his chest, and he had to swallow back the whoop of exhilaration that built inside him. He might have matured throughout this war, but there was still something about being at the brink of death that made him feel so very alive.
Ahead, the smaller shops turned into grander edifices, the street lined with tall lampposts instead of the small lamps attached to the buildings themselves.
Fieran braced himself as best he could. “We’re going to—”
Both sets of wings struck the iron posts of the first set of gaslamps. The impact jarred the whole aeroplane, flinging Fieran forward so swiftly that he bashed his forehead against the leather padding on the edge of the cockpit.
The tips of the wings ripped and splintered, letting the aeroplane roll forward. But by the time the splintered ends of the wings ran up against the next set of lampposts, the aeroplane had slowed to the point that this second impact halted it entirely.
Fieran straightened, peeled his fingers out of their death grip on the control stick, and rubbed his forehead. He’d likely get a bruise, but there wasn’t any blood. “Is everyone all right?”
