E’ridia had a dozen air force bases scattered throughout the country—within the Sunrise Valley, amidst the coastal hills, and tucked away in the jagged teeth of the Eastern Spine, all of various sizes. Of them all, the Compass Air Force Base was their main training airfield, as well as where many of their war airship squadrons were anchored when not on assignment elsewhere.
Just yesterday, it had been a thriving outpost, the base safely walled off with the airfields stretched around it. Now, as theCelestial Spriteand others drew closer, Honovi could see that some portions of the outer wall had been damaged or outright destroyed, putting their defense against revenants in jeopardy, to say nothing of the smoking airfields.
The burned husks of airships smoldered in their anchor berths alongside ruined hangars. Those closest to the river had taken the brunt of the attack, while some areas farther inland had escaped, their anchor berths empty, the airships hopefully having been able to launch. Honovi wouldn’t know for sure until they landed and met with the command staff on the ground—whoever had survived.
“Sirs, you’ll want to be in the cabin for the final descent,” a crew member said from behind them.
Honovi pushed away from the railing, his father following him to the crew cabin situated behind the flight deck. Their shadows stretched away from their feet across the decking as they maneuvered past the crew on duty, the rising sun warm at their backs. Every aeronaut went about their duty with a grim sort of focus, the only sound that of the wind from their passage through the sky and the thrum of the engine in the air. No one seemed inclined to banter right now.
They reached the crew cabin and strapped in for the final descent, the pressure change in Honovi’s ears something easily regulated. The air grew a little warmer, too, but Honovi didn’t remove his fur-lined flight jacket. He’d opted for trousers over a kilt for today’s excursion, as had the rest of those in government. His father had chosen to wear his plaid like all the othercinn-chinnidhand theirjarls. The colors represented Clan Storm, the length of it falling to the ground as a symbol of his rank.
The airships carrying theComhairle nan Cinnidheandescended into the areas of the airfield that had taken the least amount of damage. Ground crews worked diligently to securely anchor each airship and help those on board to disembark. Honovi let Alrickson precede him down the gangplank to the intact pier, both of them nodding at the aeronauts in military uniform who greeted them with salutes.
The pier was long enough, and enough anchor berths had been cleared, that all the airships transporting theComhairle nan Cinnidheanand their heirs were able to land without issue. A select number of reporters from the press had been allowed to travel with them, and Honovi did his best to ignore the pops and flashes of light from those set to document the travesty. It felt disrespectful, almost, but they needed to document the horror for history.
“I wish I could welcome theComhairle nan Cinnidheanunder better circumstances,” Admiral Kyrre said, his weathered face lined with fatigue and smeared with soot around the outline of where brass goggles had covered his brown eyes. His uniform wasn’t much better, but he carried himself with the carriage of a lifelong military man.
“No one ever expected such a tragedy to occur,” said Anneli, the newceann-cinnidhof Clan Lightning. Her predecessor, Leena, had survived the attack on the governing body by Gregor last year, but it had taken a toll on her health. She’d elevated herjarlto oversee Clan Lightning, and Anneli had taken up the position with a gravity Honovi could appreciate.
Quite a few people glanced in Honovi’s direction, but no one said anything. He bit his tongue and let Kyrre lead them toward the outer wall of the base, his voice carrying as he pitched it loud enough to hear.
“We have wardens onsite guarding the damaged sections of the outer wall and engineers working to clear the debris in preparation for a rebuild,” Kyrre said.
“How long will that take?” someone called out from behind Honovi.
“Not quick enough to ease anyone’s anxiety, but they’re working on it.”
“And the damage?” Alrickson asked. “How many war airships did we lose?”
Kyrre grimaced, the look he cast over his shoulder grim and tired. “We’re still finalizing the count, but more than half that were anchored here.”
“And aeronauts?”
“Not everyone has been accounted for yet. I’ll take you past some of the damage for you to see.”
Honovi swallowed his anger at the thought of the lives lost, knowing it was still far less than the number Ashion had mourned so far. But seeing the damage up close and personal drove home the loss in a way a report over a wire could not.
Everyone was silent when they passed through the city gate into the base, the smell of burning metal and oil still thick in the air. It made Honovi’s hand twitch toward the gas mask hanging off his belt, but the admiral hadn’t indicated it was necessary. Half a dozen motor carriages waited for them past the wall, though Honovi wondered about their practicality amidst the damage. Still, some of thecinn-chinnidhwouldn’t be able to trek the breadth of the base on their own, and so he climbed into the motor carriage that Alrickson chose.
Traveling the streets that wound through the base was an exercise in caution as the drivers maneuvered through debris and past damaged buildings. While most of the attack had focused on the airfields, some of the bombs had targeted the infrastructure. Kyrre led them past the outskirts of some of the damaged sections, the bombed-out remnants of buildings being attended to by rescue workers. Bodies lined the street, clothing used in place of funeral shrouds to wrap the dead.
Honovi clenched his hands into fists over his knees as he stared out the window of the motor carriage, taking everything in. Alrickson was silent beside him, head craned toward the damage, expression impossible to read outside the grief in his eyes. They didn’t linger, continuing onward. Only one inner wall existed in the base, surrounding the administrative buildings of the air force, and that, at least, was still intact, even if some of the buildings in the outer neighborhood were not.
“The Urovans had new long-range weaponry we weren’t prepared for,” Kyrre said once everyone had been transported to the forecourt in front of the officer’s building. “They aimed from the river and never came on land, but they didn’t need to.”
“How come no one saw their approach?” Clan Lightning’sjarlasked. “For the amount of damage done, the attacking force must have been large.”
Kyrre, while put on the spot, didn’t take the question as an insult to the aeronauts under his command. “No one had any idea that Urova would invade us in such a way. E’ridia hasn’t been targeted like this in at least an Age.”
E’ridia, Honovi knew, lived by isolationist tendencies in past Ages, but Maricol was too connected these days for that to be a viable answer. It had little to do with the numbers and everything to do with how complacent E’ridia had become as a whole. He cleared his throat, loudly, drawing Kyrre’s attention. “Were any Urovans captured?”
“Some, though they’re all wounded.”
“We’ll want to speak with them,” Alrickson said.
Kyrre nodded. “That can be arranged after our meeting. Please, follow me.”
They were led into the building, down hallways lit by gas lamps, aeronauts in uniform scurrying about with tense expressions on their faces. Kyrre brought them to a utilitarian room with an oval table covered in maps. The windows were closed to keep out the smoke, and the ceiling fans were on their highest settings in anticipation of another hot day. A warden waited for them in the room, along with other officers. The officers all stood and saluted theComhairle nan Cinnidhean, but the warden showed no such deference, remaining seated with a map close at hand.
