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Even those on the ground knew what kind of fight this would be without Fieran.

“Half-Breed, over and out.” Merrik flipped the radio back to the channel for his squadron. He had a channel to communicate directly with the troops on the ground, but, in this case, any warning and orders to withdraw should go through the proper chain of command. Merrik couldn’t give those orders directly, and he needed to concentrate on his own battle rather than worrying about the one on the ground.

“Half-Breed, sound off. Who has bombs left?” Merrik mentally made notes as his squadron chimed in with what armaments they had.

They had a fair number of bombs left, though the airships were still far enough away that he couldn’t get an accurate count of the enemy to know if the bombs they had would be enough. Nor could he see yet if any of the airships were armed with magic-stealing machines.

Although, odds were good that they weren’t. The squadron had attacked that airship base before the Mongavarians had a chance to arm the airships, and now that Fieran and Uncle Farrendel had destroyed the facility making those machines, the supply was limited.

“All right, I want everyone in formations of four, just like we have been flying in the recent dogfights.” Merrik ran through his mental list. “Make sure you have at least one aeroplane with bombs in your formation.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the scramble in the air behind him as the squadron rearranged itself. At the beginning of the war, something like this would have resulted in aeroplanes colliding. Now, the squadron executed the maneuvers as a matter of course, gliding by each other effortlessly.

Merrik faced forward again. “Murray, what do you have for stored water magic?”

“Not much. Maybe five prepared globes? I’ve been so busy crafting fire magic and magic-sensing bombs that I haven’t had more magic for storing water.” Murray still sounded exhausted. He probably shouldn’t have gone up that day, but he had assured Merrik that he was awake enough to fly.

Murray and Tiny, with his troll ice magic, wouldn’t have enough to tear into all of the airships now quite visible across the horizon.

Now that they were closer, Merrik could count at least twenty airships, two rows deep. Thankfully, he couldn’t spot any large machines or trailing wires to indicate that these were armed to steal magic.

But the tiny dots of aeroplanes buzzed between and before the airships. As if the Half-Breed Squadron didn’t have enough to contend with.

His squadron needed Fieran. They needed his powerful magic and one of his crazy-but-effective plans.

Instead, all they had was Merrik. His magic wasn’t anything special. His flying, while better than average, wouldn’t win the day by itself. He was no legendary Laesornysh warrior.

Merrik would have to be enough. Somehow. Adry and his squadron were counting on him.

Chapter

Thirty-Eight

Merrik’s aeroplane hurtled toward the oncoming enemy aeroplanes and airships, his mind whirling as quickly as the biplane’s propeller.

The airships were flying too tight of a formation. Perhaps they hoped to catch the Alliance aeroplanes in a crossfire if they flew between the airships, as they usually did when attacking. But the tight formation meant that any wrecked and burning airship would impede the others, especially the second line, since airships weren’t as maneuverable as aeroplanes.

Merrik pressed the talk button on his control column. “I want Flight B to attack from the north, Flight A from the south.”

That would pin the airships between the two halves of the squadron. Hopefully, the airships would bungle into each other in the fray, taking each other down before the squadron had to do it.

“Fly in as close to the tops of the airships as you can, and I mean so-close-you-could-land-on-them close. That will concentrate your machine gun fire.” Merrik swung his aeroplane toward the north, even as the squadron broke into two with a smooth efficiency.

These newer Defenders had two machine guns mounted on the nose, their triggers synchronized with the propeller. They could unleash a much more powerful and concentrated burst of fire than the guns mounted on the older aeroplanes. That should create substantial tears in the outer skins of the airships that they could then drop their bombs through, maximizing damage.

None of these airships had magic-stealing machines beneath them, nor did they appear as armored and protected as that one the squadron had faced when the Wall came down. Mongavaria must have been truly scraping up their last line of defense.

“What about the enemy aeroplanes?” Stickyfingers asked as he and Lije fell into place just behind Merrik while Aylia moved to take the spot leading Flight A, comprised of the elven half of the squadron.

“We ignore them.” Merrik gave the order with a cold finality. “When we put on our protective shields, they cannot do anything to us but ram us.”

“Do you think they will be desperate enough to do that?” Lije’s voice had a quiet, terrible note to it.

Such a suicidal tactic wasn’t something any of them would have considered a possibility at the beginning of this war. But they’d seen too much—seen too many of the enemy throw themselves into what were basically suicidal fights with Fieran—to rule something like that out.

“If they do, then get out of their way.” Merrik felt a grim note edge his voice. “Let them take out their own airships in that case.”

The squadron settled into a long pause as the harsh reality of it sank in.