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Merrik nodded, his jaw hard. “Yes, we will.”

Uncle Julien’s gaze swept over those standing around the table. “The good news is that there are now two warriors with Laesornysh magic headed for the Mongavarian capital.”

“Not to mention, they’ve destroyed the facility creating those magic-stealing machines.” Aunt Vriska pointed to the map and its red dots. “Unfortunately, Mongavaria has been sending all of the machines they’ve been manufacturing to reinforce the Empress Line. It has made our progress so far easier since we haven’t run up against any of them yet, but that will end now.”

“What is the plan for dealing with these machines?” The elf general glanced around at the others. “I know this is less of a concern for the human forces, but for those of us who wield our magic in battle, these machines pose a real threat. A Laesornysh might be able to stand the loss of magic long enough for the machine to be destroyed, but such a thing would kill the rest of us before help could arrive.”

“The machines are our primary concern.” Uncle Julien tapped one of the red markers on the map. “The aeroplane squadrons have been conducting numerous scouting runs to pinpoint as many locations of these machines as possible. We’ll concentrate our initial artillery bombardment on those coordinates.”

Aunt Vriska took up the briefing with barely a pause, as if she and Uncle Julien had rehearsed this. Or, after nearly seventy years of marriage, they simply operated that in tune with each other. “We will arm the aeroplanes with bombs, and the squadrons all along the line will be responsible for both overwatch and bombing any machines that aren’t destroyed in the bombardment or discovered through scouting.”

“It will take careful coordination between ground and air forces.” Uncle Julien gestured toward where Merrik stood. “And also daring flying by our pilots since they will need to dive rather close to their targets to ensure a hit. Protecting our warriors will be your priority, especially our warriors with the magic of the ancient kings. That will be your primary mission.”

Adry swallowed, glancing toward Merrik, though he was focused on her uncle. Daring was an understatement. With how inaccurate dropping bombs could be, the pilots would have to just about skim the ground to make sure they hit their target.

“We will have to limit our use of magic until we are reasonably sure the machines have been destroyed.” Aunt Vriska pointed at the chart once again. “Our first assault will be focused on the machines. Once we have most or all of them eliminated, then we will make our large-scale attack.”

She and Uncle Julien—with Uncle Rharreth and Ryfon chiming in at points—outlined the nitty-gritty details of the plan for the various units. Adry only partially paid attention since none of it applied to her. All she needed to know was when to attack and where.

Merrik gripped the side of the army truck as it jounced and jolted over the deep ruts in the two-track. Perhaps he should have chosen to travel by horse rather than by vehicle. The horse would have known to avoid the deepest holes.

Finally, the truck halted at the edge of the cornfield-turned-airfield near where a line of tents had been pitched. At the far end of the field, what had once been a pasture for pigs sloped upward to a barn, from which came the ringing sound of banging metal. One of the mechanics must be getting a little forceful.

A white clapboard farmhouse stood farther up the hill from the barn, its size and the overall well-kept appearance showing that the Mongavarian farmer who owned this field was prosperous. Or, at least, had been prosperous before armies rolled across his or her land.

Merrik nodded to the driver before he stepped down to the ground. He set out along the line of tents, pausing as he went to tell the flyboys and flygirls he passed that he was calling a meeting in the farmhouse and to spread the word.

By the time he reached the farmhouse, a crowd was already gathering in the dining room. The pilots packed into the space, and it would be standing room only by the time they all arrived.

The crackle of the radio came from the front parlor, where they’d set up the ground radio where the operator would have a good view of the airfield. Voices rang as the operator communicated with the aeroplanes currently in the air keeping a constant overwatch.

Merrik made his way to the door into the parlor and leaned against the jamb. “Is all quiet?”

“Yes.” The radioman didn’t look up. “No sightings of Mongavarians all day.”

It seemed the Mongavarians had taken the brief, day-long pause in the fighting to regroup, much as the Alliance was doing. Both sides knew the fight that loomed on the horizon.

Merrik nodded before he returned to the dining room. He waited a few more minutes until the squadron, including Mak and most of the mechanics, had gathered in the room.

He swept a glance over the room, trying to gather his thoughts. Fieran was so much better at giving a briefing that both imparted the necessary information and lifted the squadron’s morale. Merrik struggled to remember to speak up loudly enough for his voice to carry over the full room.

“What was the meeting with the generals about?” Lije, his arms crossed, his blond hair tousled, stood at the front near Merrik. At Merrik’s look, Lije gave him a lopsided smile and a nod.

Merrik opened his mouth. There was so much to report. But what came out was, “Pretty Face is alive.”

The cheers of the human half of the squadron interrupted anything else he might have said. Stickyfingers pumped his fist, then grabbed Lije and shook him. Lije grinned and shook Sticky right back. Tiny pounded the back of anyone within range. Even some of the elves smiled, turning to the nearest human to express their relief.

Once everyone had somewhat calmed, Merrik continued, “Fieran and his dacha rescued Pretty Face and other prisoners-of-war, and they crossed into Alliance-held territory this morning.”

“Does that mean Pip and Fieran will be rejoining us soon?” Mak leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.

This was the part that they weren’t going to like, especially Mak. Merrik couldn’t bring himself to meet his gaze. “Unfortunately, their hijacked airship crashed before they reached their target, and Fieran and Pip were separated. Fieran and his dacha are currently together, and they believe Pip and Prince Edmund were taken to Landri. General Laesornysh and Fieran are on their way to rescue them and end the war.”

Mak’s jaw worked, his arms flexing as he balled his fists in the crooks of his elbows. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“No, it was not.” Merrik swept a glance around the room. “Which is why the Half-Breed Squadron is going to give our all in the next few days. Fieran’s—and Pip’s—best chance is for the Alliance to keep the bulk of the Mongavarian Army busy, and we will be there, protecting from the skies.”

The cheers and whoops renewed, and Merrik took in the sight of each of these men and women. With Fieran still in Mongavaria, this squadron would be his to command for longer than planned.