Page 21 of Stalk the Sky
“Not much of a problem for the generally tall elven pilots, but not something recommended for Escarlish flyboys.” Fieran waved to Lije, giving him the signal to start his run.
Lije waved back and shouted, “Test Twelve!”
Pip made another note on the paper on her clipboard.
Fieran stopped talking as Lije’s aeroplane lumbered down the airfield. Next to him, Merrik lifted the field glasses.
As Lije neared the end of the airfield, he opened up. He’d be aiming for the higher of the targets on the haybales, the ones that were set up to be in line with the trajectory of the wing-mounted gun vs. the one on the flyer nose.
Without field glasses, Fieran was too far away to see any of the puffs from the haybales, but spurts of dirt kicked up on the hillside beyond the target.
“It is hard to tell, but I believe he may have hit the haybales once or twice out of that volley.” Merrik had the field glasses pressed to his eyes. “The rest went high.”
“Still shooting high, then.” Pip scratched a few more notes. “Though I’m not sure we can lower the gun’s muzzle without risking it also hitting the propeller.”
Merrik lowered the field glasses as Lije ended his run and turned back toward them. “It also seems to have a wider spray pattern. The upper wing does not appear to create as steady a gun mount as the nose does.”
Another strike against trying to mount a gun on the upper wing. Yet that still didn’t solve the main problem keeping them from mounting a gun on the nose.
“Any thoughts on how to fix the propeller problem for the nose-mounted guns?” Fieran waved to his test aeroplane.
“Ideally, there should be an engineering solution to the problem. Perhaps tied into the firing mechanism that will need to be reworked into a trigger on the control stick.” Pip sighed and tucked her clipboard under her arm. “But that will take time. For now, I’m thinking something a bit inelegant but simple. If we reinforce the blades with iron plates, the bullets should just bounce off.”
Fieran nodded, running the calculations through his head. “The angle of the blades should cause the bullets to ricochet to the side, but we’ll want to test to be sure.”
Another test he would have to conduct himself. He could incinerate any bullets that strayed toward him.
“I could further reinforce the wooden propellers with my magic to help them take the strain of repeated hits.” Merrik gestured at the aeroplane before them. “I know the elven pilots already reinforce their aeroplanes with their magic as a point of practice.”
“Perhaps we can talk a few pilots from Flight A into helping so the burden doesn’t rest solely on you.” Fieran already internally gritted his teeth at having to approach Lt. Rothilion.
Or, perhaps, Fieran wouldn’t beg permission. He’d just casually ask a few of the pilots on the side and hope they didn’t get in trouble.
Once their aeroplanes finally arrived, that was. The Escarlish military seemed to be taking their sweet time about it.
“Aylia will help.” Pip kept her voice low, as if she, too, wasn’t so sure Lt. Rothilion would authorize such a thing. “She seems to be a bit on the outs with the other elves in her Flight.”
“I noticed.” Fieran straightened his shoulders as Lije’s aeroplane rolled to a halt at the end of the airfield near them. “Let’s try the metal plates and see if that is at least a functional solution until the engineers in Aldon can figure out a more permanent option.”
Perhaps he’d give Louise a nudge in that direction in his next letter. Between her, Uncle Lance, and the others at AMPC, surely one of them could figure out a mechanism.
It would take time. Time they didn’t currently have. All Fieran could hope was that Mongavaria wouldn’t attack before the Escarlish aeroplanes arrived.
Fieran strode out of the hangar and into the chilly mist clinging like a blanket over the whole island. Wearing a fur-lined leather coat that went to his knees and long boots that went above his knees, he was covered from head to toe to stay warm enough while on patrol. A leather hat buckled under his chin while his goggles perched on his forehead, waiting to be pulled over his eyes. The silk scarf—early aviators had discovered that silk chafed less than wool—wrapped around his neck.
Here on the ground, he was just about roasting, but he would be thankful for the layers once in the air.
If only he was flying himself. But today, he was merely a passenger, with a bulky camera in hand instead of the control column.
As he approached the two-seater aeroplane waiting at the end of the airfield, Lt. Rothilion turned toward him, a curl twisting his mouth. “Finally deign to show up, Laesornysh?”
“It wasn’t like we could have taken off if I’d arrived any earlier. There wouldn’t have been enough light for scouting.” Fieran plastered a smile on his face, but he couldn’t work up any genuine pleasantness to it.
Lt. Rothilion’s face twisted into an even more sour expression as he spun on his heel and stalked toward the aeroplane. “Then let us not waste any more daylight.”
As Fieran would like to get this over with as quickly as possible, he had no arguments there. He waited while Lt. Rothilion slid into the front seat before climbing into the rear seat where the wings wouldn’t block his view. He rested the camera in his lap and pulled his goggles over his eyes.
Lt. Rothilion flipped the switch to turn the aeroplane on and let the engine spin up before he motioned for the ground crew to remove the chocks.