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The two Mongavarians juked and tried to pull up to take on Sticky and Nellie rather than continue their pursuit of Lije. Lije, too, swerved to join in, with Merrik falling into place moments later.

Since the other three had the Mongavarians handled, Merrik took a moment to sweep another glance around. “Half-Breed, sound off.”

He mentally checked names off a list as the squadron checked in, letting him know that they were all still in the skies.

This was the moment when Fieran would have come up with some crazy but brilliant idea to win the day without any more fighting.

But Fieran had his magic, and his victories usually involved some awe-inspiring display of his power. Even when the Mongavarians tried to counter his magic with the repelling magic and magic-stealing machines, Fieran still managed to overpower them in the end.

Merrik’s magic was nothing like Fieran’s. He couldn’t sweep the enemy from the skies with a wave of his magic-blasting hand.

Was there anything he could do? Any orders he could give to grant the Half-Breed Squadron an edge?

Or was there simply no choice but a kill-or-be-killed dogfight? At the very least, their squadron had the better more powerful and faster aeroplanes, the magical shields to protect from enemy bullets, and the more experienced pilots. Mongavaria had been scrambling to train pilots since they had lost so many early in the war, before they’d realized how bad of an idea it was to go toe-to-toe with Fieran.

He still felt like he should be able to do more. The command of the Half-Breed Squadron rested on his shoulders. Fieran was counting on him to look after them. They were depending on him to call the right shots so that they all landed safely at the end of the day.

Perhaps it was time to lean into his squadron’s greater skills. One-on-one, the difference was marginal. But if they compounded their advantages…

“Half-Breed, listen up.” Merrik tucked in close to Lije, Stickyfingers, and Nellie once again. “Form up into squads of four, then go hunting. Leave the stragglers and stay focused. Let us show these Mongavarians how the Half-Breed Squadron can fly.”

Whoops and cheers filled the radio. The pairs of Alliance aeroplanes in the sky quickly joined others, until packs of four, sometimes of eight, biplanes stalked the sky, hunting down the Mongavarians.

With squads of four Alliance aeroplanes descending on each Mongavarian, the Mongavarians couldn’t evade. Those who tried to hassle the squads were chased off, then ignored until the hunting packs could get to them. At some points, the members of the Half-Breed squadron flew so close together that they could combine their shielding magic to form larger shields across the sky.

That was better. Merrik followed Lije, taking up position in their squad of four. The Half-Breed Squadron had taken control of the skies, rather than letting the enemy dictate the battlefield.

Perhaps it wasn’t the feat of magic that Fieran would have performed. But for now, it was enough.

He risked a glance at the ground below, his gaze seeking and finding the expansive blue glow that marked where Adry currently fought.

Then Merrik yanked his gaze back to his own battle in the sky.

Adry stood in the ashes and debris of what had once been a thriving Mongavarian town. Homes and shops had been reduced to rubble while, at one end of the town, the brick factory buildings remained untouched. The rows of freshly turned earth in the graveyard outside of town testified to the death toll this town had experienced long before the Alliance army had rolled through.

The bombs that had been dropped on this town had been created in Escarland and dropped from Alliance bomber aeroplanes. Everyone knew the bombs weren’t accurate. They knew there was a more than average chance that the bombs would miss and instead obliterate sections of towns and villages.

Yet the Alliance generals and leaders—her uncles included—had authorized the sustained bombing anyway.

Yes, she knew the reasoning. The bombing had kept Mongavaria busy defending against it. Even just the threat of bombing slowed production—and actual hits on factories even more so—and that slowed production had prevented Mongavaria from churning out aeroplanes and other war material as quickly as Escarland was. The fewer aeroplanes Mongavaria had, the safer Merrik and his squadron would be.

And yet, standing there and seeing the results of an Alliance bombing in person made it far harder to justify those decisions with such cold rationale.

Uncle Iyrinder halted next to her, those warm brown eyes Merrik had inherited from him sweeping first over the rubble, then resting on her. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head as she stared out at the destruction. This likely had happened during the day. Most of the men would have been in the factory, and it would have been the women and children at home or bustling around these shops. “I saw the destruction of Bridgetown. Everyone was so horrified that Mongavaria had targeted civilians like that. And yet now…”

Now the Alliance was doing the same thing. Worse, even, since this bombing had been relentless for months now.

“We are at war.” The bleak, flat look in Uncle Iyrinder’s eyes carried through in his voice. “No combatants walk away without blood on their hands. That is what makes it so awful.”

“And why my dacha was willing to walk into the heart of Mongavaria on the hope that Uncle Edmund’s crazy scheme actually works and ends the war quickly.” Adry hugged her arms over her stomach, the leather of her armor creaking faintly as it rubbed against itself.

“Yes.” Uncle Iyrinder rested a hand on her shoulder. “The sooner we end the war, the sooner we can end the bloodshed. Both for the sake of the Alliance and for the Mongavarians like those living in this town.”

She nodded, a chill still sweeping down her back.

“Now, come. Let us keep moving.” Uncle Iyrinder strode down the street, beckoning her to follow.