Брайан Макклеллан: War Cry

I worry about Rodrigo’s flying, and Benny holding together. I worry about Selvie’s ability to fly an enemy cargo plane.

I worry about anything but my white-knuckle grip on Benny’s wing and the fact that I am truly terrified of heights. My stomach lurching, Benny begins to taxi.

We’re soon in the air and the first couple of minutes are the worst. I stare at the ground off the wing to my right as Benny dips and circles, then watch as it pulls farther and farther away, the scrub brush becoming a blurry, flat sea of pale greens and browns beneath us.

My uneasiness wanes, and I lower my face, pressing my cheek to the reassuring metal of Benny’s wing. I stare at the horizon. Despite Bellara’s sorcery, I can still hear the hum of the engine through the metal struts of the wing and it lulls me into a sort of tranquil peace. I shiver violently, fighting the urge to close my eyes.

Slowly, careful not to loosen my straps, I pull myself onto my elbows and gingerly look over the top of the wing. I am immediately shocked by how close we are to the ground—no more than a few hundred feet—and wonder if there’s been a problem. I glance toward Rodrigo, but his focus is on the stick between his legs. He doesn’t seem concerned.

I watch the plain race away beneath us. We’re hugging the mountain range, heading north, and soon we begin to ascend. My airsickness returns as we pull up, but I successfully ignore it until I’m struck by the sight of a shadow on the ground behind us. My heart leaps into my throat, and I desperately signal to Rodrigo. There is an enemy plane on our tail, and none of us are the wiser!

I realize my mistake by the time Rodrigo notices me. The shadow I see does not belong to an enemy plane, but to Benny. I breathe a sigh of relief and make my gestures less desperate. I point to Bellara, then at the ground. After several repetitions, Bellara pulls herself part way out of the cockpit and stares toward the ground, then nods at me.

The shadow winks from existence, and Bellara sinks back into her seat.

We slowly peel away from the mountains. The enemy air base becomes clearer in the distance. It looks bigger than our last raid, with nine large hangars and three full-sized runways. Bombers sit lined up beside the runways, looking like toys from so high up. We can see a few of them taking off, heading toward Bava. I wonder if they are filled with bombs or leaflets, and if any of them will return after meeting our anti-aircraft guns.

Rodrigo gives me and Selvie a thumbs-up, and then I feel Benny shake violently as he lets off the throttle. We drop a few dozen feet and I clutch the edge of the wing. We are now barely flying—gliding, more like it—as we wait, invisible, for our quarry. Rodrigo grins like an idiot beneath his goggles.

We are forced to do a full circle around the enemy air base before we see our prey. Twenty minutes behind schedule, I watch as three cargo planes, each of them filled to capacity and wobbling like fat geese, take off from the main runway.

The engine revs, and the world suddenly falls out from under me as Benny descends toward our targets. We halve our altitude and fall in behind them. I watch their shadows on the plain, and glance over my shoulder as the air base fades on the horizon, half expecting enemy fighters to come after us.

But we are invisible and silent, and the enemy owns these skies. Why would they bother with an escort?

The enemy cargo planes practically cling to the ground, their pilots still wary of anti-aircraft fire. Rodrigo creeps Benny up behind them, easing us into position with the focus of a cougar stalking a llama. I try to breathe evenly, knowing that my time is almost at hand.

We settle toward the last plane, falling slowly into place until Benny is just fifty feet above her cockpit. Then thirty. Then twenty. Then ten. We are so close that I worry Benny’s landing gear will smack their roof. I can see the back of the pilot’s head in the cockpit, and realize that if he happened to look up and behind him he might see through Bellara’s sorcery at such a close distance.

Rodrigo holds up two fingers. Two minutes. I respond in kind and unlatch one of the straps. Rodrigo holds up one finger. I unlatch the other strap, gripping it with frozen fingers for dear life, knowing that a single slip will send me tumbling a few hundred feet to the hard plain below.

I try not to think about the fall, and focus on the one thing I have complete control over. I take a deep breath, the cold wind catching in my throat. I brace myself on the wing and I Change .

My skin becomes leathery, unyielding, though still flexible like the hardest of rubber. Spines grow from my back, slicing through my shirt, creating a parallel set of ridges down either side of my spine. All four limbs elongate and widen, and my back becomes hunched. My fingernails grow into claws, and a long, scythe-like talon grows from each foot like some prehistoric monster. My face broadens, jaws becoming wide and blunt to accommodate rows of razor teeth. Horns sprout from my head.

The entire transformation takes seconds, and I can see Rodrigo fighting with Benny to accommodate the weight of my sorcerous form. He flashes five fingers at me. Four. Three. Two. One. Benny’s right wing dips slightly and I let go of the straps to slide down the wing and tumble through the air. I land on the cargo plane’s roof with a thud, my talons scrabbling for purchase, scratching at the metal until I’m able to arrest my sliding fall by digging into the seams between rivets.

Every muscle strains as I try to hold on, my heart hammering in my chest, my eyes blurry. It’s several moments before I realize that I am perfectly secure and think to wave the okay to Rodrigo above me. He lays off the throttle and Benny slips back behind the cargo plane so my friends can watch my progress.

I dig claws into the rivets, shearing them out like children digging for the meat of a walnut. I get on my knees, using what leverage I can to cut away the metal sheeting with my claws, and then bending back the corners with the strength that only a Changer possesses. Metal squeals as I peel it away.

There is a popping sound. At first I think it’s a rivet, then maybe the cargo plane’s engine. A second pop is more familiar, and by the third I see the bullet holes in the roof. I’m able to see an enemy: a bright-faced, scared-looking man with a pistol, shouting frantically toward the cockpit. I reach through the hole and snag him through the wrist with a single claw, jerking upwards to slam him against the roof of the plane, and then dropping his body. My claws come back slick with blood. I finish carving an opening and drop down inside.

The plane is loaded to the ceiling with supplies. I take a moment to wonder at all the medicine and gas and rations, my stomach letting out a gurgle despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins.

There are five men inside. One is already dead, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, his arm bleeding all over a tin labeled “desert rations.” A second draws his pistol and fires at me. My ears ring from the sound of the shots. Bullets slam into my chest, driving me back a half step but having no more lasting effect to my sorcerous skin than a toy pellet gun.

I cut off his gun-hand at the wrist with my claws while the copilot unbuckles. Through the ringing in my ears I can hear the pilot screaming into the radio. There’s a sudden gust, nearly knocking me off my feet as the third guard opens the side-loading cargo door. I spin to him, only to receive the heavy end of a fire extinguisher to the bridge of my nose. Dazed by the sound of the gunshots I clutch for some kind of purchase as the copilot kicks at my legs, trying to get me to fall back through the cargo door.

I rise to my full height, bracing myself against the roof, and snatch the copilot by the head, his face fitting neatly in the palm of my hand, and fling him out the cargo door behind me. The third guard struggles to load a submachine gun, and I take it from him and grapple him toward the door. We both slip and slide on the blood, but I dig into the metal with my talons and throw him after the copilot.