Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第13部分

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hard　as　he　could；　saw　bats　trying　to　launch　from　the　lower　chutes。　Naxol　had　seen　them　too。　A
Locust　came　off　its　ion　catapult　and　burst　like　a　flare。
Ten　seconds。　Five。　Flak　damage　to　the　port　wing。　Ignore　it；　hold　her　true。　Two　seconds。　One。
Release。
Halo　pulled　off　over　the　giant　carrier。　Every　single　bombardier　had　placed　his　drop　perfectly。
Vast　eruptions　lit　up　the　deck；　puncturing　the　armoured　ramps；　blasting　flak　mounts　out　of　their
sockets；　toppling　lifter　assemblies　and　crane　gantries。　Someone—Viltry’s　guess　was　Widowmaker—
dropped　their　clutch　into　the　command　spire　that　rose　over　the　top　deck　section。　A　massive　fireball
spread　out；　felling　the　spire　in　ragged　chunks。
Four　Marauders　pulled　clear　of　the　blazing　carrier。　Throne　of　Terra；　bombs　gone；　had　been　hit
by　flak。　In　his　rear…picter；　Viltry　saw　it　flip　onto　its　back　and　crash　into　the　sands。
The　four　remaining　planes　arced　round　in　formation；　turning　high；　and　began　their　second　pass。
Monumental　palls　of　smoke　rose　from　the　stricken　carrier。
They　came　in　with　rockets　now；　turrets　blasting　again。　The　wing…loads　loosed；　and　snaked　off　on
spiralling　trails　of　smoke。　There　was　nothing　like　the　same　weight　of　flak　on　them　now。
The　rockets　splashed；　sheeting　fire　and　hull　fragments　into　the　desert　sky　as　the　Marauders　went
over。
They　began　to　pull　away；　climbing。
Something　primal　and　catastrophic　happened　to　the　carrier。　Most　likely；　one　of　the　rockets　had
penetrated　the　magazine　or　the　drive　section。　The　carrier　spasmed；　shook；　and　then　incinerated　in
one　stupendously　bright　flash。
The　Shockwave　almost　knocked　Halo　out　of　the　air。
They　soared　out；　stabilising。　A　giant　cloud　of　smoke；　shaped　like　a　forest　mushroom；　filled　the
sky　behind　them。
Theda　MAB　South；　09。30
The　Operations　rotunda　was　frantic　with　activity　and　chatter。　Between　them；　the　flight　controllers
were　overseeing　four　major　air…fights　and　nine　intercept　sorties。　“Darrow？”
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Darrow　was　staring　up　at　the　roof　dome；　where　sunlight　was　spilling　in　through　the　collar　of
stained　glass。
“Darrow？　Junior？”　Eads　sounded　tetchy。
Darrow　started。　“Sir；　I’m　sorry。　My　mind　was　drifting。　No　excuses。　What　were　you　saying；
Flight？”
Eads　turned　his　face　towards　the　young　man。　There　was　sympathy　in　its　sightless　look。　Eads　held
out　a　scrap　of　printout　wafer。　“I　thought　you　might　like　to　announce　this；　son；”　he　said。　“Proof　that
not　just　bad　things　happen　in　this　life。”
“Flight？”
“They　told　me　about　Heckel；　son。　I’m　sorry　that　it　had　to　be　you　who　found　him。　Think　about
something　else　now。　Announce　that。”
Darrow　looked　down　at　the　flimsy　printout；　then　smiled。　He　looked　up　and　cleared　his　throat。
He’d　heard　junior　flight　controllers　and　assistants　make　proud　announcements　like　this。　Now　it　was
his　turn。　And　it　beat　them　all。
“Attention；　attention。　Halo　Flight　confirms　it　has　destroyed　a　mass　carrier　in　the　north　desert。
That　is　confirmed。　Enemy　carrier　destroyed。”
Darrow’s　smile　widened　as　the　rotunda　broke　out　in　cheers　and　applause。　The　first　carrier　found
and　killed。　Even　Banzie　was　clapping　and　grinning。
Eads　said　something。　Darrow　leaned　forward　to　hear　him　over　the　tide　of　applause。
“Say　again；　Flight？”
“I　said；”　Eads　whispered；　“we　might　just　do　this。　We　might　just　win　this　against　the　odds。”
Palace　Pier；　14。02
It　was　a　grey；　flat　afternoon；　and　no　one　was　in。　Hardly　a　surprise；　as　the　smoke　wash　from　Ezraville
had　been　fuming　down　the　straits　since　daybreak。
The　cafe　door　opened。　Beqa　looked　up　from　the　slates　she　was　reading　at　the　counter　and　saw
Viltry　in　the　doorway。　Thirty　empty　tables　stood　between　them。　A　Thracian　waltz　idled　in　the
background。
He　smiled；　and　took　off　his　cap。
“Hello。　You　look　pleased　with　yourself；”　she　said；　rising。　He　walked　between　the　vacant　tables
to　reach　her　and　slid　a　haversack　off　his　shoulder。
“A　big　success　today。　A　really　big　one。　My　crews　are　away　celebrating；　madly。　They　will　be
draining　the　vats　of　Theda　dry　tonight。　And　woe　betide　any　ladies　of　easy　virtue…”
“Have　you　been　drinking？”　Beqa　asked。
“Um；　a　little；　maybe。　In　dispersal。　I　do　apologise。”
“Why　are　you　here；　Viltry？　It　sounds　to　me　like　you’re　missing　parties　and　celebrations　and—”
Viltry　opened　his　haversack。　He　pulled　out　two　paper…wrapped　haunches　of　vere；　a　bag　of　sweet
tubers；　bunches　of　fresh　greens；　dessert　biscuits　and　a　bottle　of　sjira　red。
Beqa’s　eyes　widened。　Her　mouth　watered。　She’d　never　seen　the　like；　not　even　before　rationing。
“I　was　given　these。　Sort　of　a　tribute。　Ornoff　sent　a　hamper　down　to　reward　the　unit。　The　men　had
away　with　most　of　the　drink；　obviously。　But　I　kept　the　rest。　I　thought　you　might　know　what　to　do
with　it。　I　mean；　food…wise。　As　a　cook。”
He　looked　at　her。　His　eyes　were　wide　and　honest。
He　added；　“And　I　couldn’t　think　of　anyone　else　I’d　rather　share　it　with。”
“Really？”
“Yeah。　Is　that　all　right？”
“Yes；”　she　said。　“I　think　it　is。”
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DAY　258
Ezraville　MAB；　11。31
“Thanks！”　Jagdea　shouted；　and　jumped　down　off　the　transport。　She　strode　across　the　mud　to　the　hut
and　ducked　as　she　went　in　through　the　door。　Behind　her；　Imperial　machines　thundered　up　off　their
hardstands　into　the　smoke…stained　sky。
He　was　sitting　on　a　fuel　drum；　gazing　at　his　boots。
“You　all　right？”　she　asked。　He　looked；　saw　it　was　her；　and　rose　with　a　quick　salute。
“I　guess；”　said　Marquall。
“Tough　break；　there。　Good　kill；　I　hear。”
“Then　I　got　stung。　A　Talon；　I　think。　Right　on　my　tail。　I　didn’t　see　it。　I’m　sorry；　ma’am。”
“Don’t　be。　You　ejected。　You　came　down　alive。　That’s　all　that　matters　to　me。”
“Can　I　fly　again？”　he　asked。
“Yes；”　she　said。　“Uhm…　if　you　want　to。”
“What　does　that　mean？”
“The　only　available　bird　is　Nine…Nine。　She’s　been　repaired。　You　may　not　want　her。”
“Nine…Nine？”　Marquall　asked。
“Yes。”
Marquall　laughed　dryly。　He　couldn’t　decide　which　was　worse—the　fact　it　was　Espere’s　old　bird；
or　the　fact　it　was　rumoured　to　be　badly　jinxed。
Then；　after　a　moment’s　consideration；　he　realised　that　the　worse　thing　of　all　was　the　prospect　of
not　flying　again。
“I’ll　take　Nine…Nine；”　he　said。　“Maybe　my　jinx　and　hers　will　cancel　each　other’s　out。”
Theda　MAB　South；　16。10
They’d　seen　them　from　the　coastal　highway；　and　the　sight　had　filled　both　of　them　with　hope。　Wings
of　Navy　machines；　in　line　formations；　moving　down　over　the　sea　towards　the　Thedan　fields。
Reinforcements；　flying　in　from　mass　landing　centres　in　the　Northern　Affiliation。
Jagdea　and　Marquall　had　both　got　to　their　feet　in　the　back　of　the　rocking　transport；　pointing　to
the　sights　and　talking。　Thunderbolt　wings　turning　gently　towards　Theda　North。　Two　packs　of
Vulture　gunships　slimming　south　into　the　Peninsula。　The　afternoon　was　clear　and　blue　and；　despite
the　sooty　sky　behind　them　over　Ezraville；　and　the　distant　moan　of　raid　warning　sirens；　they　almost
felt　like　cheering。
The　mood　was　buzzing　in　the　base　when　the　transport　dropped　them　off。　Eager　pre…flight　activity
around　Umbra’s　hardstands；　and　dozens　of　carriers　and　freight…tractors　hurtling　to　and　fro。
With　Marquall　at　her　side；　Jagdea　jogged　across　the　rockcrete；　dodging　through　a　slow…striding
queue　of　Sentinel　power　lifters　carrying　cargo　pods　to　waiting　transport　lifters。　Blansher　and　Asche
were　standing　with　some　of　the　chief　fitters。
“Welcome　back；　killer；”　Asche　said　to　Marquall　playfully。　He　blushed　slightly。
“Good　to　see　you　in　one　piece；　lad；”　said　Blansher。
“What’s　the　commotion；　Mil？”　Jagdea　asked。
“Deployment　orders；”　Blansher　replied；　pulling　a　data…slate　out　of　his　coat。　She　skim…read　it。
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“As　of　18。00　hours　tonight；　Umbra　are　shipping　out　to　a　forward　strip　in　the　south；”　Blansher
said。　“I　think　they　want　to　make　some　room　here　for　the　newcomers。　We’ll　be　flying　short　notice
intercepts　from　a　place　called　Lake　Gocel。”
Jagdea　looked　at　the　location　on　the　slate　map。　It　was　a　vulnerable　spot；　well　inside　the　enemy’s
air　range。　But　it　would　allow　them　to　mount　rapid　challenges　to　anything　coming　north　or　east　out　of
the　Interior　Desert；　tagging　them　long　before　they　reached　the　Peninsula　or　cities　like　Theda。
“Operations　says　that　several　large　sections　of　our　ground　forces　are　now　clearing　the　east　of　the
Makanites　on　the　home　run；”　Blansher　said。　“I　think　the　idea　is　we’ll　be　protecting　them；　too。”
“Not　just　us；　surely？”　said　Marquall。
“No；”　said　Jagdea；　reviewing　the　slate。　“The　409　are　going　with　us；　and　there’s　a　Lightning　wing
already　down　there。”
“Transports　are　already　starting　to　ship　our　crews　out；”　added　Asche。　“We’ll　be　travelling　light
and　fast。”
“We’d　better　get　started；”　said　Jagdea。
Marquall　walked　across　to　the　hardstand　and　looked　Nine…Nine　in　the　eye。　The　fitters　had　done　a
fine　job　of　patching　her　up。　A　slight　blemish　to　the　plating　and　the　paintwork。　Nothing　really　to
show　the　pounding　she’d　taken。
“You’re　mine　now；”　he　said　softly。　“I’ll　treat　you　right　if　you　treat　me　the　same。”　Dark；　fierce；
the　Thunderbolt　made　no　reply。
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DAY　259
Over　the　Cicatrice；　13。43
The　search　for　another　mass　carrier　to　pound　was　going　to　have　to　wait。
Viltry　turned　his　wing　west　and　brought　them　lower　over　the　rushing　canyons　and　gorges　of　the
great　rift　scar。　For　the　first　time；　he　felt　the　notorious　shake　and　tear　of　the　Cicatrice　winds　as　they
tried　to　pluck　Greta’s　lift　away。
Two　kilometres　dead　ahead；　a　huge　blizzard　of　fire　and　smoke　was　coming　off　the　desert。
A　section　of　the　shattered　land　armada；　a　line　of　men　and　machines　seven　or　eight　kilometres
long；　had　been　struggling　down　one　of　the　rift’s　wider　passes　when　the　ambush　had　come　down　on
it。　Three　at　a　time；　Hell　Talons　were　dipping　in　and　tearing　down　the　length　of　the　column；
depositing　bombs　and　rockets；　or　shooting　up　ground　targets。　Dozens　of　tanks　and　armoured
transports　were　on　fire；　and　in　places　so　were　patches　of　sand　where　burning　debris　and　fuel　had
scattered　out。
Tiny　dots；　individual　figures；　were　running　for　cover　in　the　jumbled　stones　of　the　valley　sides。
The　valley　air　was　striped　vertically　with　rising　smoke；　and　horizontally　by　tracer　fire　and　jet
exhaust　plumes。　The　strafing　machines　made　curious　vortices　and　eddies　in　the　smoke　palls　with
their　slipstreams。
At　the　south　end　of　the　valley；　squadrons　of　enemy　stalk　tanks；　bright　yellow　and　venomouslooking；
were　scuttling　in；　overtaking　the　hind　part　of　the　crawling　Imperial　mass。　Heavy…gauge
lasfire　flashed　and　seared　from　that　section　of　the　fight。
Viltry’s　Marauders　weren’t　built　to　intercept　air　attacks　like　this；　but　he　hoped　their　presence
would　at　least　discourage　the　enemy　from　its　relentless　strikes。　Lacombe　had　called　in　for　fighter
assist；　and　there　were　apparently　Thunderbolts　eight　minutes　away。
“Head　on；　low　level！”　Viltry　ordered。　“Drive　them　off　and　away　from　the　column；　deny　their
attack　runs。　If　you　make　it　to　the　south　end　without　having　to　pull　off；　unload　munitions　on　those
enemy　stalkers。”
“Understood；　Lead。”
“Right　with　you。”
Viltry　led　by　example；　swinging　Greta　round　at　the　front　end　of　the　column　and　bringing　her　in
down　the　line　in　the　opposite　direction　to　the　raiders’　approaches。　He　kept　as　low　as　he　dared；
whipping　through　dense　smoke　streams；　feeling　the　damned　rift…winds　screwing　and　twisting　the
airframe。
As　soon　as　he　had　lined　up　and　begun　his　run；　he　saw　three　Talons　coming　in　ahead　of　him。
Bolter　fire　from　the　ground　chopped　the　air　in　their　direction。
“Make　them　change　their　minds！”　he　growled；　fighting　with　the　stiff；　jerking　stick。
Top　and　nose　opened　fire；　aiming　high。　The　tracking　tracer　lines　chewed　ahead　of　the　Marauder；
sizzling　into　the　trio　of　enemy　machines　that　powered　towards　it。
Damaged　perhaps；　surprised　certainly；　the　Talons　banked　out　wildly；　left　and　right；　aborting
their　runs　and　pulling　off　the　column。　Gaize　tracked　the　turret　and　kept　shooting　at　one　that　was
slow　skipping　away。
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Viltry　kept　on　track。　They　were　almost　at　the　south　end　of　the　pass　now。　The　gates　of　the　gorge
were　coming　up　fast。　A　flash　of　sun　caught　yellow　metal：　stalk　tanks。　The　arachnoid　war　machines
were　pelting　laser　cannon　fire　into　the　rear　echelon　of　the　Imperial　column。
“Judd！”
“Ready！”
Viltry　clung　on；　anticipating　the　jerk…lift　of　a　clean　release；　but　what　came　was　far　more　violent
than　that。　A　sudden；　bone…rattling；　sideways　slam　caused　by　the　especially　fierce　crosswinds　at　the
gorge　mouth。　Greta　stumbled。　Viltry　caught　her　and　held　her。
The　bombs　had　gone。
He　could　hear　Judd　cursing。　The　crosswinds　had　ruined　his　release。　Greta’s　huge　payload　had
dropped　wide；　detonating　across　the　upper　valley　slopes。
Viltry　brought　the　nose　up　and　climbed　wide；　coming　around　again　in　a　large　circuit。　Behind　and
below　him；　four　of　his　five　wingmen　were　flying　in　series　to　protect　the　pass。　Consider　Yourself
Dead　had　broken　off　its　run　and　was　turning　out　over　the　valley　tops；　mobbed　and　chased　by　three
Talons。
He　heard　Orsone　open　up　in　the　tail。　There　was　another　bat　behind　them。　Fire　streaked　past　like
scattering　sparks。　Viltry　dived　away；　turning　against　the　sun　so　a　shadow　rolled　slowly　through　the
cockpit。
“Lost　it！”　Orsone　voxed。
Down　onto　the　valley　fight　again；　into　the　smoke；　and　against　the　savage　wind　shear　that　was　as
much　an　enemy　as　the　bright…painted　bats。
Viltry　banked　hard　as　two　Talons　went　past　the　other　way；　just　blurs　of　colour。　What　was
keeping　those　damn　fighters？
G　for　Greta　shuddered。　Klaxons　wailed。　They　were　flying　head　on　into　a　blitz　of　ground　to　air
las。　The　stalk　tanks　were　ready　for　them　this　time。
“We’re　taking　hits！”　Lacombe　screamed。　Terrible　noises：　fracturing　metal；　shattering　plastek；　the
blasting　tone　of　an　engine…out　alarm。　Greta　slewed　badly；　the　wind　clawing　at　her；　the　controls　like
iron。
Something　exploded　in　the　compartment　underneath　him。　Viltry　heard　Judd　shrieking。　A　grown
man；　heavy　as　a　bear；　shrieking　like　a　child。
“We’re　losing　it！”　Lacombe　yelled。
Vibrations；　shaking　them　like　toys。　Viltry’s　juddering　teeth　bit　his　own　tongue…tip。　He　fought　to
hold　on。　The　engines　were　making　a　terrible；　ailing　note。
He　saw　the　gorge　mouth；　the　yellow　machines；　the　lasfire　hosing　into　the　sky　towards　him。　Wing
puncture。　Tail　damage。　Naxol　was　shouting　from　the　nose　turret；　virtually　inaudible　over　the　raging
sounds。
Viltry　launched　his　wing…mounts　and　saw　them　puff　away　on　streaks　of　white　smoke。　Stalk　tanks
tore　apart；　flung　into　the　air；　severed　machine…limbs　scattering。　The　cockpit　canopy　shattered；　and
wind　slammed　into　his　face；　full　of　glassite　chips。
They　came　out　through　the　gates　of　the　gorge。　The　engines　howled；　two　of　them　churning　black
smoke。　Climb　now；　climb；　climb…
Battered　by　the　wind　in　his　face；　Viltry　glanced　around。　Many　cockpit　instruments　were　broken；
burned　out。　Lacombe　hung　in　his　harness。　One　side　of　his　head；　and　the　seat…rest　behind　it；　were
missing。
Fate’s　wheel。
The　instruments　told　him　nothing。　But　Viltry　had　flown　Marauders　long　enough　to　know　the　feel
and　the　sound　of　a　dying　bird。
“Eject！　Eject！”　he　ordered；　though　he　knew　they　were　far　too　low　already。
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The　ragged；　beige　wasteland　came　up　under　them　rapidly。　Slicks　of　sand；　rocky　outcrops；　saltpans。
So　huge；　so　fast；　there　didn’t　seem　to　be　any　sky　left　any　more。
Viltry　closed　his　eyes。
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DAY　260
Theda　Old　Town；　00。05
The　templum　was　all　but　empty。　A　few　glow　lamps　were　lit　along　the　nave。　The　main　light　came
from　the　stand　of　fluttering　votive　candles。
“Is　there　anything　you　need？”　the　hierarch　asked　gently。
Beqa　was　sitting　at　the　end　of　a　pew　stall。　She　looked　up　at　him。　“I’m　just　waiting；”　she　said。
“It’s　late。”
“I　know。　I　know　it　is。　Can　I　stay　here？”
“Of　course；　daughter；”　he　said。　“As　long　as　you　wish。　I　y
offices。”
When　he　had　gone；　she　sat　where　she　was　for　a　few　minutes　more。
Late。　It　was　very　late。　She’d　waited　for　him　past　the　end　of　her　shift；　men　waited　on　the　seafront
for　another　hour　as　the　daylight　faded。　She　knew　she　should　have　sent　a　note　to　the　factory　chief。
Her　pay　would　be　docked　for　missing　a　scheduled　shift。
She　had　thought　about　going　to　the　airfield；　but　realised　that　she　didn’t　know　which　one。
Besides；　the　trams　didn’t　run　out　that　far　any　more；　and　she　had　no　money　for　hire…transport。　And
they’d　never　let　a　civilian　in　through　the　gates。
She　rose　and　walked　to　the　votive　stand。　Three　small　coins　in　the　cup；　three　fresh　candles　from
the　box。　She　fixed　them　in　place　beside　the　dozens　of　others　already　burning；　and　took　up　a　taper。
One　for　Gart；　one　for　Eido。
One　for—
A　main　door　opened　somewhere　and　slammed。　There　was　a　blast　of　cold　air。　All　the　little　candle
flames　blew　out。
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THE　LAST　OASIS
LAKE　GOCEL
Imperial　year　773。M41；　day　261　…　day　264
82
DAY　261
Lake　Gocel　FSB；　05。32
“Get　up！　Wake　the　hell　up；”　the　urgent　whisper　said。
Vander　Marquall　blinked　and　rolled　over。　Van　Tull　was　leaning　over　him　in　the　violet　gloom　of
the　tent；　shaking　him　by　the　shoulder。
“What？　What？”
“Cover　drill！”　the　older　pilot　hissed。　He　tapped　the　aluminoid　bracelet　around　his　wrist。　“Didn’t
your　alarm　wake　you？”
Marquall　yawned　and　shook　his　head。　He　glanced　down　at　his　own　metal　strap；　which　was
dormant。　Van　Tull’s　had　a　red　rune　illuminated　on　its　cover。
“I　think　mine’s　broken；”　Marquall　decided。
Van　Tull　sco　firmly　by　the　wrist　and　unclasped　the　bracelet。　He
studied　it　for　a　moment；　then　tossed　it　back　to　the　boy。
“You’ll　have　to　get　a　new　one　from　stores。　Not　now；　later。　Come　on。”
Van　Tull　opened　the　flap…seal　of　the　habitent　and　let　light　and　warm　air　in。　He　was　already
dressed。　Marquall　pulled　on　his　breeches　and　looked　around　for　his　boots。
“Come　on！”　Van　Tull　called。　Marquall　yanked　on　his　boots；　but　there　was　no　time　to　fasten
them。　He　hurried　outside　after　Van　Tull。
The　habitent　they　shared　was　one　of　almost　a　hundred　and　fifty　camo…skinned　shelter　domes　that
clogged　the　ground　under　the　stands　of　dripping　kinderwood　trees。　Even　though　it　was　early　still；　the
air　was　humid。　Bright　sunlight　filtered　down　through　the　lacy　leaf　canopy　and　the　blast　nets　strung
between　the　tree　trunks；　like　a　roof　over　the　shelters。
The　pair　of　them　ran　through　the　molded　shadows；　keeping　carefully　to　the　flakboard　planking
where　the　path　crossed　the　frequent　marshy　pits　and　swamp　pools。　Scops　hissed　around　them　like
vox　static。
As　they　ran；　Marquall　saw　dark　shapes　loom　out　of　the　twilight　groves　around　them；　dark　shapes
deliberately　concealed。　More　shelters；　camouflaged　supply　dumps；　Hydra　AA　batteries　where　the
crews　waited　silent　and　alert；　the　veiled　shapes　of　warplanes　under　shimmer　netting。
They　reached　the　shelter　and　scrambled　inside。　The　pilots　of　Umbra　and　a　gang　of　fitters　were
huddled　within。
“Overslept？”　asked　Jagdea。
“My　fault；　commander；”　said　Van　Tull。
“Really？”
“Marquall’s　tag　was　defective　and　I　was　slow　waking　him。”
“I　think　that　rather　makes　it　Marquall’s　fault；　doesn’t　it？”　Jagdea　said；　looking　sourly　at　the　halfdressed
boy　with　his　unlaced　boots。
“Sorry；　mamzel。”
“Shut　it；”　Jagdea　said。
Human　silence　draped　them。　Outside　the　blast　shelter；　the　forest　trembled　with　birdsong　and　odd
animal　cries。
Marquall　had　already　decided　he　didn’t　like　this　place。　Hot；　wet；　stinking　of　rotten　fruit。　His　skin
itched。　He’d　seen　bugs　the　size　of　fingers　c