Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第14部分

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itched。　He’d　seen　bugs　the　size　of　fingers　crawling　on　the　walls　of　his　habitent　and；　during　the　night；
swarms　of　silk…winged　beetles　flitting　around　the　down…lights　of　the　camp’s　stealth　lamps。
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The　birds　fell　silent。　Marquall　heard　the　low　whir　of　a　nearby　Hydra　platform　as　it　traversed
slowly。　Then　the　sound　of　jet　wash；　low；　passing　overhead。　The　distinctive　warbling　note　of　enemy
vector…thrusters。　In　a　moment；　it　was　gone。
A　muffled　vox　signal。　“Understood；”　Blansher　said；　removing　his　headset。　“All　clear；”　he
reported。　Relieved　conversations　started　up；　activity　resumed。　The　occupants　of　the　shelter　began　to
file　out。　The　runes　on　all　their　bracelets　had　turned　green。
“Begin　day　duties；　please；”　Jagdea　announced。　“Briefing　at　06。30；　but　get　fed　and　washed
quickly。　Snap　calls　can　come　in　at　any　time。　Marquall？”
“Yes；　commander。”
“Go　to　the　stores　right　now；　and　get　a　new　tag。　Before　you　leave　stores；　press　the　test　switch　and
make　sure　it　works。　If　it　doesn’t；　get　another　one。　Do　you　understand？”
“I　do；　commander。”
“Funny；　I　thought　you’d　understood　last　night　when　I　told　you　the　first　time。”
“I　was　slack；　commander。　It　won’t　happen　again。”
“Carry　on；”　she　said。　He　turned。　“Wait！”
He　sighed；　and　turned　back。　She　was　frowning。　“Closer。　Right　here。　Turn　round。”
She　examined　the　skin　of　his　shoulders　where　the　vest　exposed　it；　then　pulled　up　the　hem　and
looked　at　his　back。
“You　have　a　dermal　condition　I　should　know　about？”　she　asked。
“No；　mamzel。”
“Then　it’s　scop　bites。　They　say　some　people　get　them　worse　than　others。　The　sweet…tasting　ones。
Are　you　sweet…tasting；　Marquall？”
“Don’t　know；　mamzel。”
“The　scops　seem　to　think　so。　See　the　base　medicae　while　you’re　about　it。”
“Yes；　mamzel。”
Marquall　laced　up　his　boots　properly　and　then　trudged　through　the　base。　Now　the　risk　of
discovery　had　passed；　the　place　felt　more　like　a　functioning　air…base。　Personnel　hurried　about　on　the
boardwalks；　and　teams　of　fitters　unwrapped　hidden　machines　and　resumed　work　on　them。　The　smell
of　promethium　almost　overwhelmed　the　scent　of　the　swamp。
The　forward　strike　base；　a　makeshift　encampment；　lurked　secretly　in　the　kinderwood　forests　on
the　southern　shore　of　Lake　Gocel。　The　lake　itself；　immense　and　nearly　a　thousand　kilometres　east　to
west；　was　fed　by　headwaters　coming　down　from　the　Makanites；　and　in　turn　emptied　into　the　Saroja
River　to　drain　into　the　sea　on　the　far…away　western　coast。　This　great　system　of　rivers　and　lakes；
around　which　flourished　a　gigantic　swathe　of　rainforest；　formed　a　margin　between　the　Interior
Desert　to　the　south　and　the　scrubby；　temperate　peninsula　to　the　north。　An　enveloping　green　belt　in
which　they　could　hide　and　then　strike　at　anything　that　passed　over。
The　vast　lake　itself；　so　wide　the　far　shore　was　all　but　a　smudge；　was　visible　between　the　thinning
shore　trees；　a　broad　expanse　of　sunlit　green。　The　entire　territory　was　swampy　and　bug…thick：
miasmal　black　ooze　and　pools　of　stagnant　water　interlacing　the　jumbled　kinder　groves。　Beyond　the
lake；　to　the　east；　Marquall　glimpsed　the　lazy　flanks　of　the　Makanites；　dust…yellow　in　the　rising　sun。
Navy　pioneer　units　and　Munitorum　workcrews　had　built　a　surprising　amount　at　Gocel。　Prefab
hab　modules；　defence　batteries；　bunkers　and　covered　hangars　nestled　under　the　trees　and　the
ubiquitous　shimmer　nets。　Modar　stacks　and　vox　masts　poked　discreetly　above　the　leaf　cover；　or　had
been　raised　as　cable…form　aerials；　cleated　to　the　trees　themselves。　Clearings　had　been　cut；　dozens　of
them；　each　one　levelled　and　decked　with　heavyweight　vulcanised　matting：　thick　grey　material　rolled
out　to　form　temporary　hardstands。　On　each　stand　sat　a　warplane：　the　ten　Thunderbolts　of　Umbra
Flight；　the　twelve　of　the　Navy　409th　“Raptors”；　and　the　eight　Lightnings　from　the　786th　“Spyglass”
recon。　Unless　unshrouded　for　launch　or　landing；　each　matt…decked　clearing　was　all　but　invisible
from　the　air　thanks　to　the　camo…awnings。
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Bulk　landers；　for　support　crew　transfers；　base　supply；　and　fuel　and　munitions　deliveries；　used　the
wide；　muddy　beach　of　the　lake　shore；　not　needing　to　stay　on　station　for　more　than　a　few　minutes。
There　was　no　way　a　permanent　large…scale　matt…deck　could　be　concealed　from　the　air。　Sentinel
power　lifters；　striding　through　the　mire；　did　all　the　base’s　heavy　lifting　and　carrying。
The　FSB　had　a　decent　ring　of　Tarantula　sentry　guns　watching　the　forest　around　it；　as　well　as　two
dozen　Manticore　and　Hydra　anti…aircraft　batteries。　With　the　PDF　troopers　needed　to　man　all　these；
the　thirty　pilots；　the　fitter　teams　and　forward　operations　personnel；　Lake　Gocel　FSB　had　a
population　of　over　two　hundred。
“Hey；　killer。　Where　you　going？”
Marquall　looked　round　and　saw　Larice　Asche　jogging　up　behind　him　along　the　flak　boarding。
“Stores；”　he　said。
Privately；　he　was　in　awe　of　Flight　Lieutenant　Larice　Asche。　She　seemed　so　damn　tough。　Jagdea
was　a　multi…kill　vet　too；　but　he　mainly　respected　her　because　she　was　in　charge。　Asche；　an　ace
before　the　liberation　of　Phantine　had　even　finished；　was　the　real　thing；　respected　by　all　for　her　sheer
talent。　And　young；　too。　Blansher　had　a　huge　tally；　but　he　was　an　old　guy。　Larice　seemed　not　much
older　than　Marquall　himself。
She　was　lean　and　gamine；　with　bony　cheeks　and　a　vicious；　toothy　grin。　The　previous　afternoon；
before　they’d　shipped　out　to　Gocel；　she’d　had　her　famous　blonde　hair　shaved　down　to　a　finger
width。　“Jungle　lice；”　she’d　announced；　adding；　“do　not　want　them。”
“The　med…station’s　near　stores；　isn’t　it？”　she　asked　him。
“I　think　so。”
“I’ll　tag　along。　So　much　for　precautions。”
“What？”
She　ran　a　hand　through　her　brutally　cropped　hair。　“For　this。”
“How　so？”
She　pulled　off　her　jacket　and　showed　him　the　multiple　bites　on　her　bare　forearms。　“Scops；”　he
said。　“So　they　say。”
“Me　too；”　he　said；　dropping　his　flight　coat　off　one　arm　and　showing　her　his　shoulder。
“Bitching；”　she　said。
The　Munitorum　station　was　a　ring　of　hardened　prefabs　standing　in　the　blue　shadows　of　a
massive　frond…tree。　They　went　inside；　into　the　air…scrubbed　cool。　The　duty　attendant；　his　face　full　of
ancient　augmetics；　looked　up　from　his　cogitator。
“I　need　a　new　tag；”　Marquall　said。
“I　believe；　pilot　officer；　you　mean　you　need　a　new　tag　please；　senior。”
“Ah…　what？”
“I　am　Senior　Lirek。　You　will　address　me　civilly；”　Marquall　glanced　at　his　chronometer。　“There’s
a　war　on；”　he　said。　Asche　sniggered。
“Indeed　there　is。　And　has　civility　run　out？　Where　would　the　Navy　be　without　the　constant　efforts
of　the　Munitorum？”
“I　have　no　idea；”　said　Marquall。
“Ah！　Indeed！”　Lirek　said；　rising　to　his　feet　and　adjusting　his　heavy　optics　manually。　“You　expert
us　to　be　at　your　beck　and　call；　and　want　this　and　want　that　but—”
“Do　you　know　who　that　is？”　Larice　hissed　at　the　old　man。
“Uh…　no。”
“Larice—”　Marquall　began　nervously。
“That’s　only　Marquall；”　Asche　continued；　her　eyes　fake…wide。　“Killer　Marquall。　The　one　who…
you　know…”
“No；”　mumbled　Lirek。　“I’m　not　sure　I　do—”
“The　one　who　made　the　kill！”　said　Asche。
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“The　kill？”
“The　kill。　The　kill。　For　Throne’s　sake；　and　you　talk　about　respect…”
“No；　well；　yes；”　stammered　the　Munitorum　senior　suddenly。　“I　forget　myself。　Your　device；　sir？”
“It　doesn’t　work；”　said　Marquall；　handing　his　bracelet　over。
“So　it　doesn’t。　A　terrible　oversight。　Wait　one　moment；　if　you　will。”
Lirek　came　back　with　a　fresh　tag　unit。　“Here；　sir。　I　have　tested　it。　In　the　event　of　a　cover
warning；　it　will　illuminate；　and；　as　required；　silently　alert　or　wake　you　by　a　gentle；　non…harmful
electric　pulse。”
Marquall　signed　for　it。　“Thank　you；”　he　said。
“I　live　to　serve；　sir；”　Lirek　said；　his　tortoise…head　bowing。
Outside；　Asche　started　sniggering。
“What　did　you　do　that　for？”
“It　got　you　your　tag；　didn’t　it？”　she　asked。
“Yeah。　But　you　lied。”
“Have　you　made　a　kill　or　not？”
“Yes…”
“Then　I　didn’t　lie。　What　does　he　know？”
“You’re　bad；　Larice　Asche。”
“So　they　say。”
Next　door　to　the　stores；　a　long　prefab　huddled　under　the　shimmer　hoods。　A　tall　man　in　early
middle　age；　well…made　and　masculine；　sat　on　the　entrance　steps。　His　arms　were　folded　on　his　knees；
and　his　head　rested　on　his　arms。　His　hair　was　matted　with　what　looked　like　dry　clay；　forming
dreadlocks。　He　wore　the　blue　silk　robes　of　an　ayatani；　one　of　the　Bead’s　priesthood。
“Father；”　said　Marquall。　“Is　the　medicae　in？”
“He’s　out；”　answered　the　priest。
“Maybe　we　can　leave　him　a　note？”　Marquall　suggested　to　Asche。
“No；　I　gotta　find　something。　These　bites　are　killing　me。”
They　went　into　the　med…block。　All　the　surfaces　were　polished　steel　and　swabbed　plastek。　The
circulating　air　smelled　of　mint。　Asche　began　to　rifle　through　the　drug　cabinets。
“What　are　you　doing？”
The　ayatani　stood　behind　them　in　the　doorway。　“Helping　myself；”　said　Asche。
“I　told　you　the　medicae　was　out。”
“Yeah；　you　did。”
“Now　he’s　in　again。”
They　both　looked　at　the　tall　priest。　He　raised　a　hand　and　shook　back　his　sleeve　to　reveal　a　Navyissue
ident　cuff。　Divisio　Medicae。
“I’m　Ayatani　Kautas…　I　also　happen　to　be　serving　medicae　at　this　FSB。　Take　your　filthy　hands
out　of　my　drug　store。”
Asche　jumped　back；　causing　boxed　packets　to　scatter　on　the　grille　floor。
“What’s　the　problem？”　the　priest　snapped。
“Uh；　scop　bites；”　said　Marquall；　starting　to　turn　to　show　the　practitioner　his　blisters。
Kautas　strode　past；　ignoring　him。　He　picked　up　two　tubes　of　salve　and　threw　them　at　Marquall。
The　boy　caught　them；　just。
“Twice　a　day！”　he　snarled。　“Don’t　come　back　unless　you　get　crotch…rot。”
“Thank　you；　father…”　Marquall　began。　“Piss　off；　looters。”
“What　was　all　that　about？”　Asche　said　as　they　walked　away。
“I’m　not　sure；”　Marquall　said。
“Oh；　who　cares？”　Asche　smiled　at　him。　“So；　killer；　what　are　you—”
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They　both　jumped　as　their　tags　went　off；　zapping　their　wrists　and　flashing　the　red　rune。
“Shit！”　cried　Marquall。　“Who’s　on？　Are　you　on？”
“No；”　said　Asche；　and　pulled　him　towards　the　nearest　shelter。
Jagdea　was　already　in　her　Bolt　when　the　thrill　hit　her　arm。　On　matt…decks　east　and　west　of　her；
Blansher　and　Cordiale　stood　by　in　their　own　machines。
Her　chief　fitter　closed　her　hood　and　gave　her　the　sign　of　the　aquila。
She　sat　in　her　machine；　angled　seventy…five　degrees　towards　the　sky　on　a　hydraulic　fast…launch
ramp。　The　base　had　three；　all　of　them　ready　to　answer　a　snap　call　at　any　time。　Above；　all　she　could
see　was　sunlight　playing　through　shimmer　net。
Her　thumb　rolled　over　the　red　toggle…cover　and　rested　on　the　“rocket　fire”　stud。
She　waited；　sweat　trickling　down　her　face　onto　her　mask。
Silence。　Heat。　The　distant　stir　of　the　forest。
“Umbra　Leader…”　the　vox　began。
Above　her　bird’s　elevated　nose　cone；　the　shimmer　nets　were　suddenly　drawing　back　and
daylight　spilling　in。　She　knew　the　order　before　it　was　given。
“…you　are　go　for　launch。”
Her　thumb　stabbed　down。
With　a　terrible　punch　and　a　roar；　she　left　the　world　behind。
The　Cicatrice；　06。50
“You’re　okay。　You’re　okay。　Trust　me。”
“What’s　the　use；　sir？”　asked　Matredes。　“I　think　he’s　gonna　die。”
“No；”　said　LeGuin。　“I　reckon　he’s　just　thirsty。　Give　him　some　water。”　Matredes　and　Emdeen
looked　at　him；　unhappy。
“We’re　down　to　the　last　recyc；”　Emdeen　said。
“I　know；”　said　LeGuin。
“I　think　we　should’ve　just　left　him　where　we　found　him；”　Matredes　said。
“We’re　not　leaving　anyone；”　said　LeGuin。
“Damn　it；”　sighed　Emdeen；　and　moved　forward　to　dribble　water　from　his　flask　into　the　prone
man’s　cracked　mouth。
“Greta；”　he　moaned。　“Greta…”
“Who’s　Greta？”　Matredes　wondered。
“His　girl？”　suggested　Emdeen。
“What’s　his　name？”　asked　LeGuin。
Emdeen　reached　into　the　man’s　scorched　flight　coat　and　pulled　out　a　set　of　clinking　Imperial
tags。
“Viltry；”　he　said。
Over　the　forests；　07。00
The　forest　canopy　was　like　a　vast　green　rug　that　had　been　rolled　out　over　the　top　of　boxes　and
furniture　to　form　a　soft；　undulating　mass。　The　three　Thunderbolts　skimmed　as　low　as　possible；
following　the　contours　of　the　tree　mass；　trying　to　keep　below　any　ranged　sensor　cones。　Their
aftershock　rocked　and　roiled　the　canopy　like　an　angry　sea；　and　flocks　of　disturbed　avians　and　other
flying　creatures　regularly　mobbed　out　into　the　air　like　bursts　of　gaudy　shrapnel。
Blansher　and　Cordiale　kept　their　birds　tucked　close　to　Jagdea’s　lead。
“Umbra；”　Jagdea　voxed。　“Turn　zero…six…two　west。　Contacts　presenting　at　nineteen　kilometres
and　six　thousand。　Wait　for　my　order　to　rise。”
“Read　you；　Lead。”
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Jagdea　had　a　feeling　something　was　not　quite　right；　and　it　wasn’t　just　the　markedly　different
terrain。　They　were　a　good　few　minutes　into　the　flight　when　she　realised　it　was　her　own　Bolt；　the
parts　of　the　nose　and　wings　she　could　see　from　the　cockpit。　She　wasn’t　yet　used　to　the　fact　they　were
green。　The　crews　at　the　FSB　had　sprayed　them　with　a　lime…green　wash　to　aid　concealment。　She　was
so　used　to　a　grey　shape　encasing　her。
Up　in　the　cloudless　blue；　she　caught　a　flash；　a　glint　of　sunlight　on　metal。　A　second　later；　she
resolved　tiny　dots　against　the　glare；　and　traces　of　white　contrail。
“Umbra　Two；　Lead。　I　see　vapour　trails　at　three。”
“Got　it；　Two。　The　bastards　are　coming　across　above　us。　Weapons　live；　flight。　Get　ready　to　climb
like　hell。”
Five　specks。　No；　six。　Small。　Razors；　perhaps。
“On　my　mark…　three；　two；　mark！”
The　three　pilots　opened　their　throttles　and　heaved　on　their　sticks；　swinging　the　heavy
Thunderbolts　up　and　away　from　the　forest　hood　into　the　clear　sky。　Jagdea　could　see　the　hostiles
plainly　now。　Six　Locusts　in　cruise　formation。
Umbra　was　climbing　as　hard　as　their　turbofans　would　allow；　pressed　firmly　back　in　their　seats。
The　bats　appeared　not　to　have　seen　them　yet；　but　that　would　change　very　soon。　Jagdea　settled　her
hand　around　the　stick　grip；　placing　her　thumb　carefully　on　the　fire　stud。
Intercept　in　ten　seconds；　nine；　eight…
Suddenly；　startled　like　the　birds　that　their　jets　had　scared　out　of　the　treetops；　the　bats　broke；　their
formation　exploded。
But　Umbra　was　already　committed。
“Divide　and　conquer；”　Jagdea　instructed。
She　went　straight　up　into　the　heart　of　the　splitting　pack；　choosing　a　Locust　that　was　vivid　amber
and　striped　with　gold。　It　was　already　turning　out；　but　she　had　fine　lead　time。　She　banked　slightly　and
let　it　fly　into　her　sights。
Squeeze。
Electric　blue；　the　las…bursts　zapped　away　from　her　nose　cone。　She　let　off　three　pairs　of　shots；　and
it　was　the　second　that　caught　the　Locust　squarely。　Pieces　of　its　hull　flew　off　in　a　puff　of　smoke；　and
it　flopped　over　on　its　back。　Fire　began　to　rush　out　of　its　underbelly；　and　it　described　a　long；　laboured
dive　down　into　the　rainforest。　Jagdea　saw　a　flash　deep　beneath　the　thick　canopy；　and　smoke　and
steam　broiled　up　out　of　the　trees。
Blansher’s　chosen　target；　a　bright　blue　machine　with　vile　yellow　insignia；　evaded　his　first　blasts；
and　managed　a　fine　power　dive　under　Blansher’s　trajectory　that　Umbra　Two　couldn’t　hope　to
follow。　Blansher　swung　around　and　started　to　chase　a　copper…coloured　Locust　that　was　fleeing
south。　He　came　up；　but　the　Locust　was　extending　fast。　The　small　enemy　machines　had　a　terrific　turn
of　speed　and　climb　rate。　Blansher　cursed；　broke　off　and　rolled　back　into　the　brawl。
Cordiale　was　locked　onto　a　crimson　bat　that　was　trying　to　shake　him　by　diving　towards　the
forest。　Accepting　the　invitation；　Cordiale　stooped；　chasing　the　red　speck　into　the　green　bosom　of　the
forest。　Levelling　out　at　the　tree…tops；　the　bat　began　to　jink　and　switch；　and　Cordiale　had　to　stand　his
plane　on　one　wingtip　and　then　the　other　to　stick　fast。　He　punched　off　a　shot；　missed；　corrected　and
fired　again。
Another　miss。
“Tricksy　little　bastard…”　Cordiale　muttered；　wrenched　back　and　forth　by　the　centrifugal　force　of
the　constant　turns。
Above　him；　Jagdea　was　hunting　down　her　second　scalp。　She　had　her　eyes　on　a　yellow　bat　that
was　breaking　west；　but　abruptly　rolled　out　as　she　heard　a　shrill　lock　warning。　The　blue　Locust
Blansher　had　lost　on　his　first　pass　was　on　her　back。　It　fired　twice；　gleaming　streamers　of　bolter　fire；
but　she　dodged　out　of　line　each　time　and　finally　managed　to　throw　it　by　hitting　her　speed　brakes　and
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viffing　almost　to　a　standstill。　The　blue　hostile　ripped　by　under　her　starboard　wing；　realised　he’d　been
dummied；　and　broke　right　and　high。　Jagdea　screwed　over　to　follow　its　climb。
The　yellow　bat　had　decided　not　to　run　after　all；　and　had　executed　a　vector　turn　high　above；
dropping　in　like　an　arrow　to　find　a　target。　It　had　missed　its　chance　with　Jagdea；　so　it　went　for
Cordiale；　who　was　still　locked　in　the　chase　at　the　leaf…line　with　the　crimson　Locust。
It　hadn’t　even　seen　Blansher。
Umbra　Two　fell　on　it　from　above　and　behind；　quad　cannons　alight。　The　Locust　shuddered
painfully；　its　hull　deformed　by　the　stresses　of　the　multiple　impacts；　and　then　blossomed　like　a　flower
into　bright；　radial　petals　of　burning；　expanding　gas。
At　about　the　same　moment；　a　thousand　metres　higher　up；　Jagdea　managed　to　pull　off　the　most
perfect　Ziegner　turn；　witnessed　by　no　one；　and　came　in　true　on　the　blue　bat　as　it　attempted　one　final
slice…roll　to　port。
Her　grouped　shots　ripped　out　its　nose；　then　wrenched　off　a　wing…section。　As　it　began　to　wobble；
she　fired　a　third　burst　that　hit　the　Locust　directly　under　the　cockpit　mount　on　the　port　side。　The
entire　cockpit　assembly　exploded。　An　ejector　system　must　have　fired；　because　she　clearly　saw　a
burning　object　fly　straight　up　out　of　the　stricken　bat　and　then　fall　away　like　a　meteor。　Empty；　ruined；
its　pilot　already　incinerated；　the　Locust　folded　up　and　rained　down　onto　the　forest　as　a　hundred
thousand　burning　scraps。
Two　of　the　remaining　bats　had　now　fled　south　on　full　burn。　The　last　live　target　was　the　crimson
one　that　Cordiale　was　pursuing　over　the　trees。
“Need　assist？”　Blansher　voxed；　rolling　down。
“Negative；　Two。　Negative。　I’ve　got　him。　Tricksy　little　bastard。”
Flying　at　zero　over　the　canopy　at　close　on　four　hundred　kph；　Cordiale　whooped　as　he　finally　got
a　fleeting　lock　tone。　He　opened　up。
At　precisely　the　same　moment；　his　target’s　shock…wash　scared　a　flock　of　pink　birds　out　of　the
trees。　Cordiale　flew　smack　into　them。　They　hit　his　plane　like　cannon　shells。　Plating　fractured。　The
canopy　smashed。　One　engine　shrieked　as　feathered　missiles　clogged　the　intakes　and　buckled　the
whirring　fans。　There　was　a　mist　of　blood。
“Shit！”　they　heard　Cordiale　yell。
Jagdea　and　Blansher　were　already　sweeping　down　after　him。　They　both　witnessed　the　odd；　pink
flare　of　organic　debris　as　his　machine　mowed　into　the　flock。　Cordiale　had　hit　the　crimson　Locust；
and　it　had　promptly　crashed　at　high　speed　into　the　trees。
But　none　of　them　cared　about　that　now。
“Cordiale！”　Jagdea　screamed。
Umbra　Eleven；　hammered；　one　engine　totalled；　tried　to　correct；　faltered　and　hit　the　trees。
“Cordiale！　Cordiale！”　Blansher　could　hear　Jagdea　yelling　over　the　vox。
Suddenly；　almost　impossibly；　Umbra　Eleven　reappeared；　splashing　out　of　the　torn　and　thrashing
greenery　like　a　flying　fish　out　of　an　ocean　swell。　Cordiale　had　managed；　against　the　odds；　to　keep
the　nose　up；　and　had　ripped　through　the　upper　foliage　of　the　canopy　mass　without　striking　a　primary
trunk。
He　began　to　climb；　pouring　a　nail　of　brown　smoke　out　of　his　port　engine　that　soon　turned　white。
“Umbra　Eleven？”
“Sti