Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第5部分

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the　Line’s　top　armour。
The　bat　had　already　hammered　past；　but　as　he’d　dropped；　LeGuin　had　seen　a　second　one　right
behind　it。
Raging；　he　seized　the　yokes　of　the　main　turret’s　twin　mount；　threw　the　autoloader　lever　and
began　to　fire。
The　turret　rocked。　He　couldn’t　see　a　thing　through　the　prismatic　sight；　certainly　not　a　target。
A　waste　of　munitions？　Let　me　miss　first；　LeGuin　reasoned；　then　tell　me　that。
Over　the　Makanites；　12。01
Flight　time　was　coming　up　on　one　hour。　Twenty　thousand　metres　of　clear　air　down　to　the　frosted
mountains　below　them；　three…tenths　cloud。　Visibility　clear　to　forty…plus。
Strapped　in　his　flight　armour　and　breathing　air…mix　through　his　mask；　Viltry　looked　up　out　of　his
Marauder’s　shadowed　cockpit　into　the　bright　realm　of　the　sky。　Ahead；　and　slightly　high；　Hello
Hellfire　was　cruising　smoothly；　leaving　long；　straight；　pure…white　condensation　trails　behind　her。
The　sunlight　glinted　off　her　polished…alloy　silver。
It　　the　background　thrum　of　G　for　Greta’s　four　ramjets。
According　to　the　auspex；　there　was　nothing　in　the　air　except　their　six　plane　formation　for　a　hundred
kilometres。
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Viltry　clicked　his　intercom。　“Gee　Force；　check　in。”
That　was　G　for　Greta’s　other　nickname。　Gee　Force　Greta。　Orsone　had　coined　it；　and　it　had
stuck。
“Bombardier；　aye。”
“Nose；　aye。”
“Tail；　check。”
“Turret；　aye。”
Lacombe；　Viltry’s　navigator；　looked　round　from　his　position　and　made　a　finger…and…thumb　“O”
with　his　gloved　hand。
“How　far？”　Viltry　asked　the　navigator。
“Coming　up　on　the　waypoint；　sir。　We　want　to　make　a　turn　bearing　east　ten　in　the　next　five。”
“What’s　it　called　again？”
“Irax　Passage。　I　believe；　named　after　a　local　species　of　alpine　herbivore　that—”
“Thanks；　Lacombe。　War　first；　history　later。”
“Sir。”
Viltry　switched　channels。　“Halo　Flight；　this　is　Halo　Leader。　Prepare　to　come　about　bearing　east
ten　on　my　mark…　three；　two；　one…　mark。”
The　angle　of　the　sun　tilted。　The　tactical　bombers　turned。　G　for　Greta；　Hello　Hellfire；　Throne　of
Terror；　Mamzel　Mayhem；　Get　Them　All　Back　and　Consider　Yourself　Dead。　Except　for　heavy
operations；　Halo　seldom　lofted　all　of　its　dozen　birds　for　one　sortie。　Six　was　standard；　and　these　six
had　been　picked　by　straw　poll。　Widowmaker　had　been　drawn；　but　then　switched　out　because　of　a
vector　duct　problem。　Mamzel　Mayhem　had　taken　her　place。　The　Mamzel　was　Halo　Two；　Kyrklan’s
bird。　As　Viltry’s　second…in…command；　Wassimir　Kyrklan　usually　led　sorties　with　the　other　half　of
the　flight　while　Viltry’s　half　was　in　turnaround。　It　was　unusual　for　them　to　be　flying　together。
“Make　your　descent　by　five　thousand；”　Lacombe　said。
“Copy　all　flight；　descent　by　five　thousand。”
There　was　a　change　in　engine　tone　as　they　began　to　drop。　The　ice…capped　peaks　began　to　seem
terribly　close。
“Lacombe？”
The　navigator’s　sharp　eyes　switched　between　the　terrain…scanning　auspex　and　the　cockpit　view。
“Looking　for　a　point　turn。　Yacob’s　Peak。　Plot　brief　says　it　stands　at　the　mouth　of　the　pass。”
Another　slow　minute。　“Come　on；　Lacombe。”
“There　it　is。　Twelve　kilometres　and　closing。　We　need　to　lose　another　two　thousand　now。　Brief
advises　wind　shear　once　we　enter　the　pass。”
Viltry　nodded；　easing　the　stick。　“Halo　Flight；　Halo　Flight。　Point　marker　twelve　kilometres　and
closing。　Stoop　by　three；　and　watch　for　crosswind。”
“Halo　Two；　understood。”
“Following　your　lead；　Halo　Leader。”
A　photo…scout　Lightning　from　the　1267th　Navy　（recon）　had　run　this　pathway　at　dawn；
identifying　a　cluster　of　Imperial　armour　and　artillery　units　halfway　up　the　pass；　with　Archenemy
heavies　tight　on　its　tail。　Apparently；　a　local　squadron　had　spotted　the　area　the　day　before；　shortly
before　getting　stung　by　enemy　air　cover。
“Halo　Flight；　watch　the　air；”　Viltry　voxed。　He　switched　to　intercom。　“Gunners？　Locks　off。
Eyeball　scans　now；　like　your　lives　depend　on　it。　For　they　surely　do。　Judd？”
A　crackle。　“Captain；　sir？”
“Kiss　the　children　for　me；　bombardier。”
Crackle。　“I’ll　tell　them　you　said　night…night。”
In　the　bomb　bay　below　Viltry；　Judd　gently　armed　the　payload；　and　then　snuggled　up　to　the
foresight　reticule　on　his　belly。
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The　ragged　pinnacle　of　Yacob’s　Peak　rose　up　ahead　of　them；　a　snow…caked　jab　of　rock。　Viltry
could　see　the　mouth　of　the　pass　now。　His　heart　began　to　beat　faster。　It　was　going　to　be　tight。
“Halo　Flight；　Halo　Flight。　On　it　now。”　He　tried　to　keep　his　voice　calm。　“Come　about　the　point
marker　and　drop　hard　by　number　sequence。　The　Emperor　protects。”
All　of　the　planes　repeated　that　catechism。
Three…　two…　one…
The　six　Marauders；　now　formed　in　line　astern；　banked　hard　around　the　rock　spire　and　followed
Gee　Force　down　the　chute；　swinging　low　and　chasing　hard。　The　promised　wind　shear　rattled　them
brutally。　Then；　for　a　few　moments；　the　canyon　walls　were　so　close　on　either　side　that　the　pilots
expected　to　see　friction　sparks　at　their　wingtips。　But　the　chasm　began　to　widen　out。　The　pass
descended。　Snow　cover；　a　ridgeway；　a　well　of　black　rock　with　curling　ice…sheets。　It　widened　to　five
hundred　metres…plus。　Viltry　kicked　in　some　throttle；　dropping　Gee　Force　down　to　a　sense…whizzing
low　fifty。　At　the　stick　of　Mamzel　Mayhem；　right　behind　Gee　Force；　Kyrklan　grinned。　Low　fifty；　in　a
Marauder　doing　400　kph；　boxed　in　by　a　granite　canyon。　Only　Oskar　Viltry　had　the　balls　to　lead　off
like　that。
Kyrklan　had　been　flying　Marauders　for　just　a　year　less　than　Viltry；　and　for　the　last　six　had　been
Viltry’s　second　in　Halo。　He　loved　the　man；　and　would　follow　him　anywhere。　In　Wassimir　Kyrklan’s
opinion；　no　one　quite　knew　how　to　play　a　four…ram　bird　the　way　Viltry　did。　It　was　a　gut　thing；　a
nerve　thing。　Like　he　was　born　to　it。　When　Viltry　had　gone　missing；　presumed　lost；　over　the　Scald　in
771；　Kyrklan　had　mourned　not　just　for　his　friend　but　for　the　generations　of　Phantine　pilots　to　come。
They　would　never　see　Viltry　fly；　never　learn；　never　understand。　The　fact　that　Kyrklan　had　gained
flight　command　was　no　consolation。　He’d　had　to　lead　the　wing　in　on　the　Ouranberg　raid。　Viltry
would　have　done　that　job　better。　Now　the　captain　was　back　and　everything　would　be　four…A。
Kyrklan　pushed　his　dangling　mask　up　to　his　face。　“Slow　down；　eh；　Osk？”　he　laughed　into　the
vox。
“Say　again；　Halo　Two？”
“Nothing；　Halo　Leader。　Let’s　go　get。”
In　the　juddering　cockpit　of　Halo　Lead；　Viltry　shivered。　Inside　his　armoured　gauntlets；　his
knuckles　were　white。　This　is　it。　This　is　the　one。　Fortune’s　frigging　wheel。　This　is　the　payback。
Death。　Death　now。　Death　now—
“Target　sighted！”　Judd　sang　out。
They　had　just　whipped　over　a　straggled　formation　of　Imperial　armour；　over　two　hundred
vehicles　hemmed　in　on　a　shelf　of　the　steep　pass。　Up　ahead；　mobile　batteries　and　heavy　cannon　began
to　punch　the　air　with　shot。
Viltry’s　hands　were　quivering　on　the　stick。　“I　can’t…”　he　began。
“Captain？”　Lacombe　asked；　looking　round　at　him。
Holy　Throne！　Just　do　it。　Just　do　it！　Viltry　shook　himself；　and　screamed　into　his　mic。　“Forward
guns　fire　now！　Now！　Judd！　Fry　them！”
Naxol；　in　the　bow　turret；　began　firing；　kicking　out　backwashing　flame　around　the　plane’s　nose　as
he　raked　the　ground　positions。
“Load　away！”　Judd　reported。　Gee　Force　lifted　suddenly　as　the　belly　and　wing　weight　let　go。
A　ripple　of　flame　below。　Then　Mamzel　Mayhem　added　to　it；　then　Hello　Hellfire。　It　whipped　up
into　a　firestorm。　The　others；　in　swift　succession；　followed。
By　then；　G　for　Greta　was　banking　up　out　of　the　pass；　the　crystal　mountainscape　under　her。
Sucked　back　into　their　harness　rigs　by　the　extreme　G；　her　crew　was　still　cheering。
Levelling　out　at　five　kilometres　over　the　peaks；　Viltry　sagged　over　the　controls　for　a　moment；
breathing　hard。
“We　cooked　them！　We　cooked　the　bastards　and—”
The　voice　was　shrilling　from　Gaize；　the　turret　gunner。
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“Shut　up。　Shut　up！”　Viltry　yelled。　“Shut　up　for　Throne’s　sake！　Pick　up　your　visual　scanning　right
now　or　we　won’t　get　home！　Do　you　hear　me？　We　won’t　frigging　well　get　home！”
Theda　MAB　South；　12。12
The　sky　was　empty；　but　Pilot　Officer　Vander　Marquall　wasn’t　looking　at　it。　He　was　looking　at　his
bird。
The　I…XXI　Thunderbolt　sat　on　its　skids　in　an　anti…blast　revetment　on　the　east　side　of　the　Theda
South　field。　It　was　a　hefty　beast；　fourteen　tonnes　dead　weight　without　fuel；　with　a　blunt　group　of
cannons　for　a　nose　and　a　body　that　swelled　out　into　forward　swept　wings　around　the　thrust　tunnels
of　the　double　turbofan　engines。　The　canopy　was　set　amidships；　giving　the　Bolt　a　reclined；　louche
look。
It　was　painted　matt　grey；　with　the　marks　of　the　Phantine　XX　on　its　tail　and　nose。　Its　exposed
engine　ducts　glinted　copper。
Racklae；　Marquall’s　chief　fitter；　looked　up　from　under　one　of　the　gun　housings。　“Be　good　as
new；　I　promise；”　he　said。
Marquall　grinned。　Racklae’s　subs　were　just　finishing　up　the　nose　art　paint　job　on　the　bird。　The
Phantine　stylised　eagle；　clasping　the　jagged　lightning　bolt；　with　the　name　“Double　Eagle”　beneath　it
in　inverted　commas。
Marquall　became　aware　of　someone　coming　up　behind　him。　He　turned；　and　stiffened　in　surprise。
It　was　Captain　Guis　Gettering　of　the　Apostles；　his　white　suede　flight　coat　almost　glowing　in　the
midday　sunlight。
“Sir；　I—”　Marquall　began。
Gettering　calmly　removed　one　of　his　chainmail　gauntlets　and　slapped　Marquall　across　the　face
with　it　so　hard　that　the　young　man　was　knocked　down　onto　one　knee。
Dazed；　stunned；　his　face　grazed　by　the　chain；　Marquall　looked　up。
Guis　Gettering　was　striding　back　to　his　hardstand。
“What…”　gasped　Marquall；　rising　with　the　assistance　of　his　fitters。　“What　the　bloody　hell　was
that　about？”
Theda　MAB　North；　12。26
When　Darrow　finally　got　back　to　his　station；　it　seemed　like　the　place　had　been　abandoned。　He　stood
for　a　few　minutes　on　the　sunlit　assembly　yard　and　looked　out　across　the　main　field。　A　kilometre
away；　along　the　western　side　of　the　area；　he　could　see　rows　of　big　machines　under　nets。　Imperial
birds；　Marauders。　Darrow　could　just　make　out　fitter　crews　at　work　on　the　heavy　fighter…bombers。　To
his　north；　Munitorum　crews　were　dismantling　six　of　the　twelve　launching　ramps　used　by　the
Wolfcubs。　Activity；　but　all　of　it　remote。
The　complex　of　operations　and　barrack　buildings　behind　him　felt　deserted　and　empty。　He
wandered　up　the　main　steps　and　into　the　cool　gloom　of　the　main　hall。　Darrow　was　wearing　a
borrowed　pair　of　old　overalls。　His　clothing　had　been　ruined　in　the　crash。　He’d　managed　to　keep　hold
of　his　aviator　boots；　and　his　heavy　leather　flying　coat；　though　one　sleeve　of　it　had　been　badly　torn。
He’d　refused　to　let　the　medics　toss　it　away。
They’d　insisted　on　keeping　him　in　Theda　South’s　infirmary　overnight　for　observation；　even
though　it　was　clear　to　anybody　that　he　was　fine　apart　from　a　few　scratches　and　bruises。　In　the
morning；　he’d　been　forced　to　wait；　twitchy　with　impatience；　to　fill　out　forms　and　incident
statements。　Only　then　had　he　been　written　up　cleared　and　allowed　to　snag　the　first　available
transport　back　to　North。
He　just　wanted　to　get　back；　get　into　the　routine　again　and　put　the　previous　day；　that　terrible　day；
behind　him。
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No　one　seemed　to　want　to　let　him　do　that。　The　forms；　the　medical　checks；　the　incident
statements。　Even　the　transport　driver　who’d　brought　him　back　from　Theda　South　seemed　like　a　sick
jibe。　The　man’s　face　had　been　a　mess　of　pink　scar　tissue。
The　entry　hall　was　empty。　Nobody　hurried　past　along　the　polished　wood…tile　floor。　He　walked
past　the　gilt…lettered　rolls　of　honour　on　the　panelled　walls；　one　for　each　Commonwealth　squadron；
including　his　own；　the　34th　General　Intercept；　and　under　the　brooding　hololith　of　the　late　Air
Commander　Tenthis　Belks。　It　was　a　time…honoured　custom　for　all　pilots　to　salute　the　old　man’s
portrait　as　they　went　past。　Darrow　didn’t　feel　like　such　frippery　today。
There　was　no　one　in　the　day　office；　or　behind　the　desk　at　company　and　area。　Darrow　went　down
to　the　dispersal　room；　but　there　was　nobody　there　either。　The　air　smelled　of　over…brewed　caffeine
and　stale　smoke。　A　circular　regicide　board；　its　game　unfinished；　sat　on　one　of　the　small　tables；
Darrow　went　back　out　into　the　hall；　and　walked　down　to　the　station　chapel。　On　the　wall　beside　the
double　doors　hung　a　blackboard　where　the　names　of　the　dead　and　missing　were　written　up　prior　to
the　morning　service。　He　stood　for　a　moment　and　stared　at　the　list　written　there　now。　The　dead　cadets
of　Hunt　Flight。　Such　a　damnably　long　list。　But　for　five　names；　it　was　a　roll　call　for　the　entire　wing。
He　opened　the　doors　and　looked　into　the　chapel。　It　was　quiet　and　very　dark；　save　for　the　daylight
falling　in　multi…coloured　rays　through　the　lancet　windows　at　the　far　end。　There　was　an　odour　of
wood…wax　and　floor　polish；　and　also　fading　flowers。　Someone　was　sitting　down　at　the　front；　at　the
end　of　the　first　pew。　Darrow　couldn’t　make　out　who　it　was；　and　felt　reluctant　to　disturb　them。
Retreating　back　into　the　hall；　Darrow　noticed　for　the　first　time　the　printed　posts　tacked　up　on　the
wallboards　outside　the　day　office。
He　started　to　read　them。
Major　Heckel　came　out　of　the　chapel　and　walked　over　to　him。　“Darrow？”
“What…　what　is　this？”　Darrow　murmured。
Heckel　could　hear　the　tinge　of　anger　in　the　pilot　cadet’s　voice。　“You　just　got　back　then？”　he
asked。　“You’re　checked　out？　You’re　all　right？”
“What　does　this　mean？”　Darrow　snapped；　pointing　at　the　posts。
Heckel’s　face　was　pinched　and　pale；　and　he　seemed　to　shrink　back　timidly　from　Darrow’s
bitterness。　“It’s　just　the　way　things　have　worked　out；　Darrow。”
“Did　Eads　sign　off　on　this？”
“It　was　his　decision；　he—”
“Is　he　here？”
“Yes。　Yes；　he　is。”
“I　want　to　see　him。”
Heckel　bit　his　lower　lip　and　then　nodded。　“Come　on。”
The　major　led　the　way　up　the　front　stairs　to　the　main　operations　chambers。　Their　boots　rang　on
the　hard　wood。　Heckel　seemed　to　have　a　need　for　small　talk。
“Everyone’s　been　given　day　leave；”　he　said；　almost　cheerfully。　“As　of　this　morning。　Everyone…
Well；　news　like　that；　yesterday。　Sort　of　knocked　everybody　back。　And　as　we　were　about　to　go　into
turnaround　and　move　out　to　make　way　for　the　Imperials；　well；　it　seemed　like　the　best　thing；　so
Commander　Eads　issued　passes　and…”
Darrow　wasn’t　really　listening。　The　door　to　the　main　operations　room　was　open；　and　he　saw
unfamiliar　personnel　in　Imperial　Navy　uniforms　stare　out　at　him　as　he　went　by。
They　reached　the　commander’s　outer　office　and　Heckel　ushered　Darrow　in。　Darrow　noticed　how
badly　the　major’s　gesturing　hand　was　shaking。　Really　shaking。
The　outer　office　was　empty。　The　desks　there　had　been　cleared；　and　transit　cartons　labelled　with
the　aquila　badge　were　stacked　up　in　the　middle　of　the　well…worn　floor。　Heckel　knocked　gently　at　the
inner　door。　He　was　answered　by　a　grunt。
They　went　in。　It　was　pitch…black　inside。
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“Sir…”　Heckel　began。
“What？　Oh；　my　apologies。”　There　was　a　click；　and　the　steel　blast　shutters　over　the　windows
retracted　to　let　the　daylight　in。
“I　forget；　sometimes；”　Eads　said。
The　entering　daylight　revealed　Air　Commander　Gelwyn　Eads　behind　his　brass　desk　in　the　bay
under　the　main　window。　The　walls　of　the　office　were　covered　with　hololiths—formal　squadron
group　shots；　individual　pilot　portraits；　pictures　of　Wolfcubs　and　Cyclones；　cheerful　scenes　from　base
formals　and　dinners；　a　picture　of　Eads　with　old　man　Belks。　A　tattered　Commonwealth　flag　was
suspended　in　pride　of　place　over　the　fireplace。
Eads　was　sorting　data…slates　and　charts　into　filing　boxes　around　his　desk。　He　was　a　short；　wiry
man　in　his　sixties；　his　grey　hair　shaved　so　short　it　looked　like　metal　filings　coating　his　scalp。　Little；
round　dark　glasses　covered　his　eyes。
“Make　yourselves　known；”　he　said。　“It’s　you；　Heckel；　am　I　right？”
Eads　had　been　blind　for　nineteen　years。　He　had　refused　augmetic　optics。　There　was　a　dermal
socket　behind　his　left　ear　which　allowed　him　to　plug　into　operation　systems　and　“see”　tactical
displays　during　sorties；　but　that　was　the　only　compensation　he　made　for　his　disability。　The　plug　was
in　now；　permitting　him　to　identify　and　sort　the　data…slates　using　the　code…reader　sitting　on　the　desk。
“It　is；　sir；”　said　Heckel。　“And　Pilot　Cadet　Darrow。”
Both　men　saluted　with　special　formality。　Long　ago；　Eads　had　decided　that　men　probably　weren’t
bothering　to　salute　him　properly　because　he　couldn’t　see；　and　had　taken　to　saying　“Call　that　a
salute？”　to　anyone　who　visited　him。　As　a　consequence；　everyone　saluted　him　with　more　care　and
correctness　than　they　did　sighted　officers。
“Call　that　a　salute？”　Eads　said；　and　smiled。　“Make　yourselves　easy。　Hello；　Darrow。　Are　you
recovered？”
“Yes；　commander。”
“Good　to　hear　it。　They　want　me　to　pack　up　and　leave。　The　Navy。　I　suppose　I　should　be　thankful
for　their　coming；　but　it　sits　uneasily。”
Eads　rose；　unplugging　himself　from　the　code…reader；　and　walked　around　the　desk。　He　used　a
sensor　cane；　topped　with　the　Enothian　crest　in　worn　silver；　which　trembled　in　his　hand　if　he　came
too　near　to　obstacles。　He　hardly　needed　it　in　his　own　office；　he　knew　the　layout　perfectly。　Eads
walked　over　to　the　fireplace　and　touched　the　edge　of　the　old　flag。　Then　he　pointed　at　some　of　the
framed　hololiths。
“Company　dinner；　wintertide　751。　Wesner　looks　particularly　pissed　in　that　shot；　doesn’t　he？　His
cravat　is　terribly　skewed。　That’s…　that’s　Jahun　Nockwist；　standing　next　to　his　Magog；　with　his
fitters。　Old　Greasy　Barwel　and　his　team；　Emperor　bless　them。　There；　that’s　Humming　Bird；　my　first
Cub。　Bad　old　lady。　Dropped　me　in　the　Sea　of　Ezra　after　a　flame…out　in　’42。　I　imagine　she’s　still
down　there；　crusted　into　some　reef。”
He　turned　to　face　them。　“Am　I　correct？”
“Yes；　commander；”　said　Heckel。　“Every　one。”
Eads　nodded。　“I　only　know　because　I　remember　where　I　hung　them。”　He　took　one　of　the　pictures
off　the　wall；　weighed　it　in　his　hand；　and　then　carried　it　over　to　the　desk。　It　went　into　one　of　the
boxes。　“I　don’t　suppose　I’ll　hang　them　in　my　new　office；　wherever　that　ends　up　being。　Barely　any
point。　I　won’t　be　able　to　see　them。　I　mean；　remember　how　they　looked。　Might　as　well　nail　empty
frames　up。　Still；　I　should　take　them。”
Eads　was　still　for　a　moment；　deep　in　thought。　Then　he　swung　his　dark　lenses　round　at　them
again。
“I　imagine　this　is　about　the　re…assignment；　Darrow。”
“Yes；　sir。　I’m　disappointed　to　say　the　least—”
32
“I’m　sure　you　are；　cadet。　I　damn　well　would　be。　But　I’m　not　going　to　change　my　mind。　With　the
losses　yesterday；　we’ve　scarcely　got　enough　serviceable　K4Ts　to　keep　even　twenty　of　the　34th
flying；　and　that’s　with　pilots　sharing　Cubs　between　sorties。　We’re　scaling　the　wing　down；　we　have
to。　Once　we’ve　shipped　out　to　another　field；　we　need　to　trim　the　numbers。　Some　pilots　will　remain
active…　pretty　much　Vector　Flight　and　Quarry　Flight。　Others　will　be　stood　down　for　the　time　being。
Experienced　pilots　get　priority；　Darrow。　I’m　sorry。　Hunt　Flight　was　a　cadet　section。　And—forgive
me　for　putting　it　so　bluntly；　Heckel—there　are　precious　few　of　Hunt　left。　Darrow；　you’ll　be
reassigned　to　ground　duties；　and　probably　moved　back　to　Zophos　Field　or　Enothopolis　in　reserve。
It’s　just　the　way　it　has　to　work。”
“Yes；　sir。”　Darrow’s　teeth　were　gritted。
“Reserve　isn’t　so　bad；　Darrow；”　Eads　added。　“You’ll　be　kept　plenty　busy；　rewarding　work。　And
if　things　come　good；　you　could　be　flying　again　before　the　end　of　the　year。”
Darrow　nodded。
“Darrow？”