Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第10部分

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annoyingly　relaxed　and　charming。
He　looked　up　at　Jagdea。　“Part　of　me　wants　you　to—what　was　it？—smash　me　round　the　face。　Just
to　see　Ornoff　when　it　comes　to　filing　charges。　But　I　don’t　think　that　will　get　us　anywhere。　Why
don’t　you　sit　down？”
He　gestured　to　the　armchair　in　front　of　his　desk。
“I　prefer　to　stand；”　Jagdea　snapped。
Seekan　shrugged。　“Around　this　time；　I　like　to　take　a　small　glass　of　joiliq。　Can　I　interest　you　in
one？”
“I　prefer　to—no；　you　bloody　can’t！”
Seekan　shrugged　and　rose。　He　walked　over　to　the　cabinet　and　poured　a　very　small　measure　of
liquor　into　a　tumbler。　“I’ve　heard　about　you；”　he　said。
Jagdea　stiffened。　What　the　hell　did　that　mean？　Part　of　her　wanted　to　gush：　I’ve　heard　about　you
too；　all　of　you…　all　the　Apostles。　The　finest　fliers　in　the　western　Navy。　Quint；　ace　of　aces；
Gettering；　Suhr…　and　always　Seekan。　Wing　Leader　Seekan；　master　of　the　Apostles。　Never　a
famously　high　score；　but　renowned　for　his　leadership　and　tactics。　Loved　by　his　men。　Seekan；　the
Imperial　hero。
She　chewed　her　lip　instead。
“About　me？”　she　said。
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“Not　you　particularly；”　Seekan　said。　He　thought　about　that　for　a　second　and　then　frowned。
“Throne；　I　didn’t　mean　to　offend　you。　I　meant　the　Phantine。　The　only　founded　Imperial　Guard
regiment　who　are　fliers。　Because　of　the　nature　of　your　home　world；　isn’t　that　right？”
“Yes。”
Seekan　nodded。　He　raised　his　glass　and　rolled　the　spirit　around　inside　it。　“All　other　air　wings
come　under　the　command　of　the　Imperial　Navy；　except　yours。　That　makes　us　allies　rather　than　kin。”
“I　suppose。”
Seekan　smiled。　“And　you　value　female　pilots　as　much　as　men。　Females　are　few　in　the　Navy。
This　is　a　rare…”
“Pleasure？”　asked　Jagdea。
“‘Thing’。　I　was　going　to　say；　“thing’。”
“There　is　no　viable　land　on　Phantine；”　Jagdea　said。　“Everyone　learns　to　fly；　men　and　women。
Our　ability　is　said　to　be　intuitive　and　exceptional。”
“The　same　has　been　said　of　the　Apostles。”
“You　have　no　reason　to　celebrate　your　own　virtues。　The　Apostles’　reputation　is　clear　enough。”
“Thank　you。”
“So…　would　you　like　to　explain　why　your　man　struck　my　pilot　with　a　glove　like　that？”
“Because　he　was　angry。”
“Angry？　Angry？”
“Are　you　sure　you　wouldn’t　like　to　sit　down；　commander？”
“Answer　the　damn　question！”
“Captain　Guis　Gettering…　Sixty…two　kills。　His　bird　is　called　the　Double　Eagle。　He　was　offended
that　your　man　would　copy　that　name　for　his　own　plane。”
“That’s　it？”
“What　else　can　I　say？”　Seekan　shrugged。
“My　pilot　will　rename　his　plane。　No　offence　was　intended。　In　return；　I　suggest　your　Captain
Gettering　makes　a　written　and　formal　apology　to　Pilot　Officer　Marquall。　Then　the　matter　may　be
concluded　without　higher　attention。”
“My　pleasure；”　said　Seekan。　Jagdea　turned　and　strode　to　the　door。
“Commander？”　Seekan　called。　She　paused　in　the　doorway　and　looked　back。　“Good　flying；”　he
said。
Over　the　Lida　Valley；　15。16
It　wasn’t　an　auspicious　start　to　their　first　official　sortie。　A　bright；　promising　day　had　turned　sour　in
the　time　it　had　taken　to　get　their　machines　aloft。　At　ten　thousand　metres；　with　a　lousy　eight…tenths
cloud；　and　an　even　more　lousy　side　wind；　they　were　running　up　the　wide　valley　of　the　River　Lida
towards　the　mountains。
Jagdea’s　normally　sweet…running　Thunderbolt；　serial　Zero…Two；　was　flying　rough　and　heavy。
Too　long　in　the　belly…hold　of　a　Navy　carrier；　Jagdea　supposed。　The　devoted　maintenance　crews　had
done　their　best　to　keep　systems　at　optimum；　but　there　was　no　substitute　for　regular　flying　time。
Apart　from　the　delivery　run　to　Theda　MAB　South；　all　the　Thunderbolts　in　Umbra　Flight　had　been
out　of　use　for　three　and　a　half　months。
Then　again；　she　wondered；　maybe　it　was　her。　Serial　Zero…Two　wasn’t　the　only　thing　not　to　have
flown　in　three　and　a　half　months。　Jagdea　felt　clumsy　and　inept。　She’d　even　made　a　sloppy　job　of
take…off。　They’d　had　simulators　on　the　carrier　of　course；　regular　sessions　to　keep　them　sharp；　but　it
wasn’t　the　same；　just　like　turning　a　bird’s　turbofans　over　on　the　flight　deck　every　morning　wasn’t
the　same。
Good　flying。　Seekan’s　presumably　honestly　meant　remark　now　seemed　like　a　jinx。
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They　were　flying　in　unit　teams　of　four　machines。　With　her　were　Van　Tull；　Espere　and　Marquall。
Blansher　had　the　second　unit　four　about　forty　kilometres　behind　them；　and　Asche　the　third；　running
a　wide　patrol　over　the　Littoral。　Essentially；　Umbra　Flight　had　split　into　three　independent　Interceptor
units。　That　was　optimum　size　for　routine　hunting　or　opportunist　intercept　work。　If　more　than　three　or
four　Thunderbolts　tried　to　share　the　same　slice　of　sky；　things　tended　to　get　a　little　crowded。
Anyway；　this　wasn’t　a　hunt。　It　was　a　shakedown。　A　little　wind…in…the…hair　run　to　get　pilots　and
machines　into　the　swing　of　things。　Umbra　Flight　had　traditionally　been　a　Lightning　wing；　but　after
the　liberation　of　Phantine；　they’d　switched　to　the　heavier　Thunderbolts；　and　come　to　love　them
during　the　air　war　on　Urdesh　Minor。　Sometimes　Jagdea　missed　the　sprightly　performance　of　the　IIIIX
Lightning；　the　exhilarating　rates　of　its　climb　and　dive；　the　darting　grace　of　its　turns。　The
Thunderbolt　was　almost　half　as　heavy　again　and；　at　lower　speeds；　particularly　climbing；　it　felt　as　if　it
barely　had　the　power　to　lift　its　massively　armoured　body。　But　it　was　heavy　and　robust；　and　could
soak　up　the　sort　of　punishment　that　would　send　a　Lightning　fluttering　to　its　doom　like　a　moth。　It　had
longer　legs　too；　and　a　snout…full　of　killware。　Where　the　Lightning　was　a　playful　ambush…cat；　the
Thunderbolt　was　a　full…grown　carnodon。　Blansher　had　once　said　that　a　pilot　flew　the　Lightning　for
the　joy　of　flying；　and　the　Thunderbolt　for　the　joy　of　killing。　That　seemed　about　right　to　Jagdea。　She
adored　her　Bolt。　It　was　muscular；　indomitable；　responsive。
Except　on　days　like　today。　The　port　fan　was　simply　not　running　clean。　There　was　nothing　on　the
display；　but　she　could　feel　it；　something　in　the　rhythm　of　the　engine　tone。
She　checked　the　fuel。　Roughly　a　third　gone；　and　they　hadn’t　opted　for　reserve　tanks。　She　keyed
the　vox。
“Umbra　Four…One　Leader　to　Four…One　Flight。　Let　me　hear　you。”
“Umbra　Three；　Four…A。”　Of　course　he　was。　Van　Tull　was　always　Four…A。
“Umbra　Five；　I’ll　be　fine　once　I’ve　remembered　what　the　controls　do。”
“Roger　that；　Five。　I　know　the　feeling；”　Jagdea　returned。
“Umbra　Eight。　Okay　here。”
Marquall　sounded　unhappy　still。　The　stupid　business　with　Gettering　had　knocked　him　back；　the
last　thing　a　novice　wanted　on　his　first　day　out。　He’d　tried　to　make　light　of　it；　remarking　that　his　Bolt
was　now　called　The　Smear；　because　Racklae　hadn’t　had　time　to　do　any　more　than　paint　out　his　nose
art　with　a　wash　of　undercoat。　But　Jagdea　knew　he’d　been　hurt。
“Let’s　refresh　the　pattern；　flight；”　she　said。　“Eight；　you　slip　into　point；　Five　and　Three　change
over。　I’ll　take　the　hanger。”
They　all　responded；　“Okay”。　A　nice　little　manoeuvre　test　to　get　them　flexing　their　brains　Jagdea
reckoned；　and　getting　Marquall　up　in　what　was　technically　lead　position　might　do　his　confidence
some　good。
“On　the　mark…　three；　two；　one…　execute。”
Unit　fours　flew　in　a　line　formation；　with　one　machine　forward　and　another　two　flanking　to　rear
on　either　side。　The　fourth；　or　“hanger”；　flanked　one　or　other　of　the　wingmen　to　rear；　forming　an
asymmetrical　V。　It　was　an　excellent　pack　formation；　each　pilot　covered　by　his　comrades；　the　hanger
able　to　switch　from　side　to　side　as　needed。　Currently；　Jagdea　was　in　point；　with　Van　Tull　to　her　port
and　Espere　to　her　starboard；　Marquall　at　Espere’s　five　as　the　hanger。
On　her　mark；　they　shuffled　the　deck。　Jagdea　throttled　down　and　slid　back　out　of　the　point　of　the
V。　Van　Tull　rolled　three…sixty　high　and　Espere　did　the　same；　but　in　reverse　and　low；　until　the　two
wingmen　had　swapped　places。　Marquall　peeled　out　low；　then　gunned　forward　under　the　V　and
pulled　ahead　before　dropping　to　cruise　speed　and　coming　up　gently。　The　two　wingmen　then　matched
speeds　and　flanked　him　sweetly　to　his　five　and　seven。　Jagdea　throttled　back　again；　just　a　touch；　and
came　around　onto　Espere’s　five。
Textbook。　The　first　thing　that　had　gone　right　all　day。
“Nice　work；　flight。　Very　slick。　Let’s　stay　put　for　another　five。”
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The　undercast　was　thinning。　They　had　about　six…tenths　cloud　now；　and　dark　patches　of　the
Lida’s　arable　valley　appeared　below　them；　distant　patchworks　of　field…systems；　irrigation　webs　and
hydroponic　rafts。
“Flight　Leader？”　It　was　Van　Tull。　“Go；　Three。”
“Check　your　auspex。　I’m　tagging　eight　or　nine　contacts　below　us　at　twelve　kilometres；　south；
inbound。”
Sure　enough；　Jagdea’s　scope　showed　seven　pippers；　moving　north…east　at　under　three　thousand
metres。　Not　eight　or　nine；　but　that　could　just　be　the　conditions　masking　returns。
“Umbra　Four…One　Leader　to　Operations。　Come　in；　Operations。”
“Receiving；　Umbra　Four…One　Leader。”
Jagdea　reached　forward　with　her　heavily…gloved　left　hand　and　transmitted　the　auspex　fix。
“Four…One　Lead。　Should　there　be　anything　up？”
“Plenty；　Four…One　Leader；　but　not　there。”
“Understood；　Operations。　We’ll　check　it　out。”　Jagdea　shifted　in　her　seat；　and　tweaked　the　airmix
a　little　richer。　“Lead　to　flight。　I’ll　take　a　look。”　That　was　the　hanger’s　job；　to　peel　off　for
sweeps。　“Hold　it　here　and　come　around　three　points　south。”　There　was　no　time　to　shuffle　the　deck
again；　which　meant　she　was　leaving　Marquall　at　point。　A　good　idea？　No　time　even　to　worry　about　it。
“Umbra　Eight；　you　have　point。　Stand　by　to　stoop　if　I　need　you。”
“Read　that；　Leader。　I’ve　got　it。”
At　last。　A　touch　of　excitement　in　the　boy’s　voice。　Good。　He　could　do　with　this。　Besides；　Van
Tull　was　right　there；　solid　and　dependable。　And　Espere　was　a　consummate　wingman。
Jagdea　kicked　the　afterburners　a　touch　and　rolled　out；　feeling　the　delicious　punch　of　G　as　she
inverted　and　began　to　dive　away；　wide；　to　the　left　of　the　trio　V。　the　long　dive　loaded　power　into　her
wings；　and　she　was　touching　two　thousand　kph　as　she　closed　on　the　targets。　Enough　load　to　pull　off
beautifully　if　they　were　friendly。　Enough　punch　to　turn　it　into　an　intercept　if　they　weren’t。
Five　kilometres　and　closing。　Four。
The　sky　was　suddenly　very　clear；　less　than　four…tenths　cloud。　The　vast　green　rift　of　the　Lida
Valley　stretched　out　beneath　her；　and　for　the　first　time　she　could　see　the　hazy　line　of　the　Makanites。
Three　kilometres。　There　they　were。　Below　her　still；　but　closing　at　an　alarming　rate　because　they
were　travelling　towards　her；　and　adding　her　speed　to　their　own。　Nine　machines。　Clustered　rather
than　in　formation。
At　two　kilometres；　she　identified　their　pattern。　Cyclones。　A　flight　of　Cyclones；　Enothian　PDF。
The　delta…winged　double　props　were　painted　in　a　grey　and　white　dazzle；　and　running　north　hard；
possibly　at　the　top　of　their　performance。
What　the　hell　were　they　doing　here？　Were　they…　running？
Instinct　made　Jagdea　flip　off　the　red　safety　covers　of　her　main　guns。
“Cyclone　intruders；　Cyclone　intruders；　this　is　Umbra　Four…One　Leader—”　she　started　to　say　into
her　vox…mask。
But　she　stopped。　One　of　the　tail…end　Cyclones　wobbled　and　exploded。　The　brief　fireball　was
fuel…rich　and　sent　streamers　of　white　smoke　twirling　away　into　the　clear　air。　The　flaming　debris
drop