Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第11部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

fuel…rich　and　sent　streamers　of　white　smoke　twirling　away　into　the　clear　air。　The　flaming　debris
dropped　towards　the　field…system　below。
Something　crimson　and　hooked　ran　in　past　it　so　fast　it　was　climbing　out　of　range　again　before
Jagdea　had　realised　what　it　was。
“Bats！　Bats！　Bats！”　she　yelled　into　her　vox。
Theda　seafront；　15。20
They’d　wanted　to　celebrate。　Of　course　they　had。　First　run　in　a　new　theatre；　and　a　fine　one　at　that。　But
Viltry　hadn’t　felt　like　celebrating。　It　had　taken　a　lot　to　just　get　them　home。　The　final　half…hour；　fuel
low；　belly…light；　weapons　all　but　empty。　So　exposed；　so　vulnerable。　Operations　insisted　nothing　in
37
the　enemy’s　air　force　could　reach　the　Littoral　and　the　home…stretch；　but　Viltry　had　been　sweating　so
much　on　the　last　section；　he’d　been　able　to　pour　moisture　out　of　his　flying　gloves　when　he　took　them
off。
The　field　had　come　up；　Theda　North。　Even　closing　in　on　the　beacon　lights；　he’d　still　had　the
distinct　feeling　that　something　was　going　to　come　down　out　of　nowhere　and　kill　them　hard。
The　field。　The　outer　circuit。　Blue　flags　all　round。　Power　down　to　minimal；　just　kissing　the　edge
of　stall　speed　for　Greta’s　massive　airframe。
Then　in　over　the　cross；　balancing　the　Marauder　as　he　brought　the　vector　nozzles　around；
switching　from　forward　flight　to　vertical。　A　squeeze　or　two　of　viff；　a　hunkering；　and　then　down。
Intact；　alive。
The　rest　of　Halo　came　back　around　them。
Judd　and　the　boys　had　already　earmarked　a　tavern　near　the　billets。　They　got　out；　loud　and　full　of
themselves；　scattering　flight　kit　onto　the　hardpan　as　they　whooped　and　slapped　hands。
“I’ll　join　you　later；”　Viltry　told　them。　“Paperwork。”
He’d　taken　the　longest　shower　in　the　history　of　the　Imperium　of　Man；　standing　silent　and　naked
under　tepid　water　in　the　stinking　rockcrete　stalls　behind　dispersal；　then　changed　into　a　spare　uniform
suit　he’d　had　the　presence　of　mind　to　bring　in　his　kitsack。　He　put　on　his　tan　leather　coat。　His　hands
were　still　shaking。
The　crew　was　already　gone。　Viltry　found　a　transport　that　was　doing　a　run　down　into　the　centre　of
town　to　pick　up　a　Navy　crew；　and　hitched　a　ride。　It　dropped　him　off　on　a　corner　where　the　old
temple　road　met　the　fish…market。
There　was　no　one　around。　Viltry　walked　north；　away　from　the　dark　and　boarded　streets　of　the
town　towards　the　coast。　He　could　smell　the　sea。
He　had　no　real　idea　where　his　billet　was。　Someone　would　know；　when　he　was　ready。
The　piers　came　as　a　real　surprise。　He　turned　a　dank　street　corner　and　suddenly　found　himself　on
a　bright　and　windswept　esplanade。　Ahead　of　him；　beyond　an　iron　railing；　a　reinforced　seawall　and　a
narrow　curb　of　grey　foreshore；　was　the　sea　itself。　There　was　no　one　in　sight；　except　a　truck　that
groaned　past。　He　crossed　the　wide　roadway　and　came　up　to　the　railing。　The　sea　fascinated　him。
There　were　no　seas　on　Phantine；　not　liquid　ones　anyway。　The　sun　was　slipping　down；　into　the　lazy；
low　part　of　the　afternoon；　and　the　sky　was　yellow。　The　endless　water　seemed　indolent　and　slow；
hissing　in　a　languid　rhythm　against　the　crusty　beach。　The　water　was　making　frothy　breakers　at　the
shore；　but　beyond　that；　it　formed　into　a　sinuous　expanse　of　rolling　gunmetal；　stretching　away　to　the
vague　horizon。　It　reminded　him　of　the　Scald。
Three　long　piers；　their　ornate　ironwork　painted　white；　marched　out　from　the　esplanade　over　the
water。　Though　faded　and　rundown；　Viltry　realised　they　had　once　been　pleasure　palaces。　There　were
shuttered　arcades；　dance　halls；　flaking　posters　advertising　weekly　match…dances　and　cordial
functions。　He　was　utterly　taken　with　the　idea　of　stepping　out　on　an　iron…and…wood　bridge　that
crossed　to　nowhere；　the　sea　sucking　beneath　him。
He　walked　down　the　strand　a　little　way　until　he　came　to　the　entrance　arch　of　the　nearest　pier。　A
chalkboard　had　been　propped　up　against　the　ironwork　gate。　“Palace　Refreshments。　Table　service；
sea　views；”　it　read。
He　liked　that。　That　would　do。
Warily；　he　walked　in　under　the　iron　arch　and　out　along　the　pier。　The　sound　of　the　sea　was　much
louder　now。　He　could　see　the　surge　of　it　between　the　boards　beneath　his　feet。　It　made　him　dizzy　and
excited；　and　those　things　helped　to　mask　the　kernel　of　fear　he　was　carrying　in　his　heart。
The　cafe　was　at　the　end　of　the　pier。　Everything　else　was　shut　up　and　derelict。　As　he　approached；
he　was　able　to　smell　caffeine　and　spun　sugar。　Viltry　had　never　been　this　far　out　from　dry　land。　He’d
never　walked　over　an　ocean。
38
The　cafe　was　huge；　a　testament；　perhaps；　to　former　glory　days；　when　pleasure　seekers　had
packed　Theda’s　seafront　and　come　in　search　of　sea　views　and　refreshments。　Tables　formed　rings
inside　the　great　circuit　of　lattice　windows。　Some　of　them　were　occupied：　old　men　and　women　in
mumbling　groups；　a　couple　of　Commonwealth　troopers　looking　tired　and　wan。　Music　was　playing
from　the　kitchen　area。　A　handsome　Thracian　waltz。
Viltry　took　a　seat　at　a　window　table；　and　watched　the　sea　some　more。　“What　will　you　have？”
He　looked　up。　The　girl　in　the　blue…striped　dress　and　apron　had　appeared　from　nowhere。　He
picked　up　the　table…card　hastily。　“A…　a　pot　of　caffeine。”
“Anything　to　eat？”
He　was　still　studying　the　card。　Very　few　things　made　sense。　“A　smoked　ham　sa—”
“No　ham；”　the　girl　said。　“Sorry。　No　poultry；　either。”
“I　am　hungry；”　Viltry　realised。
“The　lorix　is　good。　With　bread。”
“Then　that’s　what　I’ll　have。”
She　disappeared。　He　looked　back　at　the　sea。　Grey；　mobile；　immense。　He’d　seen　skies　like　that。
The　weather　was　turning。
The　girl　returned　with　a　tray。　She　unloaded　the　caffeine　pot；　cup；　sugar…bowl；　and　a　plate　with
bread　slices　and　a　dish　of　something。　He　poured　the　caffeine　as　she　departed；　then　examined　the
food。　It　smelled　savoury；　quite　nice；　but　he　wasn’t　sure　what　it　was。　Or　how　to　eat　it。　He　tried　some；
but　found　it　was　salty　and　far　too　meaty　for　his　liking。　He　swallowed　anyway；　but　left　the　rest。　The
bread　was　all　right。　He　ate　that　instead。
“There’s　a　funny　bloke　over　at　sixteen；”　announced　Letrice。　“Offworlder；　I’d　say。”
Beqa　looked　and　stopped　wiping　the　counter。　“I’ll　deal　with　him。　You’re　off　now　anyway；　aren’t
you？”
“I　got　a　date；”　Letrice　grinned。　“Fancy　flyboy　from　the　PDF。　His　name’s　Edry。　He’s　nicely
handsome。”
“Have　fun。　Don’t　do　anything　I　wouldn’t　do。”
“No　thanks。　That　wouldn’t　leave　me　much；”　Letrice　giggled；　and　began　taking　off　her　apron。
Beqa　cleared　a　few　tables　and　then　walked　over　to　the　window　table。
It　was　him。　The　sad…faced　offworlder　she’d　seen　at　the　templum　the　day　before。　The　one　who’d
been　talking　to　himself。
She　hoped　he　was　stable　now。　Her　shift　was　coming　to　an　end；　and　that　gave　her　just　over　an
hour　to　nap　before　the　night…shift。
“Everything　all　right；　sir？”　she　asked。
“Yes；　yes。　Fine。”　He　didn’t　look　up。　Throne；　but　his　expression　was　so　miserable。
“The　lorix？　Not　to　your　liking？”　she　asked；　lifting　the　uneaten　dish　onto　her　tray。
He　looked　up；　then　said；　“Um？　No；　I’m　sure　it　was　fine。　It　was　fish；　wasn’t　it？”
“Shellfish。”
He　nodded。　“I’m　afraid　I…　I’ve　never　eaten　fish　before。　Or　shellfish；　whatever　that　is。　It’s　a
bit…　funny　tasting。”
“You’ve　never　eaten　fish？”
“I…　I　mean；　my　world…　No　seas；　you　see…”
“Oh。　So；　you　must　be　hungry？”
“No；　I　ate　the　bread。　I’m　fine。”
“Well；　okay；”　she　said　and　cleared　his　table。
He　still　sat　looking　out　at　the　sea　when　her　shift　ended　and　Pollya　came　on　for　the　night。　The　sun
had　set。　The　sea　was　as　dark　as　oil。
39
He’d　ordered　another　cup；　and　was　sipping　it　while　he　stared　at　the　rolling　waters　as　they
crashed　against　the　shore。
Over　the　Lida　Valley；　15。29
Guns　live；　Jagdea　turned　and　rolled　in　on　them；　her　Thunderbolt　trembling　with　power。　Six　Locustpattern
bats；　the　lightest　and　most　nimble　of　the　Archenemy’s　vector…planes；　all　painted　crimson　or
mauve；　were　harrying　the　heels　of　the　Cyclone　pack。
They　were　all　over　them。　To　her　left；　she　saw　another　Cyclone　explode；　and　another　pitch　left；
trailing　tarry　smoke　as　it　foundered　down　in　a　wide　sweep　towards　the　ground。
Two　Locusts　slipped　under　her；　but　she　had　the　third；　braking　back　to　trim　over　on　another
Cyclone。　In　the　hairs；　pipper　blinking。
Jagdea　thumbed　the　gun…stud。
Serial　Zero…Two　lurched　as　the　twin…linked　lascannons　in　the　nose　spat　off。
Brilliant　daggers　of　light　flew　out　of　her　machine；　zagging　down　through　the　sky　towards　the
bat。　Struck；　it　rolled　over　and　staggered　sideways；　then　started　to　make　white　smoke　as　it　curved
away；　falling；　falling。
“Bag　one；”　Jagdea　snarled　into　her　mask。　“Four…One　Leader　to　flight；　I　have　engaged。　I　repeat；　I
have　engaged。”
She　half…heard　a　response　from　Marquall；　but　the　meaning　of　it　was　lost　as　she　inverted　again；
viffing　hard　to　increase　her　turn　rate；　her　ears　popping　with　hard…G　as　she　sidestepped　an　incoming
Locust。　A　glimpse。　The　blinking　flashes　of　the　gunports；　the　blur　of　mauve　wings。
As　she　came　nose　up；　throttle　out　as　far　as　it　could　go；　she　saw　two　Cyclones　blunder　past；
followed　by　a　banking　Locust。　All　three　were　in　view　for　less　than　a　second。
None　of　Umbra　Flight　were　carrying　rack　weapons　on　this　sortie；　certainly　nothing　guided　or　airto…
air。　Jagdea　would　have　to　rely　entirely　on　boresight　shooting。
She　pushed　the　nose　over　and　kicked　right　rudder；　heaving　the　heavy　machine　around。　The
horizon　swung　madly。　A　Cyclone　went　by　under　her；　emitting　sporadic　brown　smoke。　The　banking
Locust　had　already　pulled　out　of　sight；　but　there　was　another；　scarlet　like　blood；　turning　in　towards
the　wounded　Enothian　machine。
She　made　another　deep　dive；　fans　shrieking；　G　pressing　the　mask　into　her　face　and　making　her
see　spots。　She　had　the　Locust　for　a　moment。　Then　it　viffed　sideways　on　its　reactor　jets；　a　nonballistic
wobble　to　the　side；　but　instinct　set　her　ready　to　do　the　same　and　compensate。　It　was　purely　a
gut　thing　that　she　got　it　right：　the　Locust　had　gone　the　way　she　would　have　done。
Jagdea　punched　las…shots　at　it　and　hit　something；　because　the　slipstream　suddenly　filled　with
black　smoke　and　shreds　of　wing　casing。　The　Locust　vanished；　then　she　made　it　out　again　as　she
rolled。　It　was　heading　away　east。　Was　it　going　down　or　running？　There　was　no　way　to　confirm。　The
old；　foremost　rule：　don’t　stay　on　a　target。
She　came　around　again　and　made　a　shallow　climb　that　slid　her　between　two　of　the　racing
Cyclones。　Her　auspex　began　bleating。　Something　had　a　lock　on　her。　She　rolled；　craning　her　head
back　over　her　left　shoulder；　then　her　right。　Where　the　hell　was　it？　Las…shots　scorched　past　her　port
side　and　her　machine　bucked　hard。　There　were　suddenly　raking　scorch　marks　on　her　port　wing。　She
rolled　and　turned　again。　Still　the　lock　held。　More　shots；　stitching　past　on　her　right　now。　She　dipped
her　wing　and　banked　out；　catching　her　speed　and　opening　the　reactor　nozzles　so　she　almost　turned
end　on　end。
The　Locust　went　right　by　her；　overshooting。　She　saw　the　bone…white　kill　marks　under　its　canopy
sill。
Three　thousand　metres　above　her；　Marquall　began　his　turn；　standing　on　his　port　wing；　gazing
down　at　the　spiralling　machines　through　the　cloud　cover　below。　Van　Tull　and　Espere　matched　his
turn。
40
“Stoop　and　sting；”　Marquall　instructed。　God…Emperor；　but　he’d　waited　his　whole　life　to　say　that
for