Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第21部分

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the　last　moment　and　rolled　a　desperate　evade。　But　she　levelled　out；　and　immediately　picked　up　a
Locust　chasing　one　of　the　Commonwealth　planes。　Tone　locked；　she　stung　it　hard；　and　as　it　began　to
judder；　stung　it　again　and　blew　it　to　fragments。
Asche’s　four　came　in　moments　later　moving；　if　anything；　at　an　even　higher　rate。　Asche　got　a
Talon　squarely　and　cleanly。　Van　Tull　took　a　shot　at　a　Tormentor；　damaged　it；　looped　around　and
finished　the　kill。
Cordiale；　his　timing　just　out；　mis…hit　a　Talon；　and　then　found　he　had　a　Talon　and　a　Locust　on
him。　He　tried　to　jink　out；　but　nearly　collided　with　a　Lightning　coming　head　on。　He　screwed　over　to
evade；　almost　stalling。　The　Lightning　banked　hard　and　its　port…wing　tip　clipped　the　Talon　behind
Cordiale。　The　Lightning　lost　stability　and　began　to　spin；　corrected；　and　then　was　blown　apart　by　two
other　Locusts。　Trailing　debris；　the　Talon　it　had　clipped　came　wide；　right　into　Asche’s　gun　cone。　She
showed　it　little　mercy。
Cordiale　swung　about　and　started　to　chase　down　a　Tormentor。　It　had　shed　its　load；　and　was
turning　for　the　home　run。　But　it　was　still　a　viable　target。　If　it　died　here；　it　couldn’t　come　back　with
another　clutch　of　bombs。
Marquall；　the　last　in；　was　sure　he　had　a　kill。　He　fired　two　bursts；　but　the　Hell　Talon　was　still
intact　as　he　rocketed　down　past　it。
He　tucked　in　and　began　to　climb　again；　bleeding　off　some　power　so　his　controls　weren’t　quite　so
stiff　with　speed。　In　a　flash；　he　realised　he’d　gone　up　between　two　Tormentors；　both　spilling　out
bombs　like　egg　cases。　He　cursed　his　own　luck。　His　haste　to　correct　had　made　him　miss　a　chance　on
two　easy　targets。
Marquall　was　almost　insensible　with　rage。　He　was　seething　with　desire　to　make　a　kill；　to　open
his　account。　Bad　enough　he　was　the　youngest；　the　most　inexperienced；　bad　enough　that　Pers　Espere
had　been　maimed　wet…nursing　him。　Marquall　had　no　score。　No　kills　to　his　name。　Now　his
confidence　had　returned　after　that　disastrous　virgin　sortie；　he　was　determined　to　prove　his　worth　in
combat。
Hell；　the　sky　was　crawling　with　enemy　machines！　Surely　he　could　hit　one　of　them？
“Umbra　Eight！　Umbra　Eight！　Break　left　now！”
That　was　Van　Tull’s　voice。　Marquall　didn’t　question　it。　He　stomped　the　rudder　bar　and　leaned　on
the　stick；　inverting　as　he　pulled　out　to　port。　A　flame　yellow　Hell　Talon　rushed　over　and　by　him。
“Thanks；　Three；”　he　voxed；　coming　true　and　climbing　again。
“You　okay；　Eight？”　Van　Tull　voxed。
“Four…A；”　replied　Marquall。　They　were　still　babysitting　him。　That　rankled。　Then　again；　but　for
Van　Tull’s　warning；　he’d　like　as　not　be　dead　now。
He　turned　in。　Almost　immediately；　he　picked　up　a　Cyclone；　running　for　its　life　from　a　Talon。
The　Commonwealth　prop…plane　was　weeping　smoke。　Marquall　wondered　why　Operations　kept　the
Cyclones　and　Wolfcubs　in　the　air。　It　was　suicide；　flying　machines　like　that　against　the　enemy’s
vector…thrust　predators。
He　cranked　the　throttle；　banked　wide；　clipped　off　a　wasted　but　satisfying　burst　at　a　Tormentor　as
he　went　long　over　its　back；　and　lined　up　on　the　Talon。
This　time…
The　port　engine　was　dead；　and　so　was　Artone。　Frans　Scalter　fought　with　the　Cyclone’s　leaden
stick　and　called　plaintively　to　his　co…pilot　and　long…time　friend。　Hard　rounds　had　torn　through　the
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machine’s　cockpit；　shattering　the　glass　nose　and　ripping　Artone’s　torso　in　half。　Wind　screamed　in
through　the　shattered　bubble。　There　was　blood　everywhere；　and　the　instruments　were　plastered　with
sticky　flecks　of　human　tissue。
“I’ll　get　you　home！　I’ll　get　you　home！”　Scalter　wailed；　denying　the　scene　around　him；　and
imagining　some　miraculous　future　where　he　brought　the　ruptured　Cyclone　down；　and　the　crews
rushed　in；　and　Artone　was　patched　up　and　made　alive　again。
Scalter　knew　he　had　to　keep　evading。　The　Hell　Talon　was　right　on　his　tail　now。
“Seeker　One！　Seeker　One！　Someone！　Please—”
The　Talon’s　guns　lit　up。
Like　a　feline　playing　with　a　mouse；　the　bastard　wasn’t　going　to　let　the　Cyclone　go。　It　swung
from　side　to　side　with　muscular　power；　correcting　for　every　frantic　jink　and　twist　the
Commonwealth　pilot　tried　to　make。
It　had　got　the　blood　scent。　It　wanted　the　kill。　It　was　greedy。　It　was　staying　on　the　target。
The　first　and　oldest　mistake。
Marquall　came　around　on　its　five；　calculating　the　deflection　angle　with　almost　leisurely　brio。
Then　he　opened　up　with　his　quad　cannons；　feeling　the　heavy　slap　of　them　retard　his　motion；
hearing　the　breech　blocks　bang　and　the　autoloaders　rattle　to　feed　ammo　from　the　whirring　drums。
Somehow；　Marquall　had　expected　the　enemy　machine　to　explode；　or　catch　fire；　or　do　something
equally　spectacular。
It　simply　quivered。　Part　of　one　blade…wing　deformed；　like　foil；　and　a　gulp　of　brown　smoke
belched　out　of　its　engines。
Then　it　fell　out　of　the　air。　All　lift　lost　in　one　shocking　instant；　it　dropped　away；　turning　end　over
end；　like　a　toy　that　had　been　thrown　aside　by　a　petulant　child。
It　spun　away　below　him；　smaller；　smaller。
Throne；　he’d　got　it。　He’d　killed　it　stone　dead。
“S…seeker　One；　Seeker　One；”　he　stammered；　rousing　from　a　brief　fugue。　“This　is　Umbra　Eight。
You’re　clear；　friend。　Clear。　Get　your　machine　home　and　down。”
“Umbra　Eight；　this　is　Seeker　One。　Understood。”
Not　even　a　thank　you？　Marquall　didn’t　care。　He　had　a　fire　in　his　belly；　a　coal　of　excitement　and
satisfaction。　He　was　no　longer　the　kid　who　needed　babysitting。
Something　threw　him　into　his　seat　like　a　kick　in　the　face。　The　Smear　inverted；　every　alarm
screaming。　In　terror；　mystified；　Marquall　dragged　on　the　stick；　but　it　was　slack　and　dead。　He　saw
flame　on　his　port　side；　sections　of　metal　plating　slipping　off　like　fish　scales。
Fire　licked　into　the　cockpit。
“No！”　he　yelled。　“Oh　no；　no；　no！”
He　fumbled　with　his　harness；　trying　to　reach　the　eject　handle。　Half…heard　voices　blasted　out　of
the　vox。
Huge　negative　G。　He　was　already　greying　out。　He　couldn’t　lift　his　hand；　let　alone　reach　the
lever。
In　front　of　him；　like　a　rapidly…spinning　kaleidoscope　image；　the　city　was　rushing　up。
Over　the　Interior　Desert；　09。22
They　kissed　over　the　top　of　a　dune　headland　and　there　it　was。　The　size　of　it　took　their　breath　away。
Judd　voiced　a　particularly　florid　oath。
A　mass　carrier。　It　was　almost　a　kilometre　long；　a　huge　slab　of　burnished　decking　and　raised
ramps；　bronze　in　the　desert　light。　Vast　wheel　assemblies　rolled　it　across　the　dust。　Viltry　had　been
told　the　enemy　called　these　behemoths　aeries；　as　if　they　were　home　roosts　for　the　murderous　bats。　It
was　a　feat　of　mechanical　genius；　a　juggernaut；　a　giant　amongst　machines。
Nothing　could　kill　something　that　big。　Nothing　could—
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He　caught　himself。　They　would　have　to　try。　That　was　the　job　the　God…Emperor　had　decreed　for
them。
“No　hesitation；　Halo；”　he　cried。　“We’re　committed。　Line　up　and　shed；　then　come　around　with
wing…loads　for　the　second　pass。　The　Emperor　protects。”
He　could　see　the　Talons　they　had　been　following　sweeping　in　to　the　fluted　arrestor　runs　on　the
carrier’s　top　side。　They　looked　tiny　by　comparison；　little　gaudy　specks。
The　carrier　had　seen　the　inbound　Marauders；　coming　down　onto　it　at　zero　height。　Hundreds　of
anti　aircraft　batteries　tracked　round；　alert；　like　the　alarmed　tails　of　scorpions；　and　the　air　was　filled
with　bursting　flak　and　zipping　tracers。　A　hailstorm　of　fire。
“Stay　on　it；　stay　on　it…”　Viltry　ordered。
A　siren　screeched。　Amongst　the　blizzard　of　flak　bursts；　Viltry　glimpsed　the　trail　smoke　of
missiles　banging　off　from　the　carrier。
Wordlessly；　he　hit　the　chaff　switch；　and　clouds　of　glittering；　distorting　material　puffed　out　of
Greta’s　launchers。　Then　heat…flares　too。　Near…miss　explosions　shook　the　airframe。　The　space
between　the　onrushing　planes　and　the　vast　carrier　was　muddy　with　flash　flowers　and　blooms　of
black　and　white　smoke。
A　rocket　struck　Miss　Adventure　and　killed　her　dead。　The　torn　wreckage　and　hull　sections；
moving　at　close　to　mach　one；　cartwheeled　over　the　desert　floor；　raking　the　sand；　spitting　flame　like　a
firework。
“Nose　and　top。　Anytime　you　like；”　Viltry　said。
The　turrets　opened　up；　playing　fire　along　the　carrier’s　starboard　hull。　Viltry；　concentrating　as
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