Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第34部分

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obvious　that　a　huge　fight　was　going　on　over　the　Littoral。　Nine　of　the　flight　controllers　were　now
involved；　Eads　included。　Darrow　stood　by　and　watched　with　mounting　concern。
It　had　become　ceaseless；　day　and　night。　They　came　in　on　shift；　and　took　the　reins　of　some
ongoing　brawl　from　a　controller　almost　dead　on　his　feet　from　fatigue。　Weary　and　strung　out；　they
handed　fights　off　to　replacements　at　shift　rotation。　The　enemy　attacks—mass　bombing　operations；
lightning　raids；　opportunistic　intercepts—were　happening　all　the　time。
Currently；　the　rotunda　had　four　points　of　focus。　Two　controllers　on　the　far　side　of　the　chamber
were　negotiating　interceptions　on　a　wave　of　bombers　over　Ezraville。　Another　had　a　fighter…onfighter
clash　in　progress　above　the　Lida　Valley。　A　fourth　had　control　of　a　Marauder　formation
heading　south。　The　nine　on　Darrow’s　half　of　the　room　were　handling　the　big　battle：　close　on　four
hundred　and　fifty　enemy　bombers；　a　hundred　escorts　and　fourteen　Imperial　wings。
The　chatter　and　roll　of　voices　was　incessant。　Reports；　plot　statements；　corrections；　vox
transmissions　and　updates　volleyed　back　and　forth。　At　their　screens；　the　placement　officers　were
inscribing　hideously　complex　tactical　maps；　constantly　adding；　deleting；　rewriting；　reassigning。
The　controllers　were　locked　in　worlds　of　their　own；　fixed　on　their　own　tracks　while　trying　to
accommodate　the　overall　situation。　Most　were　head…down　over　their　cogitators；　but　Eads　sat　like　an
orchestra　conductor；　sightless　gaze　fixed　directly　ahead　as　his　hands　danced　over　the　display。
Darrow　knew　the　commander　was　dog…tired。　His　face　was　pale；　and　he　hadn’t　been　eating　or
sleeping　properly。
“Forty…Four；　call　off。　Nine…One；　rise　to　ten；　bearing　five…eight…five。　Rimfire；　make　your　track
eleven…two。　Say　again；　Quarry　Leader。　You’re　breaking　up。　Switch　to　channel　four。　Understood；
contacts　west　of　you　at　nine　kilometres。　Brass　Flight；　correct　and　descend　to　two　thousand。　Bat
group　under　you；　turning　east；　three　kilometres。　Sixteen　contacts；　you　should　have　visual。
Confirmed；　Lancer；　I　show　you　as　attacking。”
The　klaxons　started　to　ring；　and　the　deck　officer　cancelled　them　at　once。　Raid　warnings　had　been
going　off　regularly；　but　no　one　in　Operations　ever　quit　for　the　bunkers。　There　was　too　much　at　stake。
Twice；　Darrow　had　felt　the　great　chamber　shudder　as　bombs　quaked　the　Thedan　ground。
His　days　with　Eads　had　taught　Darrow　a　lot。　Once　he’d　picked　up　the　basics；　he’d　been　able　to
do　more　than　merely　stand　by　and　run　simple　tasks。　They’d　evolved　a　good　working　pattern。　Eads
now　expected　Darrow　to　monitor　peripheral　tracks；　and　pass　them　over　if　they　impinged　on　primary
activity。
The　displays　on　Darrow’s　substation　were　alive　now。　But　he　wouldn’t　just　cut　in　and　interrupt
his　chief。　Darrow　had　developed　a　habit　of　touching　Eads　on　the　left　shoulder　to　let　him　know　he
wanted　his　attention。
“Speak；”　Eads　said。
“Counter　track；　Flight。　South…east；　two　hundred　kilometres；　closing。　Formation　of　forty。　Modar
reads　heat…wash　patterns　as　Locusts。”
“Heading？”
“Four…one…six。”
Eads’s　hands　drifted。　“That’ll　fall　into　catchment　twelve。　Run　it　to　Scalter。”
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“Yes；　Flight。”
Darrow　noted　the　details　down　carefully　on　a　data…slate；　took　off　his　headset；　and　hurried　along
the　busy　companionway　behind　the　controller　stations　to　the　third　one　down　from　Eads。
Major　Frans　Scalter　had　been　section　leader　of　Seeker　Flight　up　to　the　moment　it　had　been
decimated　in　a　dogfight　over　Ezraville　on　the　morning　of　the　257th。　Scalter　had　lost　his　co…pilot　and
his　bird　had　been　crippled　beyond　hope　of　repair。　It　was　a　miracle　Scalter　had　got　home　at　all。　His
hands　and　face　were　still　scabbed　with　healing　cuts。
He　was　an　experienced　aviator　and；　in　Eads’s　opinion；　a　level…headed　pilot　officer。　With　no
available　machine　or　unit　to　transfer　to；　Scalter　had　been　drafted　to　Operations；　to　help　out　with　the
increasing　pressure。　Shifts　were　back　to　back；　round　the　clock。　Operations　needed　all　the　clearthinking
and　experienced　flight　personnel　it　could　rope　in　to　work　the　stations。
Scalter　was　good　at　Operations　work。　His　fine　service　record　stood　him　in　good　stead。　Like　all　of
the　Commonwealth　fliers　who　had　been　switched　to　Operations　duty—Darrow　included—Scalter
thought　of　it　as　a　demotion。　But　it　was　vital　work；　and　he　took　it　seriously。
“Make　your　height　five　thousand；　Ransack；”　Scalter　was　saying　tersely　as　Darrow　came　up　to
his　station。　“Turn　eighteen　north。　I　repeat；　north。　If　you　pull　west；　you’ll　be　over　them　and　dead。　Do
as　you’re　told。”
“Flight？”
Scalter　held　up　a　hand　without　looking　round。　“I　don’t　care　what　you　can　see；　Ransack。　I　can　see
more。　Five　thousand；　eighteen　north。　There’s　a　block　of　bats　under　you；　out　of　your　visual；　that　will
mince　you　if　you　commit　west。　Copy？　Thank　you。　Lamplight；　as　you　were。　Clear　for　eight
kilometres。　Be　advised；　hostiles　west　sixteen。”
Scalter　looked　round　at　Darrow。　“Junior？”
Darrow　held　out　the　slate。　“Coming　into　your　catchment。　Eads　wants　you　advised。”
“Express　my　thanks；”　Scalter　said。　Darrow　noticed　the　man’s　hands　were　shaking　as　he　took　the
slate。　He　thought　of　Heckel。　Should　he　say　something？
“Anything　else；　junior？”　Scalter　asked。　Like　all　of　them；　Scalter　looked　monstrously　tired。
Darrow　knew　why。　It　wasn’t　just　the　stress。　All　the　Commonwealth　pilots　pulled　from　active　duty
had　been　spending　time　in　the　simulators　when　they　should　have　been　sleeping；　keeping　their　skills
honed。　Darrow　had　certainly　been　doing　that；　and　he’d　seen　Scalter　several　times　in　one　of　the　rigs。
The　Navy　had　brought　in　new　training　programs；　simulation　routines　for　Thunderbolts　and
Marauders。　They’d　all　been　eager　to　try　them。　To　experience　what　they　were　missing。
“Nothing；　Flight。”
“Hang　on；　Darrow；”　Scalter　said。　“While　you’re　here。”　He　turned　back　to　his　station；　snapped　off
a　few　commands　over　the　air；　then　scribed　some　details　on　a　slate。　“Eads　will　need　this。　I　was　going
to　get　my　junior　to　run　it　over；　but　I’m　damned　if　I　know　where　he　is。”
Darrow　took　the　slate。　“Thanks；　sir。”
That　tremble　in　the　hand。　The　first　symptoms　of　a　self…destructive　fall？　Or　just　fatigue？　“Off　you
go；”　said　Scalter。
Darrow　turned。　As　he　moved　away；　he　heard　Scalter　bark；　“Ransack；　that　is　not；　repeat　not；
eighteen　north！　Correct；　you　blasted　dunce！”
Darrow　dodged　back　through　the　tide　of　hurrying　deck　juniors；　aides　and　Navy　staffers。　He
reached　Eads。
“Come　about　point　three…five；　Orbis。　Rise　and　climb；　for　Throne’s　sake。”　A　pause。　Darrow
waited。　“Orbis　Flight；　Orbis　Flight；”　Eads　said。　“Your　plot　is　merging　with　Ganymede　Seven…Seven。
Correct　and　come　about。　Yes；　I　have　bats　confirmed；　extending　at　eight　thousand。　Take　your　fix　on
my　beacon　mark　and　turn　out；　climbing；　point　three…five。　Be　advised；　hostiles　at　eight；　breaking。”
Darrow　placed　his　hand　on　Eads’s　arm。
“Harp　Flight；　proceed　north　by　ten。　Hostiles　now　at　two　and　closing。　Yes；　Darrow？”
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“Plot　from　Scalter；　sir。”
“Out　loud；　junior。”
“Inbound；　broken　formation；　six　thousand　variable；　heading　north…east　four…two。　Units　from
Gocel　FSB。　They’re　thirty　minutes　out；　requesting　touchdown　instructions。”
“How　many？”
“Estimates　at　twenty　fighters；　mixed；　plus　extraction　transports；　heavy。”
“You’ll　have　to　deal　with　it；　Darrow。　I’ve　got　a　major　scenario　here。　Send　the　transports　to　us；
priority。　Discover　the　operational　status　of　the　fighters。　If　any　can　still　manage　combat；　we　could　use
them。　Get　fuel　and　ammo　from　them。”
“Yes；　Flight。”
Darrow　put　on　his　headphones　and　adjusted　his　dial。　Eads　was　already　back　on　the　line　to　his
formations。　Darrow　tried　to　settle　his　nerves。
“Gocel　inbound；　Gocel　inbound；　this　is　Theda　Operations。　Do　you　copy？”
A　crackle。　“Operations；　this　is　Umbra　Lead；　we　have　you　clear。”
“Report　your　situation；　Umbra　Leader。”
“We’ve　quit　in　a　hurry；　Operations。　Enemy　overrun。　Umbra　is　nine；　repeat　nine　machines。　409
Raptors　are　now　eight；　repeat　eight。　Spyglass　786；　three；　repeat　three　machines。　We　have　five
transports；　heavy。　Flying　protective　cover　on　those。　Be　advised；　hostiles　behind　us；　possible
pursuit。”
“Time　on　Theda；　Umbra　Leader？”
“Twenty…six　minutes。”
“Transports　are　cleared　for　MAB　south；　priority。　Any　of　you　combat　ready？”
“Umbra　and　Raptors　show　willingness；　Operations。　We　came　up　fuelled　and　loaded。　Spyglass
were　half…tanked；　so　I’d　advise　no　to　them。”
“We　could　use　you；　Umbra　Lead。　Skirmish　bearing　nine…two　west。”
“Copy　that。”
Darrow　took　a　deep　breath。　He　was　making　control　decisions　now。
“Gocel　inbound；　let　the　Lightnings　cover　the　transports　home。　All　other　elements　break　and　rise；
nine…two　west。”
“Received　and　executing。”
Over　the　Littoral；　08。34
Four…tenths　cloud　and　southerly　cross…wind。　A　pale　blanket　of　sky　sneaked　with　grey。
Jagdea　led　the　turn　west；　watching　as　the　massive　transport　ships　sailed　away　north　with　their
Lightning　escort；　lost　into　the　cloud。
“Raptor　Flight；　this　is　Umbra　Lead。　Blaguer　is　gone；　Throne　rest　him。　Operations　has　just　called
the　play；　as　I’m　sure　you　heard。　I’m　leading　now；　so　nuzzle　up　and　make　nice。　We　can　argue　on　the
ground　later。　Any　objections？”
“Umbra　Leader；　this　is　Raptor　Two。　Lead　us　well；　and　we’ll　follow　you　to　hell　and　back。”
Jagdea　smiled。　She’d　met　Blaguer’s　deputy　a　number　of　times　during　their　brief　stay　at　Lake
Gocel。　His　name　was　Rapmund；　a　decent　sort；　broad…faced；　quietly　professional。　His　confident
response　pleased　her。
“Four　diamonds；　I’ll　fly　sprint；”　she　ordered。　“Nice　and　slow；　no　clipping。　We’ve　got　enemies
enough　out　here　without　killing　each　other。”
With　a　burst　of　throttle；　she　ran　forward　then　watched　her　rear　pict…screens　as　the　other　machines
settled　into　formation。　Four　diamond　shapes；　each　containing　four　Bolts。　They　settled　in　with
extraordinary　simplicity；　Raptors　and　Umbra　mixed。　Cooperation　at　last。　No　grandstanding；　no
pecking　order。　Just　air　warriors；　uniting　without　argument　for　a　common　good。
“Lead　to　wing；　compliments　to　all。　This　is　how　the　Imperium　conquers　its　foes。”
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Jagdea’s　Thunderbolt　was　flying　ahead　of　the　four　diamonds；　directly　in　front　of　the　second
formation；　creating　an　asymmetrical　structure。　Diamond　Two　was　at　her　tail；　Diamond　One　at　her
four　o’clock；　Diamond　Three　at　her　seven；　and　Diamond　Four　seven　o’clock　of　Diamond　Three。　She
was　flying　what　the　Navy　called　sprint；　and　what　the　Phantine　knew　as　pointer；　the　sharp　end　of　a
medium；　ranged　fighter　shoal。　She　got　the　Raptor　pilots　to　vox　in　their　numbers　and　positions；
marking　the　details　on　the　data…slate　fixed　to　her　thigh。　Then　she　flicked　channel。
“Operations；　this　is　Umbra　Leader。　Umbra　and　Raptor　elements　now　under　me　as　one　flight。　Do
you　have　us？”
“On　the　modar；　Umbra。　Good　and　clear。　Adjust　heading　three　points　and　climb　to　eight
thousand。　Skirmish　is　four　kilometres　and　closing。”
“Copy　that。”
They　flew　on　through　a　cloud　bank；　billowing　like　fog；　and　then　came　clear。　The　skirmish　was
ahead　of　them。
Skirmish。　What　an　inadequate　word。　The　voice　of　Operations　sounded　like　a　boy；　a　child。
This　was　war。
Hundreds　of　machines　whirled　and　danced　in　the　sky　across　ninety　cubic　kilometres　of