Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第49部分

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his　nerves。　Everyone　was　tense。　Some　because　they　seemed　to　know　what　might　be　coming。　Others
precisely　because　they　did　not。
“All　right；　Vander？”　Van　Tull　said；　walking　over。　He　was　eating　dried　rations。　How　could　the
man　eat　under　pressure　like　this；　Marquall　wondered？
“Four…A；”　he　replied。　Van　Tull　smiled。　There　was　blood　on　his　gums。　He　was　still　suffering　from
the　hypoxia。　Throne　help　me；　thought　Marquall；　of　all　the　ways　to　die；　all　the　ways　I’ve　imagined
and　had　nightmares　about；　wouldn’t　that　be　the　worst？　Poisoned　by　the　air…mix。　Dead　without
realising　it。
Van　Tull　nodded　over　at　Darrow；　who　was　doing　a　walk　round　of　his　Thunderbolt。
“Lad　did　well　yesterday；　didn’t　he？　Fine　debut。”
“Yeah；”　said　Marquall。　He　was　deciding　whether　or　not　he　needed　to　dash　to　the　latrine　to　vomit。
“He’ll　be　fine。　They　all　will。”
“You’ve　changed　your　bloody　tune；”　said　Ranfre；　joining　them。
Marquall　shrugged。　“Just　hoping　for　the　best；　I　think。　I　hope　they’ll　be　fine—because　if　they’re
not；　we’re　all　screwed。”
Viltry　buttoned　up　his　flight　coat　and　adjusted　his　gauntlets。
He　saw　Jagdea　approaching。　“Anything？”　he　asked。　She　shook　her　head。
“Look　Bree；”　he　began；　“There’s　something　I—”
“What？”
He　smiled。　“No；　now’s　not　the　time。　I’ll　talk　to　you　later。”　Jagdea　nodded。　She　passed　through
the　waiting　pilots。　Zemmic　was　sitting　on　a　camp　chair；　counting　off　his　chain　of　charms；　one　by
one；　over　and　over。　Cordiale　and　Del　Ruth　were　playing　knuckles　to　take　their　mind　off　the　tension。
“All　set；　you　two？”　Jagdea　asked。
“Yes；　ma’am；”　said　Aggie　Del　Ruth。　She　had　such　an　appealing　smile。　Not　what　a　man　might
call　a　pretty　woman；　Jagdea　thought。　Too　stern　in　the　face；　too　heavy　in　the　jaw。　Del　Ruth　was　what
Jagdea’s　father　had　liked　to　call　“cute”。
“Cordiale？”
Cordiale　grinned；　and　patted　his　lapel。　“Got　my　lucky　feather；　commander。”
Scalter　was　chatting　to　Blansher；　asking　him　some　technical　question　about　fuel　pumps。　He
seemed　calm　enough。　Pretty　stable；　that　man；　Jagdea　thought。
Kaminsky　was　standing　alone；　staring　out　of　the　hangar　mouth　at　the　slowly　lightening　sky。
“Are　you　set？”　she　asked　as　she　came　to　stand　beside　him。
“I　think　so；”　he　said。
“Just…　do　your　best；”　she　said。
“I’ve　been　waiting　a　long　time　for　a　chance　to　do　just　that；　mamzel；”　Kaminsky　replied。　He　held
out　his　left　hand。　“I　never　did　thank　you　properly　for　this　opportunity。”
She　shook　his　hand。　It　seemed　odd　to　do　it　left…handed；　but　she　knew　he　didn’t　want　to　use　his
dull　prosthetic。
“I　never　thanked　you　for　getting　me　out　of　Theda；”　she　said。　“Shall　we　call　it　even？”
He　smiled。
“What　do　you　think？”　she　asked。
“Everyone’s　scared；”　said　Kaminsky。　“That’s　what　I　think。　It’s　natural；　I　suppose。　Frankly；　I
can’t　wait。”　He　didn’t　have　to。　The　klaxons　began　to　howl。
Over　the　Midwinters；　05。39
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Umbra　Flight　cleared　the　dock　and　began　to　rise　in　formation；　burners　bright。　Every　other　hangar
bay　in　Lucerna　spat　out　its　flights。　Seventy…two　Thunderbolts　darted　up　from　the　island　plateau；
which　was　now　glowing　pink　in　the　rising　daylight。
Operations　chatter　was　constant。　All　along　the　archipelago；　the　airbases　were　launching　en
masse。　Squadrons　were　snapping　up　from　Limbus；　Zophos　and　the　major　islands；　and　also　from　the
northern　coast　and　the　Ingeburg　stations。
From　carriers　on　the　Littoral　and　the　Peninsula；　a　broad　and　solid　auspex　return　had　manifested。
Jagdea　had　indeed　tempted　fate。　It　seemed　like　everything　the　Archenemy　had　was　coming　for
them。
“Climb　to　eight。　Umbra。　Hold　formation。　Make　your　speed　two　and　a　half。”
They　called　in。　The　sky　was　four…tenths　cloud；　and　there　was　a　strong　northerly　that　would　aid
the　enemy’s　approach　speed。
“Everyone　tight？”　she　called。
“Leader；　this　is　Eight。　I’ve　got　an　engine　warning。”
“Can　you　sort　it；　Marquall？”
In　his　cockpit；　Marquall　fiddled　with　the　throttle。　His　port　engine　kept　misfiring；　juddering
Double　Eagle。　“Trying　now；　Lead。”
The　engine　stuttered　and　then　died　altogether。　Nine…Nine　wobbled　back　out　of　the　line。
“Umbra　Eight；　please　advise　status。”
“Engine　out；”　Marquall　said。　He　pressed　restart　once；　twice。　Nothing。
“Leader；　engine　is　definitely　out。”
“Peel　off；　Eight；　Get　home　and　get　it　fixed。　You’re　no　good　to　me　running　on　one。”
“Copy　that；”　he　said　and　dived　away。
“Snuggle　up；　flight；”　she　said。　One　down　already　and　they　hadn’t　even　fired　a　shot　yet。
The　auspex　started　showing　a　mass　of　contacts　at　fifty　kilometres。　She　fiddled　with　her　gain
control。　It　couldn’t　be　that　massive。
But　it　was。　Auspex　assessed　overlapping　bomber　streams；　five　hundred　units　in　each。
“Holy　Throne　of　Earth；”　she　murmured。
“Umbra　Flight；　this　is　Lead。　Mass　targets　at　fifty　kilometre。　Climb　to　ten　thousand　and　let’s　go　in
onto　them。　Targets　for　all。”
“Copy　that；　Lead；”　voxed　Blansher；　and　the　planes　began　to　climb。
Darrow　adjusted　his　air…mix　and　stuck　to　Van　Tull’s　eight。　He　could　feel　the　pulse　in　his　wrists
against　the　tight　snapping　of　his　gloves。　He　toggled　his　guns　on　and　off　to　make　sure　he　got　a　green
rune。
The　vox　channels　started　going　mad。　Via　Operations；　they　were　getting　the　first　reports　of
contacts。　At　St　Hagen；　the　Sea　of　Ezra；　the　Festus　Delta。　Navy　flights　had　encountered　vast　waves　of
Archenemy　bombers　and　their　fighter　support。　Monumental　air　battles　were　now　igniting　over　the
Zophonian　Sea。
“Five　kilometres　and　closing；”　Jagdea　called。　“Hold　steady。　Keep　scanning　for　fighters。”
High　altitude　seemed　empty；　by　visual　and　auspex；　but　there　was　a　huge　mass　of　returns　from
the　lower　level。
Could　there　be　that　many　machines　in　the　air；　wondered　Darrow；　or　was　his　auspex　faulty？
“Umbra　Flight；　weapons　live；　sights　on；　targets　below　at　four　thousand。　Stoop　and　sting。”
The　Thunderbolts　peeled　off　and　went　into　their　attack　dives。　Nose　down；　reaching　maximum
velocity；　Darrow　saw　the　clouds　stream　away。　Below　them；　the　bombers。　His　auspex　had　not　lied。
The　air　was　studded　with　mass　bomber　formations。
“Attacking！”　Jagdea　voxed。
The　air　lit　up。　Festoons　of　tracer　streams　hosed　up　from　the　enemy　formation；　filling　the　air。
Darrow　felt　the　thump　and　bang　of　close　detonations　rattle　his　bird。　The　dive　was　intense。　Pick　one；
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he　thought；　pick　one；　you　bloody　fool　or　you’ll　just　go　through　them。　Explosions　blossomed　below。
Two　or　three　of　the　bombers　in　visual　range　had　gone　up。
He　chose　one；　a　massive　thing；　bright　red；　with　four　wings　and　eight　vector　engines。　He　had　no
idea　what　pattern　it　was。　It　was　the　size　of　an　Onero　at　least。　Its　multiple　bolter　turrets　ripped　up　at
him　and　he　felt　a　solid　hit　against　one　wing。
Diving　vertically　onto　it；　he　opened　fire。　His　lascannons　lit　up。　The　huge　machine’s　dorsal
plating　ruptured　and　burst　apart。　Darrow　realised　that　he　was　diving　so　steeply　and　so　hard　he　was
going　to　impact　into　the　back　of　it。　He　tried　to　pull　out。　Velocity　had　frozen　his　stick。　He　fired　again
and　again。　Hit；　hit；　hit—
The　enormous　bomber　blew　up。　A　fat；　hot；　torus　of　flame　out　of　which　little　white　tendrils　of
smoke　spat　and　trickled。　Darrow　shot　through　the　flames　and　out　under　the　formation。　If　the　bomber
hadn’t　exploded；　he　would　surely　have　collided　with　it。　He　fought　to　raise　the　nose。　It　was　a　huge
effort。　He　gripped　the　way　Jagdea　had　taught　him；　but　still　nearly　blacked　out　from　the　G。
His　bird　climbed；　the　stick　looser。　He　saw　Scalter’s　machine　whirl　past；　chasing　down　another　of
the　massive　super…bombers。　Scalter’s　sustained　shooting　dropped　it　into　the　sea。
Darrow　ascended；　nursing　the　throttle。　Perspiration　was　pouring　down　his　face　and　making　his
mask　itch。　He　blinked　the　sweat…drops　out　of　his　eyes。　His　targeter　pinged　as　another　of　the　superheavies
filled　his　sights。　Bright　blue　bolter　rounds　cindered　down　around　him　from　the　belly　guns。
He　viffed　up；　adjusted　to　the　right；　and　gave　the　thing　four　bursts　of　las。　It　lost　a　wing。　The
damage　caused　the　huge　craft　to　wallow　and　then　invert　suddenly。　It　was　on　fire　by　the　time　it　hit　the
water。
Jagdea　killed　a　Tormentor　on　her　way　down；　and　another　on　her　way　back　up。　Las　batteries
drained；　she　wound　over　onto　a　heavy　bomber；　and　switched　to　quad。　She　gave　it　a　few　bursts；　but
its　turrets　forced　her　to　back　off。
To　her　left；　she　saw　Zemmic　make　a　kill；　and　Del　Ruth　zoom　over；　chasing　a　Tormentor　that　had
broken　from　formation；　wounded。
Jagdea　kicked　her　rudder　bar　and　rolled　down　under　the　heavy。　Viltry　had　been　telling　her　about
the　sweet　spot；　the　point　that　no　turret　could　track。
Two　rounds　went　through　her　tail　armour　before　she　was　sure　she’d　found　it。　She　chattered　quad
fire　into　the　beast’s　stomach。
It　slumped　to　port；　dropping　out　of　its　line；　making　hot　smoke；　and　exploding　long　before　it
reached　the　sea。
With　Blansher　to　his　port；　Kaminsky　dropped　in　on　a　Tormentor；　letting　it　come　wide　into　his
gunsight。
It　had　been　a　long　time　since　he’d　felt　this　right。
“Fire！”　he　said。　“Fire！　Fire！”
The　lascannons　charged　and　unloaded。　The　Tormentor　broke　like　an　eggshell　and　fell　into　a
tumble。　“One　to　you；　Kaminsky；”　Blansher　voxed。　Yeah；　he　thought。　One　to　me。
Viltry　followed　Ranfre　and　Cordiale　down　through　the　chaos　of　shots　and　wafting　smoke。　He
rolled　right　and　got　a　lock　on　a　Talon　that　was　attempting　to　climb。
Before　he　could　commit　to　shoot；　he　saw　stripes　of　fire　coming　up　from　below。　He　rolled　and
looked　down。
The　air　below　was　full　of　bats；　ascending；　shooting。　The　bomber　waves　had　escort　all　right。　But
low；　not　top　cover。
“Bats！　Bats！　Bats！”　he　yelled。　“Six　o’clock　and　coming　up　vertical！”
Lucerna　AB；　06。01
Floundering　on　one　engine；　Marquall　came　into　hangar　three　and　set　down。　He　did　it　badly；　denting
the　deck　plating　and　slewing　hard；　leaving　deep　gouges　from　his　landing　claws。
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The　fitters　ran　to　Nine…Nine。　Marquall　clambered　out；　throwing　off　his　helmet　in　disgust。
“Sir？”　asked　Racklae。　“Damage？”
“No！　No；　it’s　the　bloody　port　engine！　She’s　cut　out　on　me！”　Furious；　Marquall　kicked　his　helmet
across　the　deck…way。
“We’re　on　it；　sir；”　Racklae　said；　running　to　open　the　cover。　“Just　fix　it！　Fix　it！　Bloody　fix　it！”
Marquall　yelled　at　them。　Racklae　stopped；　and　turned；　dignified。　“We’re　trying；　sir；”　he　said。
Marquall　saw　the　look　on　his　chief　fitter’s　face。　He　raised　his　hands　for　calm。　“I’m　sorry；”　he
said。　“I’m　really　sorry；　Racklae。　It’s　just　that　I　should　be　out　there。　I　should　be　engaged。　It’s　this
bloody　jinx。　The　jinx　of　Nine…Nine！　It’s　frigging　with　me　and—”
“There’s　no　jinx；”　said　Racklae　sharply。　“Why　don’t　you　shut　up；　boy？　Always　blaming　your
failures　on　something。　Your　fellow　fliers…　the　pilots　who　score　better　than　you…　your　jinxed
plane。　Anything；　just　so　long　as　it　isn’t　you。　Wake　up。　Look　closer　to　home；　and　start　doing
something　about　it；　or　by　the　Throne；　I’ll　lamp　you　with　a　wrench　myself。”
Marquall　stuttered　and　took　a　step　back。　Racklae　turned　away。　“Crews！”　he　yelled。　“Get　this
bloody　bird　airworthy　now！”
Over　the　Midwinters；　06。15
The　Razors　and　Locusts　swept　up　amongst　them；　trying　to　force　them　away　from　the　monstrous
bomber　formation。　Kaminsky　decided　he　wasn’t　having　that。
He　banked　over　and　went　to　meet　the