Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第23部分

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Thunderbolt’s　rocket　drive。　It　was　there　only　for　launch　assist。　No　one　ever　used　it　in　open　flight。　It
was　against　text　book　directives。　Fire　your　rocket　and　you　lose　control。
He　fired　it　anyway。
The　sky　and　land　became　a　blur。　He　greyed　out　for　a　moment。　Somehow；　he　held　on。
The　pearl…white　Razor　turned；　bemused；　as　its　target　banged　away。
“Yours；　Harlsson；”　Seekan’s　voice　sounded　calm　and　controlled　over　the　vox。
“On　it；　Leader；”　Harlsson　responded。
Major　Velmed　Harlsson。　Ninety…seven　kills。　Jagdea　watched　his　consummate　skill　with　humble
appreciation。　A　perfect　bank。　Not　too　much　throttle。　Totally　composed。　He　arched　over　onto　the
target　expertly；　guns　blazing。
But　somehow；　the　bat　managed　to　viff　out　under　him；　and　then　swung　onto　his　rear。
She　heard　Harlsson’s　voice。　Just　a　hint　of　confusion　in　the　calm　tone。　“I’m　locked。　I—”　Harlsson
began。　“Seekan；　where　are　y—”
The　bat’s　guns　blew　his　tail　assembly　away。　Harlsson　tried　to　control　his　flailing　machine。　The
huge　silver　bulk　of　one　of　the　transports　suddenly　filled　his　forward　view。
The　mangled　Thunderbolt　impacted　into　the　side　of　the　Onero　at　five　hundred　kph。　The　fire
wash　lit　up　the　valley。
Theda　MAB　South；　10。18
“Apostle　down！”　the　flight　controller　on　the　far　side　of　the　chamber　yelled　out。　There　was　a　brisk
gasp　from　the　personnel　around　them。
Darrow　looked　at　Eads。　Eads　sighed。　“Enemy　has　broken　off。　Bats　retreating。”
Banzie　nodded。　There　was　some　sporadic　clapping。
Eads　glanced　round　at　Darrow。　“A　white　bat。　Pearl…white。　Ring　any　bells？”
“Sounds　like　the　one；　sir；”　Darrow　nodded。
“He’s　a　devil　of　a　pilot。　A　real　devil。　Summarise　everything　you　remember　from　your　encounter
and　I’ll　get　the　report　copied　out。　The　wings　need　to　be　aware　of　him。　Everything　you　remember；
please；　junior。”
“Yes；　sir。”
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DAY　256
Theda　Old　Town；　00。10
The　address　she’d　been　given　was　a　merchantman’s　house　on　the　Gehnstal；　one　of　a　row　of　elderly
mansions　on　a　broad　pavement。　Many　were　boarded　up　now；　thanks　to　the　war；　but　adjacent　blocks
of　cheap　habs　showed　that　the　area’s　fortunes　had　been　in　decline　for　some　time。
Jagdea　brought　the　staff　car　she’d　borrowed　to　a　halt；　switched　off　the　engine　and　got　out。　Lights
burned　brightly　around　the　shutter　edges　of　the　house　she　was　looking　for。
Nervously　adjusting　her　uniform；　she　hurried　up　the　front　steps。　Was　that　singing　she　could
hear？　She　found　an　iron　bell…pull　and　yanked　on　it。　Service　bells　tinkled　faraway　in　the　house。
After　a　moment；　the　door　opened。　The　hallway　inside　was　dimly　lit。　She　found　herself　facing　a
high…function　domestic　servitor；　its　silver　form　engraved　with　intricate　chasework。
“Oh；”　she　said；　surprised。　“I　was　looking　for…　is　this　133　Gehnstal？”
“Yes；　commander；”　it　replied；　digitising　the　gentle；　mannered　voice　of　an　elderly　male　through
his　voxponder。　The　servitor　had　recognised　her　rank。
“I’m　looking　for　the　billet　used　by　the　Apostles。　The　101。”
“Please　come　in；”　the　servitor　said。
It　was　definitely　singing　she　could　hear　in　the　background。　A　recording　of　Frans　Talfer’s
Gaudete　Terra；　with　male　voices　booming　along。
“Follow　me；”　the　servitor　said。　“May　I　ask　your　name；　commander？”
“Jagdea；”　she　replied。
The　servitor’s　exquisite　silver　hands　reached　out　and　smoothly　opened　a　double　set　of　panelled
doors；　letting　through　a　bright　glow　light　and　the　full　force　of　the　music。
“Commander　Jagdea；”　it　announced。
The　singing　stopped；　but　the　music　languished　on；　fizzing　slightly　through　the　speaker　horn　of
the　recording　player　on　a　side　table。　Seekan　rose　out　of　an　armchair　to　greet　her。　“Good　evening；
commander。”
Around　the　room　were　the　other　six　Apostles。　All　of　them；　Seekan　included；　were　wearing　full
dress　uniforms；　heavy　with　medals。　They　had　glasses　in　their　hands　and　had　obviously　been　drinking
for　a　while。　Faces　were　flushed；　and　jackets　undone。
Seekan　looked　as　fresh　as　night　frost。
“I’m　sorry；”　Jagdea　said。　“I’m　interrupting。”
“Not　at　all；”　said　Seekan。　“Domo；　a　drink　for　the　commander。”　The　servitor　crossed　immediately
to　a　lacquered　drink　stand。
“Is　this　the　Phantine　leader？”　one　of　the　Apostles　asked。　He　was　a　big　man；　his　eyes　red　and
hooded　from　too　many　amasecs。
“It　is　indeed；　Ludo。　Commander　Jagdea；　may　I　present　Major　Ludo　Ramia。”
“Mamzel；”　the　big　man　nodded。
“Major　Ziner　Krone；　Major　Jeric　Suhr。”
Suhr　was　a　sharp…faced；　skinny　man。　He　nodded　curtly。　Krone　was　of　noble　build；　a　Glavian
perhaps；　by　the　look　of　his　gleaming　black　skin。　His　face　was　badly　scarred　on　the　left　cheek。　He　too
nodded；　then　busied　himself　changing　the　recorder　disk。
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“Captain　Guis　Gettering。”　Gettering　was　pugnacious　and　jowly；　with　short；　sand…white　hair。　He
was　standing　by　the　hearth；　a　crystal　balloon　in　his　hand。　“Mamzel　commander；”　he　grunted。
“And　Major　Dario　Quint。”
Quint。　Ace　of　aces。　Reclined　in　a　battered　tub　chair　in　the　far　corner；　he　seemed　more　like　an
observer　than　a　participant。　He　was　a　surprisingly　small　man；　well…proportioned；　compact；　his　oval
face　boyish；　though　his　hair　was　zinc…grey。　His　hands　were　folded　across　the　breast　of　his　uniform
jacket。　He　stared　directly　at　her　and　held　her　gaze；　though　he　made　no　sound。
The　servitor　handed　Jagdea　a　flute　of　joiliq；　and　she　took　it　even　though　she　didn’t　want　it。
“I—”　she　began；　and　cleared　her　throat。　“I　thought　it　was　appropriate　for　me　to　come　here　in
person　and　express　my　wing’s　appreciation　for　your　assistance。　Especially　given　the　cost。”
“You　lost　a　machine　too；　didn’t　you？”　Ramia　asked。
“Yes；　I　did。　But　the　loss　of　an　Apostle—”
Ramia　snorted。　“Harlsson　was　an　odious　shit。　He　couldn’t　fly　worth　a　fart。”
Jagdea　was　startled。　“I…　what？”
“Detestable　man；”　Suhr　agreed。　“Don’t　look　so　bloody　shocked；　mamzel。　Harlsson　was　all　luck
and　flair。　Not　a　gram　of　skill　in　his　whole　body。　It’s　a　miracle　he　lasted　as　long　as　he　did。”
Jagdea　frowned。　She　put　her　drink　down；　untouched；　and　said；　“I　wanted　to　express　my
appreciation　and　my　sympathies。　I’ve　done　that　now；　so　I　think　I’ll　go。”
“Saving　the　neck　of　that　upstart　boy；　wasn’t　he？”　Gettering　asked　suddenly。　Jagdea　paused　and
turned　back。
“What？”
“Harlsson。　Got　stung　getting　a　Razor　off　that　boy　of　yours；　mamzel。　Isn’t　that　right？　The　boy
who　thought　naming　his　machine　Double　Eagle　was　a　bright　idea。”
“That　matter　is　over　and　done；　captain；　though　I　believe　Pilot　Officer　Marquall　is　still　waiting　on
your　letter　of　apology。　And　no；　you’re　not　right。　Marquall　had　already　shaken　the　Razor。”
“Had　he　now？”　said　Gettering。
“He　used　his　rocket　assist；”　said　Suhr。
“Did　he？”　Gettering　laughed。　Ramia　chuckled　too。　“So　the　boy　was　your　casualty？”
“No；”　said　Jagdea。　“Marquall　recovered　control　of　his　machine。”
There　was　a　look　on　Gettering’s　face　that　suggested　he　was　about　to　accuse　her　of　lying。　Instead；
he　just　shook　his　head　and　looked　away。　The　recorder　started　blaring　again。　Krone　had　put　on
Nuncius’s　Salve　Beatus；　loud　and　strident。　Jagdea　walked　out　of　the　room。
“Commander！”　Seekan　caught　up　with　her　in　the　hall。　Behind　him；　the　drunken　singing　had
resumed。
“You’ll　have　to　forgive　my　men；　Commander　Jagdea。　They’re　dealing　with　their　loss　in　their
own　way。”
“By　throwing　a　boorish　party　and　defaming　the　dead　man？”
“Pretty　much；”　said　Seekan。　“Sentiment　does　not　figure　largely　in　the　souls　of　those　men；
Jagdea。　They’re　steeped　in　death。　Immune　to　its　touch。”
“Clearly　not　immortal；”　she　snapped。
“No。　That’s　not　what　I　meant。　Your　unit；　now。　I　imagine　there’s　sadness。　Low　spirits。　Mourning
the　loss　of　a　friend。”
Jagdea　nodded。　That　was　exactly　the　mood　in　the　billet　when　she’d　left。　A　few　were　raising　a
glass　to　Clovin’s　shade；　but　there　was　a　general；　numbing　gloom。
“I　remember　that　myself；”　Seekan　said。　“In　the　early　days。　But　we　Apostles　are　war…weary。
When　I　said　we　are　immune　to　the　touch　of　death；　I　meant　we　just　don’t　feel　its　bite　any　more。　No
sense　of　grief；　no　loss；　no　regret；　no　sadness。　Just　an　inevitability。　When　an　Apostle　dies；　we　put　on
our　dress　white　and　our　ridiculous　numbers　of　medals；　and　we　get　filthy　drunk。　We　rage；　we　sing；
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we　drink　some　more。　We　do　it　to　show　fate；　or　fortune；　or　whatever　else　lurks　out　there　in　the　dark；
that　we　don’t　care。”
She　had　no　reply。　His　voice　dropped　slightly。　“We’re　freaks；　Jagdea。　Do　you　know　why　we’re
Apostles？　Not　because　we’re　especially　fine　pilots。　Not　at　all。　We’re　Apostles　because　we’ve　had
unnatural　luck。　We　should　have　died　long　ago；　but　there’s　been　some　oversight　and　our　souls　have
not　been　claimed。　So　we　go　on　flying；　and　killing。　And　eventually；　the　oversight　is　corrected。　Today；
it　was　Harlsson’s　turn。”
“That’s　a　very　bleak　view；”　said　Jagdea。　“Was　Harlsson　really　that　disliked？”
“Who　knows？　Probably　not。　He　was　a　reasonable　pilot。　But　none　of　us　are　friends；　you　see。
There’s　no　point。　By　the　time　you　become　an　Apostle；　friends　are　a　vulnerability　none　of　us　chooses
to　afford。”
“I　pity　you；”　Jagdea　said。
Seekan　shrugged　his　shoulders。　“We　don’t　need　pity；　either。”　He　paused。　“Do　you　know　what　I
have　to　do　tomorrow　morning？”
“No。”
“My　driver’s　ta