Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第27部分

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not　flying　again。
“I’ll　take　Nine…Nine；”　he　said。　“Maybe　my　jinx　and　hers　will　cancel　each　other’s　out。”
Theda　MAB　South；　16。10
They’d　seen　them　from　the　coastal　highway；　and　the　sight　had　filled　both　of　them　with　hope。　Wings
of　Navy　machines；　in　line　formations；　moving　down　over　the　sea　towards　the　Thedan　fields。
Reinforcements；　flying　in　from　mass　landing　centres　in　the　Northern　Affiliation。
Jagdea　and　Marquall　had　both　got　to　their　feet　in　the　back　of　the　rocking　transport；　pointing　to
the　sights　and　talking。　Thunderbolt　wings　turning　gently　towards　Theda　North。　Two　packs　of
Vulture　gunships　slimming　south　into　the　Peninsula。　The　afternoon　was　clear　and　blue　and；　despite
the　sooty　sky　behind　them　over　Ezraville；　and　the　distant　moan　of　raid　warning　sirens；　they　almost
felt　like　cheering。
The　mood　was　buzzing　in　the　base　when　the　transport　dropped　them　off。　Eager　pre…flight　activity
around　Umbra’s　hardstands；　and　dozens　of　carriers　and　freight…tractors　hurtling　to　and　fro。
With　Marquall　at　her　side；　Jagdea　jogged　across　the　rockcrete；　dodging　through　a　slow…striding
queue　of　Sentinel　power　lifters　carrying　cargo　pods　to　waiting　transport　lifters。　Blansher　and　Asche
were　standing　with　some　of　the　chief　fitters。
“Welcome　back；　killer；”　Asche　said　to　Marquall　playfully。　He　blushed　slightly。
“Good　to　see　you　in　one　piece；　lad；”　said　Blansher。
“What’s　the　commotion；　Mil？”　Jagdea　asked。
“Deployment　orders；”　Blansher　replied；　pulling　a　data…slate　out　of　his　coat。　She　skim…read　it。
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“As　of　18。00　hours　tonight；　Umbra　are　shipping　out　to　a　forward　strip　in　the　south；”　Blansher
said。　“I　think　they　want　to　make　some　room　here　for　the　newcomers。　We’ll　be　flying　short　notice
intercepts　from　a　place　called　Lake　Gocel。”
Jagdea　looked　at　the　location　on　the　slate　map。　It　was　a　vulnerable　spot；　well　inside　the　enemy’s
air　range。　But　it　would　allow　them　to　mount　rapid　challenges　to　anything　coming　north　or　east　out　of
the　Interior　Desert；　tagging　them　long　before　they　reached　the　Peninsula　or　cities　like　Theda。
“Operations　says　that　several　large　sections　of　our　ground　forces　are　now　clearing　the　east　of　the
Makanites　on　the　home　run；”　Blansher　said。　“I　think　the　idea　is　we’ll　be　protecting　them；　too。”
“Not　just　us；　surely？”　said　Marquall。
“No；”　said　Jagdea；　reviewing　the　slate。　“The　409　are　going　with　us；　and　there’s　a　Lightning　wing
already　down　there。”
“Transports　are　already　starting　to　ship　our　crews　out；”　added　Asche。　“We’ll　be　travelling　light
and　fast。”
“We’d　better　get　started；”　said　Jagdea。
Marquall　walked　across　to　the　hardstand　and　looked　Nine…Nine　in　the　eye。　The　fitters　had　done　a
fine　job　of　patching　her　up。　A　slight　blemish　to　the　plating　and　the　paintwork。　Nothing　really　to
show　the　pounding　she’d　taken。
“You’re　mine　now；”　he　said　softly。　“I’ll　treat　you　right　if　you　treat　me　the　same。”　Dark；　fierce；
the　Thunderbolt　made　no　reply。
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DAY　259
Over　the　Cicatrice；　13。43
The　search　for　another　mass　carrier　to　pound　was　going　to　have　to　wait。
Viltry　turned　his　wing　west　and　brought　them　lower　over　the　rushing　canyons　and　gorges　of　the
great　rift　scar。　For　the　first　time；　he　felt　the　notorious　shake　and　tear　of　the　Cicatrice　winds　as　they
tried　to　pluck　Greta’s　lift　away。
Two　kilometres　dead　ahead；　a　huge　blizzard　of　fire　and　smoke　was　coming　off　the　desert。
A　section　of　the　shattered　land　armada；　a　line　of　men　and　machines　seven　or　eight　kilometres
long；　had　been　struggling　down　one　of　the　rift’s　wider　passes　when　the　ambush　had　come　down　on
it。　Three　at　a　time；　Hell　Talons　were　dipping　in　and　tearing　down　the　length　of　the　column；
depositing　bombs　and　rockets；　or　shooting　up　ground　targets。　Dozens　of　tanks　and　armoured
transports　were　on　fire；　and　in　places　so　were　patches　of　sand　where　burning　debris　and　fuel　had
scattered　out。
Tiny　dots；　individual　figures；　were　running　for　cover　in　the　jumbled　stones　of　the　valley　sides。
The　valley　air　was　striped　vertically　with　rising　smoke；　and　horizontally　by　tracer　fire　and　jet
exhaust　plumes。　The　strafing　machines　made　curious　vortices　and　eddies　in　the　smoke　palls　with
their　slipstreams。
At　the　south　end　of　the　valley；　squadrons　of　enemy　stalk　tanks；　bright　yellow　and　venomouslooking；
were　scuttling　in；　overtaking　the　hind　part　of　the　crawling　Imperial　mass。　Heavy…gauge
lasfire　flashed　and　seared　from　that　section　of　the　fight。
Viltry’s　Marauders　weren’t　built　to　intercept　air　attacks　like　this；　but　he　hoped　their　presence
would　at　least　discourage　the　enemy　from　its　relentless　strikes。　Lacombe　had　called　in　for　fighter
assist；　and　there　were　apparently　Thunderbolts　eight　minutes　away。
“Head　on；　low　level！”　Viltry　ordered。　“Drive　them　off　and　away　from　the　column；　deny　their
attack　runs。　If　you　make　it　to　the　south　end　without　having　to　pull　off；　unload　munitions　on　those
enemy　stalkers。”
“Understood；　Lead。”
“Right　with　you。”
Viltry　led　by　example；　swinging　Greta　round　at　the　front　end　of　the　column　and　bringing　her　in
down　the　line　in　the　opposite　direction　to　the　raiders’　approaches。　He　kept　as　low　as　he　dared；
whipping　through　dense　smoke　streams；　feeling　the　damned　rift…winds　screwing　and　twisting　the
airframe。
As　soon　as　he　had　lined　up　and　begun　his　run；　he　saw　three　Talons　coming　in　ahead　of　him。
Bolter　fire　from　the　ground　chopped　the　air　in　their　direction。
“Make　them　change　their　minds！”　he　growled；　fighting　with　the　stiff；　jerking　stick。
Top　and　nose　opened　fire；　aiming　high。　The　tracking　tracer　lines　chewed　ahead　of　the　Marauder；
sizzling　into　the　trio　of　enemy　machines　that　powered　towards　it。
Damaged　perhaps；　surprised　certainly；　the　Talons　banked　out　wildly；　left　and　right；　aborting
their　runs　and　pulling　off　the　column。　Gaize　tracked　the　turret　and　kept　shooting　at　one　that　was
slow　skipping　away。
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Viltry　kept　on　track。　They　were　almost　at　the　south　end　of　the　pass　now。　The　gates　of　the　gorge
were　coming　up　fast。　A　flash　of　sun　caught　yellow　metal：　stalk　tanks。　The　arachnoid　war　machines
were　pelting　laser　cannon　fire　into　the　rear　echelon　of　the　Imperial　column。
“Judd！”
“Ready！”
Viltry　clung　on；　anticipating　the　jerk…lift　of　a　clean　release；　but　what　came　was　far　more　violent
than　that。　A　sudden；　bone…rattling；　sideways　slam　caused　by　the　especially　fierce　crosswinds　at　the
gorge　mouth。　Greta　stumbled。　Viltry　caught　her　and　held　her。
The　bombs　had　gone。
He　could　hear　Judd　cursing。　The　crosswinds　had　ruined　his　release。　Greta’s　huge　payload　had
dropped　wide；　detonating　across　the　upper　valley　slopes。
Viltry　brought　the　nose　up　and　climbed　wide；　coming　around　again　in　a　large　circuit。　Behind　and
below　him；　four　of　his　five　wingmen　were　flying　in　series　to　protect　the　pass。　Consider　Yourself
Dead　had　broken　off　its　run　and　was　turning　out　over　the　valley　tops；　mobbed　and　chased　by　three
Talons。
He　heard　Orsone　open　up　in　the　tail。　There　was　another　bat　behind　them。　Fire　streaked　past　like
scattering　sparks。　Viltry　dived　away；　turning　against　the　sun　so　a　shadow　rolled　slowly　through　the
cockpit。
“Lost　it！”　Orsone　voxed。
Down　onto　the　valley　fight　again；　into　the　smoke；　and　against　the　savage　wind　shear　that　was　as
much　an　enemy　as　the　bright…painted　bats。
Viltry　banked　hard　as　two　Talons　went　past　the　other　way；　just　blurs　of　colour。　What　was
keeping　those　damn　fighters？
G　for　Greta　shuddered。　Klaxons　wailed。　They　were　flying　head　on　into　a　blitz　of　ground　to　air
las。　The　stalk　tanks　were　ready　for　them　this　time。
“We’re　taking　hits！”　Lacombe　screamed。　Terrible　noises：　fracturing　metal；　shattering　plastek；　the
blasting　tone　of　an　engine…out　alarm。　Greta　slewed　badly；　the　wind　clawing　at　her；　the　controls　like
iron。
Something　exploded　in　the　compartment　underneath　him。　Viltry　heard　Judd　shrieking。　A　grown
man；　heavy　as　a　bear；　shrieking　like　a　child。
“We’re　losing　it！”　Lacombe　yelled。
Vibrations；　shaking　them　like　toys。　Viltry’s　juddering　teeth　bit　his　own　tongue…tip。　He　fought　to
hold　on。　The　engines　were　making　a　terrible；　ailing　note。
He　saw　the　gorge　mouth；　the　yellow　machines；　the　lasfire　hosing　into　the　sky　towards　him。　Wing
puncture。　Tail　damage。　Naxol　was　shouting　from　the　nose　turret；　virtually　inaudible　over　the　raging
sounds。
Viltry　launched　his　wing…mounts　and　saw　them　puff　away　on　streaks　of　white　smoke。　Stalk　tanks
tore　apart；　flung　into　the　air；　severed　machine…limbs　scattering。　The　cockpit　canopy　shattered；　and
wind　slammed　into　his　face；　full　of　glassite　chips。
They　came　out　through　the　gates　of　the　gorge。　The　engines　howled；　two　of　them　churning　black
smoke。　Climb　now；　climb；　climb…
Battered　by　the　wind　in　his　face；　Viltry　glanced　around。　Many　cockpit　instruments　were　broken；
burned　out。　Lacombe　hung　in　his　harness。　One　side　of　his　head；　and　the　seat…rest　behind　it；　were
missing。
Fate’s　wheel。
The　instruments　told　him　nothing。　But　Viltry　had　flown　Marauders　long　enough　to　know　the　feel
and　the　sound　of　a　dying　bird。
“Eject！　Eject！”　he　ordered；　though　he　knew　they　were　far　too　low　already。
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The　ragged；　beige　wasteland　came　up　under　them　rapidly。　Slicks　of　sand；　rocky　outcrops；　saltpans。
So　huge；　so　fast；　there　didn’t　seem　to　be　any　sky　left　any　more。