Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第37部分

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started　up　again。　Viltry　strained　to　see　out　of　the　limited　scope。
“They’re　coming　for　the　bridge。　They　want　this　column　stopped　right　here。”
Viltry　started　the　turret　turning；　and　then　began　firing。　God…Emperor；　it　was　slow　and　lumbering；
and　almost　like　firing　blind。　The　Talon　went　over；　unharmed。　Viltry　began　to　realise　why　LeGuin
had　been　struggling。　The　Line　of　Death　had　been　built　for　savage　anti…personnel　action；　not　air
cover。
He　swung　the　turret　back　fast；　immediately　picking　up　a　second　Talon　on　its　inward　path。　Viltry
used　the　smoke　plumes　from　burning　wrecks　along　the　road　as　a　scale；　then　began　firing　again　at　the
air　above　the　bridge；　the　point　at　which　he　was　sure　the　hostile　would　start　to　lift　out。
Elevated　as　high　as　they　would　go；　the　Line　of　Death’s　twin　cannons　punched　heavy　fire　at　the
clouds；　and　that　stream　began　to　swish　in　a　horse…tail　as　Viltry　dragged　the　turret　around；　aiming　not
for　the　Talon；　but　for　where　the　Talon　would　be　when　the　rounds　had　covered　the　distance。　Nearly；
nearly…
The　Hell　Talon；　blue　striped　with　bone…white；　tried　to　viff　hard　at　the　last　second；　but　its　forward
rate　was　too　high　for　any　kind　of　instant　adjustment。　It　flew　right　through　the　Line’s　fusillade。
Riddled；　the　airframe　tore　open；　fragments　flying　off。　The　tank　rocked　as　it　went　over。　The　Talon
sliced　across　the　main　river　on　one　wing…tip；　then　pancaked　and　hit　the　far　shore。　A　throaty
explosion　followed。
Matredes；　Emdeen　and　the　other　crewmen　started　whooping　and　cheering。　LeGuin　punched
Viltry　on　the　shoulder。
“That　was　mainly　luck；”　said　Viltry。
“Another　one！”　the　loader　shouted；　looking　at　an　auspex　repeater。
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Viltry　swung　around　again。　It　was　coming　in　much　lower。　He　wasn’t　going　to　get　anything　like
as　good　a　lead　on　this　shot。　He　fired　anyway；　washing　the　turret　back　and　forth　to　extend　the　cone；
an　old　tail…gunner’s　trick。
All　of　it　missed；　but　the　raking　fire　restricted　the　Talon’s　line　of　attack；　and　it　flew　straight　into
sustained　fire　from　a　Hydra。　The　moment　the　four　long…barrelled　autocannons　of　the　Hydra　found
the　enemy　machine；　the　targeter　system　took　over　and　held　the　guns　right　on　it。　On　powered
traverse；　the　Hydra　managed　to　maintain　heavy　hits　for　over　one　hundred　and　five　degrees　of　turn。
The　Talon　began　to　climb　and　then　blew　up　in　a　ragged　yellow　flash；　raining　debris　down　over　the
river　and　road。
After　that；　no　more　raiders　came　down　the　valley　for　a　while。　LeGuin　shook　Viltry　by　the　hand。
Viltry　was　breathing　hard；　pulse　racing。　For　the　first　time　since　G　for　Greta　had　been　brought
down；　he　felt　as　if　he　had　a　purpose。　A　worth。　He’d　helped　keep　the　bridge　clear。
The　feeling　tasted　a　little　like　the　confidence　he’d　been　slowly　winning　back　on　Enothis。　The
reassurance　of　a　point　to　life　that　Beqa　Mayer’s　company　had　begun　to　coax　back　into　him。
The　crash　had　torn　that　confidence　away；　of　course。　But　now　he　felt　oddly　centred。　War　claimed
men。　They　died。　Machines　crashed。　Leaders；　like　Viltry；　felt　guilt　and　remorse。　It　would　ever　be　the
way；　for　in　the　galaxy　of　man；　there　is　only　war。
For　one　tiny　but　valuable　moment；　sitting　there　in　the　Executioner’s　turret；　surrounded　by　the
cheering　and　bellowing　of　men　he　hardly　knew；　Viltry　realised　that　guilt　and　remorse　would　truly　be
his　to　bear　if　he　didn’t　make　the　effort　to　live。　To　live；　to　fight　the　foes　of　man；　and　to　make　his　way
back　to　find　the　woman　who　had　shown　kindness　to　a　stranger。
The　column　began　to　move　again。　The　rain　grew　heavier；　and　they　pulled　the　hatches　shut。　The
valley　ahead　was　an　ashen；　dispirited　place；　and　there　was　a　great　distance　to　go　before　they　reached
the　cities；　far　away；　where　the　skies　were　already　banded　with　black　fire…smoke。
Lake　Gocel　FSB；　19。12
In　the　space　of　about　thirty　hours；　their　alarm　bracelets　had　fired　eighteen　times。　With　jarring
regularity；　they　were　stirred　from　exercise；　prep；　sleep；　meals　and　standby　in　order　to　rush　to　the
shelters　as　enemy　formations　passed　through　their　airspace。　Each　period　of　waiting　in　the　gloom　of
the　dug…outs　did　nothing　to　soothe　already　stretched　nerves。　There　was　a　fight　between　two　Navy
fitters　and　some　PDF　troopers；　and　a　face…to…face　row　between　Ranfre　and　one　of　the　Raptor　pilots；
which　was　only　defused　by　the　calm　intervention　of　Milan　Blansher。
The　worst　argument　occurred　between　Jagdea　and　Blaguer。　The　FSB　had　lofted　only　three　snap
calls　in　the　period；　and　for　the　rest　of　the　time　it　had　hidden　under　its　camo　at　the　first　sign　of　an
alert。
“What　possible　good　are　we　doing？”　she　was　heard　shouting。
Blaguer’s　argument；　supported　by　Marcinon　and　the　leader　of　the　Lightning　wing；　was　that
Gocel　FSB　was　under…strength　as　an　intercept　force　and　should　therefore　pick　its　targets。　Seven　of
the　alerts　had　been　triggered　by　mass…raid　formations　of　bombers；　three　or　four　hundred　machines
strong；　passing　north　towards　the　coast。　Gocel’s　three　wings　would　barely　make　a　dent　in　such
formidable　numbers；　and　launches　would　betray　the　base’s　carefully　concealed　location。　There　was
no　doubt　that　a　mass…raid　force　would　spare　a　bomber　pack　to　annihilate　the　source　of　the　ambushers
if　it　was　discovered。
“Better　to　stay　low；　observe　concealment　discipline；　and　only　respond　to　targets　we　can　deal
with　safely；”　Blaguer　told　her。
“But　in　another　day　or　two；　there’ll　be　so　many　bats　up　there　we　won’t　be　flying　at　all。　We’re
supposed　to　be　intercept；　so　let’s　damn　well　intercept　something。”
“You’re　talking　about　a　wilful　and　suicidal　approach　to　the　prosecution　of　this　conflict。”
“I’m　talking；”　growled　Jagdea；　“about　fighting　this　war　instead　of　sitting　it　out。”
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Late　in　the　afternoon；　the　fourth　sortie　of　the　day　was　permitted。　Coastal　Operations　had
requested　urgent　data…gathering　from　its　FSBs　along　the　Saroja。　There　was　a　pressing　need　to　assess
the　disposition　of　inbound　retreat　elements　so　the　Munitorum　could　more　effectively　accomplish　the
mass　land　evacuation；　an　operation　already　beginning　at　Ezraville　and　Theda。　Operations　also　hoped
to　locate　one　or　more　of　the　enemy　land　carriers。　Given　the　terrible　strength　of　the　raids　now　being
suffered；　it　was　presumed　that　several　mass　carriers　were　currently　established　in　the　Northern
Desert；　and　Operations　clearly　longed　to　be　able　to　steer　in　Marauder　strikes　to　ease　the　ferocity　of
the　bombing　campaign。
Word　was　that　not　a　single　town　or　city　along　the　Littoral　and　the　Peninsula　remained
untouched。　Quite　apart　from　the　huge　armour　and　troop　evacuation　taking　place　on　the　seacoast；　a
vast　civilian　exodus　had　also　begun。　Deprived　for　the　most　part　of　sea　transit　or　Munitorum　aid；　the
citizens　of　the　Littoral　were　fleeing　west　towards　Ingeburg　and　the　Northern　Affiliation　in　vast；
haphazard　caravans。　Reports　of　the　public　panic　and　mayhem　were　filtering　through。　Several
civilian　convoys　had　been　hit。　The　losses　were　so　distressing；　Jagdea　couldn’t　bring　herself　to　repeat
what　she’d　read　to　the　pilots　and　crews　of　Umbra。
Three　recon　Lightnings　were　to　go　up　on　a　wide　track；　with　a　trio　of　Thunderbolts　riding
shotgun。　According　to　dispersal　rotation；　this　escort　was　due　to　be　provided　by　the　Raptors。　Blaguer
himself　was　slated　to　fly；　but　he　clearly　felt　uneasy　about　what　Jagdea　might　try　to　pull　if　he　was
absent　from　the　FSB。　Blaguer　suggested　that；　if　she　was　so　keen　to　get　airborne；　the　Phantine　might
take　the　job。
Jagdea　saw　through　his　ploy；　and　knew　Umbra　would　be　better　served　if　she　stayed。　She
declined；　citing　the　damage　her　Thunderbolt　had　sustained　on　the　last　sortie。　In　truth；　it　had　already
been　fully　repaired　by　her　devoted　techs；　but　they　knew　what　to　tell　Blaguer　if　he　asked；　and
deliberately　removed　serial　Zero…Two’s　cowling　to　act　out　a　pantomime　of　repair　work。　Jagdea　sent
Asche　in　her　place；　with　Waldon　and　Zemmic。
Marquall　could　barely　hide　his　disappointment。　With　Nine…Nine　fixed　and　cleared　for　flight；　he
was　overdue　a　run；　and　should　have　been　chosen　over　either　Zemmic　or　Waldon。
After　the　six　machines　had　launched；　and　the　shimmer　nets　wound　back　into　place；　Jagdea　went
to　find　him。　Marquall　was　in　his　habitent；　playing　regicide　with　Van　Tull。
“Got　a　moment？”　she　asked。
“I’ve　got　things　to　do；　ma’am；”　Van　Tull　said；　and　made　himself　scarce。
“Get　your　flight　suit　on；”　she　said　to　Marquall。　“I’m　moving　you　up　to　snap　call　standby。”
Marquall　nodded；　but　his　expression　was　glum。　“I　should　have　gone　on　the　last　run。　You　know
that。”
“Depends　what　you　mean　by　‘should’；　Vander；”　she　said。　“You　and　Larice　aren’t　the　best　of
friends　right　now。　Keeping　you　out　of　each　other’s　way　is　probably　a　good　idea。”
Marquall　blushed；　but　it　was　largely　anger。　“She—”　he　began。　“I　don’t　know　what　I’ve　done。”
“You　haven’t　known　Larice　long；　Vander。　Not　like　me。　I　know　what　she’s　like。　One　of　the　best
pilots　it’s　been　my　honour　to　fly　with。　But　also…　headstrong；　proud。　Full　of　ambition；　and　a
compulsion　to　prove　herself　all　the　time。　It’s　her　temperament。　To　fly　the　best；　get　the　best　score…
and　be　seen　associating　with　the　hottest　of　her　male　comrades。　You　had　something　there　that　she
liked　the　look　of。　A　reputation　in　the　making。　But　then；　that　mis…lau