Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第41部分

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Calm　returned　for　a　while。　The　attack　had　been　from　an　advance　force。　Marquall　prayed　no　more
would　arrive　until　the　final　minutes　of　the　evacuation　had　counted　off。　Just　before　eight；　they　heard
the　sound　of　Navy　mass…lifters　powering　in　across　the　lake。　The　huge　transporters　settled　on　the
shoreline　mud　and　opened　their　gaping　maws　to　accept　the　lines　of　aircrew　personnel；　fitter　teams
and　Sentinels。　Pack　after　pack　of　machinery　and　material　was　carried　on　board。
About　then；　drawn　in　by　the　land　attack；　the　enemy　air　cover　reached　Gocel。　The　base’s　planes
were　just　beginning　to　lift　off。
Razors　swept　overhead；　dropping　submunitions。　One　of　the　transporters　at　the　lakeshore　went　up
in　a　haze　of　flames。　Blansher　launched　clear。　So　did　Van　Tull　and　Del　Ruth；　then　Cordiale。　Ortho
Blaguer’s　rising　Thunderbolt　collided　with　a　Razor　on　a　strafing　run。　The　blast　lit　the　sky。　Two　of
the　fleeing　Lightnings；　one　of　them　Oberlitz’s；　were　stung　hard　as　they　attempted　to　climb。　Oberlitz
went　down　in　the　lake；　the　other　into　the　trees　on　the　far　shore。
Asche　pulled　away。　Then　two　of　the　Raptors。　A　Lightning。　Another　Raptor　launched；　and　was
blown　apart。　Zemmic　got　away。　Ranfre。　Then　Jagdea；　her　Bolt　struck　twice　by　heavy　passing　fire。
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Marquall　ran　to　Nine…Nine。　The　sky　was　on　fire。　He　found　Racklae　and　the　chief　fitter’s　number
two　waiting　for　him。
“Go！　Leave　now！”　Marquall　yelled。
“Not　before　we　see　you　safe；　sir！”　said　Racklae。
“Your　transport　is　about　to　leave；　mister！”　Marquall　shouted。
Las…rounds　ripped　out　of　the　trees。　Racklae’s　number　two　dropped；　his　head　fused　into　a
misshapen　blob。
“Racklae；　go！　Now；　for　Throne’s　sake！”
Marquall　fired　his　pistol　into　the　tree…line。
“Cables　are　disconnected；　sir。　You’re　clean！”　Racklae　bellowed。
“Go；　Racklae！　Go！　Go！”　yelled　Marquall。
“Give　that　to　me；　for　Throne’s　sake；”　Kautas　shouted；　appearing　from　nowhere　and　snatching
the　pistol　out　of　Marquall’s　hand。
“Run　now；　Mister　Racklae；”　Kautas　said。　Racklae　turned　and　began　to　sprint　for　the　shore。　The
air　was　full　of　hard　rounds　and　las…streaks。
Kautas　started　to　fire　the　pistol。　“And　you；　Vander　Marquall；”　he　said。
“Father…”
“Close　your　bloody　lid；　boy。”
Marquall　slammed　his　canopy　home。　He　lit　the　engines；　and　kicked　over　the　vector　thrusters；
ripping　up　through　the　remains　of　the　shimmer　tents　into　the　smoke…filled　air。
He　managed　one　last；　frantic　look　down。
Far　below；　amongst　me　trees　and　flames；　Marquall　saw　a　figure　with　its　arms　spread　wide；　as　if
in　benediction。　Ayatani　Kautas；　his　robes　tugged　by　Nine…Nine’s　down…draft；　turned　and　ran　towards
the　red…armoured　soldiers　pouring　in　along　the　pathways。
The　last　time　Marquall　saw　him；　Kautas　was　a　distant　shape；　sinking　to　his　knees。　Bright　lasshots
flickered　in　all　directions。　Kautas　held　Marquall’s　pistol　out　before　him；　firing　over　and　over
again。
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FATE’S　WHEEL
THEDA
Imperial　year　773。M41；　day　264　…　day　266
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DAY　264
Theda　MAB　South；　08。30
Even　to　someone　unfamiliar　with　the　arcane　sigils　of　Navy　plotting　symbols；　it　would　have　been
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