Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第48部分

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started　work　getting　Del　Ruth　airborne。
Marquall　dropped　into　his　own　cockpit；　and　switched　primary　systems　on　with　one　hand　as　he
wrestled　to　strap　up　his　harness。　One　of　the　fitters　rolled　the　primer　cart　close　for　connection　as　the
other　disengaged　the　fuel　and　data…feed　lines；　and　then　jumped　up　on　the　wing　plates　to　pass
Marquall　his　helmet。
The　primer　fired　and　surged；　and　after　a　second；　Nine…Nine’s　mighty　turbofans　began　to　turn。
Marquall　leaned　out。
“Unhook　the　primer　and　get　out　of　here！”　he　yelled　at　the　fitters　over　the　rising　whine。　“Just　go！”
They　ducked　out　of　view　under　the　cowling。　Marquall　closed　and　locked　his　own　lid；　fastened
his　mask；　and　then　did　a　last　preflight　overview　of　vitals。　Pressure；　coolant；　fuel；　electronics；　airmix；
ammunition。　Green　all　around。
The　fitters　reappeared；　and　waved　him　double　thumbs。　He　signalled　back　okay；　and　the　two　men
turned　and　began　to　run。
The　last　Marquall　saw　of　them；　they　were　crossing　the　asphalt　apron　towards　the　heavy　lifters。
Ducts　angled　to　vertical；　Marquall　eased　open　the　throttle　and　brought　Double　Eagle　up　and
away　from　the　ground。
“Two；　this　is　Eight。　I’m　going　clear。”
“Copy　that；　Eight。　Just　get　out　of　here。”
In　the　present　circumstances；　no　pilot　needed　to　be　dawdling　about　on　lift。　Still　low；　he　swung
the　nose；　and　lit　the　burners　as　he　wound　the　ducts　round　to　level。
Marquall’s　Thunderbolt　crossed　the　blazing　airfield　at　rooftop　height；　power　building。　He
glimpsed　bats　crossing　behind　him；　but　he　ignored　them。　No　tone　warnings。
He　turned　into　a　wide　climb　north；　and　in　thirty　seconds　was　crossing　the　coastal　ramparts　and
the　long　white　seam　of　the　shoreline　strand。　Sea　was　under　him　now。
“Two？　This　is　Eight。　Are　you　clear？”
“Confirm　that；　Eight。　Coming　up　at　your　five。　Don’t　wait　for　me。　Turn　and　punch　it。”
A　thousand　metres　below；　Blansher　watched　Marquall’s　Bolt　blasting　eastwards。　He　waited；
then　banked　firmly；　turning　back　towards　the　field　he　had　only　just　left。
“Four？　Where　are　you？　Aggie；　are　you　launching？”
From　his　high　vantage　point；　the　true　extent　of　the　destruction　was　finally　clear。　Blansher　could
only　half…see　the　ruined　airfield　through　the　blanket　of　black　smoke　and　the　sudden　blooms　of　white
and　yellow　flame。　Beyond　it；　Theda　City　was　encased　in　a　vast　nimbus　of　smoke。　The　air　to　the
south　was　crawling　with　formations　of　enemy　planes；　dots　that　caught　the　sunlight　and　twinkled
against　the　dark　clouds。
“Aggie？　Where　are　you？”
He　made　another　pass　over　the　MAB。　Below；　Blansher　saw　two　fat　Oneros　plough　up　out　of　the
boiling　vapour　and　thunder　away　in　a　tight　track　eastwards。　Then　a　smaller　transport　plane　came　up；
but　it　seemed　to　be　in　trouble。　His　blood　chilled　as　he　saw　a　pair　of　Locusts　streak　over　it　diagonally
and　turn　it　into　a　fireball。
“Two？　Two；　are　you　receiving？　This　is　Four。”
“Go　ahead；　I　hear　you。”
“Coming　up　now。”
Blansher　banked　again　and　saw　the　tiny；　cruciform　shape　of　Del　Ruth’s　yellow　Thunderbolt　as　it
emerged　from　the　smoke　line。　It　was　rising　cleanly。　Instinctively；　Blansher　turned　his　rudder　and
rolled　down　so　that　he　was　coming　in　behind　her　as　she　climbed。
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A　Hell　Talon；　having　just　emptied　its　payload　onto　the　field’s　main　drome；　swept　out　of　the
smoke　and　saw　the　flare　of　her　burners。　Opportunistic；　it　lined　up　immediately；　using　its　pull…out
momentum　to　propel　it　into　a　rear　attack。
It　was　five　hundred　metres　lower　than　Blansher；　and　about　the　same　distance　ahead。　Blansher　hit
the　throttle；　punched　back　into　his　seat；　and　dropped　low；　flicking　on　his　targeters　and　activating　his
gunsight。　He　selected　quad。　He　didn’t　want　to　risk　hitting　Del　Ruth　with　lasfire　if　he　missed。
All　Thunderbolts　had　their　own　feel；　their　own　temperament。　Del　Ruth　was　still　getting　used　to
the　individual　character　of　her　new　machine；　and　as　a　result　was　flying　slightly　erratically。
It　saved　her　life。
The　Talon’s　first　bursts；　which　looked　like　the　sparks　of　a　striking　tinderbox　from　Blansher’s
position；　went　wide。
Blansher　tore　down；　levelled　out；　viffed　slightly　to　adjust；　and　got　the　tone　ping　he’d　been
praying　for。
His　thumb　pressed　hard。
A　cone　of　smoke　gouted　out　around　the　nose　of　his　bird　as　the　quads　chattered。
A　sudden；　savage　spray　of　fragments　burst　out　of　the　Hell　Talon。　Blansher　kept　firing；　smacking
his　shots　into　its　midsection。　Fire　guttered　out；　then　the　enemy　machine　split　into　two　large　sections；
almost　divided　along　its　centreline。　The　shorn　segments　fluttered　away　below　him。
“You’re　clear；　Four。　Get　moving；”　he　voxed。
“You　shouldn’t　have　come　back　for　me；　Mil；”　her　reply　crackled。　“You　should　already　be　gone。”
Not　true；　he　thought。　Not　true　at　all。　As　acting　flight　commander；　it　was　his　duty　to　make　sure　all
his　pilots　got　clear；　even　if　it　meant　his　own　life。
And　the　real　tragedy　was　Umbra　Flight　had　left　one　pilot　behind；　and　there　was　now　nothing　any
of　them　could　do　about　it。
Western　District　Theda；　07。26
Jagdea　struggled　along　the　transitway　between　hab　stacks；　yelling　at　every　vehicle　that　rumbled　by。
Nothing　stopped。　There　were　people　in　the　streets；　and　a　penetrating；　sickly　air　of　distress；
something　which　the　word　“panic”　no　longer　did　justice　to。　Every　few　seconds　there　was　a　flash　or　a
rumble　from　the　east；　and　the　ground　shook　several　times。　One　particularly　large　detonation　away　to
the　south　was　followed　by　a　failure　in　power　supply　betrayed　only　by　the　sudden　cessation　of　the
raid　sirens。　After　that；　in　the　strange　quiet；　there　was　just　the　distant　booming；　the　whistle　and　crump
of　munitions；　the　drone　of　aviation　engines。　Once　or　twice；　Jagdea　thought　she　heard　distant　gunfire；
small…arms。　She　put　that　down　to　her　imagination。
Her　wound　throbbed。　She’d　brought　no　meds　with　her；　and　she　had　managed　to　knock　her　sling
half　a　dozen　times　during　dashes　for　cover　when　bombers　came　over。
Fatigue　overcame　her；　quite　suddenly。　Fatigue；　and　a　sense　of　hopelessness。　She　sat　down　on　a
kerb　and　felt　tears　running　down　her　cheeks。　How　weak　was　that？　How　bloody　weak　was　that？
A　truck　went　past。　She　didn’t　even　look　up。　She　heard　a　screech　of　brakes。
Jagdea　lifted　her　head。　A　Munitorum　transporter；　laden　with　packing　cartons；　had　pulled　to　a　halt
twenty　metres　away；　and　the　driver　was　dismounting。
Jagdea　rose　to　her　feet。　It　was　the　driver；　the　man　with　the　burn…scarred　face。　What　was　his
name？　She　couldn’t　remember。　She　wondered　if　he’d　told　her。　She　wondered　if　she’d　ever　bothered
to　ask。
“Commander　Jagdea？　Is　that　you？”
She　nodded。　He　hurried　over　to　her。　“I　saw　the　jacket。　Recognised　an　aviator’s　uniform。　God…
Emperor；　are　you　all　right？”
“No；”　she　said。
“You　need　a　lift？”
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“Of　course　I　bloody　do。”
He　helped　her　over　to　the　cab　and　supported　her　as　she　climbed　up。　Then　he　ran　around　to　the
driver’s　side　and　got　in。
“What　are　you　doing　here？”　he　asked　as　he　threw　the　truck　into　forward　gear。
“I　was　in　a　hab　clinic。　Wounded　on　a　sortie。　I　heard　the　raid　begin　and…　I　started　to　walk。”
“What？　To　MAB　South？”
She　wiped　her　face。　“I’m　not　sure　I　know　where　I　was　going。　Just…　trying　to　rejoin　my　unit。”
“Of　course。　Wouldn’t　want　another　FTR；”　he　said。
She　hesitated。　“I　never　did　thank　you　for　your　help　that　night。”
“What　help？　I　was　out　of　line；　talking　to　the　boy　like　that。　You　had　every　reason　to　be　angry　at
me。　Apart　from　that；　what　did　I　do？　A　bit　of　driving　for　you。　That’s　all　I’m　good　for　these　days。　The
Munitorum　gives　me　instructions；　and　I　do　some　driving　for　them。”
“Even　now？　In　the　middle　of　this？”
“Even　now。　I　am　a　servant　of　the　Throne；　commander。　I　do　as　I’m　bid。　My　senior　sent　me　to
Kozkoh　Administorum；　with　orders　to　collect　a　bunch　of　Munitorum　record　files　that　someone
somewhere　didn’t　want　falling　into　enemy　hands。”
Jagdea　shook　her　head。　“Record　files？　Not　people？　You　could　be　carrying　a　couple　of　dozen
human　lives　to　safety　in　this　truck。”
“That　had　occurred　to　me；　commander。　The　Munitorum　has　curious　priorities；　especially　at　times
like　this。”
She　looked　round　at　him。　He　was　concentrating　on　the　road　ahead。　She　realised　for　the　first　time
that　he　had　probably　been　a　good　looking　man　before　half　his　face　had　been　melted。
“I　don’t　even　know　your　name；”　she　said。
“Kaminsky；”　he　replied。　“August　Kaminsky。　Munitorum　Transit　Division；　vehicle　167。”
“You　were　aircrew　before　that。”
“Combat　pilot；　Commonwealth　Airforce。　Wolfcubs　and　the　like。　Sixteen　years。　But　that’s
ancient　history。”
“Look；　Kaminsky；”　she　began。　“Can　you　get　me　to　the　field？　I　know　you　have　orders；　but　I
really　need　to　rejoin　my　command。”
He　shrugged。　“I　don’t　know。　Really；　I　don’t。　From　here；　it　would　be　a　long　slog；　especially　given
the　circumstances。”
“Then　I　need　to　evac　at　least。　Anywhere　closer？”
“Well；　I’ve　been　told　to　report　to　an　extraction　centre　at　Mandora　Point　on　the　north　shore。
That’s　where　these　damn　record　files　are　supposed　to　be　delivered。　There　should　be　mass…barges
there；　maybe　even　lifters。　Good　enough？”
“Okay；　that’ll　do。　I　just　need　to　get　out。　Get　out　and　clear　and　then　back　in　the　game。”　He　smiled。
“What？”　she　asked。
“I’ve　been　thinking　that　for　months；”　he　said。
T