Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第5部分

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manufactory　began。
She　hurried　out　through　the　templum　doors　into　a　cold　street　where　full　daylight　now　shone；　and
made　her　weary　way　back　towards　her　hab。
Over　the　Thedan　Peninsula；　07。37
“Hunt　Two；　you’re　making　oily　smoke。”
The　flight　leader’s　anxious　voice　cut　over　the　vox。　There　was　no　immediate　response　from　Hunt
Two。　Darrow　sat　up　in　his　seat　and　scanned　around　in　the　morning　light。　The　scrub　plains　and　grass
breaks　of　the　Peninsula　swept　by；　two　thousand　metres　under　him；　a　wide　expanse　of　greys；　dull
whites　and　speckled　greens。
Down　at　his　four　were　Hunt　Eight　and　Hunt　Eleven；　with　Hunt　Leader　running　to　starboard　on
the　same　deck　as　Darrow　himself。　Hunt　Two　and　Hunt　Sixteen　were　off　and　low　at　Darrow’s　port。
Six　planes。　Six　planes　were　all　that　was　left　from　the　engagement。　They’d　left　all　the　others　as
flaming　pyres　littering　the　snowcaps　of　the　Makanite　Mountains。
And　it　might　only　have　been　five。　Darrow　knew　he　surely　would　have　been　chalked　by　that
white　killer　had　not　Hunt　Leader；　sweeping　back　in　a　desperate　effort　to　rally　his　few　remaining
machines；　run　in　at　the　last　moment；　cannons　blazing；　and　driven　it　off。
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Major　Heckel—Hunt　Leader—kept　asking　Darrow　if　he　was　okay　as　they　pulled　what　remained
of　the　formation　back　together。　Heckel　sounded　extraordinarily　worried；　as　if　he　felt　Darrow　might
have　simply　scared　himself　to　death　in　the　frantic　chase。　But　it　was　probably　shock　and　the　ache　of
responsibility。　So　many　cadets　dead。　One　of　the　squadron’s　black　days。
And　there　had　been　so　many　in　the　last　few　months。　Darrow　wondered　how　officers　like　the
major　coped。
But　then　Heckel　was　only　three　years　Darrow’s　senior；　and　had　gained　his　rank　through　the
accelerated　promotion　caused　by　severe　losses。
“Hunt　Two。　Respond。”　Even　over　the　distorting　vox；　that　tone　in　Heckel’s　voice　was　clear　as
day。
“Hunt　Leader；　I’m　all　right。”
He　wasn’t。　Darrow　had　a　good　angle　down　at　Hunt　Two。　Not　only　was　he　cooking　out　a　steady
stream　of　grubby　smoke；　he　was　losing　altitude　and　speed。
What　was　it？　Coolant？　Smouldering　electrics？　Some　other　lethal　eventuality　Darrow　hadn’t　even
thought　of？
How　long　had　they　got？　By　his　own　map　and　bearing　they　were　forty…six　minutes　out　from
Theda　MAB　North；　longer　if　Hunt　Two　maintained　its　rate　of　deceleration。　Darrow’s　fuel　gauge　still
showed　full；　but　by　Heckel’s　calculation；　none　of　them　were　likely　to　have　more　than　about　fifty
minutes　in　them。　Especially　not　Darrow；　given　his　excessive　aerobatics。
“Hunt　Flight…”　Heckel’s　voice　came　over　the　comm。　He　paused；　as　if　frantically　trying　to　make
up　his　mind。　“Hunt　Flight；　we’re　going　to　divert　to　Theda　South。　That　should　shave　fifteen；　maybe
twenty　minutes　off　the　flying　time。　Confirm　and　line　up　on　me。”
Darrow　confirmed　and　heard　the　others　do　so　too。　It　was　a　good　decision。　Flight　command
would　rather　get　six　Wolfcubs　back　at　the　wrong　MAB　than　none　back　at　all。
Darrow　switched　channels　and　heard　Heckel　banter　back　and　forth　with　Operations　as　the
reroute　was　authorised。
Then　he　heard　the　knocking　again。
He　was　about　to　call　it　in　when　Hunt　Eight　began　screeching　over　the　vox。
“Hunt　Two！　Look　at　Hunt　Two！”
Darrow　craned　his　neck　around。　The　wounded　Cub　was　gently　arcing　down　away　from　the
formation。　Its　smoke　trail　was　thicker　and　darker　now。　It　looked　heavy　and　sluggish；　as　if　much
more　gravity　was　weighing　down　on　it　than　on　the　other　planes。
“Hunt　Two！　Respond！”　Darrow　heard　Hunt　Leader　call。　“Hunt　Two！　Respond！”
A　faint　crackle；　“—think　I　can　hold　the—”
“Hunt　Two！　Bail；　for　Throne’s　sake；　Edry！　Cadet　Edry…　Clear　your　plane　now　before　you　lose
too　much　height！”
Nothing。　The　Wolfcub　was　just　a　dot　at　the　end　of　a　line　of　smoke　far　behind　and　below　them
now。　“Edry！　Cadet　Edry！”
Come　on；　Edry。　Get　out　of　there。　Darrow　strained　to　see。　With　their　fuel　loads　so　low；　none　of
them　could　risk　turning　back。　Come　on；　Edry。　Come　on！　Let　us　see　a　“chute！　Let　us　see　a　“chute；
Edry；　before—
A　small　flash；　far　away　in　the　grey…green　quilt　of　the　landscape。　A　small　flash　of　fire　and　no
“chute　at　all。
Theda　MAB　South；　07。40
By　the　time　the　transport　turned　off　the　highway　onto　the　field　approach　way；　it　had　been　joined　in
convoy　by　three　others。　They　waited　in　turn　to　be　checked　off　by　weary…looking　PDF　sentries　at　the
west　gate　and　then　rumbled　on　down　a　steep　cutting　onto　the　field　basin。
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Commander　Bree　Jagdea　raised　herself　up　on　the　hard　bench　of　the　jolting　transport　and　looked
around。　Theda　Military　Air…Base　South　covered　over　tetres　of　low　land　southwest
of　the　city　itself。　She　could　smell　the　coast　a　few　kilometres　north；　and　the　sea　air　had　layered　a
light　morning　haze　across　the　field　that　the　sun　was　just　beginning　to　cook　off。
Vast　defences　ringed　the　field。　Ditches　and　dykes；　blast　fences　and　stake　lines；　armoured　nests
for　Hydra　batteries；　pillbox　emplacements　for　raised　missile　cylinders。　There　was　a　patched
perimeter　track；　busy　at　this　hour　with　military　trucks　and　weapons　carriers　moving　both　ways；　and　a
leaner　inner　ring　of　anti…air　batteries。　To　the　south　end　of　the　field　stood　the　great　housing　hangars
and　rockcrete　armouries；　to　the　north　Operations　control　and　the　stark　derricks　and　pylons　of　the
vox；　auspex　and　modar　systems。
A　hash…shape　of　crossed　airstrips　covered　the　main　inner　area；　the　primary　runways　large　enough
to　manage　the　big　reciprocating…engined　bombers　the　locals　flew。　Jagdea　saw　a　few　of　them　parked
on　a　hardstand　in　the　distance。　Magogs；　big　and　old　and　ugly。　They’d　used　them　back　home　on
Phantine　during　the　final　offensive；　desperate　to　get　aloft　anything　that　could　fly　and　fight。　Here　they
were　a　standard　bombing　mainstay。　No　wonder　Enothis　had　been　punished　so　hard。
But　most　of　the　local　machines　had　been　shipped　out　to　clear　the　field　for　the　newcomers。
Jagdea　and　her　flight　had　arrived　in　darkness　the　night　before。　This　was　their　first　proper　look　at
the　base。　It　would　serve；　it　would　have　to。
Work　gangs　from　the　Munitorum　were　already　busy　making　field　conversions。　Labourers　were
proofing　up　more　hard…wall　silos　for　the　arriving　machines；　and　in　one　place　were　beginning　to
dozer　up　one　of　the　old　runways　to　make　additional　parking　bunkers。　The　newcomers’　aircraft；　over
seventy　of　them　already；　were　dark　shapes　under　netting　in　the　clusters　of　anti…blast　revetments　to
the　east。　There　was　a　muddle　of　activity—chugging　generators；　clunking　excavators；　bare…chested
rock…drill　operators；　growing　heaps　of　spoil—all　across　the　inner　landscape　of　the　field。
Jagdea　glanced　at　the　chronograph　strapped　around　the　thick　cuff　of　her　flightsuit。　They　were
right　on　time。　Their　transport　had　left　the　perimeter　track　and　was　bumping　towards　the　nearest　of
the　huge　drome　hangars。
“Up　and　ready。　Umbra　Flight；”　she　ordered。　The　eleven　aviators　under　her　command　gathered
up　their　kits　as　the　transport　rolled　to　a　stop。
Jagdea　jumped　down　and　took　a　deep　breath。　“Here　we　go；”　she　muttered　to　Milan　Blansher；　her
number　two。　Blansher　was　a　grizzled　veteran　in　his　forties；　his　career　tally　of　twenty…two　kills　the
finest　in　Umbra　Flight。　He　said　little；　but　she　trusted　him　with　her　life。　He　had　unusually　pale；
distant　eyes　for　a　Phantine　and　sported　a　thick　grey　moustache；　partly　to　lend　himself　an　air　of
avuncular　seniority；　mostly　to　help　conceal　the　ridge　of　white　scar　tissue　where　a　piece　of　shell
casing　had　split　his　face　from　his　right　nostril；　down　across　both　lips；　to　the　point　of　his　chin。
“Here　we　go　indeed；”　he　murmured；　and　hoisted　his　kit　onto　his　shoulder。　The　others　clambered
down。　Van　Tull；　Espere；　Larice　Asche　with　her　hair　up　in　a　non…regulation　bun；　Del　Ruth；　Clovin；
the　boy　Marquall；　Waldon；　forever　whistling　a　melody…less　tune；　Zemmic；　jangling　with　his　cluster
of　lucky　charms；　Cordiale；　Ranfre。　Almost　all　of　them　made　the　superstitious　bob　down　to　touch　the
ground。
Vander　Marquall　didn’t。　He　was　gazing　across　the　field；　watching　three　machines　of　the
Enothian　Commonwealth　Air　Force　crank　up　for　launch。　They　were　powerful；　twin…engine　deltaform
planes；　an　Interceptor　pattern　known　as　Cyclones。　Started　from　trolley…mounted　primer　coils；
their　massive　piston　engines　sucked　and　thundered　into　life；　kicking　out　plumes　of　blue　smoke　from
the　exhaust　vents　as　the　heavy　props　began　to　turn　to　a　flickering　blur。　They　rocked　impatiently　at
their　blocks　as　the　ground　crews　rolled　the　carts　aside。　Marquall　could　see　the　two…man　crews　in　the
glass　nose　cockpits　making　final　checks。　Though　most　Commonwealth　wings　had　been　withdrawn
to　make　way　for　the　offworlders；　a　flight　of　these　Cyclones　had　been　left　on　station　to　fly　top…cover
tours　while　the　Imperials　bedded　in。
“Coming；　Marquall？”　Jagdea　asked。　He　turned　and　nodded。
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“Yes；　commander。”　Marquall　was　the　youngest　aviator　in　Umbra　by　four　years；　and　the　only　one
with　no　operational　combat　experience。　Everyone　else　had　seen　at　least　some　action　during　the
Phantine　liberation。　Marquall　had　still　been　in　the　accelerated　program　at　Hessenville　when
hostilities　ended。　He　was　eager　and；　Jagdea　believed；　reasonably　gifted；　but　only　time　would　really
tell　his　worth。　He　had　the　classic　saturnine　good　looks　of