Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第24章

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and　groups　of　manufactory　workers　chasing　a　hot　meal　after　their　night　shift。
Outside；　the　sky　was　spare　and　pale；　a　strong　wind　chasing　the　clouds　out　of　the　air。　The　sea　was
dark　and　moody；　rolling　with　white　horses。
A　good　flying　day。
“You　know　him？”　asked　Letrice；　dubiously。
“Who？”
“The　mental　case。　The　flier。”
“Yes；”　said　Beqa；　turning　the　skillet。　“He’s　okay。”
Over　the　Lida；　10。01
They　got　the　call　from　Operations　about　twenty　minutes　before　Jagdea　was　going　to　throw　it　in　for
the　day。　Relief　flight　under　attack；　urgent　support　requested。　According　to　the　grid　plot；　the　fuss　was
less　than　fifteen　kilometres　south　of　them。　Jagdea　immediately　instructed　them　to　crank　to　max　and
burn　away　down　the　valley。　She　called　in　Blansher’s　four　as　support。　His　unit　was　coming　round　in　a
patrol　sweep　forty　kilometres　north。
Marquall　swallowed；　trying　to　stay　sharp。　They　were　at　about　four　thousand　now；　and　pushing　it
to　twenty…one；　twenty…two　hundred　kilometres。　The　world　was　a　passing　rush。　They　went　over　a
straggled　collection　of　agricultural　stations；　then　a　small　town；　then　a　long　series　of　derelict
chemical　plants。　The　river　basin　was　stained　florid　pink　and　maroon　from　years　of　manufacture。
Ahead　of　them；　a　vast　plume　of　black　smoke　rose　into　the　sky。
His　mouth　was　dry。
“Gunsights；”　Jagdea　voxed。
Marquall　deftly　activated　and　aligned　his　targeter。　“Select　primary　weapons。”
No　mistakes　this　time。　Guns　live；　toggled　over　to　the　“las”　setting。
The　relief　flight　had　been　composed　of　six　superheavy　Navy　transports；　Onero…pattern；　with　an
escort　of　six　Lightnings；　shipping　desperately　needed　fuel　out　to　the　retreating　ground　forces　in　the
desert。　Full　of　promethium　jelly　and　motor　oils；　the　lumbering　six…engined　transports　were
ponderous。　Easy　targets。
Four…One　came　in　on　what　looked　like　a　feeding　frenzy。　One　transport　was　already　down；
having　engulfed　a　square　kilometre…plus　of　the　arable　valley　in　its　firestorm。　The　bloom　of　smoke；
fat　and　black；　was　what　they’d　seen　on　the　approach。　Another　had　an　engine　fire　and　was　dropping
badly。　At　least　three　of　the　Lightnings　had　been　stung　out　of　the　air。
No　less　than　fifteen　black　and　crimson　bats　swirled　in　and　out　of　the　convoy　formation；　evading
the　tracer　streams　from　the　transporters’　turrets。　Hell　Razors。　Before　they　even　had　range；　Marquall
witnessed　a　jet…black　Razor　roll　in　and　punch　lasfire　into　the　silver　flanks　of　the　tail…end　Onero。　It
went　up　in　mid…air。　Bright；　like　a　suddenly…lit　sun；　a　massive　torus　of　white　flame　so　hot　and　fierce
no　shred　of　debris　survived　vaporisation。　He　winced　at　the　glare；　blinded　for　a　moment。
The　vox　bleeped。　Jagdea’s　voice　was　hard　and　curt。　Four　words：　“Split　up。　Kill　them。”
Zemmic　rolled　away　left；　Clovin　right。　Marquall　stayed　at　Jagdea’s　seven　until　they　were　right
into　the　brawl；　then　broke　left　as　she　split　off。　The　air　was　full　of　dancing　machines　and　streamers　of
contrails；　exhaust　and　smoke。　Too　many　objects　to　track。　He　had　to　stay　focused。　Concentrate　on　the
bats。　Not　even　all　the　bats　he　could　see。　Just　the　ones　his　speed　and　angle　had　a　chance　of
intersecting。
Two　to　port；　going　the　other　way。　No　point　even　thinking　about　it。　Another；　bright　red；　climbing
hard。　He　wouldn’t　catch　it。　There　at　his　ten…　no。　A　Lightning；　sun　glinting　off　its　aluminoid　skin　as
it　turned。　Keep　jinking；　keep　moving；　keep　twisting；　keep　dancing。　Fly　straight　for　more　than　five
seconds　and　you　might　as　well　paint　a　target　on　your　arse　cheeks。
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Hexan；　his　aged　instructor　back　at　the　scholam。　His　mantra；　his　words。　Marquall　could　hear　the
old　bastard　saying　them。
A　bat　there。　He　rolled　over　on　it。　No　good。　It　was　breaking　and　turning　the　other　way。　Damn　it。
Another…　but　Clovin　was　on　it；　the　nose　of　Umbra　Seven　lighting　up　with　las　discharge。　A　hit？　Too
late　to　see。　Marquall　had　gone　over；　past；　round　again。　That　put　him　low　under　one　of　the　transports。
The　damn　thing’s　turrets　opened　up　at　him；　chasing　his　tail　with　yellow　tracer。
“Friendly！　Friendly！　Friendly！”　he　yelled　into　the　vox；　knowing　they　probably　didn’t　care。
Terrified　beyond　measure　by　now；　the　gunners　were　blazing　away　at　anything　in　the　sky。
He　banked　around　again　and　a　crimson　bat　went　across　his　nose。　Without　even　thinking；　he
clenched　his　thumb　and　felt　The　Smear　shudder　as　its　guns　lit　off。　Had　he　hit　it？　Chances　were　low。
He　didn’t　care。　There　was　another。　He　was　in　the　game　now。
Jagdea　couldn’t　see　Marquall。　She　couldn’t　worry　about　that　now。　This　wasn’t　the　place　for
nurse…maiding。　They　were　desperately　outnumbered；　by　machines　every　bit　as　fast　and　heavyweight
as　the　Thunderbolts。　Her　initial　stooping　dive　and　turn…out　had　brought　her　clean　in　on　a　bat；　but　it
had　the　edge　on　power　because　she　was　turning；　and　zipped　out　of　her　target　field　before　she　could
fire。
She　kicked　the　rudder　round　and　rolled　to　port；　and　saw　a　scarlet　Razor　streak　by　underneath　her。
It　was　gunning　for　one　of　the　Lightnings；　stuck　to　its　six。　The　Navy　plane　was　doing　everything　it
could；　but　it　wouldn’t　shake　off。
Jagdea　almost　had　to　loop　to　line　up。　The　angle　of　deflection　was　poor；　so　she　saved　her　shots；
and　banked　around　again　until　she　came　up　right　on　the　Razor’s　tail。
It　must　have　seen　her　there；　because　it　broke　off　furiously。　But　her　instinct　was　as　keen　as　ever。
Jagdea　had　a　natural　talent　for　anticipation。　A　simple　matter　of　logic；　that’s　how　she　saw　it。　She
regularly　guessed　what　a　hostile　was　going　to　do　by　imagining　what　she’d　do　in　its　place。　Blansher
once　remarked　that　if　it　was　such　a　simple　trick；　why　could　no　one　else　in　the　wing　do　it　quite　so
well？　As　the　Razor　pulled　off；　she　was　pulling　off　too；　at　exactly　the　same　angle。　Two　bursts。　Four
las…rounds。　All　four　went　straight　up　the　Razor’s　intakes　and　it　blew　apart　in　a　sizzling　cloud　of
debris。
Small　parts　of　the　wreckage　clattered　off　her　upper　hull　as　she　came　through　the　flame…cone。
Immediately；　she　had　a　lock　tone。　Something　on　top　of　her。　Tracers　sailed　by；　pink　and　bright。　She
rolled；　with　a　touch　of　viff　from　the　vectors；　and　let　the　bat　go　wide。
Another　one。　No；　two。　One　red；　one　mauve；　sweeping　in　towards　the　transport　with　the　engine
fire。　The　massive　Onero　had　been　holed　badly；　weeping　torrents　of　fuel　mix　out　into　the　air。
“No　you　don’t…”　she　hissed。　She　cut　round；　crunched　by　negative　G；　grunting　out　of　her
defensive　“grip”　posture。　The　angle　was　bad；　but　she　let　go　anyway。　A　long；　pumping　stream　of
lascannon。　The　red　Razor　lost　part　of　its　starboard　wing　and　went　into　a　savage　spin；　falling　away。
The　mauve　one　broke　off；　turning　down　and　out　at　the　limit　of　pilot　tolerance。
Then　it　exploded。　One　large　blast　that　skewed　it　around　in　the　sky；　then　two　smaller　ones　that
shredded　what　was　left　of　it　into　metal　dust。
Milan　Blansher’s　Bolt　ripped　past　under　her。
Four…Two　had　joined　the　fight。
Theda　MAB　South；　10。07
A　curious　hush　had　fallen　across　the　Operations　rotunda。　Eads　was　the　only　flight　controller　who
had　birds　in　a　fight。　Maintaining　their　own　watches；　the　other　controllers　were　looking　his　way。
Darrow　felt　like　they　were　in　the　spotlight。　The　deck　officer　had　come　over　to　stand　at　Eads’s　side。
“Status？”
“Four…One　and　Four…Two　have　engaged。　Sixteen　confirmed　hostiles。　Four　hostiles　now　show　as
killed。”
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There　was　a　murmur　around　the　room。
“Relief　flight　situation？”　asked　the　deck　officer。　His　name　was　Banzie；　a　short；　jocund　man　in　a
high…collared　uniform　of　Imperial　purple。
“Two　tankers　lost。　One　damaged。　Three　escorts　downed。”　Eads’s　voice　was　frail　and　distant。　He
was　looking　ahead　of　him　into　open　space；　the　data　swirling　in　his　mind。　His　hands　crept　over　the
console　displays；　correcting；　rewriting。　The　placement　officer　at　the　modar　screen　in　front　of　Eads’s
station　was　making　constant　adjustments　to　the　glass　with　her　stylus。
Darrow　realised　why　the　air　in　Operations　was　kept　so　cold。　There　was　no　chance　of　getting
dozy　or　slack。　No　chance　of　drowsiness　clouding　judgement。
“Assessment？”　Banzie　asked　Eads。
“Tight。　Anything　in　range？”　Eads　replied。
“Requesting　assist！”　Banzie　cried　out　to　the　room。　“Quickly；　now！”
“I　have　the　44th　Wing；　six　machines；