Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第31章

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“Judd！”
“Ready！”
Viltry　clung　on；　anticipating　the　jerk…lift　of　a　clean　release；　but　what　came　was　far　more　violent
than　that。　A　sudden；　bone…rattling；　sideways　slam　caused　by　the　especially　fierce　crosswinds　at　the
gorge　mouth。　Greta　stumbled。　Viltry　caught　her　and　held　her。
The　bombs　had　gone。
He　could　hear　Judd　cursing。　The　crosswinds　had　ruined　his　release。　Greta’s　huge　payload　had
dropped　wide；　detonating　across　the　upper　valley　slopes。
Viltry　brought　the　nose　up　and　climbed　wide；　coming　around　again　in　a　large　circuit。　Behind　and
below　him；　four　of　his　five　wingmen　were　flying　in　series　to　protect　the　pass。　Consider　Yourself
Dead　had　broken　off　its　run　and　was　turning　out　over　the　valley　tops；　mobbed　and　chased　by　three
Talons。
He　heard　Orsone　open　up　in　the　tail。　There　was　another　bat　behind　them。　Fire　streaked　past　like
scattering　sparks。　Viltry　dived　away；　turning　against　the　sun　so　a　shadow　rolled　slowly　through　the
cockpit。
“Lost　it！”　Orsone　voxed。
Down　onto　the　valley　fight　again；　into　the　smoke；　and　against　the　savage　wind　shear　that　was　as
much　an　enemy　as　the　bright…painted　bats。
Viltry　banked　hard　as　two　Talons　went　past　the　other　way；　just　blurs　of　colour。　What　was
keeping　those　damn　fighters？
G　for　Greta　shuddered。　Klaxons　wailed。　They　were　flying　head　on　into　a　blitz　of　ground　to　air
las。　The　stalk　tanks　were　ready　for　them　this　time。
“We’re　taking　hits！”　Lacombe　screamed。　Terrible　noises：　fracturing　metal；　shattering　plastek；　the
blasting　tone　of　an　engine…out　alarm。　Greta　slewed　badly；　the　wind　clawing　at　her；　the　controls　like
iron。
Something　exploded　in　the　compartment　underneath　him。　Viltry　heard　Judd　shrieking。　A　grown
man；　heavy　as　a　bear；　shrieking　like　a　child。
“We’re　losing　it！”　Lacombe　yelled。
Vibrations；　shaking　them　like　toys。　Viltry’s　juddering　teeth　bit　his　own　tongue…tip。　He　fought　to
hold　on。　The　engines　were　making　a　terrible；　ailing　note。
He　saw　the　gorge　mouth；　the　yellow　machines；　the　lasfire　hosing　into　the　sky　towards　him。　Wing
puncture。　Tail　damage。　Naxol　was　shouting　from　the　nose　turret；　virtually　inaudible　over　the　raging
sounds。
Viltry　launched　his　wing…mounts　and　saw　them　puff　away　on　streaks　of　white　smoke。　Stalk　tanks
tore　apart；　flung　into　the　air；　severed　machine…limbs　scattering。　The　cockpit　canopy　shattered；　and
wind　slammed　into　his　face；　full　of　glassite　chips。
They　came　out　through　the　gates　of　the　gorge。　The　engines　howled；　two　of　them　churning　black
smoke。　Climb　now；　climb；　climb…
Battered　by　the　wind　in　his　face；　Viltry　glanced　around。　Many　cockpit　instruments　were　broken；
burned　out。　Lacombe　hung　in　his　harness。　One　side　of　his　head；　and　the　seat…rest　behind　it；　were
missing。
Fate’s　wheel。
The　instruments　told　him　nothing。　But　Viltry　had　flown　Marauders　long　enough　to　know　the　feel
and　the　sound　of　a　dying　bird。
“Eject！　Eject！”　he　ordered；　though　he　knew　they　were　far　too　low　already。
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The　ragged；　beige　wasteland　came　up　under　them　rapidly。　Slicks　of　sand；　rocky　outcrops；　saltpans。
So　huge；　so　fast；　there　didn’t　seem　to　be　any　sky　left　any　more。
Viltry　closed　his　eyes。
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DAY　260
Theda　Old　Town；　00。05
The　templum　was　all　but　empty。　A　few　glow　lamps　were　lit　along　the　nave。　The　main　light　came
from　the　stand　of　fluttering　votive　candles。
“Is　there　anything　you　need？”　the　hierarch　asked　gently。
Beqa　was　sitting　at　the　end　of　a　pew　stall。　She　looked　up　at　him。　“I’m　just　waiting；”　she　said。
“It’s　late。”
“I　know。　I　know　it　is。　Can　I　stay　here？”
“Of　course；　daughter；”　he　said。　“As　long　as　you　wish。　I　y
offices。”
When　he　had　gone；　she　sat　where　she　was　for　a　few　minutes　more。
Late。　It　was　very　late。　She’d　waited　for　him　past　the　end　of　her　shift；　men　waited　on　the　seafront
for　another　hour　as　the　daylight　faded。　She　knew　she　should　have　sent　a　note　to　the　factory　chief。
Her　pay　would　be　docked　for　missing　a　scheduled　shift。
She　had　thought　about　going　to　the　airfield；　but　realised　that　she　didn’t　know　which　one。
Besides；　the　trams　didn’t　run　out　that　far　any　more；　and　she　had　no　money　for　hire…transport。　And
they’d　never　let　a　civilian　in　through　the　gates。
She　rose　and　walked　to　the　votive　stand。　Three　small　coins　in　the　cup；　three　fresh　candles　from
the　box。　She　fixed　them　in　place　beside　the　dozens　of　others　already　burning；　and　took　up　a　taper。
One　for　Gart；　one　for　Eido。
One　for—
A　main　door　opened　somewhere　and　slammed。　There　was　a　blast　of　cold　air。　All　the　little　candle
flames　blew　out。
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THE　LAST　OASIS
LAKE　GOCEL
Imperial　year　773。M41；　day　261　…　day　264
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DAY　261
Lake　Gocel　FSB；　05。32
“Get　up！　Wake　the　hell　up；”　the　urgent　whisper　said。
Vander　Marquall　blinked　and　rolled　over。　Van　Tull　was　leaning　over　him　in　the　violet　gloom　of
the　tent；　shaking　him　by　the　shoulder。
“What？　What？”
“Cover　drill！”　the　older　pilot　hissed。　He　tapped　the　aluminoid　bracelet　around　his　wrist。　“Didn’t
your　alarm　wake　you？”
Marquall　yawned　and　shook　his　head。　He　glanced　down　at　his　own　metal　strap；　which　was
dormant。　Van　Tull’s　had　a　red　rune　illuminated　on　its　cover。
“I　think　mine’s　broken；”　Marquall　decided。
Van　Tull　sco　firmly　by　the　wrist　and　unclasped　the　bracelet。　He
studied　it　for　a　moment；　then　tossed　it　back　to　the　boy。
“You’ll　have　to　get　a　new　one　from　stores。　Not　now；　later。　Come　on。”
Van　Tull　opened　the　flap…seal　of　the　habitent　and　let　light　and　warm　air　in。　He　was　already
dressed。　Marquall　pulled　on　his　breeches　and　looked　around　for　his　boots。
“Come　on！”　Van　Tull　called。　Marquall　yanked　on　his　boots；　but　there　was　no　time　to　fasten
them。　He　hurried　outside　after　Van　Tull。
The　habitent　they　shared　was　one　of　almost　a　hundred　and　fifty　camo…skinned　shelter　domes　that
clogged　the　ground　under　the　stands　of　dripping　kinderwood　trees。　Even　though　it　was　early　still；　the
air　was　humid。　Bright　sunlight　filtered　down　through　the　lacy　leaf　canopy　and　the　blast　nets　strung
between　the　tree　trunks；　like　a　roof　over　the　shelters。
The　pair　of　them　ran　through　the　molded　shadows；　keeping　carefully　to　the　flakboard　planking
where　the　path　crossed　the　frequent　marshy　pits　and　swamp　pools。　Scops　hissed　around　them　like
vox　static。
As　they　ran；　Marquall　saw　dark　shapes　loom　out　of　the　twilight　groves　around　them；　dark　shapes
deliberately　concealed。　More　shelters；　camouflaged　supply　dumps；　Hydra　AA　batteries　where　the
crews　waited　silent　and　alert；　the　veiled　shapes　of　warplanes　under　shimmer　netting。
They　reached　the　shelter　and　scrambled　inside。　The　pilots　of　Umbra　and　a　gang　of　fitters　were
huddled　within。
“Overslept？”　asked　Jagdea。
“My　fault；　commander；”　said　Van　Tull。
“Really？”
“Marquall’s　tag　was　defective　and　I　was　slow　waking　him。”
“I　think　that　rather　makes　it　Marquall’s　fault；　doesn’t　it？”　Jagdea　said；　looking　sourly　at　the　halfdressed
boy　with　his　unlaced　boots。
“Sorry；　mamzel。”
“Shut　it；”　Jagdea　said。
Human　silence　draped　them。　Outside　the　blast　shelter；　the　forest　trembled　with　birdsong　and　odd
animal　cries。
Marquall　had　already　decided　he　didn’t　like　this　place。　Hot；　wet；　stinking　of　rotten　fruit。　His　skin
itched。　He’d　seen　bugs　the　size　of　fingers　crawling　on　the　walls　of　his　habitent　and；　during　the　night；
swarms　of　silk…winged　beetles　flitting　around　the　down…lights　of　the　camp’s　stealth　lamps。
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The　birds　fell　silent。　Marquall　heard　the　low　whir　of　a　nearby　Hydra　platform　as　it　traversed
slowly。　Then　the　sound　of　jet　wash；　low；　passing　overhead。　The　distinctive　warbling　note　of　enemy
vector…thrusters。　In　a　moment；　it　was　gone。
A　muffled　vox　signal。　“Understood；”　Blansher　said；　removing　his　headset。　“All　clear；”　he
reported。　Relieved　conversations　started　up；　activity　resumed。　The　occupants　of　the　shelter　began　to
file　out。　The　runes　on　all　their　bracelets　had　turned　green。
“Begin　day　duties；　please；”　Jagdea　announced。　“Briefing　at　06。30；　but　get　fed　and　washed
quickly。　Snap　calls　can　come　in　at　any　time。　Marquall？”
“Yes；　commander。”
“Go　to　the　stores　right　now；　and　get　a　new　tag。　Before　you　leave　stores；　press　the　test　switch　and
make　sure　it　works。　If　it　doesn’t；　get　another　one。　Do　you　understand？”
“I　do；　commander。”
“Funny；　I　thought　you’d　understood　la