Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第23部分

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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　last　night　when　I　told　you　the　first　time。”
“I　was　slack；　commander。　It　won’t　happen　again。”
“Carry　on；”　she　said。　He　turned。　“Wait！”
He　sighed；　and　turned　back。　She　was　frowning。　“Closer。　Right　here。　Turn　round。”
She　examined　the　skin　of　his　shoulders　where　the　vest　exposed　it；　then　pulled　up　the　hem　and
looked　at　his　back。
“You　have　a　dermal　condition　I　should　know　about？”　she　asked。
“No；　mamzel。”
“Then　it’s　scop　bites。　They　say　some　people　get　them　worse　than　others。　The　sweet…tasting　ones。
Are　you　sweet…tasting；　Marquall？”
“Don’t　know；　mamzel。”
“The　scops　seem　to　think　so。　See　the　base　medicae　while　you’re　about　it。”
“Yes；　mamzel。”
Marquall　laced　up　his　boots　properly　and　then　trudged　through　the　base。　Now　the　risk　of
discovery　had　passed；　the　place　felt　more　like　a　functioning　air…base。　Personnel　hurried　about　on　the
boardwalks；　and　teams　of　fitters　unwrapped　hidden　machines　and　resumed　work　on　them。　The　smell
of　promethium　almost　overwhelmed　the　scent　of　the　swamp。
The　forward　strike　base；　a　makeshift　encampment；　lurked　secretly　in　the　kinderwood　forests　on
the　southern　shore　of　Lake　Gocel。　The　lake　itself；　immense　and　nearly　a　thousand　kilometres　east　to
west；　was　fed　by　headwaters　coming　down　from　the　Makanites；　and　in　turn　emptied　into　the　Saroja
River　to　drain　into　the　sea　on　the　far…away　western　coast。　This　great　system　of　rivers　and　lakes；
around　which　flourished　a　gigantic　swathe　of　rainforest；　formed　a　margin　between　the　Interior
Desert　to　the　south　and　the　scrubby；　temperate　peninsula　to　the　north。　An　enveloping　green　belt　in
which　they　could　hide　and　then　strike　at　anything　that　passed　over。
The　vast　lake　itself；　so　wide　the　far　shore　was　all　but　a　smudge；　was　visible　between　the　thinning
shore　trees；　a　broad　expanse　of　sunlit　green。　The　entire　territory　was　swampy　and　bug…thick：
miasmal　black　ooze　and　pools　of　stagnant　water　interlacing　the　jumbled　kinder　groves。　Beyond　the
lake；　to　the　east；　Marquall　glimpsed　the　lazy　flanks　of　the　Makanites；　dust…yellow　in　the　rising　sun。
Navy　pioneer　units　and　Munitorum　workcrews　had　built　a　surprising　amount　at　Gocel。　Prefab
hab　modules；　defence　batteries；　bunkers　and　covered　hangars　nestled　under　the　trees　and　the
ubiquitous　shimmer　nets。　Modar　stacks　and　vox　masts　poked　discreetly　above　the　leaf　cover；　or　had
been　raised　as　cable…form　aerials；　cleated　to　the　trees　themselves。　Clearings　had　been　cut；　dozens　of
them；　each　one　levelled　and　decked　with　heavyweight　vulcanised　matting：　thick　grey　material　rolled
out　to　form　temporary　hardstands。　On　each　stand　sat　a　warplane：　the　ten　Thunderbolts　of　Umbra
Flight；　the　twelve　of　the　Navy　409th　“Raptors”；　and　the　eight　Lightnings　from　the　786th　“Spyglass”
recon。　Unless　unshrouded　for　launch　or　landing；　each　matt…decked　clearing　was　all　but　invisible
from　the　air　thanks　to　the　camo…awnings。
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Bulk　landers；　for　support　crew　transfers；　base　supply；　and　fuel　and　munitions　deliveries；　used　the
wide；　muddy　beach　of　the　lake　shore；　not　needing　to　stay　on　station　for　more　than　a　few　minutes。
There　was　no　way　a　permanent　large…scale　matt…deck　could　be　concealed　from　the　air。　Sentinel
power　lifters；　striding　through　the　mire；　did　all　the　base’s　heavy　lifting　and　carrying。
The　FSB　had　a　decent　ring　of　Tarantula　sentry　guns　watching　the　forest　around　it；　as　well　as　two
dozen　Manticore　and　Hydra　anti…aircraft　batteries。　With　the　PDF　troopers　needed　to　man　all　these；
the　thirty　pilots；　the　fitter　teams　and　forward　operations　personnel；　Lake　Gocel　FSB　had　a
population　of　over　two　hundred。
“Hey；　killer。　Where　you　going？”
Marquall　looked　round　and　saw　Larice　Asche　jogging　up　behind　him　along　the　flak　boarding。
“Stores；”　he　said。
Privately；　he　was　in　awe　of　Flight　Lieutenant　Larice　Asche。　She　seemed　so　damn　tough。　Jagdea
was　a　multi…kill　vet　too；　but　he　mainly　respected　her　because　she　was　in　charge。　Asche；　an　ace
before　the　liberation　of　Phantine　had　even　finished；　was　the　real　thing；　respected　by　all　for　her　sheer
talent。　And　young；　too。　Blansher　had　a　huge　tally；　but　he　was　an　old　guy。　Larice　seemed　not　much
older　than　Marquall　himself。
She　was　lean　and　gamine；　with　bony　cheeks　and　a　vicious；　toothy　grin。　The　previous　afternoon；
before　they’d　shipped　out　to　Gocel；　she’d　had　her　famous　blonde　hair　shaved　down　to　a　finger
width。　“Jungle　lice；”　she’d　announced；　adding；　“do　not　want　them。”
“The　med…station’s　near　stores；　isn’t　it？”　she　asked　him。
“I　think　so。”
“I’ll　tag　along。　So　much　for　precautions。”
“What？”
She　ran　a　hand　through　her　brutally　cropped　hair。　“For　this。”
“How　so？”
She　pulled　off　her　jacket　and　showed　him　the　multiple　bites　on　her　bare　forearms。　“Scops；”　he
said。　“So　they　say。”
“Me　too；”　he　said；　dropping　his　flight　coat　off　one　arm　and　showing　her　his　shoulder。
“Bitching；”　she　said。
The　Munitorum　station　was　a　ring　of　hardened　prefabs　standing　in　the　blue　shadows　of　a
massive　frond…tree。　They　went　inside；　into　the　air…scrubbed　cool。　The　duty　attendant；　his　face　full　of
ancient　augmetics；　looked　up　from