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Double Eagle(科幻战争)-第8部分

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It  the background thrum of G for Greta’s four ramjets。
According to the auspex; there was nothing in the air except their six plane formation for a hundred
kilometres。
27
Viltry clicked his intercom。 “Gee Force; check in。”
That was G for Greta’s other nickname。 Gee Force Greta。 Orsone had coined it; and it had
stuck。
“Bombardier; aye。”
“Nose; aye。”
“Tail; check。”
“Turret; aye。”
Lacombe; Viltry’s navigator; looked round from his position and made a finger…and…thumb “O”
with his gloved hand。
“How far?” Viltry asked the navigator。
“Coming up on the waypoint; sir。 We want to make a turn bearing east ten in the next five。”
“What’s it called again?”
“Irax Passage。 I believe; named after a local species of alpine herbivore that—”
“Thanks; Lacombe。 War first; history later。”
“Sir。”
Viltry switched channels。 “Halo Flight; this is Halo Leader。 Prepare to come about bearing east
ten on my mark… three; two; one… mark。”
The angle of the sun tilted。 The tactical bombers turned。 G for Greta; Hello Hellfire; Throne of
Terror; Mamzel Mayhem; Get Them All Back and Consider Yourself Dead。 Except for heavy
operations; Halo seldom lofted all of its dozen birds for one sortie。 Six was standard; and these six
had been picked by straw poll。 Widowmaker had been drawn; but then switched out because of a
vector duct problem。 Mamzel Mayhem had taken her place。 The Mamzel was Halo Two; Kyrklan’s
bird。 As Viltry’s second…in…command; Wassimir Kyrklan usually led sorties with the other half of
the flight while Viltry’s half was in turnaround。 It was unusual for them to be flying together。
“Make your descent by five thousand;” Lacombe said。
“Copy all flight; descent by five thousand。”
There was a change in engine tone as they began to drop。 The ice…capped peaks began to seem
terribly close。
“Lacombe?”
The navigator’s sharp eyes switched between the terrain…scanning auspex and the cockpit view。
“Looking for a point turn。 Yacob’s Peak。 Plot brief says it stands at the mouth of the pass。”
Another slow minute。 “Come on; Lacombe。”
“There it is。 Twelve kilometres and closing。 We need to lose another two thousand now。 Brief
advises wind shear once we enter the pass。”
Viltry nodded; easing the stick。 “Halo Flight; Halo Flight。 Point marker twelve kilometres and
closing。 Stoop by three; and watch for crosswind。”
“Halo Two; understood。”
“Following your lead; Halo Leader。”
A photo…scout Lightning from the 1267th Navy (recon) had run this pathway at dawn;
identifying a cluster of Imperial armour and artillery units halfway up the pass; with Archenemy
heavies tight on its tail。 Apparently; a local squadron had spotted the area the day before; shortly
before getting stung by enemy air cover。
“Halo Flight; watch the air;” Viltry voxed。 He switched to intercom。 “Gunners? Locks off。
Eyeball scans now; like your lives depend on it。 For they surely do。 Judd?”
A crackle。 “Captain; sir?”
“Kiss the children for me; bombardier。”
Crackle。 “I’ll tell them you said night…night。”
In the bomb bay below Viltry; Judd gently armed the payload; and then snuggled up to the
foresight reticule on his belly。
28
The ragged pinnacle of Yacob’s Peak rose up ahead of them; a snow…caked jab of rock。 Viltry
could see the mouth of the pass now。 His heart began to beat faster。 It was going to be tight。
“Halo Flight; Halo Flight。 On it now。” He tried to keep his voice calm。 “Come about the point
marker and drop hard by number sequence。 The Emperor protects。”
All of the planes repeated that catechism。
Three… two… one…
The six Marauders; now formed in line astern; banked hard around the rock spire and followed
Gee Force down the chute; swinging low and chasing hard。 The promised wind shear rattled them
brutally。 Then; for a few moments; the canyon walls were so close on either side that the pilots
expected to see friction sparks at their wingtips。 But the chasm began to widen out。 The pass
descended。 Snow cover; a ridgeway; a well of black rock with curling ice…sheets。 It widened to five
hundred metres…plus。 Viltry kicked in some throttle; dropping Gee Force down to a sense…whizzing
low fifty。 At the stick of Mamzel Mayhem; right behind Gee Force; Kyrklan grinned。 Low fifty; in a
Marauder doing 400 kph; boxed in by a granite canyon。 Only Oskar Viltry had the balls to lead off
like that。
Kyrklan had been flying Marauders for just a year less than Viltry; and for the last six had been
Viltry’s second in Halo。 He loved the man; and would follow him anywhere。 In Wassimir Kyrklan’s
opinion; no one quite knew how to play a four…ram bird the way Viltry did。 It was a gut thing; a
nerve thing。 Like he was born to it。 When Viltry had gone missing; presumed lost; over the Scald in
771; Kyrklan had mourned not just for his friend but for the generations of Phantine pilots to come。
They would never see Viltry fly; never learn; never understand。 The fact that Kyrklan had gained
flight command was no consolation。 He’d had to lead the wing in on the Ouranberg raid。 Viltry
would have done that job better。 Now the captain was back and everything would be four…A。
Kyrklan pushed his dangling mask up to his face。 “Slow down; eh; Osk?” he laughed into the
vox。
“Say again; Halo Two?”
“Nothing; Halo Leader。 Let’s go get。”
In the juddering cockpit of Halo Lead; Viltry shivered。 Inside his armoured gauntlets; his
knuckles were white。 This is it。 This is the one。 Fortune’s frigging wheel。 This is the payback。
Death。 Death now。 Death now—
“Target sighted!” Judd sang out。
They had just whipped over a straggled formation of Imperial armour; over two hundred
vehicles hemmed in on a shelf of the steep pass。 Up ahead; mobile batteries and heavy cannon began
to punch the air with shot。
Viltry’s hands were quivering on the stick。 “I can’t…” he began。
“Captain?” Lacombe asked; looking round at him。
Holy Throne! Just do it。 Just do it! Viltry shook himself; and screamed into his mic。 “Forward
guns fire now! Now! Judd! Fry them!”
Naxol; in the bow turret; began firing; kicking out backwashing flame around the plane’s nose as
he raked the ground positions。
“Load away!” Judd reported。 Gee Force lifted suddenly as the belly and wing weight let go。
A ripple of flame below。 Then Mamzel Mayhem added to it; then Hello Hellfire。 It whipped up
into a firestorm。 The others; in swift succession; followed。
By then; G for Greta was banking up out of the pass; the crystal mountainscape under her。
Sucked back into their harness rigs by the extreme G; her crew was still cheering。
Levelling out at five kilometres over the peaks; Viltry sagged over the controls for a moment;
breathing hard。
“We cooked them! We cooked the bastards and—”
The voice was shrilling from Gaize; the turret gunner。
29
“Shut up。 Shut up!” Viltry yelled。 “Shut up for Throne’s sake! Pick up your visual scanning right
now or we won’t get home! Do you hear me? We won’t frigging well get home!”
Theda MAB South; 12。12
The sky was empty; but Pilot Officer Vander Marquall wasn’t looking at it。 He was looking at his
bird。
The I…XXI Thunderbolt sat on its skids in an anti…blast revetment on the east side of the Theda
South field。 It was a hefty beast; fourteen tonnes dead weight without fuel; with a blunt group of
cannons for a nose and a body that swelled out into forward swept wings around the thrust tunnels
of the double turbofan engines。 The canopy was set amidships; giving the Bolt a reclined; louche
look。
It was painted matt grey; with the marks of the Phantine XX on its tail and nose。 Its exposed
engine ducts glinted copper。
Racklae; Marquall’s chief fitter; looked up from under one of the gun housings。 “Be good as
new; I promise;” he said。
Marquall grinned。 Racklae’s subs were just finishing up the nose art paint job on the bird。 The
Phantine stylised eagle; clasping the jagged lightning bolt; with the name “Double Eagle” beneath it
in inverted commas。
Marquall became aware of someone coming up behind him。 He turned; and stiffened in surprise。
It was Captain Guis Gettering of the Apostles; his white suede flight coat almost glowing in the
midday sunlight。
“Sir; I—” Marquall began。
Gettering calmly removed one of his chainmail gauntlets and slapped Marquall across the face
with it so hard that the young man was knocked down onto one knee。
Dazed; stunned; his face grazed by the chain; Marquall looked up。
Guis Gettering was striding back to his hardstand。
“What…” gasped Marquall; rising with the assistance of his fitters。 “What the bloody hell was
that about?”
Theda MAB North; 12。26
When Darrow finally got back to his station; it seemed like the place had been abandoned。 He stood
for a few minutes on the sunlit assembly yard and looked out across the main field。 A kilometre
away; along the western side of the area; he could see rows of big machines under nets。 Imperial
birds; Marauders。 Darrow could just make out fitter crews at work on the heavy fighter…bombers。 To
his north; Munitorum crews were dismantling six of the twelve launching ramps used by the
Wolfcubs。 Activity; but all of it remote。
The complex of operations and barrack buildings behind him felt deserted and empty。 He
wandered up the main steps and into the cool gloom of the main hall。 Darrow was wearing a
borrowed pair of old overalls。 His clothing had been ruined in the crash。 He’d managed to keep hold
of his aviator boots; and his heavy leather flying coat; though one sleeve of it had been badly torn。
He’d refused to let the medics toss it away。
They’d insisted on keeping him in Theda South’s infirmary overnight for observation; even
though it was clear to anybody that he was fine apart from a few scratches and bruises。 In the
morning; he’d been forced to wait; twitchy with impatience; to fill out forms and incident
statements。 Only then had he been written up cleared and allowed to snag the first available
transport back to North。
He just wanted to get back; get into the routine again and put the previous day; that terrible day;
behind him。
30
No one seemed to want to let him do that。 The forms; the medical checks; the incident
statements。 Even the transport driver who’d brought him back from Theda South seemed like a sick
jibe。 The man’s face had been a mess of pink scar tissue。
The entry hall was empty。 Nobody hurried past along the polished wood…tile floor。 He walked
past the gilt…lettered rolls of honour on the panelled walls; one for each Commonwealth squadron;
including his own; the 34th General Intercept; and under the brooding hololith of the late Air
Commander Tenthis Belks。 It was a time…honoured custom for all pilots to salute the old man’s
portrait as they went past。 Darrow didn’t feel like such frippery today。
There was no one in the day office; or behind the desk at company and area。 Darrow went down
to the dispersal room; but there was nobody there either。 The air smelled of over…brewed caffeine
and stale smoke。 A circular regicide board; its game unfinished; sat on one of the small tables;
Darrow went back out into the hall; and walked down to the station chapel。 On the wall beside the
double doors hung a blackboard where the names of 
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