this machine。 It was constantly coming home with shot…holes to patch。
Espere settled in beside Marquall’s machine。 Espere was an expert wingman。 He knew how to
fly cover and watch a fellow pilot’s back。 That’s why Jagdea had called him to do this； and that’s
what he’d do。 But he with his antics。 There was a gauge light
on for a drop in lube…pressure。 What was that about？ Had he taken a hit he didn’t know about？
Mind on the game； Pers。 Mind on the game。 The boy needed all his help。
“Come about； Eight。 Let’s see if we can’t do some good here。”
He looked over at the machine alongside him； and saeted head nod
eagerly； his thumb coming up。 Sunlight glinted off the canopy。
Sunlight glinted off something else。
“Break！ Break！ Break！” Espere yelled。 The two Bolts scissored up and away violently as the
mauve shape snapped by。 Espere’s damage recorder started beeping。
“Eight？ Where are you？” Espere rasped； struggling with the stick as he tried to right the plane。
“I can’t see it！ I can’t see it！”
Espere could see him well enough。 Marquall was above and to his right； turning really badly into
a terrible climb。 Espere hit the juice and started to rise。
“Pull in； Eight！ You’re going to stall if you turn that tight！”
Silence。 The horrendous weight of high G was preventing the kid from answering。
Don’t black out… don’t black out… Espere willed。 Shit！ There was the bat again； stooping in
from the east； cannons blazing。 Marquall’s Bolt shuddered as it was hit； but the impact seemed to
settle him out。 Or snap him awake。
Espere hit reheat and came around hard in a port turn…and…roll； viffing gently to set himself up
on the Locust as it crossed。 He’d be damned if he’d let the kid get killed on his virgin run。
Espere opened up。 Autocannons。 A neat burst with good deflection。 The Locust trembled； side
hit； and then broke left。
42
Then； out of nowhere； there was another bat； coming in straight。 Espere kicked the rudder and
came in tight； shielding Marquall’s bird with his own machine as he tipped his nose towards the
attacker。
Marquall saw what was happening about a second too late。 Espere’s plane rocked wildly。 Pieces
of plating sheared off； part of the rudder； part of an engine duct。 The canopy shattered but stayed on。
The Locust went by under them both like a comet； doing well over 500 kph。
“Umbra Five！ Umbra Five！ Are you all right？”
Umbra Five wobbled and began exuding a trickle of grey smoke。
“Umbra Five？”
“I’m okay；” Espere’s voice answered。 “I’m okay。”
Espere had been hit； Jagdea was pretty certain of that。 As she threw her bird to and fro； the bat
on her neck； she glimpsed Espere take a slice…by。
Where was he now？ No way of telling。 She was banking and the world was coming round。 The
bat was right on her。
She pulled into a crisp turn。 The auspex collision monitor suddenly squealed。
A Commonwealth Cyclone was flying right across her path。
Jagdea slammed the stick forward to avoid it； and went under the delta…wing； her turbofans
shrilling as the Thunderbolt started to power dive。 The ground was rushing up at her； the curlicue
line of the Lida； the squared…off field beds and hydroponic assemblies。 Getting out of this dive was
going to be hard。
Target lock wailed。 Okay then； harder still。 The bat was on her； following her down。
Coming out of this； she’d have to pull three or four Gs。 That was possible； provided the pilot
was ready for it。 She tensed her torso and legs； the recommended “grip” manoeuvre； and yanked the
stick。
Here it came。 Wham！ Already she weighed about a thousand kilos； feeling her heart and lungs
pressing on her diaphragm。 Spots in front of her eyes。 The start of tunnel vision。 “Grip” position
helped hold the blood in her head so she wouldn’t black out。
She levelled off at around fifty metres； so low over the agricultural waterways her plane raised a
bow…wave of spray off the field ponds。 She glimpsed water aurochs scattering across a field。 Bank to
the right； to avoid a pump station’s tower； then left again。 Her slipstream ripped the plastek sheeting
off a field of waterbeet。 The bat was right on her six。 Target lock。 Ping！ Ping！ Ping！
She hit the speed brakes； her harness snapped her back into her seat。 The bat went right over her；
starting to turn and climb desperately。
She viffed into its reactive turn and hammered it with three salvoes from her lascannons。 It
turned to port； apparently unharmed； then suddenly screwed over into a nosedive and planted itself
so hard into the middle of a hydroponics raft； the impact sent a tidal wave ripple flushing out beyond
the field boundaries。
Jagdea turned south； rising； as a column of smoke boiled up from the farmland behind her。
“Lead； you with us？” Van Tull voxed。 “Four…A；” she replied。 “Umbra Five； you okay？”
“Fine；” Espere responded。
The remaining Locusts had fled。 Jagdea had Four…One turn in to escort the rest of the Cyclones
home。 She’d made two kills； with one probable； raising her career tally to nineteen。 Van Tull had
made one； raising his to eleven。
Not too shabby。
Theda MAB South； 16。59
Operations had hoisted blue flags and lit guide…path flares。 The day was fading in the sky； turning
the cloud cover as mauve as a Locust’s paint…job。 Asche’s section was already long home； and
Blansher’s had landed about fifteen minutes ahead of them。 As Jagdea came in； she saw the svelte
43
ivory machines of the Apostles； prepping on their hardstands； their noses bristling with black； antlerlike
antennae arrays for night…fighting。 All the other Navy wings were in the air somewhere。 Busy
day。
“Be advised； Operations；” she said as she came in。 “Contrary to briefings； the Archenemy has
air…reach beyond the Makanites。” She’d sent this message four times already； with barely an
acknowledgement。 The bats were over the mountains now。 They had much less time than Ornoff
had figured。
“Operations。 Please recognise my signal。”
“Recognised； Umbra Leader。 It has been sent to Tactical。”
In the fading light； she cleared the bright flare path and settled her Bolt onto its stand； gusting
down on swivelled nozzles with barely a bump。
The crews ran out。
Marquall landed； shaking with something between fear and delight。 He’d survived； but God…
Emperor； how he had screwed up。 He was for it； he knew。
Van Tull’s bird went overhead； slowing to a perfect vertical decline on its smoking nozzles。
Espere had put down。
Ignoring Racklae and the fitters； Marquall jumped off his Bolt and ran over to Espere’s machine。
He slowed down as he approached it。 The flank was raked to hell； the armour buckled and burst。
Huge holes； scorched black； peppered the rudder and the wing edge。
A fitter was running towards the bird； but Marquall pushed him aside and jumped up on the
wing； hauling back the shattered canopy frame himself。
“Espere？ Espere； are you all right？”
Pers Espere looked up at him。 The cockpit armour was splintered。 Every dial in the display was
cracked。 Espere’s left arm was a tattered shred； his right a fused lump； glued by the heat of the lasshots
to the stick。 The left side of his face was a pincushion of canopy fragments。
“I’m fine；” said Espere。
44
DAY 254
Theda MAB South； 04。10
Kaminsky wasn’t due on until six； but the birds were disturbing his slumber。 He’d learned to sleep
through regular jet sounds； the ruckus that had been going on every night for the last nine months。
What bothered his sleep now were the new noises the Navy machines had brought with them： the
shrill wails and spitting roars of vector…thrust craft coming and going。 He wasn’t used to those
sounds； and his sleeping self hadn’t yet learned to screen them out。
And； Throne； weren’t they busy？ Kaminsky had counted at least three sortie launches since
nightfall； and there’d also been a hell of a noise around midnight； which he was sure was a new
wing arriving for deployment。
Things were hotting up。 Kaminsky had heard rumours—a friend of a friend in the motor pool；
who knew a guy； who’d got talking to a Navy fitter – rumours that there had already been a few airbrawls
this side of the mountains。 Some business had gone down over the Lida Valley the day
before。 Someone else said they’d seen bats over the Peninsula。 That was probably crap。 Kaminsky
hoped so； because if it was true； that meant they really were near the end。 But the Lida Valley； that
was possible。 And bad enough。 The bats had got reach。 Maybe even the vaunted Imperial Navy
wings couldn’t stop them now。
They were trying； though。 Kaminsky left his bunk in the Munitorum dorm and walked down the
dimly…lit and blast…hardened hallway to section post。 The five guys who were meant to be on
standby were asleep in chairs。 The jet roar hadn’t woken them。 They were all Munitorum drivers；
born and bred。 They were oblivious to the subtle changes in the noise over the field。
Kaminsky helped himself to some caffeine from the pot on the stove； and went out into the
motor pool yard。 The air was cold and the night still very black。 Several tech…priests were working
on some cargo…8s； lighting the corner of the yard with the tremulous glow of their welding wands
and incense burners。
Sipping his drink； Kamins