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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；　Kaminsky　strolled　up　the　ramp　until　he　was　overlooking　the　main　field。　Guide
path　flares　had　just　been　lit；　filling　the　night　with　a　lambent　green　light。　Thanks　to　this；　he　could　see
a　row　of　Thunderbolts　hunched　under　mesh…tents　to　the　west。　His　guess　had　been　right。　They　hadn’t
been　there　the　day　before。　A　newly　arrived　wing。　More　reinforcements。
A　shuddering　rush　swept　over　him　out　of　the　south；　and　he　turned　to　watch　another　wing　come
in；　returning　from　a　sortie。　Thunderbolts　too。　He　liked　the　look　of　those　big　brutes　and　wondered
how　they　felt　to　fly。　The　twelve　machines　came　in　low；　following　the　guide　path；　and　began　to　slow；
turning　their　forward　rate　into　a　gentle　hover　as　they　adjusted　their　vector　jets　and　settled　down　onto
their　designated　pads。　The　monstrous；　combined　howl　of　their　engines　made　his　diaphragm　shake。
“Good　day；　guys？”　he　called　to　them；　out　loud。　“Many　kills？”　He　toasted　the　distant　planes　with
his　cup。　He　could　remember　the　buzz　so　clearly：　riding　home；　guns　empty；　flying　on　fumes；　the　rush
of　a　combat　survive