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“chute　at　all。
Theda　MAB　South；　07。40
By　the　time　the　transport　turned　off　the　highway　onto　the　field　approach　way；　it　had　been　joined　in
convoy　by　three　others。　They　waited　in　turn　to　be　checked　off　by　weary…looking　PDF　sentries　at　the
west　gate　and　then　rumbled　on　down　a　steep　cutting　onto　the　field　basin。
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Commander　Bree　Jagdea　raised　herself　up　on　the　hard　bench　of　the　jolting　transport　and　looked
around。　Theda　Military　Air…Base　South　covered　over　tetres　of　low　land　southwest
of　the　city　itself。　She　could　smell　the　coast　a　few　kilometres　north；　and　the　sea　air　had　layered　a
light　morning　haze　across　the　field　that　the　sun　was　just　beginning　to　cook　off。
Vast　defences　ringed　the　field。　Ditches　and　dykes；　blast　fences　and　stake　lines；　armoured　nests
for　Hydra　batteries；　pillbox　emplacements　for　raised　missile　cylinders。　There　was　a　patched
perimeter　track；　busy　at　this　hour　with　military　trucks　and　weapons　carriers　moving　both　ways；　and　a
leaner　inner　ring　of　anti…air　batteries。　To　the　south　end　of　the　field　stood　the　great　housing　hangars
and　rockcrete　armouries；　to　the　north　Operations　control　and　the　stark　derricks　and　pylons　of　the
vox；　auspex　and　modar　systems。
A　hash…shape　of　crossed　airstrips　covered　the　main　inner　area；　the　primary　runways　large　enough
to　manage　the　big　reciprocating…engined　bombers　the　locals　flew。　Jagdea　saw　a　few　of　them　parked
on　a　hardstand　in　the　distance。　Magogs；　big　and　old　and　ugly。　They’d　used　them　back　home　on
Phantine　during　the　final　offensive；　desperate　to　get　aloft　anything　that　could　fly　and　fight。　Here　they
were　a　standard　bombing　mainstay。　No　wonder　Enothis　had　been　punished　so　hard。
But　most　of　the　local　machines　had　been　shipped　out　to　clear　the　field　for　the　newcomers。
Jagdea　and　her　flight　had　arrived　in　darkness　the　night　before。　This　was　their　first　proper　look　at
the　base。　It　would　serve；　it　would　have　to。
Work　gangs　from　the　Munitorum　were　already　busy　making　field　conversions。　Labourers　were
proofing　up　more　hard…wall　silos　for　the　arriving　machines；　and　in　one　place　were　beginning　to
dozer　up　one　of　the　old　runways　to　make　additional　parking　bunkers。　The　newcomers’　aircraft；　over
seventy　of　them　already；　were　dark　shapes　under　netting　in　the　clusters　of　anti…blast　revetments　to
the　east。　There　was　a　muddle　of　activity—chugging　generators；　clunking　excavators；　bare…chested
rock…drill　operators；　growing　heaps　of　spoil—all　across　the　inner　landscape　of　the　field。
Jagdea　glanced　at　the　chronograph　strapped　around　the　thick　cuff　of　her　flightsuit。　They　were
right　on　time。　Their　transport　had　left　the　perimeter　track　and　was　bumping　towards　the　nearest　of
the　huge　drome　hangars。
“Up　and　ready。　Umbra　Flight；”　she　ordered。　The　eleven　aviators　under　her　command　gathered
up　their　kits　as　the　transport　rolled　to　a　stop。
Jagdea　jumped　down　and　took　a　deep　breath。　“Here　we　go；”　she　muttered　to　Milan　Blansher；　her
number　two。　Blansher　was　a　grizzled　veteran　in　his　forties；　his　career　tally　of　twenty…two　kills　the
finest　in　Umbra　Flight。　He　said　little；　but　she　trusted　him　with　her　life。　He　had　unusually　pale；
distant　eyes　for　a　Phantine　and　sported　a　thick　grey　moustache；　partly　to　lend　himself　an　air　of
avuncular　seniority；　mostly　to　help　conceal　the　ridge　of　white　scar　tissue　where　a　piece　of　shell
casing　had　split　his　face　from　his　right　nostril；　down　across　both　lips；　to　the　point　of　his　chin。
“Here　we　go　indeed；”　he　murmured；　and　hoisted　his　kit　onto　his　shoulder。　The　others　clambered
down。　Van　Tull；　Espere；　Larice　Asche　with　her　hair　up　in　a　non…regulation　bun；　Del　Ruth；　Clovin；
the　boy　Marquall；　Waldon；　forever　whistling　a　melody…less　tune；　Zemmic；　jangling　with　his　cluster
of　lucky　charms；　Cordiale；　Ranfre。　Almost　all　of　them　made　the　superstitious　bob　down　to　touch　the
ground。
Vander　Marquall　didn’t。　He　was　gazing　across　the　field；　watching　three　machines　of　the
Enothian　Commonwealth　Air　Force　crank　up　for　launch。　They　were　powerful；　twin…engine　deltaform
planes；　an　Interceptor　pattern　known　as　Cyclones。　Started　from　trolley…mounted　primer　coils；
their　massive　piston　engines　sucked　and　thundered　into　life；　kicking　out　plumes　of　blue　smoke　from
the　exhaust　vents　as　the　heavy　props　began　to　turn　to　a　flickering　blur。　They　rocked　impatiently　at
their　blocks　as　the　ground　crews　rolled　the　carts　aside。　Marquall　could　see　the　two…man　crews　in　the
glass　nose　cockpits　making　final　checks。　Though　most　Commonwealth　wings　had　been　withdrawn
to　make　way　for　the　offworlders；　a　flight　of　these　Cyclones　had　been　left　on　station　to　fly　top…cover
tours　while　the　Imperials　bedded　in。
“Coming；　Marquall？”　Jagdea　asked。　He　turned　and　nodded。
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“Yes；　commander。”　Marquall　was　the　youngest　aviator　in　Umbra　by　four　years；　and　the　only　one
with　no　operational　combat　experience。　Everyone　else　had　seen　at　least　some　action　during　the
Phantine　liberation。　Marquall　had　still　been　in　the　accelerated　program　at　Hessenville　when
hostilities　ended。　He　was　eager　and；　Jagdea　believed；　reasonably　gifted；　but　only　time　would　really
tell　his　worth。　He　had　the　classic　saturnine　good　looks　of　a　Phantine　male；　and　a　white；　toothy　grin
that　people　either　found　winningly　charming　or　unpleasantly　cocky。
Umbra　Flight　strode　off　across　the　apron　towards　the　hangar；　followed　by　another　flight　of
aviators　spilling　down　from　a　second　transport。　Jagdea　took　a　glance　back　at　their　own　ride。　In　the
cab；　the　Munitorum　driver　nodded　briefly　to　her。　She　could　clearly　see　how　one　half　of　his　face　was
lost　in　burn　scarring；　as　if　soft；　pink　rose　petals　had　been　plastered　across　his　skin。
They　walked　into　the　vast　drome　hangar。　The　air　inside　smelled　cold　and　damp；　with　a　tang　of
promethium。　The　interior　space　had　been　cleared；　except　for　a　lone　Shrike　under　tarps　in　a　corner；
and　a　stage　of　flak…boards　supported　by　empty　munition　crates　had　been　raised　along　the　west　wall。
A　chart　stand　and　a　hololithic　displayer　had　been　set　up　on　the　staging。
A　group　of　more　than　twenty　aviators　was　already　waiting　inside。　They　stood　near　the　stage；
their　kit　bags　at　their　feet。　Like　the　men　who　had　come　off　the　second　truck；　they　were　Navy　pilots；
wearing　grey　flight　armour　and　black　coats。　Some　of　them　sported　augmetic　eyes。　They　greeted　their
colleagues　from　the　second　truck；　but　both　groups　looked　dubiously　at　the　Phantine　as　they　came　in；
and　stayed　apart　from　them　in　segregated　groups。　Jagdea　regarded　them　casually　as　Umbra　Flight
dropped　their　bags　and　made　a　huddle。　The　Navy　fliers　kept　glancing　their　way。　Jagdea　knew　the
Phantine　Corps　was　unusual；　and　that　set　them　apart　from　the　regular　Imperial　aviators。　It
undoubtedly　would　mean　rivalry　and　a　pecking　order；　she　accepted。
They　were　tough…looking　brutes；　sturdy　and　thickset；　with　pale　skins　and　cropped　hair。　Most　of
their　flight…suits　were　reinforced　with　plating　sections　or　coats　of　chainmail；　and　their　heavy　leather
coats　were　often　fur…trimmed。　Many　had　ugly　facial　scars。　Several　displayed　medal　ribbons　and
other　honour　sashes。
“Sixty…Third　Imperial　Fighter　Wing；”　Blansher　whispered　discreetly　in　her　ear。　“The　Sundogs；
as　they　like　to　be　styled。　I　believe　that　one　there；　the　big　fellow　with　the　flight　commander　pins；　is
Leksander　Godel。　Forty　kills　last　count。”
“Yeah；　I’ve　heard　of　him；”　she　answered　lightly。
“The　other　bunch　are　the　409　Raptors；　I　believe；”　Blansher　went　on；　“which　would　make　that
unassuming　fellow　there　Wing　Leader　Ortho　Blaguer。”
“The　same？”
“The　very　same。　One　hundred　and　ten　kills。　See；　he’s　looking　at　us。”
“Then　let’s　look　somewhere　else；”　Jagdea　said　and　turned　away。
“Orbis　at　your　six！”　Pilot　Officer　Zemmic　suddenly　cried　out　loudly；　his　voice　echoing　round　the
drome。　Dismounting　from　another　transport　just　now　drawn　up　outside；　a　dozen　more　Phantine　fliers
were　marching　into　the　hangar。　Jagdea　felt　instant　relief　at　the　sight　of　familiar　faces。　Orbis　Flight；
comrades　and　friends。　At　the　head　of　them　strolled　their　commander；　Wilhem　Hayyes。
The　two　wings　clustered　together　and　greeted　each　other。
“Nice　of　you　to　join　us；”　Jagdea　grinned　as　she　shook　Hayyes　by　the　hand。
“Nice　of　you　to　wait　for　us；”　Hayyes　replied。　“I　trust　there