Blansher and Jagdea had the lead, and screamed down into the path of the bats, which both
broke immediately. Blansher viffed out on a good guess and began to climb after one of the soaring
Locusts.
Unusually, Jagdea misjudged, and the other bat went under her. It was tight, but Marquall
managed to pull a break-turn and spill into its roll. He fired. The forks of las-shot were incredibly
bright in the low light.
The Locust evaded and turned high. Marquall followed it. He was concentrating hard, but not so
hard he missed the call from Jagdea.
“More contacts, closing, ultra-fast.”
Marquall tried to look everywhere at once. Where were the new ones? What angle?
The Locust tried to throw him with a chandelle, but Marquall nursed over on vector thrust. He
stood Nine-Nine on its end, let the tail slip out, and turned a tumble into a swing-over.
The Locust was going for Waldon and the Lightning again.
A bright flash lit the sky and, for a second, his instrumentation sobbed with electromagnetic
interference.
“Bat down,” Blansher called. He’d blown the other one out of the sky.
“Eight?” Jagdea called.
“I’m on it!” Marquall executed a barrel-roll and swept down after the Locust, which, against the
dark shroud of the forest, he could see only on the auspex and by the light of its engines. He pulled
in, chasing hard, saw its engine flare slide through his gunsight, corrected, and got a lock tone.
He fired. He hit something, because there was suddenly shrapnel in the air. Where was it?
“It’s going high! It’s going high!” he heard Waldon yell.
Marquall looked up, and saw the Locust powering up into the violet sky on a vertical track,
suddenly visible as a sharp silhouette against the pale light.
It was trailing smoke. He’d hit it, at least, and driven it off.
The vox crackled. “Umbra Lead, Umbra Lead, is that you?”
“Copy that. Larice?”
“Affirmative. We are inbound to your position, converging. Be advised: bats, bats, bats.”
Marquall heard Jagdea curse. He pulled up and round, and saw the sky above and to their south
full of specks and sparkles of light.
Larice and Zemmic, running for home, with ten-plus machines on their heels.
“Eight and Two, with me!” Jagdea called. “Four, we are crossing to intercept. Can you
commit?”
“Negative, Lead. Zemmic and I are nil ammo, repeat nil ammo.”
“Understood. Burn for home. We’ll deal.”
Marquall saw two hot lights flare up to his port side as Blansher and Jagdea hit the burners and
blasted towards the incoming formation. He opened his own throttle and soared in after them.
Zemmic and Asche, cooking at full, streaked past under him, rocking Nine-Nine with their jet wash.
The three Thunderbolts scorched into the leading edge of the Locust pack. The air went wild
with dazzling streamers of crossfire. As the bats fired, it seemed like a whole constellation of
flashing stars had come out.
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Marquall felt the shudder of near-misses, and then a flat slap as something kissed across his port
wing. He squeezed the gun-stud, then rolled hard, getting into grip position instinctively as he pulled
four and a half negative.
There was a vast fire-splash to starboard, and Marquall was dazed long enough for him to almost
collide with a Locust coming fast the other way. From the whoop on the vox, Blansher had
evidently scored again.
The bats had broken high. Marquall gunned Nine-Nine and began a climbing turn. His auspex
display was just a mass of confused green blobs. He couldn’t make anything out.
Something went by him, turning higher and wider than him. He reckoned it was Jagdea. A
Locust streaked down past him, guns clattering.
He rolled around and spotted Blansher powering low over the forest, chasing two bats with
another pair mobbing at his heels. Marquall put his nose down and streaked after the pursuers.
“Eight! Break, break, break!” That was Jagdea.
Marquall had already heard the whining of the lock alarm. He punched over left, then rolled
back right, and fluttered his speed brakes. The tone ceased. Something went over him, turning.
More throttle again, climbing now. The bats Blansher had been chasing had split, and he was
alone with Locusts firing at his tail, stuck tight.
“Break, Two!” Marquall yelled. “Break!”
“They’re too tight! Riding me!”
Nose up, Blansher’s machine shuddered and yawed as las-shots chewed into its tail fin.
In desperation, Blansher executed a vector brake, but up rather than down, so that the two bats
whipped under him. By then, Marquall was tight on them, and he went under Blansher too. Blansher
had braked too hard, and was now trying to recover airspeed before he stalled.
One bat disappeared, pulling out so suddenly, Marquall couldn’t tell if it had gone high or low.
He came in on the other, emptying his batteries, and then toggling to quad-cannon for a second
lengthy burst.
The Locust suddenly spluttered out a gout of flame, which flared rapidly into a wide, spiralling
fireball and ignited propellant. The bat’s doom was so savage that Marquall had to break off to
avoid the blast.
He had made his second kill.
Jagdea banked over, lined up and ripped a Locust out of the air as it attempted to swing under
her. It went over, shaking like an autumn leaf, and caught fire.
Another two streaked past her, but Blansher was on them, firing like a maniac. One blew out,
becoming a cloud of sparks that sailed on, slowed, and then began to fall. The other broke south.
Something lined up on Jagdea’s bird so fast that the lock tone surprised her. She took three hits
that kicked the tail of her Thunderbolt high and caused a mass of alarm runes to light her display.
She fought the stick, stiff with diving speed, and kicked the rudder out to port, piling on the G.
She grunted with effort, bringing the nose round.
And there was a banking Locust, moving a touch too lazily, like a gift from the God-Emperor
himself.
She was set on quad already. She fired, a sustained burst, enjoying the way the shudder impaired
Zero-Two’s stable flight.
Mortally wounded, the Locust dipped its nose and began to dive. A long, steady curve of firetrail
marked its passage from air to ground. There was a vivid flash amongst the trees below.
“They’re breaking!” Blansher voxed.
She banked wide, checking her auspex. “Confirm that, Two.”
The remaining bats were fleeing south in a loose line.
“Pursuit?” asked Marquall.
The boy’s blood was evidently up.
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“Negative, Eight. Turn for home.”
They cruised back through what was now night, each pilot isolated in the darkness. Nine
kilometres from Gocel FSB, a large area of forest was ablaze.
In the darkness, the nets were back and the lumin barrettes were lit. Umbra One, Two and Eight
followed the shine down and settled perfectly on their mats.
Lake Gocel FSB, 21.02
Racklae hauled Marquall out of his machine. The fitters were running in for after flight. Vapour
fumed the pad. Already, the shimmer netting was closing, the barrettes had been killed, and stealth
lighting resumed over the base.
Marquall pulled off his helmet. The night air smelled good. Insects were screaming in the
thickets and under the dark trees.
“Okay, pilot?” Racklae asked.
“About time I started a tally,” Marquall said. Racklae grinned. It wasn’t done for a pilot to stripe
up a single kill. But once it was more than one…
“How many should I put, sir?” Racklae asked.
“Keep it modest. I got another one, Racks.”
“Number two!” Racklae yelled, and the ground crew began jumping around and cheering.
Several ran up to shake Marquall by the hand.
“There was a fire in the forest,” Marquall said, trying to make himself heard over the jubilation.
“I wouldn’t know about that, sir,” Racklae said. “You’d better go to dispersal.”
Marquall nodded, and patted Nine-Nine’s flank.
“Look after her, Racks,” he said.
“Will do, sir,” said the chief.
The fitter crew gave him a series of hearty cheers as he left the matt-deck. Weighed down by his
flight armour, Marquall limped down the path through the trees towards Operations.
There was a commotion there. Still wearing their flight gear, Larice Asche and Zemmic were in
the process of recounting some furious dogfight to Del Ruth, Cordiale, Ranfre and Van Tull. Base
crew, and some Raptor pilots gathered around, listening.
Marquall saw Blansher standing in the shadows of the awning outside Operations, talking to
someone.
He went across. The cries and laughter from the gaggle of pilots was loud and vigorous.
It was Kautas standing with Blansher. Both men were smoking lho-sticks. Marquall saw how
pale and drawn Blansher was. The older man smiled as he saw Marquall.
“Over here, Vander,” he called.
Blansher shook Marquall’s hand. “Thanks,” he said.
“For what?”
“I think that double stern attack might have stung me if you hadn’t been chasing them down.”
“Rubbish. You got yourself out of that one.”
Blansher shrugged. “Well done, by the way. Two, was it?”
“I wish,” said Marquall. “One, clean and definite. I hit another, but he stayed up.”
Kautas reached into his robe pocket with his left hand, pulled out a silver stick case, and opened
it, offering the contents to Marquall.
“No thanks, father,” said Marquall.
“Such a clean-living boy,” Kautas said to Blansher as he put the lho-stick case away. In his other
hand, the priest held a bottle of amasec. “How about this, then?”
Marquall took the bottle and knocked off a finger that burned in his mouth, then his throat, then
his belly. He handed the bottle to Blansher.
115
“To your three kills, sir. What is it now?”
Blansher took a swig. “I forget, Vander.” He passed the bottle back to the priest.
“Do we know what happened yet?” Marquall asked.
“Not entirely. What I’ve been told is the flight got into serious trouble on the edge of the desert.
The Lightnings had picked up something important, and then there were hostiles all over them like a
swarm. Forty-plus machines. From what Asche has said, it must have been a monster of a fight. One
of the Lightnings was stung almost immediately. Then another of them got a kill, and was promptly
killed itself. Meanwhile our three went into the brawl. Waldon splashed two and then, ammo zilch,
he pulled out and started to nursemaid the remaining Lightning, which had been shot to crap and
was running home. Asche and Zemmic stayed on station, and kept going until they were out, trying
to buy Waldon and the Lightning some time to get clear. We’re waiting for gun-pict confirmation,
but allegedly Zemmic bagged four, and our dear Larice got nine.”
“Nine?”
“That’s what she says,” Blansher nodded.
Blansher had made three, Jagdea two. Amazing scores for one sortie. Zemmic himself put them
to shame. But nine. Nine. That made Marquall’s triumphant one seem so paltry.
“Nine?” Marquall said again.
“Seems so,” said Blansher.
“She’s a foxy one,” said Kautas.
“That must be a record,” Marquall murmured.
“I’ve not heard anything to match it,” agreed Blansher.
The bottle came back to Marquall. He wiped the snout and took another sip.
Nearby, the crews were clapping and cheering Asche as she reached the climax of her turn-byturn
account. Knocking back a drink, she leaned over and mashed her lips into Zemmic’s. There was
laughter and whoops.
Zemmic. A clean four. The new hot stuff. The new one with the shine.
Marquall turned away. “Who belonged to the fire I saw?” he asked.
Blansher looked down. “Waldon,” he said.
Waldon had guarded the wounded Lightning back home, every step of the way. Just short of the
FSB, his damaged Bolt had given up and dropped nose-down into the rainforest. No chute,
according to their Lightning pilot, who had landed safely. No chute.
Someone came out under the awning behind Marquall, and Blansher stiffened. Marquall turned.
It was Jagdea. Oil still smeared her face. She looked grim. “Come in,” she said.
The three of them crossed to her.
“What about the others?” Blansher asked.
“Leave them,” Jagdea said. “They’re having fun. I don’t want to spoil it.”
They walked into Operations. Blansher and the priest stubbed out their sticks before entering.
Blaguer was there, leaning over a display intently with Oberlitz. The operators sat at their
stations.
Commander Marcinon sat at a desk, reviewing pict slides on a back-lit writing slope.
“Kills confirmed,” Jagdea said. “Two for me, three for Mil. One for you, Vander. Good work.”
“Thank you, mamzel.”
“Zemmic got his four. Turns out, from the picts, Asche got ten.” Kautas whistled.
“Unheard of,” said Jagdea. “Though by the look of the footage, the sky was so full of bats it
would have been hard not to hit something.”
“Why so grim?” Blansher asked her.
“We’ve studied the recon data the Lightning was so desperate to bring home.”
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Jagdea went over to the light table and cycled up some images into the projector. Hololithic
shapes formed in the air.
“What’s that?” said Kautas. “I can’t—”
“That’s armour, father,” said Jagdea. “Seen from above at high altitude. Stalk tanks mostly, but
also lines of main battle tanks, troop transporters and some super-heavies.”
“It just looks like specks,” Kautas said.
Marquall stiffened. He was more used to reading aerial picts than the priest.
“Holy Throne…” he sighed.
“Summary count is nine thousand units,” Jagdea said. “Coming in out of the deserts. These
enlargements here modify for dust cover. See this? Identified as the sigil markings of the Blood
Pact.”
“They’re coming north,” whispered Blansher.
“Undoubtedly,” said Marcinon, coming over to join them. “The Archenemy clearly believes its
air war has been successful in hammering the Littoral. The ground forces of Chaos are now
invading. I have sent word to the coast. The evacuation is being stepped up. I… I somehow doubt
we will be ready in time.”
“What about us?” asked Marquall.
“Us, boy?” Marcinon asked.
“Sir, we’re in the direct path of this. The enemy land forces must already be in the forests.”
“Yes. Auspex returns paint them sixty kilometres south and moving fast. Operations has ordered
our immediate withdrawal. Us, and all the other FSBs in the forest region. Transports will arrive
tomorrow at 08.00 hours.”
Jagdea looked at Marquall and saw his sadness. “Time to retreat,” she said. “It happens.”
