Chryze, Langersville. I can find them on the chart.”
LeGuin shrugged. “We’ve got fuel and traction. What do we think?”
127
“Better than sitting here,” Matredes ventured.
“What’s another few kilometres?” said Emdeen.
“East suits me,” Viltry said.
“Let’s do it,” said LeGuin.
It took them another hour to spread the word and recruit about forty machines to come with
them. LeGuin made sure they were all in decent repair. He didn’t want stragglers. The damaged, the
struggling, they could stay with the main tide of traffic.
After that, once he’d voxed numbers and details into Munitorum despatch and got an all-clear, it
took another two hours to manoeuvre out of the line. It was hard work, like a stalemated round of
regicide, with nowhere to back up or turn. Arguments flared. LeGuin and Viltry had to jump down
and break up a brawl between the crew of a Gerzon regiment halftrack and the men from a 44th
Light Chimera that had accidentally rammed it.
Finally, the commander of a Pardus Conqueror, The Stuff of Legend, managed to find a turning
space in the gateway of a canning plant, and lanced the pressure by creating a new exit route with
his dozer blade. He leveled a line of stone privies and yards behind a terrace of habs, then churned
forward through a blighted orchard and a series of fenced-off market gardens, boisterously cheered
on by the onlookers.
Vehicles began to edge out and follow him. Roaring smoke, the Line of Death was the sixth
vehicle clear. They clattered across the ruin of the market gardens and out onto pastureland, where
they rolled up and waited as the others trickled out and joined them. Nine Pardus tanks, eleven from
the Gerzon Heavy, six from the 2nd Balchinor Tracked Company, three Hydra platforms, and
sixteen assorted troop carriers and half-tracks laden with Guardsmen. By common consent, LeGuin
had command. This was due in part to the fact it had been his idea, but also because the Line had
earned itself a reputation by bringing down the bat on the previous afternoon.
LeGuin gave the command, and they rolled out, kicking up mud as they crossed the pasture onto
uncultivated land.
It was a rough ride. Viltry sat in the turret and clung on.
But they were moving at last.
Theda MAB South, 14.02
“Handing off,” said Eads.
“Thank you, Flight,” said his shift replacement. “I have control.”
As the replacement controller took position, Darrow helped Eads remove, clean and stow his
augmetic links. Both of them were light-headed, frazzled. The demands of their work had not
slackened one bit for the duration of their shift.
“Good luck,” Eads said to the new flight, but the man was already too busy coming to terms
with the pandemonium in his catchment to respond.
Darrow waited while Eads spoke quietly to the deck officer, then escorted him up out of the
hubbub of the rotunda. Eads had his cane, but he held Darrow’s arm and allowed the younger man
to lead him. He was exhausted.
They went up into the atrium.
“I can see you all the way back to your quarters, sir,” Darrow said.
“No need, Enric. A little walk, a little solitude, that might do me good. You should get to your
own bed. Deck says we’re needed again at midnight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Darrow?”
“Yes, sir?”
“This is off the record, you understand?”
“Yes, Flight.”
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“When you get back to your billet, pack your things. Pack them now, so you can travel light and
fast.” Darrow frowned. “Why, sir?”
“Banzie reckons we’re all going to be pulled out. It’s not official yet, but he’s sure that’s the
Navy thinking. Another four or five days, and Theda will be unviable as a field.”
“God-Emperor…” Darrow breathed.
“They’re winning, son. No matter how hard we fight, this sky pretty much belongs to them. The
Navy’s going to pull its wings out, general evac. Move them to safer fields.”
“Where, sir?”
“Maybe Zophos, the Midwinters. Possibly St Hagen. Apparently, Tacticus is evaluating.”
Darrow felt hollow. He looked away. The echoing atrium was empty apart from other
Operations personnel plodding out from their shift.
“Are we—” he began. “Are we going to lose this?” he asked.
“No,” said Eads. “Retreat is a hard thing to deal with, but you’ll be a better warrior, Enric, if you
realise that sometimes that’s the only way to win. Throne, if retreat equalled defeat, then we might
as well have run for the hills the moment the land armada was turned back from the gates of
Trinity.”
“Sir.”
“I know it hurts, Darrow. It wounds a man’s pride. But you have to see it all.” There was no
irony in Eads’s voice. “Retreat, regroup, gather our strengths, try again. That’s what we’re doing.
That’s why we’ve fought so hard to get the land forces home. So they can turn and fight again,
renewed. Go read some history slates, Darrow. Wars have been won that way. And many others
have been lost by men too proud to acknowledge the sense of a tactical withdrawal.”
Darrow nodded.
“Darrow?”
“I nodded, sir. My apologies.”
“Get some sleep. I’ll see you at midnight.”
Darrow saluted. Eads moved away across the marble floor, his cane twitching. “Call that a
salute?” he said over his shoulder.
Darrow wandered outside. The air was murky and stank of fyceline. A few Operations personnel
from the last shift loitered around under the portico, smoking and chatting, or just lounging on the
damp steps in aching relief.
He saw Scalter nearby, smoking a lho-stick. Even from a distance, Darrow could see how much
Scalter’s hands were shaking. He had just decided to go and confront the man, when he realised
something.
He drew his own hands from his pockets and looked at them. They were shaking too.
“Need something?” asked Scalter, noticing him.
“No, sir. I’m fine.”
“Something wrong with your hands?”
“No.” Darrow joined him. “Actually, just the shakes.”
“Tell me about it. We all get that. Tension and fatigue.”
“Yes, sir.”
Scalter offered Darrow his pack. “No thanks, sir.”
“Heading for the simulators?” Scalter asked. “I’ve seen you there.”
“I might. You?”
Scalter nodded his head at the airfield before them. “What do you think?” he asked.
Darow looked out across the MAB. Parts of the field were shredded with craters and bulldozed
heaps of debris. Along the east fence, the wrecks of bombed out and crashed planes had been piled
up, simply to clear usable space. Smoke twisted up from recent hits. Navy craft were landing in
flocks, some pouring vapour. Crews rushed out onto the field. In the hardstands, the Apostles were
129
warming up, munitions trains clattering clear. Darrow heard the brutal, buzzing pulse of primers
starting engines.
Beyond the field, the towers of Theda itself rose in crumpled majesty. Columns of smoke
writhed from the city, darkening the sky. Fires blazed. There were gaps in the city skyline where
familiar buildings had been destroyed. Raid sirens were wailing.
“I think I’ll head for the simulators,” Darrow said.
130
DAY 265
Western District Theda, 10.02
The intake of wounded had filled the infirmaries of Theda to bursting. Jagdea had been transferred
right across the city to a hab clinic in the Western Districts, a four storey pile of rotting brick that
had been, over the years, a sanatorium, a refuge, and a scholam for wayward youths. The building
was in poor repair. The air reeked of disinfectant and mildew.
Blansher found her at the end of a long, grim gallery, gazing out of the windows onto a street
where files of civilians were waiting in the rain for travel permits.
She looked pale and thin. Her left arm was bound up in a heavy sling. Blansher noticed that
under her dressing gown, she still wore the trousers of her flight suit.
“Hey, Mil,” she said.
“Bree. How’s the arm?”
“Okay. Another day or two, they reckon.”
“We miss you. The wing all send their best.”
“Keeping them in line, I hope?”
“They wouldn’t dare mess with me.”
She grinned. “Want a seat?” she said, getting up out of her bath chair.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Sit down, Mil. You look fit to drop. I’ve been sitting all day.”
Shrugging, he sat down in the old, wheeled invalid chair. He settled back, elbows out.
“So… how are these for speed?” he asked.
She leaned against the wall by the window and gestured down the long, lino-floored hall with
her good hand. “Try it out. Not much reheat, but if you really push it you can achieve lift by the time
you reach the dispensary.”
Using his hands, he milled the big handwheels back and forth.
“How’s it been?” she asked.
“We’ve been up once. A nasty tangle over St Chryze. Aggie stung one, and so did I.”
“All safe?”
“A hard round went through Zemmic’s side-pane and snapped his chain of lucky charms, so he’s
really low. But yes. All safe.”
“Cordiale?”
“Fixed up, and fit for the next sortie.”
“How’s my baby Zero-Two?”
“A mess, Bree. But she’ll live. They’re working on her now, but she’ll have to be shipped by
carrier t—”
Blansher stopped. “Damn,” he said. “And there I was going to break it to you gently.”
“Shipped out?” asked Jagdea. “Since when?”
“Since 06.00 hours this morning. Navy directive. Apparently, Ornoff’s decided it’s time to quit
the coast.”
“Where to?”
“For us, Lucerna MAB in the Midwinters. That’s need-to-know, obviously.”
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“Of course.”
“The mass land evac is now well underway. Theda’s almost empty, the population fleeing.
We’re giving ground. From the islands we can keep our bases out of strike range of the enemy for a
while, and keep them off the evac fleets. Throne alive, Bree, you’ve never seen so many massbarges!”
“I like islands,” said Jagdea thoughtfully. “They remind me of home.”
“We’re flying the Bolts out at 09.00 on the 268th, three days from now, situation permitting.
Your bird will be packed off this afternoon on one of the freight barges.”
“Don’t you bloody leave me here!” Jagdea said.
“Of course not, Bree. I’ll arrange a transport to collect you, maybe around 08.30 that morning.
The Navy will be scooping off personnel using Valkyries and Oneros. You’ll be with us by noon.”
“I’d better be,” Jagdea warned. “I don’t want to die here in this dump.”
“Oh, trust me,” said Blansher. He was still rolling to and fro in the bath chair, playing like a
child. “When have I ever let you down?”
“Never,” she replied.
“You see?”
“What about Espere?” she asked.
“Already gone north, medicae evac. I checked. He’s in a care unit in Enothopolis as we speak.”
Blansher got up out of the chair, and rolled it around for her to sit again. “I should go,” he said.
“We’re due up at 11.00 hours and my ride is waiting.”
“Good flying,” she said.
“Take care of yourself,” Blansher paused. “Well, well, looks like you’ve got another visitor.”
Jagdea looked around. Wing Leader Seekan, splendid in his white suede coat, was coming down
the hallway.
“Friends in high places,” Blansher said.
He walked away, giving Seekan a salute as he passed him. Seekan returned it respectfully, and
then walked on to join Jagdea under the stained, aged window. She remained standing.
“Leader.”
“Commander. How are you?”
“Alive. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Seekan shrugged.
“Have a seat,” Jagdea suggested, nodding her head towards the bath chair.
“I’m fine, commander. I… I came for two reasons.”
“Did you now?”
“The first is as a matter of courtesy. From one flight leader to another. Major Ludo Ramia of the
Apostles was lost in action last night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, leader.”
Seekan cleared his throat awkward. “I intend to offer his place to Flight Lieutenant Larice
Asche. Her record, especially in recent days, has been remarkable. Ten kills in one sortie.”
“Ten indeed.”
“I wanted to ask your permission, commander.”
“My permission?”
“Before I ask her.”
Jagdea limped over to the bath chair and sat down in it. She felt dazed, hurt, as if something
precious had been stolen from her.
“Larice is one of my…” She stopped and corrected. “Larice Asche is my best pilot. I will miss
her. But I know the form. The Apostles ask, you don’t refuse. I’m flattered you even ran it past me
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at all. Larice will be overjoyed. It’s an honour. Of course she’ll accept. The first Phantine aviator to
make the Apostle grade.”
“The first female…” Seekan said.
“Not a distinction we ever make on Phantine, sir.”
“The Navy is rather old fashioned, mamzel,” he smiled. “So, I have your permission?”
Jagdea shook her head and chuckled. “It’s as if you’re asking me for her hand in marriage.”
“I am, in a way. Till death parts us.”
Jagdea looked up at him. “Make her a hero. A legend. That’s all she wants, Seekan. That’s all I
want for her.”
“I will,” he said. “Thank you.”
“What’s the second reason?” she asked.
“Pardon me?”
“You said you’d come here for two reasons. You’ve robbed away my best wingman. I dread to
think what the other cause is.”
“I merely wanted to enquire after your health. I was concerned when I heard the news.”
“I thought you Apostles didn’t care about injury or death?”
“We just don’t care about each other,” he said. He looked round for a moment. “I must be
getting along. May the Emperor protect you, commander.”
She nodded.
Only when he was out of sight down the length of the long hallway, did she notice the long
stemmed bloom, its petals a rich Imperial purple, that he had left on the window’s sill.
Langersville, 15.16
From the hills above the foreshore, it looked as if parts of the coastline were breaking off and
drifting out to sea.
LeGuin’s convoy had reached the headland, and was now crawling down into the seaport, just
one small part of the teeming forces seeking evacuation.
Threatening skies drifted above them, and a brisk sea breeze washed them. Schools of Valkyries
burned off fields on the lower slopes, heading out to sea. Viltry could see Oneros prepping for takeoff.
At the docks, VTRPs, pontoons and mass-barges slugged away from the shore. The mass-barges
were enormous cargo ships, belching smoke from their stacks, their open bellies laden with armour
and carriers. As they plied out into the deeper waters, others, riding light and empty, were piloted in
to the dock quays.
The VTRPs—Vertical Thrust Raft Platforms—were colossal. Each one was an armoured
