How the hell had it managed that?
“Break! Break!”
Tone warning. He was locked hard. “Holy Throne!” he cursed, and tried one last twist. The bat
began to fire. Kaminsky’s Thunderbolt exploded. The stick went dead. So did the sky. Blansher slid
back the hood. “Bad luck,” he said.
“I was stupid,” Kaminsky said. “It was a basic mistake.”
“You’re still getting used to the bird. Thinking too much about the controls and how they
operate. It’s natural. Once the mechanics become so familiar you don’t have to think about them,
your mind will be freed up.”
Kaminsky nodded.
“Besides,” said Blansher. “I know you don’t have much experience of vector-thrust aircraft.
Vectoring gives us all sorts of tricks we can play in the air. The bat got you just then because it
viffed out under you. And if you’d done the same, you’d probably have evaded.”
“I know,” said Kaminsky. “But it’s difficult not to think in terms of forward motion.
Sidestepping, stopping… that sort of thing doesn’t seem natural.”
“It needn’t be that dramatic. Just a little touch will put a slight non-ballistic behaviour into your
performance.”
Blansher glanced at his chronometer.
“You’ve been in the simulator rig for two hours. We can take a break if you like. Get some
breakfast into you.”
“How many times have I died in those two hours?” Kaminsky asked.
“Six,” Blansher grinned.
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“Let’s try it again.”
Lucerna AB, 07.43
“Commander? Commander Eads?”
Jagdea ran to catch up with the man. They were crossing a busy gantry walkway deep in the
heart of the base. Tannoy announcements kept booming out, and personnel jostled and hurried past.
“Commander Eads?” Jagdea said.
The man turned, his head cocked. “Who’s calling my name?”
She’d been told he was blind. Look for the blind officer, several people had said. “My apologies,
sir. I’m Commander Jagdea, Phantine XX.”
“Are you indeed? And why were you after me?”
“I was hoping to talk to you, sir. Get some advice.”
“About what?”
“Pilots. I’m looking for pilots to replace losses in my flight.”
“Then surely you should be talking to Navy reserve,” he said.
“I started there. Navy reserve has no one airworthy. The handful of able pilots who have come in
with the evac have already been assigned to Navy flights. So I asked the Munitorum for lists of
airworthy Commonwealth pilots here on Lucerna.”
Eads chuckled. “You can’t do that. Navy doesn’t take pilots from the PDF.”
“Because the Navy believes it is an elite service and chooses to draw only on its own. I know.
That’s what the Munitorum officer told me,” Jagdea said. “The thing is, the Phantine XX isn’t Navy.
It’s Imperial Guard. An aberration, but one that permits me the scope to recruit from the PDF if I
choose.”
Eads shook his head, amused. “The Navy won’t like that.”
“The Navy can lump it. The precedent is already well established, thanks to a priest who—Look
I won’t bore you with the story. The point is, I have the list of Commonwealth fliers.” Jagdea patted
a fat folder under her arm. “I was told you were the man to ask about recommendations.”
“Can we walk and talk?” Eads asked. “I’m due on shift at Operations at eight.”
“Of course.”
They moved away off the gantry and along an equally busy rock-cut corridor. Jagdea noticed
how even the most hurried-looking personnel they met respectfully stood aside to let Eads pass.
“You know the men. You had command at Theda North.”
“Before the Navy arrived. I’m afraid I can’t read your lists. I left my code-reader behind in the
haste to evacuate. I’m lost without it.”
“I could read out the list to you, sir.”
“As I said, my shift starts at eight. Maybe later, commander.”
“With respect, sir, time is very short. Is there no one you can think of?”
The main hatch into Lucerna Operations lay ahead of them.
“Well, there is one. Good pilot. I know he’s here because he came in with me. And I know for a
fact he’s done simulation time orienting on your machines.”
“That’s a good start.”
“His name’s Scalter. Frans Scalter. I recommend him highly. He works Operations too, but he’s
not on this shift. Someone can track him down for you.”
“Thank you, sir. Can I come and find you later? Run through the lists?”
“Of course.”
They’d reached the doorway. Jagdea could hear the frantic chatter of the busy Operations floor
beyond the hatch. Juniors ran in and out with data-slates and chart reports. A young man was
standing by the hatch. He seemed to be waiting for Eads. He looked somehow familiar to Jagdea.
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“Good morning, Flight,” he said to Commander Eads.
“Call that a salute?” Eads replied. “Ready to go, Darrow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll expert you later then, commander,” Eads said to Jagdea, then allowed his junior to lead him
away into the hustle of the Operations deck.
Lucerna AB, 08.30
They stood on an observation platform high amongst the island cliffs. It was a fine, clear morning,
though the wind was strong and tugged at their hair. A hundred metres below them, the sea crashed
in against the foot of the pink crags.
“Almost romantic,” said Beqa. “The sea and the islands. My family took me on holiday to the
Midwinters when I was young. Me and Eido. We stayed on Salthaven. There are beaches there Eido
loved it. That was before the war really took hold, obviously. A time when holidays were something
that people did.”
“One day, I’ll take you on a holiday. I promise.” She smiled at Viltry. “Don’t make promises
you can’t keep.”
“No, really. I mean it, all I’ve got to do is defeat the enemy, and we can have all the holidays we
want.” She shook her head, amused. “So you say they’ve found you a job?” he said.
“In munitions prep. The senior who assigned me seemed impressed by my skills. All those long
night shifts at the manufactory weren’t a waste.”
“That’s good.”
“I start this afternoon.”
“You haven’t said anything about the way I look,” Viltry said.
“I’m trying not to think about it. It’s difficult, because you’re very handsome in that new
flightsuit, all shaved and groomed. You’ve found your squadron, haven’t you?”
“No,” said Viltry. “But I found a Phantine unit here that needed a pilot. Fighters, would you
believe? That’ll take some re-learning. It’s called the Phantine XX. Umbra Flight.” He showed her
the insignia pins and badges on his new flight coat.
“Very nice,” she said, and looked away at the sea.
“I have to fly, Beq. It’s what I do. They need every pilot they can get right now. I would be
failing the Throne if I didn’t do this.”
“I know.”
“And maybe when the war’s done here, I can apply to leave the service and stay here with you.”
Beqa Mayer smiled. “The war is never done, Oskar. If it finishes here, a fine pilot like you will
be needed somewhere else. They won’t let you leave. You’re a resource. They’ll keep you flying
until the enemy finally claims you. Remember what I said about promises you couldn’t keep?”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s all right. Really. We’ve had some time. It’s been brief, but very sweet. I thought I’d lost
you once, and the Emperor allowed you to come back. I couldn’t go through that again. You fly. I’ll
be proud of you. That’s all that needs to be said.”
The wind had picked up again. She shivered. “That blasted old coat of yours,” he snapped. He
bent over his kit bag and pulled out his ragged Halo Flight jacket. “Take this. It’s a bit battered and
torn, I’m afraid, but it’s got a fleece lining.”
He put it over her shoulders, then pulled her close.
“Thanks,” she said, pressing against his side. She rested her head on his chest.
“You’re right,” he said, gazing at the view. “It is almost romantic.”
There was a boom like the end of the world, and eight Thunderbolts slammed up into the air
from a hangar in the cliff beneath them. The throaty roar of the formation’s afterburners shook their
diaphragms.
164
As the planes climbed away, they both laughed.
“Until something like that happens,” Viltry said.
She kissed his cheek. “To hell with them. We can make our own romance. You go and fly,
Oskar. I’ve told the Emperor to protect you.”
Over the Midwinters, 14.10
Umbra Flight was barely up when they spotted the air battle. To the west, the pale green sky was
bright with flashes and tinged with smoke. And it wasn’t the only battle. Wings from Onstadt were
coming in on a major fight to the east, and everything Viper Atoll had was lofting against a
thousand-bomber wave heading out across the Sea of Ezra towards Limbus.
“Umbra, rise to four thousand,” Jagdea ordered. She had four machines with her: Marquall, Van
Tull, Cordiale and Viltry. Viltry’s first flight. She had sensed his nerves as he’d run to his bird.
Umbra Flight had already been up twice that day. A full flight sortie at 09.00 hours that had
lasted two hours and seen them turn back a ninety-plane bomber formation with me help of three
Lightning wings out of Tamuda MAB. Three kills—Ranfre, Del Ruth and Jagdea. Then Del Ruth,
Ranfre and Zemmic had gone up just before noon with Blansher as lead, and had a short but
ferocious duel with the top cover of a Hell Talon formation. Zemmic and Blansher had scored kills,
but they’d been grateful to see the 56th coming in to help break the wave up.
All four were now on refit turnaround and Blansher was spending time coaching Kaminsky.
Blansher was patient, but he seemed to have doubts about Kaminsky’s talent.
“He’s getting the basic layout of the Bolt, but he refuses to relax,” Blansher had told her.
“Maybe he’s not the best choice.”
“Stick with it,” Jagdea had ordered.
They could see the hostiles now. Sixty Tormentors pounding across the sea towards the
Northern Affiliation, laden with bombs. The 51st had already engaged.
“Any sign of escort?” Jagdea voxed.
“Nothing on the scope,” replied Cordiale. “But you’ve got to assume.”
“Start assuming,” she said. There was also no sign of the promised support for them from
Longstrand. Jagdea keyed the vox. “Lucerna Operations, this is Umbra Leader. Confirm other units
aloft.”
A buzzing crackle. “Operations, Umbra Lead. Kodiak Flight and Orbis Flight show as launched.
East of you, seventy kilometres, closing low. Twenty, repeat, twenty machines.”
“Thank you, Operations. We have visual on the enemy. Closing to intercept.”
Jagdea was reassured to hear that the Phantine wing commanded by her friend Wilhem Hayyes
was inbound. She switched on her gunsight and toggled her lascannons to active.
“Guns live, Umbra. Come back.”
“Umbra Eight, copy.” That was Marquall.
“Umbra Three, four-A.” And Van Tull.
“Umbra Eleven, check and ready.” Cordiale.
A pause.
“Umbra Four? Come back,” Jagdea voxed. “Umbra Four? Do you copy? Viltry? Dammit,
Viltry!”
“Copy you, Lead. This is Umbra Four. Sorry, I just tried to switch on my gunsight and appear to
have turned on the de-mister and the cockpit light instead.”
“Viltry?”
“Just kidding, Lead. Guns live. On your command.”
Jagdea smiled. “Operations, show Umbra as attacking. Umbra Flight… Attack, attack, attack!”
165
Viltry was nothing like as confident as he sounded. As he nursed the throttle, following Jagdea’s
shallow dive, he saw the lumbering packs of Tormentors filling the sky ahead. The slow, medium
bombers were already firing from their turret mounts, chattering out streaks of heavy fire.
Viltry had flown Bolts before, but this seemed strange after so many tours in Marauders. It
wasn’t the differences in cockpit layout, or the considerably greater agility. It was the fact that he
was alone again. One man, one machine. No trained crew manning other stations.
So focused. So very concentrated. It was all down to him.
Viltry decided he’d better enjoy it. The Thunderbolt certainly felt like a tiny, speeding dart
compared to G for Greta. They sliced down into the enemy lines.
He was reminded that air tactics were now utterly different too. Ordinarily, he’d have been the
one flying the heavy plane in formation, fighting off the interceptors. Not the other way round.
Jagdea and Van Tull went over the formation, blitzing fire. Viltry followed them, seeing
Marquall and Cordiale go under.
Immediately, three enemy machines started to drop out of line, making thick smoke. One
suddenly pitched down, violently. Umbra came up and around for the second pass.
“Must do better,” Viltry said to himself.
Cordiale had the lead on the turn and prosecuted the attack. His lascannons flashed white. One
of the Tormentors wavered for a moment then blew up in a huge cloud of flames as its payload
ignited.
Burning debris rained down. The Tormentors in immediate formation wallowed away in the
shock burst, two collided and the destroyed plane’s sheared apart. Viltry saw scrap metal and bodies
falling.
He had a decent line-up. The nearest Tormentor was pumping streams of tracer his way, but the
shot-stream was dropping low. He smiled as he got a clean lock ping and started firing.
The Thunderbolt tugged hard, its airframe pulsing as it discharged its cannons. Bree had warned
him it would do that. He compensated and turned high.
“Umbra Four, this is Lead. Nice kill.”
“I didn’t even see it,” he said. “Did I get it?”
“Yes, Four.”
He rolled back, exhilarated by the light performance of the Thunderbolt, and pounced on another
Tormentor.
Its turrets tried to pin him. He knew from bitter experience how a fighter could ride up
underneath a straight-flying bomber. It was all a matter of judging the cones of fire.
There was always a sweet spot.
He found it.
Viltry fired, lancing dazzling bars of las energy from his nose cone.
The belly of the Tormentor burst, and then it started to dive, ablaze, leaving a curl of brown
smoke in the air behind it.
“Scratch two,” he voxed. “Think I’m getting the hang of it, Bree.”
Marquall banked, quietly furious. He’d missed his targets on both passes. And this man, Viltry,
had just come along and in the space of two minutes, he’d equalled Marquall’s career score. The
bastard! It was insufferable. The upstart was even on first name terms with Jagdea.
Who the hell did he think he was?
Nine-Nine shuddered as bolter rounds kissed its flank. Marquall banked out. Part of the
formation went by under him, and he dropped back onto the lead pair.
He was too high. The tail guns nailed him hard, cracking his canopy and ripped out part of his
