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moment and knocking the plane’s attitude through twenty degrees。
She recovered control。
“Six； are you okay？”
“Yes； Leader；” Del Ruth responded。 She checked her instruments and saw two warning lights lit；
indicating damage to the starboard autoloaders。 “Hit； but not critical。”
Kaminsky and Zemmic had both taken out bombers on the first pass； but Blansher； Scalter and
Van Tull were intercepted by the Razor escort before they could do any harm。 Van Tull had to fly an
almost complete figure of eight before he shook a purple Razor； then almost immediately got the
drop on another； chequered black and white； that had lined up on Scalter。 As the chequered hostile
vaporised； Scalter peeled away towards a heavy bomber； firing on it from its seven。
The purple Razor that Van Tull had shaken reappeared； swooping steeply and opening fire on
Scalter’s machine。 Bolt rounds sliced down into the starboard engine； the midsection； and the tail；
shredding part of the rudder。 The impacts destroyed Scalter’s auspex； ruptured his coolant system
and crazed the side screens of his canopy white。
“Umbra Seven！ Umbra Seven！” Van Tull yelled。
Dazed； Scalter heard the voice and looked around。 The air of his cockpit was full of blue smoke。
He stared at the shattered instruments。 The few panels still functioning were a mass of warning
lights。 Overheat； leak； pressure loss； power failure…
189
“Scalter； can you hear me？”
Scalter looked down and let out a sob。 At least one of the rounds had gone clean through his
lower torso。 He couldn’t believe the bloody mess was anything to do with him。 He couldn’t feel his
legs。 He couldn’t feel anything much at all。
“Scalter！”
“Four…A…” he whispered。 “Taken a little damage。”
“Seven； if you’re not flyable； eject for Throne’s sake！”
With effort； Scalter touched the stick。 It was dead； slack； all control gone。 His ruined machine
was just flying straight。 He looked down again。 There was no way he could eject。 No point； either。
He looked up。 The heavy bomber he’d been targeting was still ahead； cruising on。
Scalter put his hand on the throttle。 “For Enothis and the Emperor；” he murmured and pushed
the throttle open。
Umbra Seven accelerated in a straight； unswerving line and hit the heavy bomber in the port
ribs。 A huge halo of flames engulfed them both。
“Seven’s gone！ Scalter’s gone！” Marquall could hear Van Tull yelling。 Negative G was
preventing him from replying。 He was cranking round in a murderous loop with a mauve Razor on
his back。 He felt hits skinning off his armour。 He banked hard—a bone…shaking shudder—and
managed to force the Razor to fly past under him。 Now he was behind it。 It would break at any
second； Marquall knew。 But which way？
Which way would you go？ Jagdea had always told them。 Marquall went right； and the Razor did
just that in the same instant。 Target lock。
Marquall was screaming as he fired。 He knew it was a kill before Double Eagle had even started
firing。 The mauve Hell Razor started to spin； then spiralled away like a leaf。
Marquall hoped someone had seen that。 He dearly hoped that someone—
“Umbra Six！ Umbra Six！ Status？” Jagdea started shouting over the vox。
There was no obvious hostile on her； but Del Ruth’s Thunderbolt looked like it was taking hits
to the nose。 Explosive crackles rocked her airframe and plating blew out。
“I don’t know—” she began。 It was the hit she’d taken in the autoloaders just minutes before。
Overheated damage or a late detonating round wedged into the mechanism had explosively cooked
off the drums of ammunition。 The rippling blasts were her own shells exploding in the caissons。 In
horror； Jagdea saw several detonate up through the main hull； blowing out both sets of engine pipes；
and another flurry wrecked her radiator。
Mortally wounded； the Thunderbolt began to dive。
“Aggie！ Pull out！ Pull out！” Jagdea yelled。
“I can’t！ Negative！ Dead stick！” Del Ruth screamed back。
“Eject； Aggie！ For Throne’s sake； eject！”
The machine plunged away。 Jagdea saw a flash of glitter and a shape in the air。 Far below her； a
chute opened； a tiny dot against the tungsten sea。
Lucerna AB； 15。20
As they refuelled and reloaded； no one spoke much。 Fatigue and nerves had almost wrung them out；
but the losses made it much worse。 Their hearts ached as much as their joints。 For most of the pilots；
circulation and balance were seriously impaired。 Just walking around the hangar was difficult。
Just before 16。00； as they were preparing to launch； Operations reported that the second wave
had broken short of Zophos。 Fought to a near…standstill after four hours； the Archenemy formations
had turned back。
If a third wave was intended； they’d see it within the next five hours。
“Third time lucky；” said Zemmic。
“Who for？” asked Kaminsky。
190
Over the Midwinters； 18。23
They came back early。 As if hungry； somehow sensing that they had their enemy on the ropes。 Or
desperate。 That’s what Jagdea told herself。
The third wave came out over the coast in the early and unnatural dusk； seemingly just as
immense as before。 How could they have shot down so many of the bastards and there be so little
sign of a thinning in their ranks？
The remaining eight machines of Umbra Flight climbed with four other Thunderbolt squadrons
to nine thousand； and circled in over the archipelago as the enemy formations approached。 The other
bases had put up their wings。
The line was drawn。
Combat began at 18。45。 Another new tactic was immediately revealed。 Frustrated by the Navy’s
staunch resistance； the Archenemy had committed the front elements of its bomber waves low； to
pattern bomb the islands in the hope of annihilating the hidden bases there。 From its overall heading；
this arm of the wave was intending to cross the Straits of Jabez and target Tamuda once the islands
were done。 The radiant ripples of furious detonations began to light up the southern part of the
island chain。
The Imperial planes went in amongst the bombers； cutting them out of the air even as they
dropped their warloads。
“I don’t see fighters；” Marquall called。
“There’ll be fighters；” Blansher said。
Darrow made his eighth kill of the day； then throttled up to join Viltry in an attack on a superheavy。
The tracer patterns were torrential and bright in the stale air。
Jagdea turned in tight。 She couldn’t see Zemmic or Van Tull in the mayhem； but she could hear
them over the link。 Blansher and Kaminsky were attacking a trio of Tormentors。 She was about to
start a run onto a Hell Talon when she saw the escort bats coming in across them。
“Bats！ Twenty…plus！ Two o’clock！” Jagdea yelled。
They were Razors。 Black and red； a few bright crimson。 One pearl…white。
The Killer and his circus came on。 Two of his wingmen attacked and destroyed a pair of Navy
Thunderbolts from the 96th who didn’t react anything like fast enough。
“Umbra！ Split！ Split！” Jagdea ordered and opened her throttle； going for the pearl leader。 His
evasive roll left her wrong…footed； but she turned hard and tried to get on his tail。 He refused to sit；
vectoring to port and coming up underneath her。 Desperately； she flick…rolled and dropped down
around him to his right； but he turned off sharply to port。
For a moment she wondered if she had actually scared him into a break； but then saw in dismay
that he’d simply been lining her up for his two crimson wingmen。 Serial Zero…Two shuddered as
laser bolts went through its wings。 Jagdea slammed the suck over and tried to barrel under the
Razors； but they were as agile as their master； and stuck tight to her tail。
“Throne of Earth！” Jagdea cursed； fighting to break out。 Moving far too fast for such close
quarters； she almost rammed a Hell Talon； and bled speed miserably as she was forced to duck
under it。 Another shot clipped her tailfin。 Two more ripped through the sensor dusters and her
auspex screen flickered and died。 She vectored； came round stubbornly and started to climb between
a pair of Tormentors that lashed at her with their weapon mounts。
Viltry saw her plight。 He pulled away from the superheavy he had just crippled and lit his
burners； spearing down through the bomber formation into the denser smoke。
“Jagdea！ Come left！” he called。 She turned； but the crimson bats would not let her go。 Viltry
fired on them and tucked in。 He couldn’t get a lock。 He wasn’t going to get them in time。
191
Blansher and Kaminsky left the bombers alone and stooped after Jagdea too。 Kaminsky saw the
pearl…white bat first。 It seemed to come out of the vapour of fyceline smoke like a spectre； gun…pods
flickering。 Umbra Two wrenched violently as gaping wounds punched into its tail plane。
“Blansher！” Kaminsky yelled。
Blansher tried to viff； tried to shake it just the way he had taught Kaminsky。 But his vector ports
were damaged。 The white bat fired again； a stream of illuminated shells； and a spray of flames
sheathed Blansher’s entire tail。 The shots had penetrated the tanks of the Thunderbolt’s rocket
motor； and the hypergolic propellants had ignited。 The huge thread of flame was greenish…white
with intense heat。 Blansher started to dive。
Ignoring the white killer； Kaminsky scream…dived after Umbra Two。 Blansher’s plane was now
on fire from nose to tail。
“Get out！ Get out； Milan； eject！”
“…can’t！ I… can’t… canopy’s jammed！”
“Blansher！”
The Thunderbolt no longer resembled a plane。 It fell like a comet。 A meteor。 An attenuated ball
of fire； almost too bright to look at。 But diving with it； Kaminsky could not look away。 He knew
fire。 He knew the terror of a burning plane all too well。
Blansher started screaming。 The fire was inside the cockpit now。 The voice on the vox no longer
seemed human。
Kaminsky was strangely relieved when the inferno hit the sea。
Obarkon watched with curiosity as the Imperial’s wing…man made the strange choice to follow
his burning leader down。 How odd。 As if there was anything he could do。
It rendered the wingman an extraordinarily easy target。 Obarkon turned into a dive； feeling the
grav armour clench around his body and the cardio…centrifuges throb。 He blinked to settle the
gunsight focus and put the orange pipper on the wingman’s tail。
Attention…
Target found。
Just a little more。
A warning sounded。 Obarkon glanced up and instinctively raised his nose； losing the target
immediately。 Shots stripped past him。
“Someone’s eager to die；” he muttered。
Darrow came in hard and tight； firing as soon as he dared； but leaving it late enough to be in
positive range。 The white bat pulled out of his line and banked away。
Darrow turned and chased it。 This wasn’t going to be like the last time。 He wasn’t going to run；
frantic； in an outclassed machine。 He was a Thunderbolt pilot now。 The bastard white bat that had
slaughtered all of Hunt Flight—and Heckel too； in a way—was going to be the one doing the
running。
A vector…aided roll and a burst of speed put Darrow closer and closer still； despite the enemy’s
excellent out…rolls。 Darrow got two brief locks； but lost them both。 He waited for the third。
Interesting； Obarkon thought； his pulse not even drifting in its rhythm。 This one has some merit。
He flies by the claws。 If this had been a quieter hour； he would have enjoyed sport with this child。
But this was the day of days； and there was still great work to be done。 This duel was over。
The white bat dropped down to an altitude of no more than fifty metres and proceeded to whip in
and out of the inlets and bays at speeds that Darrow thought he’d never be able to follow。 Every turn
threatened to smash them into a sheer cliff or clip a rocky outcrop。
He stayed on the bat as long as he could and then was forced to climb by a jutting atoll that he
knew he would not otherwise avoid。 The white bat let him go over； then sliced up after him； firing。
Darrow twisted out； but the bat locked him cold。
Then shots sprayed in from a second Thunderbolt。 It was Marquall。
192
Viltry put all his power into a last turn and fired again。 Now at last he disturbed the crimson bats
enough to break them from Jagdea’s tail。 One looped back to engage him。 “Switch out！” Jagdea
ordered。
Viltry obeyed。 Ignoring the looping attacker； he kept on after the other one； linin