fuel…rich and sent streamers of white smoke twirling away into the clear air。 The flaming debris
dropped towards the field…system below。
Something crimson and hooked ran in past it so fast it was climbing out of range again before
Jagdea had realised what it was。
“Bats！ Bats！ Bats！” she yelled into her vox。
Theda seafront； 15。20
They’d wanted to celebrate。 Of course they had。 First run in a new theatre； and a fine one at that。 But
Viltry hadn’t felt like celebrating。 It had taken a lot to just get them home。 The final half…hour； fuel
low； belly…light； weapons all but empty。 So exposed； so vulnerable。 Operations insisted nothing in
37
the enemy’s air force could reach the Littoral and the home…stretch； but Viltry had been sweating so
much on the last section； he’d been able to pour moisture out of his flying gloves when he took them
off。
The field had come up； Theda North。 Even closing in on the beacon lights； he’d still had the
distinct feeling that something was going to come down out of nowhere and kill them hard。
The field。 The outer circuit。 Blue flags all round。 Power down to minimal； just kissing the edge
of stall speed for Greta’s massive airframe。
Then in over the cross； balancing the Marauder as he brought the vector nozzles around；
switching from forward flight to vertical。 A squeeze or two of viff； a hunkering； and then down。
Intact； alive。
The rest of Halo came back around them。
Judd and the boys had already earmarked a tavern near the billets。 They got out； loud and full of
themselves； scattering flight kit onto the hardpan as they whooped and slapped hands。
“I’ll join you later；” Viltry told them。 “Paperwork。”
He’d taken the longest shower in the history of the Imperium of Man； standing silent and naked
under tepid water in the stinking rockcrete stalls behind dispersal； then changed into a spare uniform
suit he’d had the presence of mind to bring in his kitsack。 He put on his tan leather coat。 His hands
were still shaking。
The crew was already gone。 Viltry found a transport that was doing a run down into the centre of
town to pick up a Navy crew； and hitched a ride。 It dropped him off on a corner where the old
temple road met the fish…market。
There was no one around。 Viltry walked north； away from the dark and boarded streets of the
town towards the coast。 He could smell the sea。
He had no real idea where his billet was。 Someone would know； when he was ready。
The piers came as a real surprise。 He turned a dank street corner and suddenly found himself on
a bright and windswept esplanade。 Ahead of him； beyond an iron railing； a reinforced seawall and a
narrow curb of grey foreshore； was the sea itself。 There was no one in sight； except a truck that
groaned past。 He crossed the wide roadway and came up to the railing。 The sea fascinated him。
There were no seas on Phantine； not liquid ones anyway。 The sun was slipping down； into the lazy；
low part of the afternoon； and the sky was yellow。 The endless water seemed indolent and slow；
hissing in a languid rhythm against the crusty beach。 The water was making frothy breakers at the
shore； but beyond that； it formed into a sinuous expanse of rolling gunmetal； stretching away to the
vague horizon。 It reminded him of the Scald。
Three long piers； their ornate ironwork painted white； marched out from the esplanade over the
water。 Though faded and rundown； Viltry realised they had once been pleasure palaces。 There were
shuttered arcades； dance halls； flaking posters advertising weekly match…dances and cordial
functions。 He was utterly taken with the idea of stepping out on an iron…and…wood bridge that
crossed to nowhere； the sea sucking beneath him。
He walked down the strand a little way until he came to the entrance arch of the nearest pier。 A
chalkboard had been propped up against the ironwork gate。 “Palace Refreshments。 Table service；
sea views；” it read。
He liked that。 That would do。
Warily； he walked in under the iron arch and out along the pier。 The sound of the sea was much
louder now。 He could see the surge of it between the boards beneath his feet。 It made him dizzy and
excited； and those things helped to mask the kernel of fear he was carrying in his heart。
The cafe was at the end of the pier。 Everything else was shut up and derelict。 As he approached；
he was able to smell caffeine and spun sugar。 Viltry had never been this far out from dry land。 He’d
never walked over an ocean。
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The cafe was huge； a testament； perhaps； to former glory days； when pleasure seekers had
packed Theda’s seafront and come in search of sea views and refreshments。 Tables formed rings
inside the great circuit of lattice windows。 Some of them were occupied： old men and women in
mumbling groups； a couple of Commonwealth troopers looking tired and wan。 Music was playing
from the kitchen area。 A handsome Thracian waltz。
Viltry took a seat at a window table； and watched the sea some more。 “What will you have？”
He looked up。 The girl in the blue…striped dress and apron had appeared from nowhere。 He
picked up the table…card hastily。 “A… a pot of caffeine。”
“Anything to eat？”
He was still studying the card。 Very few things made sense。 “A smoked ham sa—”
“No ham；” the girl said。 “Sorry。 No poultry； either。”
“I am hungry；” Viltry realised。
“The lorix is good。 With bread。”
“Then that’s what I’ll have。”
She disappeared。 He looked back at the sea。 Grey； mobile； immense。 He’d seen skies like that。
The weather was turning。
The girl returned with a tray。 She unloaded the caffeine pot； cup； sugar…bowl； and a plate with
bread slices and a dish of something。 He poured the caffeine as she departed； then examined the
food。 It smelled savoury； quite nice； but he wasn’t sure what it was。 Or how to eat it。 He tried some；
but found it was salty and far too meaty for his liking。 He swallowed anyway； but left the rest。 The
bread was all right。 He ate that instead。
“There’s a funny bloke over at sixteen；” announced Letrice。 “Offworlder； I’d say。”
Beqa looked and stopped wiping the counter。 “I’ll deal with him。 You’re off now anyway； aren’t
you？”
“I got a date；” Letrice grinned。 “Fancy flyboy from the PDF。 His name’s Edry。 He’s nicely
handsome。”
“Have fun。 Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do。”
“No thanks。 That wouldn’t leave me much；” Letrice giggled； and began taking off her apron。
Beqa cleared a few tables and then walked over to the window table。
It was him。 The sad…faced offworlder she’d seen at the templum the day before。 The one who’d
been talking to himself。
She hoped he was stable now。 Her shift was coming to an end； and that gave her just over an
hour to nap before the night…shift。
“Everything all right； sir？” she asked。
“Yes； yes。 Fine。” He didn’t look up。 Throne； but his expression was so miserable。
“The lorix？ Not to your liking？” she asked； lifting the uneaten dish onto her tray。
He looked up； then said； “Um？ No； I’m sure it was fine。 It was fish； wasn’t it？”
“Shellfish。”
He nodded。 “I’m afraid I… I’ve never eaten fish before。 Or shellfish； whatever that is。 It’s a
bit… funny tasting。”
“You’ve never eaten fish？”
“I… I mean； my world… No seas； you see…”
“Oh。 So； you must be hungry？”
“No； I ate the bread。 I’m fine。”
“Well； okay；” she said and cleared his table。
He still sat looking out at the sea when her shift ended and Pollya came on for the night。 The sun
had set。 The sea was as dark as oil。
39
He’d ordered another cup； and was sipping it while he stared at the rolling waters as they
crashed against the shore。
Over the Lida Valley； 15。29
Guns live； Jagdea turned and rolled in on them； her Thunderbolt trembling with power。 Six Locustpattern
bats； the lightest and most nimble of the Archenemy’s vector…planes； all painted crimson or
mauve； were harrying the heels of the Cyclone pack。
They were all over them。 To her left； she saw another Cyclone explode； and another pitch left；
trailing tarry smoke as it foundered down in a wide sweep towards the ground。
Two Locusts slipped under her； but she had the third； braking back to trim over on another
Cyclone。 In the hairs； pipper blinking。
Jagdea thumbed the gun…stud。
Serial Zero…Two lurched as the twin…linked lascannons in the nose spat off。
Brilliant daggers of light flew out of her machine； zagging down through the sky towards the
bat。 Struck； it rolled over and staggered sideways； then started to make white smoke as it curved
away； falling； falling。
“Bag one；” Jagdea snarled into her mask。 “Four…One Leader to flight； I have engaged。 I repeat； I
have engaged。”
She half…heard a response from Marquall； but the meaning of it was lost as she inverted again；
viffing hard to increase her turn rate； her ears popping with hard…G as she sidestepped an incoming
Locust。 A glimpse。 The blinking flashes of the gunports； the blur of mauve wings。
As she came nose up； throttle out as far as it could go； she saw two Cyclones blunder past；
followed by a banking Locust。 All three were in view for less than a second。
None of Umbra Flight were carrying rack weapons on this sortie； certainly nothing guided or airto…
air。 Jagdea would have to rely entirely on boresight shooting。
She pushed the nose over and kicked right rudder； heaving the heavy machine around。 The
horizon swung madly。 A Cyclone went by under her； emitting sporadic brown smoke。 The banking
Locust had already pulled out of sight； but there was another； scarlet like blood； turning in towards
the wounded Enothian machine。
She made another deep dive； fans shrieking； G pressing the mask into her face and making her
see spots。 She had the Locust for a moment。 Then it viffed sideways on its reactor jets； a nonballistic
wobble to the side； but instinct set her ready to do the same and compensate。 It was purely a
gut thing that she got it right： the Locust had gone the way she would have done。
Jagdea punched las…shots at it and hit something； because the slipstream suddenly filled with
black smoke and shreds of wing casing。 The Locust vanished； then she made it out again as she
rolled。 It was heading away east。 Was it going down or running？ There was no way to confirm。 The
old； foremost rule： don’t stay on a target。
She came around again and made a shallow climb that slid her between two of the racing
Cyclones。 Her auspex began bleating。 Something had a lock on her。 She rolled； craning her head
back over her left shoulder； then her right。 Where the hell was it？ Las…shots scorched past her port
side and her machine bucked hard。 There were suddenly raking scorch marks on her port wing。 She
rolled and turned again。 Still the lock held。 More shots； stitching past on her right now。 She dipped
her wing and banked out； catching her speed and opening the reactor nozzles so she almost turned
end on end。
The Locust went right by her； overshooting。 She saw the bone…white kill marks under its canopy
sill。
Three thousand metres above her； Marquall began his turn； standing on his port wing； gazing
down at the spiralling machines through the cloud cover below。 Van Tull and Espere matched his
turn。
40
“Stoop and sting；” Marquall instructed。 God…Emperor； but he’d waited his whole life to say that
for