“Don’t get many of your sort down this way；” LeGuin joked。
“You’re on the home haul？”
“Oh； yes。 Part of Humel’s great land armada。 We’ve been to the gates of the Trinity Hives； and
now we’re marching home。”
“What was it like？”
“Trinity？ A mess。 A bloody mess。 We thought we’d roll in and take the place in a week。 They
had other ideas。 And serious reinforcements from offworld。 They slaughtered the first waves。 Along
the farm terraces； the commercial highway； the vapour mills。 The sky was black。 Fire everywhere。
You’ve never seen anything like it。”
LeGuin wiped a sand midge off his cheek。 “So we fell back； and that turned into a retreat。 Right
back up through the desert； hunted all the way。 I tell you this。 Whatever kind of hell we found at the
Trinity Gates； it was nothing compared to the hell we’ve been grinding through out here ever since。
Heat。 Low water； low fuel； low ammo； low food。 Breakdowns。 Sickness。 Men dying of untreated
wounds。 Murderous terrain。 Constant attacks。 There were times I thought we’d never make it。”
“There’s still a way to go；” Viltry said。
“I know； but we’re in the mountains now。 Two days； Emperor willing； and we’ll be breaking flat
ground on the north side。”
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“Some elements have already；” Viltry said。 “Before I… before I left last time； there was news。
Convoys entering the Lida Valley； and up into the Peninsula。 I think some may have cut through to
the west too。”
“That’s good；” said LeGuin。 “That’s good to hear。 Throne of Earth； we’re not done yet。”
“Will you go back？” Viltry asked。
“What do you mean？”
“The air operation I was part of。 Serious amounts of air power； mostly Navy； brought in to keep
the enemy busy and slow him down。 To buy you men time to get home。 But we can’t hold them off
indefinitely。 I mean； that’s the point。 We’re just flying a desperate holding action。 There’s still a war
to win here。”
“Then we’ll just have to win it； won’t we？” said LeGuin。 He got to his feet。 “Come on。 Day’s
breaking。 We should get started。 Get a good lead before the real heat settles in。”
He woke his crew； who were sound asleep in the shadows of the tank。 Only in the cool of the
night was it possible to get some rest。 He sent them off to rouse the other crews。 All down the
narrow pass； armour and transporters were parked and silent。
Engines began to turn over。 Voices lifted into the air。
Another day in the great retreat had begun。
Lake Gocel FSB； 08。43
In full flight armour； Van Tull； Del Ruth and Marquall arrived for the preliminary briefing； which
Jagdea held around the camp table outside her habitent。 It was a fresh； bright day； with a breeze
coming in off the lake； and strong shafts of sunlight beaming down through the shimmer nets；
making everything a checkerboard of light and dark。 Blansher came along； and brought a pitcher of
caffeine from the commissary。 For some reason； Larice Asche turned up too； dressed in flight
baggies and a vest top。 She had a smile about her； but Jagdea didn’t really give her presence much
thought。
She waited to begin until 08。45 had ticked by。 Right on cue； they heard the simultaneous thump
of three ramp launches。 The Raptors had first slot that morning； punching up into the blue。
“Order of the day is combat air patrols running on staggered overlap；” Jagdea said。 “Three
Raptors； three of us； and so on； through the day； six machines aloft at any time。 That means you’ll
probably be up again before sunset。 It’s going to be tiring； so keep it steady。 Overnight picture is
this： the enemy is still hitting the coast hard。 The word from the Peninsula is bad。 They hit Theda for
the first time yesterday。 But unless a bombing formation comes…into our catchment； that’s not our
concern right now。 Large sections of the land retreat are starting to come clear of the mountains。 In
the next few days； a major evac is going to gear up； getting them across to the northern coast。
Recons show several of those columns coming this way； intending to cross the Saroja west of Gocel。
They are being hunted。”
“Land or air？” asked Van Tull。
“Both。 Mission profile is threefold。 If you locate a friendly column； make it the epicentre of your
patrol。 Stay with it； give it what protection it needs while fuel lasts。 If you sight hostiles； engage and
prosecute。 If you identify enemy land forces； you may also engage。 You’ll be carrying rockets for
that purpose。 Targets of opportunity； Umbra。 Get out there and see what needs doing。”
“What if we find an enemy carrier？” asked Del Ruth。
“Use your head。 Get a fix and get out。 We’ll call in Marauders。 Likewise； if you find a bombing
formation up there； or you’re outnumbered more than two to one； get on the vox and yell for
support。 I expect heroism； not stupidity。”
She paused。 “Questions？ No？ Good； let’s go。”
Jagdea and Blansher followed the three pilots to their birds。 Jagdea saw how Larice Asche hung
around Marquall； laughing with him。 At the edge of Nine…Nine’s pad； Asche kissed Marquall hard。
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“Looks like Larice has made another kill；” said Blansher。
“Marquall？ That’s a surprise。”
“Not really。 His first confirmed； some heroics。 He’s hot stuff right now。 She always goes for
that。”
“She ever go for you？” Jagdea asked。
“A gentleman is always discreet；” Blansher replied。
“Oh； what’s the matter； Mil？ A little miffed you never caught her eye？ What is it； an age thing？”
He smiled at her tolerantly。 “If you must know； she hit on me about eighteen months ago。 The
Urdesh tour。 That afternoon I splashed those three Talons。”
“What happened？”
“She had me in her sights； tone lock。 But I broke； rolled out and got home safely。”
“She not your type？”
“She’s perfectly lovely。 It’s her motivation that doesn’t appeal。”
A hooter sounded。 Marquall was ready to go。 They moved in behind the blast shields。
Racklae closed the canopy and shot Marquall a grin。 Clamped into his mask and helmet；
Marquall nodded back。 He adjusted his air…mix and settled back。 Throne； how he hated ramp
launches。 He felt sweat trickle inside his suit。 He watched the diode counter marking down。 Systems
on。 Hypergolic intermix valves open。 Operations chatter on the vox。 Rocket was primed。
Buzzer。 Five seconds。 The shimmer nets began to crank open； revealing the soaring blue sky。
Three seconds。 Thumb on the fire stud。 Two。
With a crackling； gut…shaking roar； Del Ruth fired into the air； then Van Tull。 Then…
Marquall looked around in dismay。 He’d pressed the stud。 He was sure he had。 He pressed it
again。 Nothing。 He swore。
“Umbra Eight； status？”
“Malfunction！” he called back。 “Restart…”
Again； nothing。 Red runes suddenly lit up across his instrumentation。 A warning tone sounded。
“Crap！” Marquall snarled。
“Say again？ Status？”
“Rocket malfunction！”
“Understood； Umbra Eight。 Observe emergency procedures。 Stabilise your intermix and activate
suppression jets。”
“Yes； Operations。”
He hit several switches； disarming his weapons and payload； sealing his tanks and injecting a
neutralising chemical flow into the rocket tanks so that the primed and volatile chemical propellants
couldn’t accidentally light or trigger late。 It would take hours to wash the tanks out and recharge
them。
“Umbra Eight made safe；” he voxed。
Only then did the fitters emerge and hurry to the plane。 Inspection hatches were opened； cables
hitched in to drain off fuel via the tank cocks。 A pooved in to
unload the wing…mounts and stow them in hardened caissons。
A ladder went up at the machine’s side。
Marquall popped the canopy。 “Thanks for frigging nothing； Nine…Nine；” he hissed； and hauled
himself out。
atting； Racklae was beside himself。
“I’m so sorry； sir； I’m so sorry。 We thought she was four…A。 Not a sign of anything wrong。”
“Jinxes don’t show up on your diagnostics； do they？” Marquall said bitterly。 He could see
Racklae was mortified。
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His fitters； however； were not。 Many were trying to hide their laughter。 Nearby； fitters from the
409th； and other base personnel； were not even bothering to conceal their amusement。 His face
burning； Marquall heard mocking laughter。 There was nothing more amusing； apparently； than a
cocksure young pilot； on his first combat sortie； in a newly and boldly decorated bird； getting his
pride punctured。
He was a laughing stock。
He strode off the pad。
“Bad luck； Marquall；” Jagdea said。 “We’ll get you up again this afternoon。”
“Yes； mamzel；” he snapped； walking past her。
He went towards Asche； who was watching the farce。 There was laughter in the air still。
Marquall spread his hands in a wide shrug。
“What can I say？ How crap is this？ Maybe we can catch that breakfast together after all。”
Larice Asche stared at him contemptuously。 “Another time； killer；” she said； and marched away
towards the camp。
Over the forests； 09。02
Kitting up fast； as if it was a snap call； Jagdea lifted her waiting Bolt off its matt on a standard
vector launch； and climbed to join Del Ruth and Van Tull； who were in a holding pattern as per
Operations’ advice。
“Three； Six？ Umbra Lead。 Sorry for the delay。 Marquall suffered a misfire and he’s out。 So
you’ll have to make do with me。”
“No problem； Lead；” Van Tull voxed。
“Always a pleasure； mamzel；” Del Ruth came back。
“Let’s get on with the game；” Jagdea said。 Serial Zero…Two felt fine； loose and finessed despite
the unexpected scramble。 “Let’s make our level four thousand； cruise speed； turning one…one…nine。”
“Got that； Lead。”
“Understood。”
“Umbra Three； take the point。”
“Four…A； Lead；” Van Tull voxed back。
They formed a flat V as they climbed hard； with Van Tull at the apex； Jagdea at his port eight。
The air was clear and visibility generous； but it was still cold enough for them to be making vapour
from wingtips and exhausts。 Auspex showed nothing in the sky； except the three Raptors sixty
kilometres east。
Jagdea felt uncomfortable。 She hadn’t expected to be flying so soon； not before midday； given
the original schedule。 She’d eaten a full breakfast and was still digesting。 Pressure was doing
nauseous things to her guts。 She tweaked the air…mix and felt a little better。
They cruised for an hour； snagging a wide arc eastwards； until the thickness of the forest cover
petered away and they were out across the scrublands of the sierra that marked the hinterland
between rainforest and desert。 The view was huge。 Sundogs from the bright daylight hovered in the
canopy lense。 Open； coarse land slipped by underneath them； scabbed with rocks； thistle； cactus
trees。
“I have a hard metal return； point two west； four kilometres；” Van Tull voxed。 “It’s cold。”
“Let’s check it；” Jagdea replied。 They turned tight； pulling a quarter G； but it was enough for
Jagdea to feel a twinge of cramp in her stomach。
“You okay； One？” Del Ruth called。
“Four…A；” Jagdea replied。
“Little late on the turn there； s’all I was wondering。”
“Too much breakfast；” Jagdea said。
96
They came up on the contact； and made a low pass。 Straggled out over the ragged crest of a dune
sea basin； two Imperial tanks and four troop carriers； silent and still。 No sign of damage。 Some
hatches were open。 Auspex showed no heat sources。