The Black Lung Captain - Chris Wooding [102]
Frey and Malvery were getting to their feet. They approached Jez carefully, as though she was a dangerous beast that might spring up and lunge at them. Already they were afraid of her. They’d seen the other side of their navigator, and nothing would ever be the same after that.
Damn it, Jez, Crake thought. Sooner or later they had to find out. But I wish they hadn’t seen you this way. I wish you’d told them first.
Then his thoughts went to Bess, lying motionless on the battlefield, and he scrambled to his feet to help her.
A RETREAT—UNCERTAINTIES—THE INTERPRETER—FREY STANDS HIS GROUND—DOWN TO EARTH
et him off me! Get him off my tail!”
A chatter of machine guns, and the night was full of tracer fire, ripping past Harkins’s cockpit. He banked and dived, squealing all the way, and by some miracle he didn’t catch any of it.
“Will you shut your meat-hole, Harkins?” said the voice in his ear. “I can’t bloody think with you shrieking like a pansy.”
Pinn. How he hated Pinn. Of all the men and women and small furry animals that mocked and humiliated him, Pinn was the worst. Well, except for the cat. He’d rather have Pinn than the cat.
“What’s there to think about? Just shoot him!” Harkins cried. He twisted in his seat, trying to locate his pursuer.
There was no sign. Hard to see anything in a storm like this. The Equalizer was probably somewhere in his blind spot, anyway. He went into a steep climb and rolled to starboard. A smattering of bullets chased after him through the rain.
“Pinn? Pinn? Stop scratching your fat arse and help me!”
There was a dull boom, and the windglass of his cockpit lit up with reflected flame. He looked behind him and saw the unfurling flower of a midair explosion, yellow against the night. The Skylance went spinning past, its pilot whooping in triumph.
“That’s five for me!” Pinn said. “How many have you got, eh?”
Harkins slumped back in his seat and mopped his face with his sleeve. His heart was kicking against his thin ribs, and his gorge had risen dangerously high.
“Three, I think,” he said weakly.
“Ha!”
He couldn’t care less how many he’d shot down. All he cared about was that he was still breathing. His life was a miserable affair for the most part, scurrying through the shadows of other men, ignored or derided by everyone. But all the same, he clung to it with a fierce grip. Death was even scarier than life was.
Lightning flickered, illuminating the moors beneath. Harkins scanned the sky for potential threats. All he could see was the motley of aircraft that formed the Storm Dog’s squadron of outfliers.
“The Delirium Trigger’s pulling out!” Pinn yelled suddenly. “Look! Dracken’s running, that pasty-faced chickenshit bitch!”
Harkins banked to bring the frigates into view and saw that Pinn was right. The Delirium Trigger had broken off from the Storm Dog and was rising toward the clouds. The other was making no attempt to pursue. Both craft were battered and blasted, leaking smoke and flame. The Equalizers were scattering across the plain, racing away in different directions, no doubt to rendezvous at some prearranged location.
Harkins gave a broad smile at the sight. The battle was over! He’d made it through!
“Cap’n!” he said. “Cap’n, did you hear that?” There was no reply. “Jez?” he inquired tentatively, his voice softening.
“Jez? Jez?” Pinn mimicked in a simper. “They’re not listening. Must’ve taken out their earcuffs. Probably sick of hearing a grown man squeal.”
Harkins bit his lip. Don’t rise to it. That’s what he wants. But it still hurt.
Once, he’d been a Navy pilot, and his nerve had been as strong as anyone’s. What if Jez had met him then, uniformed and proud? He’d always been awkward and highly strung, never quite at ease in his own skin, but he’d been more of a man back then. At least until his comrades started dying in the Aerium Wars. Until he’d been shot down that first time and then twice more. Until