Corog crumpled the scroll and glanced at his own machine. ‘We have a little time now, because we’re letting them come to us. Make sure your machines are fully wound and ready. Nobody heads off half-sprung. Know this: best guess says that they’ll come all together, everything they can put in the air. Ready yourselves for that, as best you can.’
The Ear continued its melancholy drone, and they took to their machines more soberly now — the entire remaining might that Collegium could put in the air. Taki looked around her, thinking about just how many Farsphex the Empire might have to throw at them, and how difficult engaging them for even a short time was going to be without suffering heavy losses. Around her, although she might forget names, she knew every face, as familiar as her old flying comrades from Solarno, most of whom had died in the last war while retaking her city from the Empire. But Solarno now sat under Imperial and Spider colours again, and so what had been the point?
She was acutely conscious that this would probably be the last sight she had of many of these people: Mynan airmen, Collegiate student aviators, volunteer academics, merchant pilots turned to war, artificers and tradesmen retrained in the city’s time of desperate need. It might equally be their last sight of her.
She was scared, and the sudden fear mingled with the old excitement that an aerial duel had always inspired in her. I may die, but at least I live first, and show me a better death.
And, out over the rugged land that separated Collegium from the Second Army, the Farsphex were closing.
General Tynan had listened to every word that Aarmon and Cherten had to say, sitting there with Mycella of the Aldanrael at his right hand, his trusted adviser. With his eyes half-closed, he had heard them both out, taken in every scrap of evidence or supposition, leaping to no conclusions but setting out the facts in his head with the same patient care that had guided his career as an officer.
‘You think it’s a trap,’ he had remarked to Aarmon.
‘I think they have husbanded all their strength for tonight, to destroy as many of us as they can, sir. I think they know they must cripple our airpower, for their own to have a chance against your army tomorrow,’ the pilot had confirmed.
‘And you, Colonel?’
‘I think we have our orders, sir,’ had come Cherten’s response, ‘and both my spies and those of the Spiders are reporting that they are simply running out of working machines to put in the air — conserving their strength for the siege.’
‘The nature of the trap, Major?’
‘New technology or reinforcements for the air,’ Aarmon had guessed. ‘Better orthopters, perhaps, or Sarnesh machines or pilots to counter our… advantage.’ For the mindlink was still not a matter to be openly spoken of. ‘Their pilots are as good as ours, sir. Their machines are, too. If they could ambush us with twice the number, say, or three times, they could crush our largest raiding party, perhaps stop even one Farsphex escaping.’
Tynan had blinked. ‘And if it was more than just a raiding party? You know the Colonel wants a massed bombing raid.’
‘Depends on their strength, sir, but, even if they outnumber us, we have the advantage. We fight together in the air.’
For a long time, Tynan had stared at the straight-backed pilot standing to attention before him, and then Mycella had leant in and whispered something to him. Aarmon had felt Colonel Cherten’s instant disapproval and frustration — that there were counsels he was being excluded from — but Tynan had simply listened, his eyes flicking up briefly to Aarmon.
Mycella’s last words had been loud enough for them all to hear: ‘After all, we know about traps, my people.’
And Tynan had looked Aarmon in the eye and said, ‘How soon can you be airborne, all of you?’
In the echo of Aarmon’s answer, he had then turned to Cherten. ‘Double our speed towards Collegium. Their army’s out there and they think they have a day at least until we clash. That’s a lie. We clash today. Abandon the baggage and support here, and move out our soldiers, automotives and the siege train right now. We’re going to war.’
Under great protest, Nishaana had been left behind with just four orthopters, a token force to defend the army. If the Collegiates did choose to attack Tynan on the march, even as the Imperial fliers struck their city, then the Second would have to scatter, protect its machines as well as they could, and have one of Nishaana’s people make best speed for Collegium to call the fliers back. Aarmon reckoned that the Collegiates were desperate enough to try it, but Cherten had been dismissive.
Pingge knew Aarmon’s thoughts, relayed through Scain’s murmuring them even as they came to him. Whether or not the Collegiates had reinforcements or some new device, the Wasp aviators knew that Collegiate air power would be the greatest threat to any besieging force, and Collegiate control of the sky would make taking the city near-impossible. War had changed in so few years, but they, the Air Corps and their Collegiate rivals, were at the cutting edge, the masters of the storm.
Their orders were to destroy the enemy air power. Bombing the city was secondary and, for greater speed in the air, they carried a reduced load of explosives, enough for a few hard passes should the chance arise.
‘Nearing,’ Scain said, loud enough for her to know it was meant for her ears.
Carefully she set to loading and spanning the little ballista they had bolted onto her hatch. A sudden buffet of air sent her lurching her forwards, an explosive-tipped bolt tumbling out into the night. The chain was taut about her ankle, catching her before she needed her wings. Many of the pilots had wanted to forgo the chains, but back in Capitas the engineers had ensured that the stigmatizing protocol was adhered to, and Colonel Cherten proved to be their brother in diligence in the Second Army’s camp. For herself, Pingge had felt the benefit of it more than once, when being jolted and rattled about in the heat of an aerial battle. For all her Art, if she had been flung from the Farsphex, she could never have regained her place.
She looked into the reticule, seeing Collegium ahead, landmarks that were as familiar to her now as to a native, it almost seemed, but less so in daylight. ‘They didn’t launch,’ she called, against the rush of air. There had been no Collegiate blockade to meet them halfway to the city, but then halfway to the city was not very far at all this time. The Second Army — the Gears — had made its signature steady progress west, and now its goal was in sight. Pingge was looking at it, even then.
If the Collegiates had attempted such a blockade, they would have been outmanoeuvred. Aarmon had divided his force into three, approaching the city from east, north and south, the latter two to double back west if they met no resistance over the city itself, and thus catch their enemy in the rear. Now it seemed as though all three wings would meet over Collegium, their mind-link allowing them to intermesh effortlessly.
‘Light bombing to draw them out,’ Scain murmured Aarmon’s words, and then his own response, ‘Will do, sir,’ before pitching his voice up, ‘Pick a target, Pings. Wake them up-’ and almost immediately, ‘No need! They come!’
Thirty-Seven
The Fly-kinden scout attracted some notice by diving out of a clear sky, shrugging off the challenges of sentries, her arms held up to ward of reprisals as she skidded to her feet in the centre of the Collegium camp. By that time enough had seen her Maker’s Own sash, and a few more had recognized her face, so she was allowed to pick herself up and take a quick glance to get her bearings. A moment later her wings were skimming her towards the command tent.
Amnon was in conference with her chief officer, the Beetle woman Elder Padstock, when the Fly gasped out her report.
‘They’re coming!’
‘The automotives?’ Padstock beckoned a messenger towards her, about to send orders to ready the artillery. The Collegiates had foreseen such a strike, after the disaster at the trenches.
‘Their entire army, Chief!’ the Fly got out, her chest heaving for breath. ‘All of ’em.’
For a second Amnon watched Padstock freeze, expressionless, and then she was rattling off orders. ‘Tell the mechanics to have all the automotives readied. Pass word round all the officers and sub-officers to assemble, just
