Night Witches Part 19

*In here! I'm coming!'

Let Steen go running back to all the other G.o.d-rotten Crux. I don't want him around me. Don't want proof of what I've done.

Reef is shaking when I reach his side. He's covered in strands of burned bio-weave and blinking away shock. He wraps an arm around my shoulders. *Come with me,' he says hoa.r.s.ely. *Let me take you home.'

Home? This city under siege can't be Sea-Ways, surely?

I don't recognise my own home town. Traption trenches circle the suburbs, crested with repellent spikes. High walls bristle with anti-aircraft guns, watchtowers and troops. Soldiers defending the walls aren't the smart heroes we saw marching through the streets all those for evers ago when we first left for Loren Airbase. These are civilians shoved into any old pieces of uniform and handed whatever weapons Glissom's gun factory can produce. There are old men patrolling the barricades; old women on sharp-eyed sentinel duty.

All windows are stained with blackout paint. Blast-bags are built up around doorways. Sold Out signs are pasted across every shop front. Swathed in drab camouflage nets, salvaged Storms line a school sports field. Reef leads me into an infant cla.s.sroom painted with the gaudy colours of peacetime.

It's a subdued reunion. My friends are safe, but there were other fatalities at the Biopolis a" more people I never knew, and now I'll never know. Perhaps someone, somewhere, mourns the Scrutiner Roke.

Zoya comes to squash up next to me. It's no use trying to sit on the infant chairs a" our knees come up to our chins a" so we perch on the tables instead.

Zoya's face is grey. *How many lives have you got, Pip? We thought you were dead. Haze too.'

*Haze is alive?'

*Reef found her a" sent her here. What happened?'

I shake my head. I can't think about it, let alone talk.

The cla.s.sroom door bangs open and Marina Furey strides in, promptly knocking her head on a kid's arty mobile hanging from the low ceiling.

*Brilliant.' She scowls. *Why do I suddenly feel like I'm a teacher barging in to break up playtime? Of all the places I've been based, this really is the . . . Hey a" is that a sandpit? Tilly will love that . . .'

The door slams open again. This time it's Fenlon. His overalls must've been cut off him during emergency treatment for his injured leg, and now the only top that'll fit his frame is a big teacher's tunic with h.e.l.lo Children I'm Here To Help emblazoned across the chest. He limps into the cla.s.sroom and makes a big show of stowing his walking sticks. We can't help laughing.

Furey holds up her hand to calm us.

*Fun's over. You'd have to be blind not to notice there's nothing much to laugh about now. Comms are patchy; reports are more like rumours. One thing's obvious. Sea-Ways is under siege. Hush! There'll be time one day to ask how this could happen. Let's just count ourselves lucky we got away as lightly as we did.'

*Easy for you to say,' Fenlon growls.

*Lives were lost from our squadron, and I regret this more than anyone. Thanks to Ang's excellent shooting, and quick responses from all of you, more lives were saved than lost and we've salvaged all of the Storms. Now the real fight begins. Some of you have been with me from the first. Some of you are new . . .'

She looks over all the newbies, who sit up a bit straighter, despite the childish surroundings.

*For the newest recruits, this siege signals the end of your training. For you the examination will begin in the middle of the battle. You will not fly in awesome machines and, to be frank, you aren't excessively awesome in appearance. However, desperate days are upon us and the Long Night draws near.'

*You're right about desperate,' mutters Fenlon.

Furey turns on him. *Yes, desperate! Do you think I'm not torn up inside, worrying what's going to happen to my daughter and all the other evacuees now sheltering in this very school? Do you think I don't know the Crux have siege weapons that can flatten this city before they convert us at gunpoint? Does that mean we just roll over and give up?'

Fenlon looks alarmed. *Over my dead body!'

Furey's brow rises in appreciation of this thought.

Zoya nudges me, murmuring, *She likes him.'

Furey swipes the art mobile out of her way and paces across the cla.s.sroom.

*I bet you've all thought in secret, What can I do in this war, against so dreadful an enemy? What use will my effort be a" I'm only one person? My reply is this a" you are One of Many.'

*One of Many!' our response ripples.

*You, Ang a" you're the best shot on the squadron. Lida, you've the gift of knowing how to get a team working. Zoya, Dee, Petra . . . all of you are dedicated and talented. Rain . . .'

I shake my head. Don't look at me!

*Rain, you fly like you were born to it. I'm counting on you, all of you, to pull together now. Every supply dump wrecked, every siege engine crippled, every traption disabled, every unit of creepers kept on edge by the drone of our engines, every mission you fly in the Storms contributes to the downfall of our enemy. One of you alone cannot win this war. Many of us together will win, if we stay strong and loyal. Sea-Ways City must not, will not be conquered. At whatever cost, we and our Storms will protect it.'

First they jeer, civilians seeing us trundling along the sports field in our funny wooden planes. They think we'll be toys against the great siege machines circling the city. They don't see us gliding between searchlight beams to drop our bombs. They can't count Crux casualties as we fire down on enemy encampments.

Then the rumours start to spread. It's Storms that safeguard the only remaining railway into Sea-Ways. It's Storms swarming like stab-tails for air battles above the suburbs. It's Storms that send enemy planes crashing down in flames.

Mama messages have you heard about them, these storms? all night they're flying, even though it's dark, can you believe it? last night i was awake and worrying about where you were, and down it came, this plane, right past my window, waggling its wings . . .

I smile. That was me, of course!

I was going to buzz Zoya's apartment too but she said no way, her father would be furious if she did anything so frivolous.

*You mean you told Uncle Mentira you're with the squadron? We're not supposed to let our families know what sort of war work we're doing.'

*Aura said it was OK.'

*The rest of us aren't allowed to.'

Zoya shrugs. *He's a scientist. He needs to know things. Don't bug me about it, I'm tired. Eighteen times we went out last night, fifteen the night before. I could sleep right through the Long Night when it happens a" how come you're always so full of energy?'

I can't answer that. I feel like a bag of chaos inside. I'm sloshing with sensations . . . the sweaty constriction of my flying helmet on hot nights, the scent of tiny white flowers pushing up through fine cracks in bio-fibre floors, the taste of bile in my mouth whenever we have to fly over the river running through the city.

The best and worst day comes when an unusual ac-req arrives through for the squadron.

*I don't believe it!' Lida is too angry to sit down and take the news nicely. *They want us to risk our necks spraying weedkiller?'

*If I had two necks I'd risk them for the Nation,' says Ang stubbornly.

*I'd risk both your necks as well,' replies Lida. *It's mine I'm worried about. Honestly, sending us off on a daylight mission to go Slick-spreading when we've only just got back from night-bombing! Hasn't Aura a.n.a.lysed the weather out there? You can't see the end of your nose visibility's so poor.'

Dee goes cross-eyed trying to test if it's ever possible to see the end of your nose.

It's hard to know what Aura can and can't see these days. When I connect for ac-reqs I often get nothing but a monotonous please wait please wait please wait.

Today a thick sea-mist has crawled up from the low-lying harbour. It smells of salty bones and fish eyes. It creeps through our warmest flying clothes, leaving us clammy and cold despite the summer season.

At the centre of the runway Yeldon stands tall with luminous batons to guide the Storms into position.

*At least we can't see how bad things are when it's like this,' says Zoya, as we wait for our turn to take off, wings weighted with cans of Slick. *I hate looking down at all the Crux bomb-slingers and siege engines and traptions crusting the city edges, just waiting for a chance to come and trample us.' There's a crackle over the comms, then she says, *Pip . . . we are going to stop them, aren't we? We are going to win the war?'

I can't lie. *Not with Slick we're not.'

*My father says we have to do whatever we can to win the war.'

*And we both know your father is always right!'

I laugh, but Zoya doesn't laugh back.

*It's tricky to spot any landmarks,' she calls once we're over the city centre. *Everything's so grey, just a few dim lights. Isn't that the big screen in the station square? That could be our school roof there. I think we're in position. Shall I start spraying?'

No! Leave the weeds alone! Let the gra.s.s grow, let the saplings shoot up, let the flowers blossom! I hate the thought of all that black poison raining down, spattering on rogue leaves and sliding down green stems.

To Zoya I say, *Sure. Do it.'

I think I can hear people down on the streets putting up umbrellas as we sweep past. Why are we wasting time with this? Who is the greater enemy, the Crux and their killing machines, or the Mora.s.s with its mazy ways? Loyalty is such a funny thing. You think you know whose side you're on, who's on your side, and then . . .

*Pip!' Zoya screams as the plane jolts. *Enemy aircraft!'

I snap back into focus and take control. *Screamers? Catapults?'

*Unknown. I think we're hit!'

Dreaming in the mist I never heard anything approach. I take us up to break the mist and hope the other Storms have spotted the enemy too. The moment we emerge into morning sunshine sounds are sharper.

*Behind us, Pip!' Zoya swings her Glissom rapid-fire round to shoot at the Crux Catapult planes that have been waiting for us to appear out of the mist, like wolves watching a rablet hole.

Whatever I do to shake them off, however I turn, there's a shower of Slick following behind, some blown back in our faces so we're smeared in the disgusting stuff. The sun's eye is harsh and I wish I'd remembered my flying visor.

Zoya shouts, *Drop alt.i.tude a" hide in the mist again!'

Down we go, swooping low over long lamp-poles and rooftop washing lines, still trickling Slick from the under-wing canisters. A woman pegging things out to dry shakes her fist at us. She should be glad she won't have flowers budding in her blankets, though I think that would be rather lovely, sleeping with blossoms . . .

It takes all my concentration to dodge tall buildings while still keeping out of range of the Catapult. Finally I find River Seaward. I follow its sludge-green ribbon for a while. That brings up bad memories of tumbling into the water with Tilly . . . and being hauled out by Steen. I wonder where he is.

*Zoya a" can you hear me?' My own ears feel full of mist and Slick.

*I'm right behind you a" what's the plan?'

*We have to get the Catapults away from the city.'

*You mean out over the harbour?'

My stomach flips at the thought of the churning ocean. *Definitely.'

*That might work . . . especially as they're right on our tail again now a" Pip!'

I pull the nose up and whip around sharply before turning towards the coast again. There are the harbour lights . . . the Catapults are too close!

*I can't lose them!'

*I can't hit them!'

A stutter of bullets shreds into the Storm. Wires ping and the plane begins to dance. I don't have control. More bullets. Zoya yelps. I twist round. She's disappeared from sight.

No, no, no!

Sea-mist and shock cling to my body, slowing me down, just when I should be doing something dynamic. Why am I so sluggish anywhere over rivers and sea? The Storm twists and plunges like a twig on floodwater. Is this it? Is this how it ends a" I die alone?

Not alone. Dee's Storm comes powering up, right on the tail of the Crux planes. Predators become prey. Ang shoots one Catapult right in the fuel tanks so it explodes in mid-air, creating a second sun. The other is almost out of range when she scores a direct hit on the pilot, sending that plane tumbling down into the mist.

I fall after it, dazed by my own uselessness. The plane just isn't responding. Wires must've been jammed or shot to pieces, because I don't have control. Without wires, what can I do? I keep jabbing the rudder pedal with my boot, as if that'll help . . . and, amazingly, something unsnarls. The wires run smoothly and the Storm responds to my touch again.

The sea doesn't catch me with its white-flecked wave-tips. I'm not swallowed in nasty salt billows.

I hear a groan. Behind me a blood-grazed hand appears on the edge of the c.o.c.kpit, followed by a thatch of pale hair and a scowl.

*No floor left!' Zoya shouts. *I'm sitting on sky!'

I want to whoop with delight!

*You owe Fenlon a huge thanks for that extra-strong seat and harness belt.'

*I owe you thanks for the boot-wetting. I thought we were going under then.'

*So did I! Can you hang on till we reach the base?'

*Do I have a choice?'

I laugh, feeling suddenly light enough to fly without a plane. *We won't need landing gear a" you can start running when we touch down . . .'

*Don't joke, that might actually happen. Listen, Pip, thank you for not letting us die.'

*Thank Ang. Her shooting was inspired.'

*No, I mean it. It's true what everybody says. You really are loyal, aren't you?'

I tense. *Why wouldn't I be?'

*It's just . . . There's something I shouldn't tell you . . .' Zoya's voice is strained, probably from the effort of hanging on to her harness.

*Can't it wait?' I'm squinting through curtains of gauzy mist.

*Yes, kind of, but not for long. It's abouta"'

*No, really, it'll have to wait a" more Crux incoming!'

Soon the sky is specked with planes. I zip between them as best I can. Zoya hoists herself up to the c.o.c.kpit edge but she can't hold on and shoot at the same time. Once again, Ang saves the day, eventually escorting us back to base before returning to patrol the skies.