Night Shriekers Read online

  ‘Turn left, bearing zero-nine-zero,’ Yakleva said. ‘We’re coming.’

  Without hesitation, Maranova turned her aircraft to stay with Yakleva and Matlova as they flew on a course to bring them around behind the t’au Barracudas. With their unfettered use of blasphemous technology, the xenos’ aircraft were a world away from the Imperial Thunderbolts. The sleek fighters were thin triangles against the sky, and Maranova was barely able to make out their cockpits. Despite the dreaded guns of the t’au, Maranova knew the pilots of the Imperium had something the filthy xenos never would – the blessing of the God-Emperor.

  ‘Maranova,’ Yakleva barked over the vox, ‘get your arse back to base.’

  ‘I’m spiked,’ Nazoya’s voice broke in before Maranova could reply. ‘Holy Throne, I’m already painted.’

  ‘Go full evasive now,’ Yakleva replied. ‘We’ll turn onto the targets in ten seconds.’

  ‘That’s my best friend,’ Maranova said. ‘Let me help.’

  There was a moment of silence before Yakleva replied. ‘This will have consequences, pilot officer. For now, you are on flight defence, drop back to cover rear angles.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Come around on attack angle now,’ Yakleva said. The three Thunderbolts turned in formation to swing around behind the Barracudas. Nazoya’s aircraft weaved left and right, turning away from the enemy and then cutting aggressively back across in front of them, limiting the time they had to establish a targeting lock. But the Barracudas were agile. They followed Nazoya’s evasive twists, turns and rolls closer than any pursuit aircraft Maranova had ever seen.

  ‘I can’t shake them,’ Nazoya called.

  ‘Hold them off for another couple of seconds and we’ll split them,’ Yakleva said.

  Even as Yakleva said this, Maranova saw the flashes of blue as the Barracuda’s auto-targeting burst cannons fired. Nazoya rolled hard but a spray of sparks and sheared metal exploded from her right wing tip.

  ‘I’m hit. I’m hit.’

  ‘Weapons free,’ Yakleva called.

  The other three Thunderbolts had finally come around behind the Barracudas, but the t’au aircraft swerved through the air as they chased Nazoya and the Imperial fighters struggled to gain a targeting lock. Maranova planted her thumb down on the fire stud anyway, hearing the wind up and eruption of the four autocannons in the nose of her Thunderbolt. The hail of shells sprayed out ahead of her, tracer rounds lighting phosphorous gashes across the yellow sky. She watched similar lines of fire spew forth from Yakleva and Matlova’s aircraft. A sleek white disc ejected from the rear of one of the Barracudas and, with a haze-like shimmer, both t’au aircraft momentarily vanished. Then, just as quickly, they reappeared. One had already split left, the other had pulled vertically upwards.

  ‘What was that?’ Maranova asked.

  ‘Disruptor drone,’ Yakleva answered quickly. ‘Enemy in defensive split. I’ll take the leader. Two, stay with Nazoya, escort her in. Three, break for enemy wingman. Mark.’

  Yakleva pulled up, splitting off their formation to chase the Barracuda that had gone vertical. Matlova turned to chase the second aircraft. Maranova flew up beside Nazoya’s wounded fighter. White smoke trailed like an air show display from her eviscerated wing tip and Maranova could see the shudder in the top sheet of her wing, the metal ready to peel off like the lid of an Imperial Navy ration tin.

  ‘Okay, Nazoya,’ Maranova said, ‘how’s your bird feeling?’

  ‘I’ve got a mean shimmy in my damaged wing. Flight surfaces seem responsive but sluggish.’

  ‘You’re all right,’ Maranova said. ‘Hey, four ration sticks says I get you home.’

  ‘Double it.’

  ‘Are you betting against yourself?’ Maranova said.

  ‘Seems reasonable at the moment.’

  ‘Come on, Naz,’ Maranova said, ‘you’ll get through this. I’m with you.’

  Maranova let Nazoya turn first, dropping back into a more defensive position and watching as her aircraft banked. It might still have ailerons intact but the ruined wing tip caused an extreme amount of drag that tried constantly to yaw the aircraft off course. Nazoya’s turn radius was very wide as Maranova followed her to head for home.

  ‘Shrieker Two and Four, lateral attack incoming, break low.’ Matlova’s voice came over the vox. The Barracuda she’d pursued had come around and was turning to intercept Nazoya and Maranova from their left side: not an optimal attack trajectory but dangerous nonetheless. Maranova turned to look towards the approaching enemy; the red-and-yellow Barracuda was banked over hard. Matlova’s Thunderbolt was in the same banked turn, trying unsuccessfully to get behind it. Maranova spotted the other Barracuda peeling down from above and recognised what they’d done – the attack run on Maranova and Nazoya was a feint to bring Matlova into a position to be targeted.

  ‘Shrieker Three,’ Maranova said, ‘enemy on your eight o’clock high, break.’

  Matlova turned, avoiding the Barracuda diving from above. Simultaneously, Maranova and Nazoya dived, Nazoya pushing her damaged Thunderbolt the best she could. The Barracuda roared over the top of them, barely thirty feet above.

  All through training it had been drilled into Maranova: the true skill of a combat pilot was not the technical ability to fly an aircraft. Mastery of the air came from situational awareness and rapid decision making. In the split second Maranova looked up and saw the yellow underside of the enemy Barracuda flash over her, she made her snap judgement. Matlova had peeled off; the Barracuda that had dropped in from above followed her, Yakleva on its tail. That left the other Barracuda isolated and in position for Maranova to attack. She banged her stick over, hit the rudder hard and turned after it.

  ‘Marina,’ Nazoya said, ‘where are you going?’

  ‘Stay on course,’ Maranova replied. ‘I can take it.’

  Maranova heard Yakleva’s voice. ‘Emperor damn it, Shrieker Two. I told you to stay with her.’

  But it was too late, Maranova was committed. Her hard turn brought her around behind the Barracuda. She quickly flicked the weapons selection to lascannons. She’d have one shot here and needed maximum damage output. She watched the target reticule on her heads-up display converge on the Barracuda. It locked green. This was it, she had it. Her first kill.

  ‘Got a lock,’ Maranova declared. ‘Firing.’

  She punched down the fire button and twin streaks of glorious las-fire burst out from the nose of her Thunderbolt. The Barracuda pitched up so energetically that for a moment its nose was vertical while it still moved forward, pushing belly first through the sky, but then it disappeared upwards. Maranova’s lascannon fire streaked away, hitting nothing but the wide Raskovan sky.

  ‘Holy Throne,’ Maranova said, ‘negative damage. God-Emperor, it was just gone.’

  Maranova strained her neck to look upwards, searching above her. Through the bright glare on the canopy she saw the Barracuda. It backflipped tail over nose so that it ended up pointing the same direction as her. She felt a recurrence of her awe at this enemy machine: it was like it didn’t obey the same laws of aerodynamics. Perhaps it didn’t – who knew what foul heretical forces the xenos might be entangled with? Her first instinct was that the Barracuda was dropping in behind her, but she soon saw it wasn’t targeting her, it was going after Nazoya. It would take out the damaged Thunderbolt first, picking off the easy prey. Maranova banked hard, skidding her aircraft through the air to pursue the enemy.

  The Barracuda moved into position to target Nazoya. Maranova was flying an almost parallel course to the enemy Barracuda now, though she was at least a third of a mile away. She jammed her throttle forward and felt the rumble as the nozzles on her engines expanded, fuel dumping into the open jet stream to give full afterburner thrust. Nazoya was making small, quick turns to keep out of the Barracuda’s crosshairs, but the damage to her wing affected her
ability to evade.

  ‘Naz,’ Maranova said over the vox. ‘Turn hard left, bring the Barracuda into my sights. I can get them.’

  ‘Negative,’ Nazoya replied. ‘I’m pulling too hard to the right. If I hold a left turn they’ll have me.’

  ‘I only need two seconds to get into position,’ Maranova said. ‘We can get this alien bastard. We can make this kill.’

  ‘Marina,’ Nazoya said, using her name as an almost pleading rebuke.

  ‘Naz, trust me. I’ve got this kill. Just bring the bogey across my line.’

  After a moment, Maranova watched Nazoya’s Thunderbolt bank over to the left, beginning the turn to assist Maranova to get into a good attacking position. Nazoya was right, her rate of turn was low, the aircraft fighting against the pull of its damaged wing.

  ‘Keep coming,’ Maranova muttered to herself. ‘Keep coming.’

  Just as she was planning whether to strafe the Barracuda with a lateral attack or try to get in on its six o’clock again, the Barracuda dramatically increased its rate of turn. It levelled out and Nazoya’s Thunderbolt flew straight across in front of it.

  ‘Naz!’

  Maranova screamed into the vox but her warning was too late. The white-blue glow of an ion blast spewed forth from the Barracuda’s massive cannon. The high-energy beam struck the nose of Nazoya’s Thunderbolt and tracked in a diagonal line over the fuselage. Maranova watched as Nazoya’s entire aircraft was sheared in two.

  Through a garbled vox communication she heard fragmented words from Nazoya. ‘I’m bailing. I say again, Shrieker Four ejecting.’

  The canopy of Nazoya’s Thunderbolt burst free and Maranova watched the flash as Nazoya’s ejection seat was punched with eyeball-squeezing acceleration up and out of her doomed aircraft. Moments later a white parachute inflated, drifting away on the hot breeze.

  Maranova’s cold horror morphed into hot rage. She banged her speed brakes and barrel-rolled her aircraft over hard, bringing her guns to bear on the t’au fighter. A lateral attack might not be effective but she flicked her weapons selector to autocannons and sprayed wildly across the Barracuda’s path. A series of flashes appeared over the Barracuda’s fuselage and a shower of sparks told Maranova she’d scored a hit. The Barracuda pulled up in a half-loop and rolled over to reverse direction, trailing streaks of smoke.

  ‘Two,’ Matlova’s voice came over the vox. ‘You’ve got an enemy on your six closing fast.’

  Maranova looked down at her auspex. Two aircraft were coming up behind her, the second enemy Barracuda followed by Yakleva. Matlova was coming in at an acute angle.

  Yakleva’s voice came next. ‘Two, set for break. Break left. Break left.’

  She did, unconsciously obeying a call to evade from an ally. She stretched her neck to see behind her. The Barracuda was still back there. She banked hard to the left and then turned back right. Throughout her evasive manoeuvring the enemy aircraft stuck with her. Her cogitator began beeping at her and then gave off the dreaded solid tone of an enemy weapons lock.

  ‘They’ve got me locked,’ she called.

  ‘Hold on,’ Matlova called over the vox. ‘I’m on intercept.’

  In her peripheral vision, Maranova saw Matlova’s Thunderbolt coming straight towards her. Matlova rolled her plane and flew straight behind her, in between Maranova’s Thunderbolt and the Barracuda that had her targeted.

  ‘Matlova, don’t!’ Yakleva shouted.

  The Barracuda fired its ion cannon. Maranova braced but there was no impact. Matlova’s Thunderbolt was in a spin, her aircraft breaking apart and spewing a plume of thick black smoke, completely out of control and tumbling towards the rocky Raskovan ground. She had taken the enemy fire that would have destroyed Maranova.

  For a moment Maranova watched the carnage, praying to the God-Emperor she’d see Matlova’s ejection seat rocket out just as Nazoya’s had, but that hope was dashed in a rush of cold horror as Matlova’s Thunderbolt exploded in a bright fireball of fuel.

  ‘The Barracudas are bugging out,’ Yakleva said. ‘Operations, this is Shrieker One. Enemy aircraft are retreating. We have two birds down: Shrieker Three is KIA, Shrieker Four has bailed out. Request search and rescue scramble. Shrieker One and Two returning to base.’

  ‘Shrieker One, this is Operations, roger that. Come home, you two.’

  ‘Squadron leader,’ Maranova said, ‘I’m sorry. I–’

  ‘You heard them,’ Yakleva said, interrupting, ‘get on my wing, Maranova. We’re returning to base.’

  Once out of the cockpit, Maranova wordlessly handed her helmet to the nearest aircraft fitter.

  ‘Ah, ma’am, I’m not a servitor,’ the fitter replied but Maranova was already walking away, her mind so distant it might as well have been drifting in the warp.

  Her oldest friend was lost out on the harsh terrain of Raskova as night was falling, and it was her fault. And as if that weren’t enough, she was responsible for the death of Matlova too. The senior pilot had sacrificed herself to protect Maranova. All this because Maranova so badly wanted to claim that first enemy kill.

  ‘Come with me.’

  Maranova looked up from the tarmac between her boots. She’d stopped in the middle of the hardstand without even realising. Yakleva was standing in front of her.

  ‘Ma’am, I…’ Maranova’s voice died in her throat. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Yakleva began walking away.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’ Maranova said, her desperation coming through. ‘Emperor’s Throne, my best friend bailed out and we’ve lost a Night Shrieker because of me. Aren’t you going to tell me everything I did wrong?’

  Yakleva stopped. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath. She turned to look back at Maranova. ‘You already know what you did.’

  Maranova nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Yakleva said. ‘Stop apologising.’

  ‘It’s my fault though,’ Maranova said. ‘Matlova is dead. Nazoya is lost. I’m sor–’

  Yakleva interrupted her with an open-handed slap across the face, hard enough that Maranova’s face bloomed red and stung viciously.

  ‘In the name of the God-Emperor, stop your whining.’ Yakleva reached out and grabbed the front of Maranova’s flight suit, pulling her in close. ‘You listen to me. I’d rather you be an arrogant hotshot who thinks you’re blessed by all that is holy than this blubbering worm. You are an Imperial Navy combat pilot, start acting like it.’

  Yakleva’s face was stern, her lips tight, and her eyes locked on to Maranova’s like a Thunderbolt’s targeting system.

  ‘You disobeyed my orders. For that I will tear shreds off you, but you are not some mindless Astra Militarum grunt, you are a pilot – you made the decision to chase that enemy so in the name of Holy Terra and the God-Emperor Himself, you look me in the eye and back up that choice. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Well?’

  Maranova stared directly back at the squadron leader. ‘I saw an opportunity to kill the enemy and I took it.’

  ‘Damn right,’ Yakleva said, finally shoving her away. ‘Matlova’s death was not your fault. She chose to fly that Divine Shield manoeuvre and block the Barracuda’s fire. As for Nazoya, you made the choice to leave her to engage the enemy when I told you not to. Part of not second-guessing decisions is living with the consequences when you’re wrong. Now come, we’ve been called to the ops room for debrief. Maybe throw a prayer to the God-Emperor just to be safe.’

  ‘Two more birds lost, Matlova KIA and Nazoya on the ground. All this on an Emperor-damned training mission too.’ Wing Commander Groneva was leaning forward, head down, propping herself up with both hands on her desk. ‘They’ve never pushed this close to our anti-aircraft emplacements before. Never risked coming this close to Lipka.’ The wing commander loo
ked up to address Yakleva and Maranova, who stood stiffly at attention in her office. ‘Why didn’t you retreat into the safe zone? What happened up there?’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Yakleva said, ‘I ordered the two rookie pilots to turn for base and get within the air-defence perimeter. I decided that Flight Lieutenant Matlova and I would engage the hostiles and stay defensive until the scramble fighters arrived. I believed the enemy pair were a reconnaissance patrol and would bug out when they detected the incoming fighters.’

  Groneva examined the fighter ace. ‘If that was the plan then why were Pilot Officers Nazoya and Maranova in the fight?’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Maranova spoke, her voice catching a little, ‘I can explain, that was my–’

  The door to Groneva’s office swung open so hard that it slammed back into the wall. Colonel Henrik Rathven of the Ignis VII Second Mechanised Imperial Guard Regiment, commander of the entire Raskova campaign, came into the room like a clap of thunder. The man, shorter than both Maranova and Yakleva but significantly wider, squeezed between them without as much as acknowledging their presence. His long, neatly trimmed moustache billowed out as he addressed the wing commander, making him look like a walrus strapped inside a highly decorated and freshly starched uniform.

  ‘Groneva,’ he said, ‘what’s this I hear about you authorising a search and rescue dispatch for the downed pilot?’

  ‘Sir,’ Groneva said evenly, ‘Pilot Officer Nazoya is down beyond the safe zone. We’re going to rescue her.’

  ‘Beyond the safe zone is the operative phrase there, wing commander,’ the colonel said. ‘That pilot’s flight path took her outside the designated area of operations. We are not sending Valkyries and troops into a hot zone for one pilot. A significant ground force of t’au are mobilising through the area. We’ll be sending a mechanised platoon to engage them. You know as well as I do the xenos have been deploying their pathfinder and stealth suits more regularly and they’ve been dealing crippling blows to low-level assault aircraft. The enemy appear to be making a push to take Lipka. The Imperial Guard will meet them on the ground and the Navy will be ready to defend this base, not risking aircraft for one rookie pilot.’