The Cicciles flew down the Straight below roof height. A pair of Wasps followed them at height. Their primary target had been destroyed and they were seeking opportunities. The smoke from the burning buildings was an irresistable lure to them. The ragged bunch below them, some of whom turned and waved as the planes passed overhead, were obviously the defenders. Maybe beyond the smoke would be the enemy.

They climbed as they reached the smoke, just in case, then dipped back down again as they cleared it. The buildings on either side were gtutted now, the fires extinguished by the collapse of roofs. There were troops, withdrawing to defensive positions, but, despite the occasional burst of small arms fire, they didn’t offer any interesting targets. The Cicciles strafed them for form and continued. At the end of the great boulevard, troops were feeding in from another major road. The planes banked and aimed down it.

A thousand spans back along the road, almost too close to level and aim, was the target they sought. A group of softskins were arrayed in a square, tarpaulin stretched between them. Around this command centre were artillery and heavy tracks.