Powerful air currents roared in his ears, forcing Ola to concentrate harder to transmit his words through the [Hive Terminal].
[Listen up, all of you! We've been watching these supply convoys for days. There's no mistake. Hector is concentrating supplies in Silverpine City, and right beneath us is that 'Dung-Eating Marquis's' transfer depot! It's packed with grain and refined iron.] Ever since Stuka and the others had pulled that spectacular stunt with the statue, "Dung-Eating Marquis" had become everyone's affectionate nickname for Hector.
Ola rode on Stuka's back, the gale blowing his beard straight behind him like two crimson brooms.
[If it's dried salted fish, I'm throwing it all into the sea.]
Stuka's thoughts went straight into Ola's skull. The great white bird adjusted its wing angle slightly, its enormous body rock-steady in the air currents.
[Cut the crap! Do you think those grunts are birdbrains?] Ola patted Stuka's iron-hard neck muscles. [The Count said we can head back for some rest once this job is done.]
Below, the outline of Silverpine City flickered through gaps in the clouds.
The city looked like an enormous gray disk, and their target-the open-air freight yard to its north-was piled with little mountains covered in tarpaulins.
Several wagons crawled through the yard like ants.
[First Squadron, follow me.] Ola lowered his center of gravity until he was almost flat against the saddle. [Time to make those noble bastards squeal.]
[Prepare to dive.]
Stuka let out a long, delighted cry.
Twenty Great Skuas folded their wings at once.
The circling white ghosts became meteors.
The familiar sensation of a high-speed plunge gripped them.
Four thousand meters.
Three thousand meters.
The air tore apart with a piercing whistle. This was the Stuka Squadron's signature death knell.
[Steady! Don't drop your bombs yet!] Ola watched the