Gunheads(科幻战争)-第10部分

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slowing　only　to　turn　and　fire　blazing　hellpistol　shots　back　at　his　howling　pursuers。
With　men　pouring　out；　racing　to　the　relative　safety　behind　the　tanks；　it　wasn’t　long　before　only
the　Kasrkin　storm　troopers　were　left；　holding　the　line　until　the　last　man　was　clear。　The　orks　vented
their　full　fury　and　rage　on　them；　and　some　inevitably　went　down；　though　they　fought　to　the　bitter
end　through　wounds　that　would　have　killed　lesser　men　outright。
S　all　the　fire　support　they　could　manage。　Most　of　the　Kasrkin　made　it
out；　but　not　by　much。　As　they　raced　towards　the　cover　of　the　tanks；　Wulfe　ordered　his　squadron　to
keep　the　fire　up　but　prepare　to　fall　back。　Then　he　contacted　Colonel　Stromm。
“You　have　wounded　men　in　your　group；　sir。　Get　them　up　onto　the　tanks。　Use　the　track…guards
and　the　rear　decking；　but　stay　clear　of　the　engine　louvres　and　the　radiator。　We　can　carry　them　out　of
here　and　still　cover　the　retreat。　Those　on　foot　will　have　to　run。　What　do　you　say？”
Stromm　began　barking　out　orders　immediately；　and　the　track…guards　of　the　three　tanks　were
soon　crowded　with　men　in　blood…soaked　Guard…issue　fatigues。　Wulfe　would　have　helped　them　up；
but　his　continued　fire　was　needed　to　keep　the　orks　at　bay。
“Sword　One；　Sword　Two；”　he　voxed　to　Siemens　and　Lenck；　“fall　back　to　Hammer’s　position。
Keep　your　fire　up　as　we　move；　but　no　main　guns　until　van　Droi　gives　the　word。　We　don’t　want　to
scatter　them。”
A　short　series　of　acknowledgements　followed　and；　slowly；　steadily；　Sword　Squadron　began　to
roll　backwards。　It　was　then　that　Frontline　Crusader’s　engine　sputtered　and　died。　Wulfe　could　hear
Corporal　Siemens　swearing　over　the　vox。　The　panic　in　his　voice　was　all　too　clear。　“Oh；　Throne！
We’ve　stalled。　Come　in；　Sword　Leader。　Frontline　Crusader　is　in　big　trouble！”
From　his　cupola；　Wulfe　saw　Siemens　slamming　his　fists　on　the　top　of　his　turret。　The　wounded
men　perched　on　the　Frontline　Crusader’s　track　guards　were　looking　agitated。　The　orks　coming
forward　immediately　angled　straight　towards　the　crippled　tank。
Some　of　the　wounded　leapt　off　and　started　limping　through　the　sand；　clearly　unwilling　to　gamble
on　the　engine　restarting。　Others　stayed　put；　bravely　pouring　las…fire　down　at　the　oncoming　enemy。
That　didn’t　last　long。　Wulfe　saw　them　struck　by　wild　sprays　of　enemy　fire。　The　wounded　Cadians
fell　from　the　sides　of　the　tank；　as　lifeless　as　rag　dolls。
Wulfe　barked　orders　over　to　Lenck；　and　both　the　New　Champion　and　Last　Rites　II　turned　their
weapons　left；　desperate　to　buy　Corporal　Siemens　some　time。
Wulfe　knew　Siemens　needed　more　than　time。　He　needed　a　bloody　miracle。
None　was　forthcoming。
While　the　stubbers　and　bolters　were　busy　raking　the　charging　greenskins；　three　orks　with　rockets
strapped　to　their　backs　suddenly　careened　upwards　on　trails　of　blue　fire；　landing　just　metres　away
from　the　Frontline　Crusader’s　armoured　flanks。
Wulfe　barely　had　time　to　register　the　thick；　cylindrical　weapons　the　orks　were　carrying；　before
they　were　put　to　murderous　use。　The　moment　they　landed；　each　of　the　orks　raised　its　tube　to　its
shoulder；　took　aim　at　the　sides　of　the　crippled　tank；　and　fired。
Three　explosions　sounded　in　rapid　succession；　and　a　cloud　of　dust　and　fire　erupted　into　the　air；
cloaking　the　Frontline　Crusader　from　view。
“Siemens！”　shouted　Wulfe　over　the　vox。　There　was　no　answer。　He　immediately　turned　his
stubber　on　the　orks　responsible；　turning　two　of　them　into　hunks　of　dead　meat　where　they　stood。
Aiming　at　the　third；　his　shells　struck　the　red　rocket　on　its　back；　and　it　detonated；　scattering　tiny　burnt
pieces　of　the　ork　in　every　direction。
As　the　cloak　of　dust　and　sand　around　the　Frontline　Crusader　showered　back　down　to　the
ground；　Wulfe　saw　Siemens’　body。　It　was　still　in　the　cupola；　slumped　forward。　His　flesh　was　black。
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His　clothes；　hair　and　skin　were　still　burning。　One　charred　and　lifeless　arm　was　draped　over　the　barrel
of　his　heavy　stubber。
There　were　holes　in　the　tank’s　armour；　too。　Wulfe　could　see　twin　gaping　wounds　where　the
plating　looked　like　it　had　melted　straight　through。　Red　flames　were　boiling　up　out　of　them；　and　out
of　the　hatches　the　crew　had　tried　frantically　to　open　in　their　last　moments。
Four　men；　men　Wulfe　had　known；　dead。　Rage　lit　inside　him　like　dry　tinder。　He　turned　his
stubber　back　on　the　advancing　horde　with　a　vengeance。
“Throne　curse　you　and　your　entire　stinking　race；”　he　yelled　at　them。
“What　are　you　doing；　Wulfe？”　a　gruff　voice　demanded　over　the　vox…link。　It　was　Lieutenant　van
Droi　speaking　on　the　company　command　channel。
“It’s　the　Frontline　Crusader；　sir；”　replied　Wulfe；　breaking　only　momentarily　from　his　revenge。
“She’s　been　brewed　up。”
“I　can　see　that；　damn　it；”　growled　van　Droi。　“Keep　falling　back。　Spear　Squadron　is　in　position。
It’s　time　we　put　a　lid　on　this。”
Wulfe　gritted　his　teeth。　Siemens　had　been　all　right；　not　a　friend　exactly；　but　a　fellow　tanker；　a
Cadian　brother。　He　was　one　of　the　few　left　who　had　been　with　the　company　since　before　Palmeros。
He　didn’t　deserve　to　be　cooked　in　his　crate　like　that。　Wulfe　didn’t　want　to　think　about　what　it　had
been　like　for　the　crew　inside；　struggling　to　free　themselves　while　the　flames　devoured　them。　It
seemed　like　every　time　Wulfe　faced　the　orks；　he　came　away　mourning　lost　men。
He　ordered　Metzger　to　keep　them　rolling　backwards；　and　Holtz　to　keep　the　autocannon　firing。
Moments　later；　they　were　back　in　line　with　van　Droi’s　Foe…Breaker　and　the　tanks　of　Sergeant
Richter’s　Hammer　Squadron。　The　New　Champion　had　beaten　them　to　it。　Lenck　hadn’t　wasted　time
venting　anger　on　the　orks。　Maybe　Siemens’　death　didn’t　really　bother　the　cold…hearted　son…of…abitch。
With　the　tanks　pulling　up　into　a　horizontal　firing　line；　Colonel　Stromm　ordered　his　able…bodied
men　to　help　their　wounded　brothers　down　from　the　track…guards　and　lead　them　back　to　cover　behind
the　vehicles。　There　was　little　left　for　them　to　do；　and　it　was　better　for　them　to　stay　well　back　from
the　main　guns　if　they　didn’t　want　their　eardrums　ruptured。
Rhaimes　and　the　rest　of　Spear　Squadron　were　visible　on　the　left；　pressing　the　orks　into　a
crossfire。　Last　Rites　II　and　the　New　Champion　were　ordered　to　edge　right；　the　better　to　cover　any
attempt　by　the　orks　to　break　and　run　in　that　direction。　The　greenskins　seemed　emboldened　by　their
tank…kill　and　eagerly　charged　straight　on；　a　mad　howling　mass　of　flesh　and　metal。　Soon；　they　were
exactly　where　van　Droi　wanted　them。　He　gave　the　order。
“Fire　main　guns！”
What　followed　was　no　battle。　It　was　the　grisliest　sort　of　massacre。
Against　the　full；　unrestrained　fury　of　the　Gunheads；　the　mindless　greenskins　never　stood　a
chance。
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CHAPTER　SEVEN
Gossefried　van　Droi　stood　looking　up　at　the　ruin　of　the　naval　drop…ship；　chewing　on　the　end　of　a
damp　cigar　while；　all　around　him；　Colonel　Stromm’s　infantry　went　about　the　business　of　identifying
their　dead；　stripping　the　bodies　of　anything　that　could　still　be　put　to　use。　Grim　work；　yes；　but　van
Droi　knew　that　it　was　essential。　Out　here　in　the　desert；　the　supplies　they　had　brought　with　them　were
all　the　supplies　they　would　be　getting。　Speaking　over　the　vox；　Stromm　had　already　confirmed　van
Droi’s　worst　fears：　no；　there　had　not　been　word　from　anyone　else。　Exolon’s　status　remained　a
bloody　mystery。
Dark　days；　these；　thought　van　Droi；　and　darker　ones　ahead。　Saints　guide　you；　Siemens。　You
were　a　good　man。　I　hope　you　find　peace　with　the　Emperor。
The　drop…ship　that　had　carried　six　companies　of　The　Fighting　98th　to　Golgotha　was　in　a　sorry
state；　even　worse　than　the　one　that　had　carried　van　Droi’s　Gunheads。　It　looked　like　a　carcass；　the
decaying　body　of　a　giant　beast；　huge　and　grey；　landing　legs　twisted　and　bent；　the　bones　of　its
titanium　superstructure　shining　through　where　the　hull　had　been　ripped　or　blasted　away。　It　was　a
wonder　that　any　of　Stromm’s　men　had　survived　the　crash。　It　was　another　wonder　they’d　lasted　out
the　ork　assaults　as　long　as　they　had。　Van　Droi　wondered　how　many　men　and　machines　he　would
have　lost　if　he　had　ordered　his　Gunheads　to　dig　in　back　at　their　own　crash　site？　Might　an　Exolon
reconnaissance　patrol　have　found　them？　Or　would　the　orks　have　got　there　first？
He　chided　himself。　There　was　nothing　to　be　gained　by　such　speculation。　He　had　made　the
decision　to　move　out；　and　he　stood　by　it。　Throne　above；　if　he　hadn’t；　the　infantrymen　scurrying
busily　back　and　forth　all　around　him　would　be　corpses；　probably　headless　ones；　given　the
greenskins’　propensity　for　taking　grisly　trophies。
Siemens’　death　weighed　heavy　on　him。　Ten　tanks　had　become　nine。　A　full　crew　had　been　lost。
Morale　had　taken　a　beating；　too；　though　his　tankers　were　understandably　glad　to　have　found　others
who　had　made　planetfall　more　or　less　intact。
Van　Droi　was　still　looking　up　at　the　ruined　ship　when　he　heard　boot　heels　grinding　the　sand　just
behind　him。　He　turned　and　found　himself　looking　into　the　scarred　and　weathered　face　of　a　man　he
judged　to　be　about　twenty　years　older　than　himself。　He　was　wrong。　There　was　barely　ten　years
between　them。　Even　covered　in　blood　and　dust；　though；　Colonel　Stromm　somehow　managed　to　look
dignified。
“Colonel；”　said　van　Droi。
The　colonel　was　a　little　shorter　than　van　Droi。　He　filled　his　uniform　well　—　muscular　—　fit　to
fight；　and　van　Droi　found　himself　nursing　a　hunch　that　Stromm　had　once　been　Kasrkin。　That　seemed
to　fit；　but　he　wasn’t　about　to　ask。　None　of　his　business。　Instead；　he　gave　a　sharp　salute　and　received
one　back。
Formalities　over；　the　colonel’s　face　immediately　broke　into　a　wide　grin。
“You　know；　van　Droi；　I’d　shake　your　hand　if　my　right　arm　wasn’t　in　pieces；”　he　said；　glancing
down　at　the　limb　in　question。　It　was　cradled　in　a　white　sling　stained　with　dust。　“Bloody　orks。
Damned　good　to　see　you　and　your　boys　come　out　of　the　desert　like　that。　Like　Saint　Ignatius　riding
into　Persipe。　I　thought　I　was　dreaming。”
Van　Droi　grinned　back。　“You　won’t　find　any　saints　among　my　lot；　sir；　but　I’ll　bet　we　were　as
glad　to　find　you　as　you　were　to　be　found。　Five　days　without　a　trace　of　anyone；　and　we　only　came
across　you　by　sheer　luck。”
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“Luck　or　the　Emperor’s　hand；”　said　Stromm。　Gesturing　up　at　the　wrecked　ship；　he　continued；　“A
proper　mess；　this。　The　cogboys　should　have　warned　us　it　would　be　so　rough　coming　down。　I　know
they　mentioned　the　storms；　but　they　didn’t　say　anything　about　them　knocking　our　ships　out　of　the
sky。　And　why　the　hell　weren’t　we　told　about　vox…range　limitations？　I’d　love　some　bloody　answers。”
“I　wish　I　had　some　for　you；　sir。　Hundreds　of　drop…ships　launched。　Where　the　others　ended　up　is
anyone’s　guess；　but　some　of　them　must　have　touched　down　safely　at　Hadron。　If　we　could　just　see
the　damned　stars　clearly　for　one　night；　we　might　be　able　to　navigate　our　way　there。”
Stromm　nodded　gravely；　and　then　gestured　for　van　Droi　to　walk　with　him。　Together；　they　moved
off　towards　a　large　tent　that　was　doubling　as　a　temporary　command　centre。　Stromm’s　adjutant；
Lieutenant　Kassel；　was　inside。　When　the　colonel　and　van　Droi　entered；　he　turned　and　saluted。
“Good　to　meet　you；　lieutenant；”　said　van　Droi　after　a　brief　introduction。　The　two　men；　equal　in
rank；　shook　hands　while　Stromm　walked　over　to　a　munitions　crate　and　sat　down。
“Damned　heroes；　those　tankers。　Eh；　Kassel？”
“Heroes；　sir；”　answered　Kassel　with　a　smile。　He　produced　two　glasses　of　water　and　set　them
down　on　a　large　crate　that　was　doubling　as　a　table。
“That’s　the　next　big　problem；”　said　Stromm；　looking　down　at　the　glasses　before　glancing　up　at
van　Droi。　“How　are　you　fixed　for　water；　lieutenant？”
Van　Droi　frowned。　“Not　good；　colonel。　Not　good　at　all。　Fuel　is　another　thing　we’ll　have　to　worry
about　soon。　Food；　not　so　much。　I’ve　had　my　lads　on　half　rations　since　the　crash。　But　we’ll　be　dead
men　before　long　if　we　don’t　get　water　and　fuel。”
Stromm　nodded。　“You’ve　done　a　hell　of　a　job　keeping　your　boys　alive　and　on　the　move。　Throne
knows；　if　it　weren’t　for　you；　my　men　would　be　dead。　I’d　be　dead。　So；　I　don’t　want　you　to　think　of
me　as　pulling　rank—”
“But　you　want　to　fold　us　into　your　unit；”　said　van　Droi；　finishing　the　thought。　He　had　anticipated
this。　It　made　sense。
“Just　for　the　time　being；　and　for　the　sake　of　having　a　clear　command　structure　more　than
anything　else。”
“No　complaints　here。　Tanks　and　infantry　work　a　lot　better　together　than　they　do　apart。”
“My　thoughts　exactly。　I’m　not　a　tyrant；　van　Droi。　I’ll　consult　you　at　every　turn。　You’ll　be　kept　in
the　loop。”
“You　have　a　plan；　sir？”
“It’s　not　much　of　one；　but　it’s　clear　that　staying　here　is　out　of　the　question。　If　Army　Group
Command　hasn’t　found　us　by　now；　odds　are　they　aren’t　going　to。　It’s　high　time　we　moved　on。　The
day　we　came　down；　I　sent　a　number　of　scouting　parties　out。　Most　never　returned；　but　one　of　the
recon　squads　that　did　make　it　back　reported　seeing　rocky　uplands　about　two　hundred　clicks
eastwards。　The　orks　started　hitting　us　before　we　could　follow　up　on　it；　but　I’m　sure　we’ll　have　a
better　chance　of　establishing　vox…contact　with　someone　if　we　can　get　to　higher　ground。　Thoughts？”
“It　could　be　the　feet　of　the　Ishawar　Mountains；　sir；　which　would　suggest　that　we　came　down
much　further　to　the　south…east　than　I　originally　estimated。　If　it　is　the　Ishawar　range；　following　the
foothills　north…east　should　take　us　within　a　few　days’　travel　of　Balkar。　Sooner　or　later；　if　Operation
Thunderstorm　is　still　rolling；　the　rest　of　Exolon　will　deploy　near　there。　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance
was　lost　in　the　north…east　Hadar　region。　So　yes；　sir。　I’d　say　that’s　about　the　best　plan　we’ve　got。”
“Knew　you’d　see　it　my　way；”　said　Stromm。　“Let’s　talk　about　numbers。　What　exactly　are　you
fielding？”
“Nine　tanks；　all　Leman　Russ　variants；　all　crewed；　plus　four　Heracles　halftracks　and　eight　trucks。
Five　of　those　are　packed　with　ammunition　and　supplies。　Most　of　our　personnel　are　crammed　into　the
halftracks。”
“How　many　personnel？”　asked　Stromm。
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“One　hundred　and　twenty…nine；　sir。　Forty　of　those　are　tank　crew。　The　rest　are　reserve　crews　and
battlefield　support。　Half　a　dozen　are　wounded　men；　two　of　which　are　critical。”
Stromm　turned　to　Kassel　and　said；　“There　go　our　worries　about　transportation　then；　Hans。”
Kassel　nodded。
“Sir？”　said　van　Droi。
Stromm　sat　forward　and　lifted　one　of　the　glasses　from　the　top　of　the　crate　in　front　of　him。　“We
have　a　few　Chimeras；　mostly　machines　from　the　Kasrkin　Armoured　Fist　squads；　and　a　couple　of
halftracks　and　trucks。　Seventy　per　cent　of　our　vehicles　were　wrecked　in　the　crash。”　Stromm　looked
down　at　the　water　in　his　glass。　“It　was　one　of　the　factors　in　my　decision　to　stay　put；　that　and　our
wounded。”
“Even　if　we　had　the　transports；”　said　Kassel；　“it’s　not　much　good　moving　our　people　out　of　here
if　we　don’t　have　enough　trucks　to　carry　the　supplies　we’re　going　to　need。”
“My　support　crews　are　pretty　talented；　colonel；”　said　van　Droi。　“The　vehicles　you　say　are
wrecked；　are　they　still　in　the　drop…ship？”
Stromm　grinned。　“Think　your　men　can　fix　some　of　them　up；　van　Droi？”
“Not　like　the　cogboys　could；　sir；　but　I’d　say　it’s　worth　a　try；　wouldn’t　you？”
“Get　them　on　it　right　away；　then。　Kassel；　make　sure　they　get　everything　they　need。”
“Of　course；　sir。”
Stromm　stood　and　walked　to　the　entrance　of　the　tent。　“We’ve　got　lots　to　do；　gentlemen。　Let’s　be
about　it。”
Having　been　dismissed；　van　Droi　and　Kassel　followed　the　colonel　out　into　the　open　air。　Van
Droi　judged　that　there　were　just　a　few　hours　of　daylight　left。　His　crews　would　have　to　work　under
lamps。　It　would　be　a　long　night　for　them；　but　there　would　be　time　enough　for　rest　once　they　were
under　way　again。
“If　you’ll　follow　me；　lieutenant；”　said　Kassel；　“I’ll　show　you　what　there　is　to　work　with。”
“Lead　the　way；”　said　van　Droi；　and　together；　he　and　Kassel　moved　off；　walking　around　to　the　far
side　of　the　crashed　ship　to　enter　via　the　massive　rent　in　its　main　hold。
With　the　two　lieutenants　gone；　an　exhausted　Stromm　let　his　facade　slip；　just　for　a　moment。　His
shoulders　sagged　and　he　blew　out　a　deep；　exhausted　breath。　His　arm　still　hurt　like　hell　despite
injections　of　anaesthesium。　Sure　that　no　one　else　was　within　earshot；　he　took　a　tiny；　handcrafted
icon　of　the　Emperor　from　a　side　pocket　in　his　fatigues；　raised　it　level　with　his　face　and　said；　“Light
of　all　Mankind；　there’s　nothing　I　wouldn’t　do　for　you。　You　know　that。　So　do　you　think　you　might
get　off　your　bloody　Throne　and　help　us　out　a　bit？”
After　checking　Last　Rites　II　for　outer　damage　—　her　headlamps　had　been　shot　to　pieces；　some　of　her
vision　blocks　needed　replacing；　and　the　turret’s　left…side　external　stowage　boxes　were　riddled　with
bullet　holes；　but　these　things　were　easily　fixed　—　Wulfe　found　himself　with　a　little　well…earned
downtime。　The　support　squads　would　take　care　of　maintenance　duties。　Lieutenant　van　Droi　had
ordered　the　tank　crews　to　rest　and　recover；　knowing　they　would　be　crashing　hard　after　the　fight。
Coming　down　off　so　much　adrenaline　was　enough　to　knock　some　guys　out；　but　Wulfe　didn’t　feel
ready　to　try　for　sleep　yet。　His　throat　was　still　itching；　though　whether　it　was　because　of　his　scar　or
because　of　the　damned　dust；　he　couldn’t　be　sure。　Sipping　a　little　water　—　a　little　being　all　he　could
afford　himself　—　seemed　to　help。　He　pulled　a　rebreather　mask　over　his　mouth　and　nose　and　went　for
a　walk。　If　it　was　the　dust　that　was　bothering　him；　the　mask　would　stop　it　getting　worse。
Masked　or　not；　his　stroll　was　far　from　pleasant。　The　desert　sands　were　cratered；　fire…blackened；
and　absolutely　littered　with　bodies。　At　least　all　the　bodies　were　those　of　the　foe。　Colonel　Stromm’s
men　had　finished　removing　their　fallen　brothers　from　the　field　of　battle。　Wulfe　was　glad　of　that　as　he
weaved　between　piles　of　alien　cadavers。　Many　of　the　bodies　wore　thick　plates　of　black　armour；　iron
pitted　with　rust　and　scored　by　las…fire。　Between　the　plates；　Wulfe　saw　gaping　wounds　caked　with
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blood…soaked　sand。　He　was　doubly　glad　of　his　rebreather　now。　The　stench　would　have　been
unbearable　without　the　mask’s　powerful　filter。
Last　Rites　II　had　slain　many　of　the　beasts；　surely　over　a　hundred；　though　she　wouldn’t　be
wearing　any　new　kill…markings　for　it。　To　an　armoured　company；　infantry　kills　counted　for　little　in
terms　of　prestige；　even　in　such　numbers。　Armour　kills　were　what　mattered；　the　challenge　of　machine
against　machine；　crew　against　crew。　Such　were　the　fights　a　tank　commander　lived　for。　Until　Last
Rites　II　bested　another　tank　in　combat；　she　had　proved　nothing　to　Wulfe；　nothing　at　all。
Wulfe’s　crew　had　a　different　outlook。　After　the　battle；　they　had　been　quick　to　show　their
gratitude　to　her；　offering　sanctioned　prayers　to　the　machine…spirit　housed　in　her　metal　body。
Through　the　vision　blocks；　they　had　seen　the　Frontline　Crusader　brew　up。　They　had　seen　Siemens’
body　roasting　in　the　red　fire。　Why　was　it　always　the　most　horrific　images　that　remained　so　clear　in
one’s　mind？　Wulfe　wondered。　Why　could　he　never　remember　a　pretty　girl’s　smile　or　a　glorious
sunset　in　the　same　kind　of　vivid　detail？
The　Frontline　Crusader　had　stalled　and　it　was　all　down　to　the　damned　dust。　In　the　days　the
Gunheads　had　spent　crossing　the　desert；　eleven　of　their　machines　—　five　of　the　tanks；　four　of　the
halftracks；　and　two　of　the　rugged　Thirty…Sixers　—　had　suffered　the　same　kind　of　sudden　cutouts：
dust　on　the　contacts；　du