Gunheads(科幻战争)-第12部分

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forced　to　fight　from　static　positions；　immobilised　early　in　the　assault　by　engine　stalls。　The　fines
penetrated　everything。　If　the　brave　crews　of　the　Atlas　recovery　tanks　hadn’t　risked　enemy　fire　to　pull
those　tanks　out；　the　crews　would　have　died　where　they　sat。
Squinting　through　his　magnoculars；　Bergen　saw　greenskin　reinforcements　pushing　and　jostling
in　their　eagerness　to　join　the　fray。
“Get　some　fire　on　the　main　gates；”　he　voxed　to　his　artillery　commander。　“Hit　them　while　they’re
bunched　up。　But　don’t　damage　the　superstructure！　Remember；　we　need　to　take　the　outpost　intact。”
His　division　had　been　unable　to　surprise　the　orks；　but　then；　he　hadn’t　really　expected　to。　The
thick　sandstone　watchtowers　of　Karavassa　had　a　commanding　view　from　their　seat　on　the　basalt
bluff　up　ahead。　It　wasn’t　the　towers　that　had　raised　the　alarm　first；　however。　His　armour　columns
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had　been　sighted　when　they　were　still　about　thirty　kilometres　out　from　the　target。　Ork　bike　patrols
had　been　roaming　the　area；　their　powerful　headlamps　throwing　broad　cones　of　light　out　into　the
darkness。　Some　of　these　patrols　had　roared　out　from　between　high　dunes　and　almost　run　into　the
leading　Imperial　machines。　A　sudden　stutter　of　gunfire　had　lit　the　sands　as　both　sides　leapt　into
action。　The　bikes　were　noisy；　oversized　things　with　huge　wheels　and　more　growling　exhaust　pipes
than　they　could　possibly　have　needed；　but　they　were　certainly　fast。　Their　riders　had　shown
surprising　sense　for　orks；　quickly　turning　tail　and　racing　back　the　way　they　had　come　to　alert　the　rest
of　the　horde。　Vinnemann’s　tanks　had　managed　to　take　out　most　of　them　as　they　showed　their　backs；
but　a　few　had　gotten　away。
As　the　division　had　closed　on　the　occupied　outpost；　with　the　cloud…smothered　sunrise　lending
the　scene　a　hellish　red　glow；　Bergen　had　looked　out　from　his　cupola　to　see　a　huge　ork　force：　a　horde
of　greenskin　infantry；　numbering　in　the　thousands；　supported　by　tanks；　artillery；　light　armour；　and　a
good　number　of　those　ridiculous　lumbering　contraptions　that　the　orks　so　loved　to　build。　These
dreadnoughts　looked　like　oversized　red　buckets　on　piston　legs。　Their　wicked　arms　flailed　to　and　fro；
blades　whirring；　claws　clashing；　eager　to　begin　the　bloodshed。　They　were　covered　in　other　weapons；
too：　flamers；　rocket　launchers；　heavy　stubbers　and　anything　else　that　could　be　bolted　to　them。　They
were　utterly　lethal　to　infantry；　but　they　were　no　match　for　Imperial　tanks。　Vinnemann’s　crews　had
already　gunned　down　at　least　thirty　of　them　at　long　range；　turning　them　to　burning　scrap　that　rained
down　on　the　heads　of　the　orks　around　them。
“Infantry；　keep　up　the　advance！”　Bergen　commanded。　“Colonel　Vinnemann；　have　three　of　your
companies　move　forward　in　support　of　the　infantry　on　the　left　flank。　Send　the　rest　straight　up　the
middle。　We　need　to　knock　out　their　armour　support　to　give　our　boys　a　fighting　chance。　We　have　to
drive　a　wedge　into　them。”
Bergen’s　command　Chimera；　Pride　of　Caedus；　had　taken　up　position　on　a　spur　of　rock　just　a　few
kilometres　southwest　of　the　outpost’s　walls。　Even　sitting　hull　down；　it　was　a　risky　place　to　perch。
Had　he　been　the　defender　instead　of　the　attacker；　he　would　have　put　some　artillery　on　the　spur；　sure
that　the　enemy　commander　would　have　chosen　this　spot　from　which　to　oversee　his　forces。　Did　such
things　occur　to　ork　leaders？　Bergen　didn’t　know；　but　his　need　for　a　good　view　of　the　battlefield
overrode　his　concern。
A　series　of　rippling　explosions　north…east　of　his　position　caused　him　to　turn。　One　of
Marrenburg’s　mechanised　infantry　companies；　ten　Chimeras　each　carrying　a　squad　of　hardened
infantrymen；　was　trying　to　press　forward　in　support　of　the　troopers　on　foot。　But　a　phalanx　of　ork
tanks　—　looted　Imperial　machines　from　the　last　war；　disfigured　almost　beyond　recognition　by　the
addition　of　spikes　and　strange　armaments　—　had　broken　free　from　their　engagement　with　a
company　of　Vinnemann’s　Leman　Russ　and　were　speeding　towards　the　Chimeras　with　cannons
blazing。
Bergen　saw　two　of　the　Chimeras　struck　head　on；　one　of　them　hit　so　hard　that　it　flipped　onto　its
back。　He　saw　the　rear　hatch　open。　Dizzy　men　began　stumbling　out；　desperate　to　be　away　from　the
burning　machine　before　its　ammunition　and　fuel　stores　exploded。　Most　were　injured。　They　fell。
Their　shaking　legs　wouldn’t　carry　them。　They　scrambled　desperately　to　get　up　again。
Too　late。　With　a　great　boom　and　a　mushrooming　of　fire　and　smoke；　the　Chimera　lifted　into　the
air。　Only　two　of　the　troopers　managed　to　escape　the　blast。　Bergen　cursed　and　turned　his　eyes　from
the　sprawled；　burning　figures　that　hadn’t。
The　other　Chimera　was　luckier。　The　cockpit　was　aflame；　the　driver　certainly　dead；　but　the　hatch
at　the　back　had　been　thrown　wide；　and　the　soldiers　within　were　pouring　out；　lasguns　up　and　ready。
Bergen　knew　those　lasguns　wouldn’t　do　a　damned　thing　against　the　ork　machines。
He　was　about　to　vox　Vinnemann　for　support　when　a　trio　of　Leman　Russ　tanks　crested　a　rise　just
north　of　the　burning　Chimeras。　They　traversed　their　turrets　right；　in　unison；　and　blasted　the　ork　tanks
at　mid…range。　One　of　the　ork　machines　was　hit　dead　centre。　The　Russ’　armour…piercing　round　must
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have　punctured　the　enemy　tank’s　magazine；　because　Bergen　saw　it　explode　spectacularly；　the　entire
turret　spinning　into　the　air　on　a　pillar　of　glaring　orange　flame。
The　other　two　ork　machines　were　still　closing　on　the　no…longer…mechanised　infantry。　The
soldiers　fired　on　them　in　tight；　ordered　volleys；　but　it　was　futile。　Las…bolts　smacked　harmlessly
against　thick　red　armour。　A　second　later；　however；　the　three　Leman　Russ　fired　again。　The　ork
machines　were　struck　hard；　skidding　sideways　on　their　treads　before　halting。　Greenskins　started　to
bail　out；　some　of　them　already　howling　as　flames　licked　their　leathery　brown　flesh。　The　Cadian
infantrymen　moved　straight　in；　pouring　las…fire　onto　the　ork　crews；　cutting　them　down；　blazing　away
on　full　charge　until　there　was　little　left　but　smoking　black　hunks　of　meat。
“Armour　Command　to　Division；”　said　a　voice　on　the　vox。　“Armour　to　Division。　Please
respond。”　It　was　Colonel　Vinnemann。
“I　read　you；　Armour；”　said　Bergen。　“Go　ahead。”
“I　have　a　visual　on　enemy　light　vehicles　breaking　left　to　strafe　our　forward　lines。　Armour　cannot
engage。　I　repeat；　armour　cannot　engage。　We　have　hostile　tanks　front　and　right；　and　we’re　taking
heavy　fire　from　artillery　located　inside　the　base。”
Bergen　cursed。　“Understood；　Armour。　Leave　it　to　me。　Division　out。”
He　panned　his　glasses　right　until　he　found　the　machines　in　question。　There　were　ten　of　them：　ork
war…buggies　bristling　with　heavy　stubbers；　rocket　launchers　and　more。　They　were　roaring　straight
towards　the　Cadian　assault　line。　The　men　were　exposed；　busy　trying　to　push　the　hordes　of　ork
infantry　back。　They　would　be　slaughtered　under　the　concentrated　fire　of　the　buggies　unless…
“Division　to　Recon　Two；”　Bergen　voxed。　“Come　in　please。”
“Recon　Two　reading　you　loud　and　clear；　sir。　Go　ahead。”
“Ork　light　armour　advancing　on　our　infantry　at　speed。　Look　to　your　two。　Those　lads　need　a　little
Sentinel　support；　wouldn’t　you　say？”
The　man　on　the　other　end　of　the　vox　was　Captain　Munzer。　Bergen　could　picture　the　grin　on　the
man’s　scar…twisted　face　as　he　replied；　“Sentinel’s　moving　to　intercept；　sir。　We’ll　light　the　bastards
up。　Enjoy　the　show。”
Seconds　later；　Bergen　saw　Munzer’s　bipedal　machines　lope　out　from　behind　a　rocky　hill　to　the
left　and　open　fire。　Each　of　the　Cadian　Sentinels　sported　an　autocannon；　ideal　for　ripping　right
through　their　current　targets。　Ork　bodies　were　torn　apart　in　the　deadly　hail。　Fuel　tanks　ignited　and
the　speeding　buggies　flipped　and　spun；　rolling　end　over　end；　spilling　the　xenos　filth　onboard。
He　couldn’t　hear　them；　but　Bergen　could　see　the　infantry　cheering　the　Sentinel　pilots。　The　cheers
stopped　dead　when　five　of　the　Sentinels　vanished　suddenly　in　a　great　ball　of　flame。　A　row　of　ugly
black　machines　had　emerged　from　Karavassa　to　join　the　fray。　More　ork　artillery！　The　surviving
Sentinels　immediately　turned　to　identify　their　attackers；　but　the　range　was　far　too　great　to　strike
back。　Over　the　vox；　Bergen　heard　Captain　Munzer　ordering　his　walkers　to　scatter　so　they　wouldn’t
provide　such　an　opportune　target　again。
“Command　to　Armour；”　voxed　Bergen　urgently；　“be　advised；　we　have　additional　ork　artillery
pushing　out　from　the　main　gates。　What’s　your　status？”
My　status；　thought　Colonel　Kochatkis　Vinnemann；　is　that　my　back　is　bloody　killing　me。
He　cursed　his　own　stupidity。　As　he　and　his　men　had　neared　the　outpost；　completely　preoccupied
with　the　coming　battle；　he　had　neglected　to　take　the　vital　medication　that　counteracted　his　body’s
immune　system。　It　had　been　years　since　the　implant　surgery；　but　his　body　still　steadfastly　refused　to
accept　the　augmetic　spine。　He　needed　large；　regular　doses　of　immunosuppressants　and　pain
mediators　in　order　to　function　at　his　best。　But　there　wasn’t　time　to　stop　and　take　them　now。
“Division；　we　are　still　engaged　with　hostile　tanks。　Ninth　company　is　down　to　half　strength。
Fourth　and　Fifth　companies　have　taken　multiple　losses。　We’re　trying　to　push　in；　to　flank　the　buggers
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on　the　right；　sir；　but　the　damned　artillery…　I’ll　ask　one　more　time；　sir；　will　you　not　put　some
Basilisk　fire　down　behind　those　walls？　It　would　make　one　hell　of　a　difference。”
“That’s　a　negative；　colonel；”　Bergen　answered　with　obvious　regret。　“The　objective　must　be
taken　intact。　We　have　enemy　artillery　fire　from　just　outside　the　main　gates。　I　need　one　of　your
companies　to　knock　it　out。　I　know　you’re　up　against　it；　colonel。　It’s　damned　messy　out　there。　But　do
what　you　can。”
By　the　blasted　Eye；　cursed　Vinnemann。　“Understood；　Division。　We’re　on　it。　Armour；　out。”
He　tapped　a　button　on　his　headset；　switching　from　vox　to　tank　intercom。
“Listen　up；”　he　told　his　crew。　“Our　troops　are　hurting　out　there。　Not　just　our　tankers；　but
Marrenburg’s　lot；　Graves’　lot。　So　it　looks　like　the　Angel　gets　to　enter　the　fray　after　all。”
This　announcement　was　met　with　resounding　cheers　from　his　crew。　To　some　extent；
Vinnemann’s　tank；　Angel　of　the　Apocalypse；　was　a　victim　of　her　own　superb　design。　She　was　a
Shadowsword　super…heavy　tank；　ancient　and　deadly；　but　her　Volcano　cannon；　with　its　nine…metre
barrel；　had　originally　been　designed　for　felling　traitor　Titans　and　the　like。　She　was　far　too　specialised
to　warrant　being　fielded　in　most　conventional　battles；　including　this　one。
Today；　though；　she　would　get　to　show　what　she　could　do。
The　very　thought　of　it　was　almost　enough　to　overcome　the　pain　in　Vinnemann’s　back。
“Bekker；”　he　said；　addressing　his　driver；　“get　us　behind　that　ridge　on　the　right。　Hull　down；　but
leave　plenty　of　clearance　for　the　gun。　The　rest　of　you；　prep　for　firing。　We’re　about　to　make　things
interesting　around　here。”
With　a　great　chugging　cough　from　her　exhausts；　Angel　of　the　Apocalypse　rumbled　into　motion。
Bergen　saw　Vinnemann’s　massive　Shadowsword　roar　towards　a　shallow　rise　and　settle　into　firing
position。　The　ork　artillery　pieces　had　turned　their　attention　to　the　infantry’s　forward　lines。　The
bodies　of　good　Cadian　men　were　being　blasted　apart　to　rain　back　down　to　the　ground　in　ragged
pieces。　Scores　of　them　were　dying　with　every　lethal　shot；　and　the　greenskins　on　foot　were　using　the
cover　of　the　artillery　fire　to　bridge　the　gap；　hungry　for　the　slaughter　that　would　take　place　at　close
quarters。　Elsewhere；　Vinnemann’s　tanks　were　holding　their　own　against　the　technically　inferior　but
far　more　numerous　ork　machines。　Smoking　wrecks　littered　the　land；　providing　cover　for　small
groups　of　terrified　men　who　had　lost　their　nerve。　Through　his　field　glasses；　Bergen　saw　one　such
group　huddled　together；　eyes　shut　tight；　hands　pressed　over　their　ears。　It　was　hard　to　see　through　all
the　smoke　and　fire；　but　they　were　clearly　green。　New　meat。
Where　in　the　blasted　warp　was　their　sergeant？
If　their　regimental　commissar　noticed　them　huddled　there；　frozen　in　fear　and　panic；　they
wouldn’t　live　to　become　old　meat。　Executions　for　cowardice　were　swift　and　brutal。　There　were　no
appeals。　Bergen　didn’t　like　executions；　but　it　was　the　way　of　the　Guard：　do　your　duty　and　die　well；
or　run　from　it　and　die　without　honour。
He　pitied　them。　It　was　easy　to　lose　your　balance　when　everything　around　you　was　going　to　hell。
He　voxed　Colonel　Graves。　“Division　to　Infantry　Command。　It　looks　like　some　of　your　rookies　have
lost　their　officer。　Check　those　burning　tanks　on　your　ten　o’clock；　Graves。　Get　someone　over　there。
Get　them　back　in　the　fight。　If　the　orks　find　them　first　they’ll　be　massacred。”
Colonel　Graves’　response　was　brief　and　affirmative。　Seconds　later；　Bergen　saw　a　squad　push　left
and　join　the　huddled　men。　His　attention　was　diverted；　however；　by　a　high…pitched　whine　that　rose
from　the　right。　He　had　heard　its　like　before；　though　on　regrettably　rare　occasions。　Hearing　it　now
caused　a　thrill　to　run　through　him。　He　immediately　panned　his　glasses　towards　Vinnemann’s
Shadowsword　and　saw　a　white　glow　forming　at　the　muzzle　of　her　huge　cannon。　Knowing　what　was
to　come；　he　turned　his　eyes　towards　the　black　artillery　pieces　by　the　outpost　gates。　Over…muscled
greenskin　gunnery　crews　were　hefting　shells　the　size　of　oil　drums　into　the　breech　of　each　huge　gun；
readying　to　pulverise　the　advancing　Cadian　lines　once　again。
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There　was　an　almighty　crack；　like　a　clap　of　thunder；　so　close　that　Bergen　felt　it　resonate　deep　in
his　bones。　Everything　in　the　area　outside　the　outpost’s　main　gates　was　engulfed　in　blinding　white
light。　Bergen　thought　he　saw　the　shot　hit　the　row　of　greenskin　war　machines　at　an　angle；　cutting
across　them　diagonally；　but　he　could　only　watch　for　a　fraction　of　a　second。　Looking　directly　at　the
beam　was　painful；　and　he　squeezed　his　eyes　shut。
A　glowing　afterimage　of　the　Volcano’s　lethal　beam　remained　behind　his　eyelids。　When　he
opened　his　eyes　again；　he　saw　that　a　good　number　of　the　enemy　machines　had　ceased　to　exist。
Bubbling　pools　of　liquid　metal　were　the　only　trace　left。　Others；　though　not　struck　directly；　would　no
longer　be　firing　on　his　men。　Their　crews　had　been　roasted　to　ash。　The　raw　heat　of　the　Volcano　beam
striking　the　neighbouring　guns　was　simply　too　intense　to　survive。
The　Cadian　infantry　had　seen　it　all　happen。　A　great　cheer　sounded　from　the　battlefield　as　their
spirits　were　lifted；　and　they　surged　forward；　inspired　by　the　incredible　display　of　power　they　had
witnessed　from　their　own　side。　Bergen　could　feel　it　on　the　air；　the　special　moment　that　every
commander　awaited　so　anxiously。　It　was　the　beginning　of　the　end。
He　voxed　Vinnemann。　“Division　to　Armour　Command。　Hell　of　a　shot；　Kochatkis。　Hell　of　a　shot。
That　showed　the　filthy　savages。”
Vinnemann　answered　through　gasping　breaths。　“Thank　you；　sir。　Great　to　fire　up　the　old　Volcano
cannon　again　after　so　long。　She’s　drained　the　tanks；　though。　And　we　lost　two　capacitors。　We’ll　need
a　Trojan　over　here　for　a　refuel。”
“Are　you　all　right；　man？　You　sound…”
“Don’t　worry　about　me；　sir；”　replied　Vinnemann。　“It’s　just　the　usual。　I’ll　deal　with　it　when　this　is
over。”
Bergen　was　scanning　the　field　of　combat；　watching　his　forces　surge　forward；　taking　a　murderous
toll　on　the　foe。
“You　won’t　have　to　wait　long；　Kochatkis。　Our　lads　are　really　pressing　forward　now。　You’ve
inspired　them；　by　Terra。　They’re　cutting　into　the　ork　lines　like　a　bayonet　through　butter。”
It　was　no　lie。　The　greenskins’　brute　strength　and　instinct　for　battle　simply　weren’t　enough　to
hold　off　the　well…coordinated　Imperial　forces　any　longer。
Within　the　hour；　the　walls　of　Karavassa　were　breached。
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CHAPTER　NINE
Gunfire　still　stuttered　here　and　there　along　Karavassa’s　narrow　streets；　but　the　sounds　of　battle　were
little　more　than　faint　echoes　of　the　madness　and　bloodshed　that　had　now　passed。　The　outpost　had
been　retaken。　Bergen　had　achieved　his　objective。　General　deViers　had　the　first　of　the　positions　that
would　defend　his　supply　and　transport　routes　between　Hadron　Base　and　his　intended　destination　in
the　east。
One　of　Colonel　Marrenburg’s　mechanised　platoons　had　found　and　killed　the　ork　leader；　an
abomination　of　preposterous　size　and　musculature；　while　securing　the　old　Imperial　communications
building　at　the　heart　of　the　outpost。　Bergen　had　been　invited　to　verify　this　as　soon　as　the　area　was
judged　clear　of　significant　threats。　Now　he　stood　in　a　broad；　low…ceilinged　room；　looking　down　on
the　body；　marvelling　at　the　size　of　the　creature　that　lay　motionless　on　the　stone　floor　at　his　feet。　The
smell　from　it　was　overpowering；　like　stale　sweat　and　rotting　garbage。
He　judged　the　fallen　warboss　to　be　at　least　two　and　a　half　metres　tall；　and　not　much　less　from
shoulder　to　shoulder　if　one　included　the　hunks　of　iron　plate　that　had　been　bolted　together　to　form　its
crude　armour。　It　would　have　needed　to　hunch　over　just　to　fit　inside　the　building；　but　then；　orks
tended　to　hunch　anyway　due　to　the　massive　slabs　of　overdeveloped　muscle　that　covered　their　bodies。
There　was　a　poorly　painted　skull　and　dagger　design　on　its　angular　breastplate；　the　symbol　of
whatever　clan　the　foul　wretch　had　lorded　over。　Bergen　didn’t　recognise　the　glyph。
“Not　the　best　looking　bastard　I’ve　met；　sir；”　said　Colonel　Marrenburg。　He　stepped　forward；
stopping　at　Bergen’s　side。
“He’s　no　charmer；　Edwyn；”　Bergen　replied；　“that’s　for　sure。　Are　we　certain　this　one　is　the
leader？”
“It’s　always　the　biggest；　isn’t　it？”　said　Marrenburg。　“He　had　a　bodyguard　around　him；　too。　Lost
eleven　men　taking　him　and　his　guards　down。”　The　colonel　kicked　the　dead　ork’s　thick　forearm　in
contempt。　Bergen　watched　the　huge　lifeless　hand　flop　on　the　floor。　The　creature’s　thick　fingers
looked　like　they　could　have　crushed　a　man’s　bones　to　powder。　“Made　him　pay　in　the　end；　though；”
said　Marrenburg。　“Mind　if　I　smoke；　sir？”
“Go　ahead；”　said　Bergen。　“Maybe　it’ll　cover　the　stink。”
“We’ll　have　this　place　cleaned　out　in　no　time；　sir；”　replied　Marrenburg　as　he　pulled　a　packet　of
smokes　from　his　breast　pocket。　“Offer　you　one？”
“No；　thanks。”
“Sorry；　sir；”　said　Marrenburg　with　a　grin。　“I　always　forget　you　don’t。　Anyway；　if　you’re　done
looking　at　this　one；　the　enginseers　are　waiting　to　set　up　some　kind　of　equipment。　Don’t　suppose
they’ve　come　up　with　a　solution　to　the　long…range　vox　problem；　do　you？”
Bergen　turned　from　the　dead　ork。　“In　a　roundabout　way；　I　suppose　they　have。　The　tech…priests
have　been　laying　cables　under　the　sand　all　the　way　here；　a　kind　of　landline　that　they　insist　will　do
the　job。　Tech…Adept　Armadron　has　promised　to　brief　us　fully　once　the　system　is　operational。　It’ll
save　us　having　to　send　any　more　runners　all　the　way　back　to　Hadron　to　communicate　with　the
general。”
“Have　you　sent　one　to　report　on　our　victory　here？”
Bergen　nodded。　“Two；　actually；　just　in　case。　Hornet　riders　with　coded　parchments。　I　sent　them
out　as　soon　as　we　entered　the　gates。　I　expect　Tech…Adept　Armadron　will　have　his　landline　system　up
and　running　before　they　reach　Hadron　Base；　but　I　like　to　have　a　little　insurance。”
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Hornet　motorcycles　were　a　variant　of　the　old　standard…issue　Blackshadow　bikes。　They　were
noisy；　unarmed；　and　unarmoured；　but　they　were　the　fastest　machines　available　to　10th　Division。
Excepting　for　any　problems；　Bergen　expected　the　couriers　to　reach　Army　Group　H