Gunheads(科幻战争)-第19部分

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wasn’t　the　only　gift　the　hard　desert　life　had　given　the　greenskins。　These　two　orks　were　distinctly
different　from　those　he　had　encountered　before。　They　were　leaner；　almost　wiry　by　greenskin
standards；　though　still　far　larger　and　more　powerful…looking　than　any　human。　Somehow；　they
seemed　faster　and　all　the　more　deadly　because　of　it。
He　was　about　to　turn　away；　to　lead　Siegler　and　Beans　off　at　last；　when　someone　began　shouting
from　the　rear　of　the　crowd。
“Make　way！　Make　way　at　once；　you　damned　fools。”
There　was　no　mistaking　the　cold；　crisp　voice。　Wulfe　knew　that　it　was　Crusher　even　before　he
saw　the　stiff　peak　of　the　man’s　black　cap　moving　towards　him　over　the　heads　of　the　others。
Crusher　violently　thrust　his　way　to　the　front　row。
“Commissar　Slayte；”　said　Wulfe　with　a　nod。　“Come　to　view　the　exhibits？”
“Hardly；　sergeant；”　hissed　the　commissar；　clocking　Wulfe’s　stripes。　“I’m　here　to　put　a　bloody
stop　to　this　nonsense。”
The　commissar　swept　back　the　folds　of　his　long　black　coat　and　drew　a　bolt　pistol　from　the
holster　at　his　thigh。　The　motion　was　smooth；　well…practiced。　Wulfe　knew　what　was　coming。　He
stepped　away。
One　of　the　lieutenants　from　the　303rd　saw　it　coming；　too。　He　protested。　“Come　now；　commissar。
You　can’t　mean　to　spoil　the　fun　prematurely。　It’s　good　for　morale　to　see　our　enemies　caged　and
helpless。　You　must　agree。”
Crusher　didn’t　even　glance　at　the　man。　Instead；　he　took　aim　at　the　smaller；　lighter…skinned　alien；
eased　a　black　metal　finger　back　on　the　trigger　of　his　pistol；　and　loosed　off　a　barking　shot。
Wulfe　had　been　about　to　shout；　“Stand　back！”　to　Siegler　and　Beans；　but　it　was　too　late。　The　bolt
punched　a　coin…sized　hole　in　the　ork’s　skull　and　detonated　there；　showering　the　closest　men　with　a
foul　spray　of　blood　and　brain　matter。　The　men　behind　them；　shielded　from　the　spray　by　their
luckless　comrades；　laughed　out　loud。　The　headless　ork　body　slid　down　to　the　floor　of　its　cage。
Seeing　the　slaughter　of　its　foul　kin；　the　darker　ork　began　thrashing　madly。　Slayte　calmly　turned
towards　it　and　repeated　the　exact　same　procedure。　Those　in　the　front　rows　of　the　crowd　pushed
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backwards。　There　was　another　loud　crack　as　the　bolt　pistol　fired　and；　again；　the　air　filled　with　a
bloody　mist。
Crusher　holstered　his　pistol；　turned　and　addressed　all　those　present。　“Damn　your　eyes；　the　lot　of
you。　Have　you　forgotten　the　principles　of　intolerance　set　forth　in　the　Imperial　Creed？　Perhaps　the
sting　of　the　lash　would　help　you　all　to　remember。”
The　crowd　parted　wide　for　him　as　he　stalked　off；　calling　out　as　he　went；　“Suffer　not　the　alien　to
live！”
“Damn　it；”　said　one　of　the　lieutenants　from　the　303rd　as　he　dabbed　at　his　bloodstained　tunic　with
a　handkerchief。　“Which　regiment　is　that　bastard　attached　to？　I　feel　sorry　for　them。”
“That　would　be　my　regiment；　lieutenant；”　said　Wulfe　grimly；　“the　81st　Armoured。”
“Colonel　Vinnemann’s　lot？”　asked　the　other　officer。　“Throne　help　you；　sergeant。　You’ve　got　a
bad　one　there。　Execute　many；　does　he？”
Wulfe　shook　his　head。　“He　likes　his　punishments；　does　old　Crusher；　but　the　colonel　can　usually
talk　him　down　from　a　killing。　The　alternative　isn’t　much　better；　mind　you。　He　gives　out　a　hell　of　a
beating。”
“Is　that　why　you　call　him　Crusher？”　asked　the　first　man。
“You　didn’t　notice；　sir？”　said　Wulfe；　surprised。　“His　hands。　Augmetic　replacements；　both　of
them。　He　lost　his　organic　pair　to　the　jaws　of　a　bull　carnotaur　some　years　back。　Not　that　he
complains。　He　caught　a　deserter　back　on　Palmeros　in　the　first　months　of　the　campaign　and　forced　us
all　to　watch　the　execution。　The　boy　was　nineteen。　New　meat。　He　saw　his　cousin　get　killed　and　lost　it。
Commissar　Slayte　crushed　his　skull　with　one　hand。　Broke　it　like　it　was　an　egg。”
The　officers　from　the　303rd　both　frowned　and　shook　their　heads。
“Those　boys　in　the　259th　Mechanised　aren’t　going　to　be　pleased；”　said　one。　“They　had　the　killrights
to　these　two。　They　made　the　capture。”
“Might　as　well　disperse；　you　lot；”　shouted　the　other　to　the　grumbling　crowd。　“Nothing　much　to
see　now。”
The　troopers　moved　off　trailing　a　palpable　air　of　disappointment　and　resentment。　For　a　short
time；　the　imprisoned　enemies　had　offered　a　distraction　from　the　biting　of　the　ticks　and　the　coughing
and　sneezing　caused　by　the　dust。　Wulfe　stayed　a　moment　longer；　staring　in　silence　at　the　headless
alien　bodies。　Siegler　and　Beans　waited　for　him　a　dozen　paces　away；　also　silent。
It’s　not　enough；　thought　Wulfe。　No　matter　how　many　we　kill；　it’s　never　enough。　They　keep
coming。　We　send　troops　to　purge　them　from　one　world；　and　another　falls　at　our　backs。　Can　we　ever
break　the　stalemate？　Will　we　ever　do　more　than　just　survive　against　them？
He　reached　a　hand　up　and　stroked　the　scar　on　his　neck。　Where　had　all　his　faith　gone？　Aboard　the
Hand　of　Radiance；　Wulfe　had　always　turned　to　Confessor　Friedrich　for　spiritual　strength。　There　was
a　man　he　could　talk　to。　Despite　being　a　year　younger　than　Wulfe；　the　priest　had　a　calm　wisdom
about　him　that　Wulfe　envied；　though　he　wasn’t　prepared　to　drink　quite　as　much　as　the　priest　did　to
achieve　it。　As　he　led　Beans　and　Siegler　back　to　the　barracks；　he　considered　seeking　out　the　priest；
but　it　was　already　late。　He　would　have　to　wake　his　crew　at　sunrise　tomorrow。　General　deViers
wasn’t　about　to　let　them　rest　up。　That　was　fine　with　Wulfe。　The　hardest　part　of　any　soldier’s　life　was
down…time：　too　much　time　to　think；　to　notice　the　little　things。　Typically　stoic　men　would　begin　to
grumble。　Colonel　von　Holden　was　a　stark　example　and　he　wouldn’t　be　alone。　Dissidence　was　far
from　exclusive　to　the　officer　class。　Fights　would　start　breaking　out。　There　would　be　more　incidents
of　drunkenness。　Some　would　turn　to　less　legal　distractions。　Before　you　knew　it；　the　commissars
would　be　executing　men　left；　right　and　centre。
It　was　just　as　well　that　the　bulk　of　the　18th　Army　Group　would　be　moving　out　soon。　Nothing
cleared　the　mind　like　going　into　battle。
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CHAPTER　FIFTEEN
It　was　still　early；　but　the　day　was　already　uncomfortably　hot。　The　Golgothan　sky　was　lighter　than
Lenck　had　ever　seen　it。　The　chief　medicae　liaison　issued　a　warning；　all　personnel　at　Balkar　should
stay　in　the　shadows　as　much　as　possible　until　further　notification。　But　it　was　difficult　to　follow　the
Imperial　Medicae’s　advice　when　Lieutenant　van　Droi　had　ordered　all　crews　to　run　maintenance
details。　Still；　Lenck　did　his　best。　He　slouched　with　his　back　against　the　New　Champion；　taking
shelter　in　her　shadow　while　his　crew　griped　and　whined　and　ran　the　necessary　checks。
Since　daylight　had　broken　over　the　base；　Balkar　had　been　abuzz　with　activity。　Word　hadn’t
reached　him　why　this　should　be；　but　it　wasn’t　hard　to　guess。　They’d　be　moving　out　again　soon。　The
final　leg　of　Operation　Thunderstorm　would　commence　shortly。
Fine　with　me；　thought　Lenck。　The　sooner　it’s　done；　the　sooner　we　can　get　off　this　blasted　ball　of
dirt。　If　the　next　deployment　doesn’t　take　us　somewhere　populated；　I’ll　kill　someone。
A　scowling　Varnuss　stuck　his　head　around　the　rear　corner　of　the　tank　and　said；　“We’ve　finished
with　the　headlamps。”
Riesmann　and　Hobbs　appeared　beside　Varnuss；　both　wearing　murderous　looks　that　told　how
much　they　hated　menial　work。
“Congratulations；”　said　Lenck。　“You　can　start　oiling　the　treads；　then。　Shouldn’t　take　long　with
three　of　you。”
“Sod　off；”　spat　Hobbs。　“Why　don’t　you　get　off　your　arse　and　pitch　in？”
Lenck　lifted　an　eyebrow　and　gazed　at　his　driver　coldly。　“Because　I’m　the　one　that　keeps　you　lot
in　extra　smokes　and　booze。　Earn　it。”
Hobbs　spat　on　the　ground　and　disappeared　around　the　corner　of　the　tank　shaking　his　head　and
muttering。　Lenck　got　to　his　feet　and　dusted　himself　off。
“I’m　going　for　a　wander；”　he　said。
“Where？”　asked　Varnuss。
“A　little　place　called　none…of…your…frakking…business；　that’s　where。　Just　have　the　treads　done　by
the　time　I　get　back；　all　right？　Throne　knows　when　van　Droi　might　show　up　for　an　inspection　or
something。”
A　few　hundred　yards　away；　in　the　south…east　corner　of　Staging　Area　Four；　Wulfe　and　his　crew　were
likewise　engaged　with　running　basic　maintenance。　Van　Droi　required　all　his　crews　to　be　able　to
undertake　basic　field　repairs　and　the　like。　If　there　were　problems　the　crews　couldn’t　handle；　the　techcrews
took　care　of　them。　If　it　was　something　even　they　couldn’t　manage；　the　enginseers　and　their
mindless；　half…human　servitors　took　over。
“Make　sure　they’re　locked　down　tight；　Sig；”　said　Wulfe；　pointing　at　the　spare　track　links　that
Siegler　was　fixing　to　the　armoured　sides　of　the　turret。　At　the　rear　of　the　turret；　Beans　was　working；
fatigues　soaked　in　sweat　as　he　packed　and　sealed　the　stowage　boxes　that　extended　backwards　from
the　turret　bustle。
Metzger　was　at　the　front　of　the　tank；　seated　in　his　station　with　the　hatch　open；　running　checks　on
the　remote　control　system　he　used　to　operate　the　hull…mounted　lascannon。　He　had　already　checked
everything　else　he　was　responsible　for；　working　with　a　wordless　efficiency　that　Wulfe　appreciated。
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It　was　their　first　day　with　Beans　on　crew；　but　the　new　gunner　seemed　to　be　fitting　in　well
enough。　Early　days；　of　course；　and　Wulfe　was　yet　to　see　how　Beans　handled　the　main　gun；　but　he
worked　without　complaint　despite　the　heat　and　heavy　lifting。　He　may　have　found　Metzger　a　little
cold　—　the　driver　took　a　long　time　to　warm　up　to　people　and；　even　then；　he　was　far　from　talkative
—　but　Siegler　had　taken　a　shine　to　him。　He　laughed　loudly　at　even　the　worst　of　Beans’　jokes。　Wulfe
cracked　the　odd　smile　himself　at　how　bad　they　were。　The　one　about　the　two…headed　whore　on
Emperor’s　Day　had　been　going　around　since　Wulfe’s　days　as　a　Whiteshield。　It　hadn’t　been　funny
then；　either。
Footsteps　approaching　from　the　right　made　Wulfe　turn；　and　a　smile　spread　over　his　face。　A　man
in　simple　brown　robes　was　approaching；　a　heavy；　gold…leafed；　leather…bound　copy　of　the　Imperial
Creed　swinging　from　a　bronze　chain　at　his　belt。
“Confessor！”
The　priest　smiled　back；　came　to　a　stop　beside　Wulfe；　and　stretched　out　a　hand。　“Damned　good　to
see　you；　sergeant。　I　prayed　you　would　make　it　back　to　the　flock。　It　seems　that　the　Emperor　was
listening。”
Wulfe　had　the　sudden　impression　that　Confessor　Friedrich　had　been　about　to　add　“for　a　bloody
change”　before　he　stopped　himself。
“I　think　you　might　be　right；　confessor；”　said　Wulfe。　“It　certainly　seemed　like　a　miracle　when　we
heard　the　voice　of　that　Sentinel　pilot。　I　doubt　even　van　Droi　believed　we　would　actually　make　it　out
of　the　deep　desert　alive。”
The　priest　nodded。　“I　heard　about　Siemens　and　Muller；　Throne　rest　them。　I’ve　already　had　their
crews　listed　for　remembrance　at　the　next　honours　service。”
Wulfe　shuddered　as　he　recalled　Siemens’　limp　body　burning　atop　the　turret；　but　he　said；　“They
died　doing　their　duty；　confessor。　I　hear　Golgotha　hasn’t　exactly　been　a　sightseeing　trip　for　the　rest　of
the　army　group。”
“Then　you　heard　right。　The　things　I’ve　seen…　Sometimes　I　think　the　Guiding　Light　of　all
Mankind　is　testing　me；　sergeant。”
“Maybe　He’s　testing　all　of　us。”
A　look　of　pain　crossed　the　confessor’s　face。　“Aye；　only　dead　men　are　free　of　that。　I　pulled　ten
bodies　out　of　a　brewed　up　Chimera　yesterday。　You　couldn’t　tell　one　man　from　the　other。　Ten
shrivelled　black　mannequins。　Two　of　them　fell　apart　in　my　hands　as　I　was　trying　to　lift　them　out。　For
them；　at　least；　the　test　is　over。”
Wulfe　nodded；　his　face　mirroring　the　priest’s　sadness。
Confessor　Friedrich　raised　a　hand　to　Wulfe’s　elbow　and　drew　him　away　from　Last　Rites　II。
“Let’s　talk　where　others　cannot　hear；　Oskar。　Just　for　a　moment。　I　would　like　to　know　of　your
spiritual　health。”
They　stopped　in　the　shadows　at　the　back　of　an　empty　Thirty…Sixer；　and　Confessor　Friedrich　took
a　quick　look　around　to　make　sure　they　were　alone。
“Tell　me；”　he　said；　“are　you　still　troubled　by　your　memories　of　Lugo’s　Ditch？　I　had　hoped　that
redeployment　might　give　you　a　new　perspective　on　what　you　saw　there。　Perhaps　your　nightmares
have　receded？”
Wulfe　held　the　priest’s　gaze。　“I　haven’t　been　sleeping　enough　to　judge；　confessor。　We’ve　been
on　the　move　night　and　day。　I　slept　well　enough　last　night；　but　I　was　exhausted。　I　think　perhaps　the
worst　of　the　dreams　are　behind　me。　It　may　be　that　you’re　right。　The　mission　might　be　crowding　the
memories　out　a　bit。”
“I　would　have　your　mind　at　ease；　my　friend；　but　forgetting　your　experience　completely　would　be
a　mistake。　We’ve　already　talked　of　the　positive。　You’ve　seen　something　that　others　wish　desperately
to　see。　You’ve　had　proof　of　that　which　lies　beyond　death。　Does　that　still　give　you　no　comfort？”
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“I’ve　told　you；　confessor。　His　eyes　were　so　hollow。　He　did　not　look　like　a　man　restored。　On　the
journey　here　to　Balkar；　my　crew　confessed　that　they　had　guessed　the　truth。　If　any　weight　has　been
lifted　from　me；　it’s　that　I　no　longer　need　to　hide　it　from　them。　But　can　you　imagine　what　others
would　say？”
“If　they　knew　you　had　seen　a　ghost？”
“It　sounds　like　bloody　nonsense　when　you　say　it　aloud。　I　think　I’d　rather　believe　I　was　mad。”
“I　don’t　think　you　are；　but　believe　that　if　it　helps。　There　are　those　who　say　even　Yarrick　is　mad；
driven　beyond　obsession。　Many　of　the　Imperium’s　heroes　would　be　judged　mad　by　the　standards　of
normal　men。　It’s　no　bad　thing　to　be　different；”　he　grinned。　“To　a　degree。”
“That’s　some　choice；　confessor；　mad　or　haunted。”　Wulfe　went　silent　for　a　moment　as　other
ghosts　rose　in　his　mind。　“If　you　had　seen　Siemens…”
The　priest　closed　his　eyes　and　bowed　his　head。　“It　doesn’t　get　easier。”
“Sorry；”　said　Wulfe。　“You’ve　seen　more　than　your　share　of　horrors。　I　didn’t　mean…　I　wish　I　had
your　fortitude。　Why　do　you　do　it？　Clearing　the　tanks　of　bodies　is　a　job　for　the　support　crews。　Why
do　you　continue　to　torture　yourself？”
Confessor　Friedrich　gazed　off　into　space。　“How　could　I　let　those　boys　face　such　horrors；　Wulfe；
knowing　that　they’ll　crew　tanks　themselves　one　day？　They　shouldn’t　have　to　see　the　likes　of　that。
They　shouldn’t　have　to　know　how　bad　it　gets　before　the　end。　And　neither　should　you。”
“The　orks　didn’t　give　me　much　choice。”
They　both　thought　about　that　for　a　silent　moment。
Changing　tack　suddenly；　the　priest　said；　“You　heard　that　General　deViers　has　arrived；　yes？”
Wulfe　shook　his　head。　“I　didn’t　know。　I　thought　the　officers　would　have　had　us　all　lined　up　to
greet　him。　He　likes　a　big　reception。”
“He　does；　but　between　them；　the　major　generals　decided　that　preparations　for　deployment　took
priority。　If　deViers　wants　his　forces　rolling　out　before　sundown；　he’ll　have　to　do　without　the　usual
pomp　this　time。”
“He　flew　in？”
The　confessor　nodded。　“Touched　down　just　west　of　the　outer　wall　about　three　hours　ago。　He
arrived　on　a　Valkyrie　transport　escorted　by　four　Vulcan　gunships。　It　seems　Commodore　Galbraithe
was　as　good　as　his　word　regarding　the　close　support　he　promised。”
“Five　birds？”　asked　Wulfe。　“Not　exactly　a　major　contribution。”
“Better　than　four；”　said　the　priest　with　a　wink。　“Anyway；　I　expect　you’ll　be　rolling　out　very
soon；　Wulfe。　That’s　why　I　came　to　see　you。　May　I　bless　you　and　your　crew？”
“You’re　not　rolling　out　with　us；　confessor？”
“Not　this　time。　The　regiment　has　many　sick　in　the　field　hospital　here。　You　heard　about　Markus
Rhaimes；　of　course。　I’m　staying　to　offer　last　rites　to　those　who　need　it。　But　I’m　sure　your　expedition
will　be　over　quickly。　You’ll　find　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　and　return。　I　know　you　will。”
Wulfe　wished　he　shared　the　priest’s　confidence。　“I　think　my　crew　would　appreciate　a　blessing；
confessor。　We　need　all　the　help　we　can　get。”
“Excellent；”　said　the　priest。　Together；　he　and　Wulfe　walked　back　towards　Last　Rites　II。
Squatting　in　the　shadow　of　a　nearby　Chimera；　grinning　from　ear　to　ear；　Lenck　watched　them　go。
“Gotcha！”　he　muttered。
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CHAPTER　SIXTEEN
Two　hours　after　Confessor　Friedrich　had　bid　them　farewell；　the　crew　of　Last　Rites　II　were　nearing
completion　of　their　final　checks。　Together；　Siegler　and　Beans　went　over　every　single　track　link；
checking　and　oiling　the　heavy　iron　pins　that　held　them　together。　Metzger　tightened　the　latches　that
held　the　tow　cables；　entrenching　tools；　fire　axe；　bolt　cutters　and　numerous　other　essentials　in　place
on　the　tank’s　hull。
Wulfe；　not　content　to　supervise；　checked　each　of　the　vision　blocks　and　their　spares　for　cracks
before　turning　his　attention　to　the　vox…caster。　He　cycled　through　each　of　the　listed　channels　that
Exolon　would　be　using　in　the　field　until　he　was　satisfied　that　he　could　tune　into　any　of　them　at　the
flip　of　a　toggle。　Finishing　this；　he　took　off　his　headset　and　sat　back　in　his　command　seat。
Damn；　it’s　hot；　he　thought。　But；　once　we’re　under　way；　the　wind　should　cool　us　a　bit。
It　was　only　now；　with　his　hearing　unhindered　by　the　headset’s　mufflers；　that　he　heard　raised
voices　outside。
Recognising　them　at　once；　he　leapt　up　from　his　seat　and　hauled　himself　through　the　top　hatch。
From　his　cupola；　he　looked　down　to　the　left　and　saw　Metzger　and　Siegler　standing　off　against　Lenck
and　his　crew。　Beans　stood　off　to　one　side；　shuffling　anxiously。
“What　the　frak　is　going　on　here？”　Wulfe　shouted　down　at　Lenck　as　he　climbed　from　the　cupola；
and　then　leapt　from　the　track…guard　to　the　ground。　“What　the　hell　do　you　want；　Lenck？”
“An　apology　for　starters；　sergeant；”　said　Lenck。　“My　lads　and　I　were　just　on　our　way　back　from
the　supply　depot　when　your　brain…addled　idiot　of　a　loader　walked　right　into　us　and　spilled　half　our
coolant。”　He　gestured　at　two　jerrycans　lying　on　their　side　in　the　sand。
“Siegler？”　said　Wulfe。
“Groxshit；　sarge；”　replied　the　loader。　“They　were　walking　by　and　started　in　on　our　tank。”
“That’s　right；”　said　Metzger；　eyes　locked　on　Hobbs；　who　stood　directly　in　front　of　him；
shoulders　loose；　ready　to　lunge　forward。　“The　bastards　were　at　it。”
Wulfe　had　never　seen　Metzger　like　this　before。　He　looked　unusually　dangerous；　as　tall　and　rangy
as　ever；　but　with　teeth　bared　in　a　snarl；　long　arms　ready　to　lash　out。　He　looked　more　like　a　soldier　at
that　moment　than　at　any　other　time　in　the　months　Wulfe　had　known　him。　This　wasn’t　the　time　or
place　for　him　to　prove　his　boxing　skills；　though。　Brawling　would　mean　the　lash　if　Crusher　found　out。
“Lenck；”　said　Wulfe　in　a　growl；　“get　your　mongrels　away　from　here　before　something　happens
that　you’ll　regret。”
The　big　one；　Varnuss；　stepped　to　Lenck’s　side；　rolling　his　shoulders　and　stretching　his　neck。
Wulfe　glimpsed　ganger　tattoos　under　the　collar　of　his　tunic。　Was　he　just　posturing；　wondered　Wulfe；
or　was　he　really　stupid　enough　to　make　trouble　with　a　senior　man？　Both　possibilities　seemed　equally
credible　at　that　moment。
Posturing　or　not；　it　was　only　when　Lenck　put　out　a　hand　and　stopped　Varnuss　from　advancing
that　the　big　man　seemed　to　reconsider。
“Come　on；　you　lot；”　Lenck　told　his　crew　in　mock　exasperation。　“Looks　like　we’d　better　go　back
to　the　depot　and　get　some　more　coolant。”
Muttering　and　cursing；　the　crew　of　the　New　Champion　turned　and　fell　in　behind　Lenck　as　he
stalked　off。　After　a　few　paces；　however；　Lenck　stopped　and　turned。　He　pointed　at　Siegler；　though　his
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eyes　were　locked　on　Wulfe’s　as　he　said；　“With　respect；　sergeant；　you　might　want　to　keep　your　pet
moron　on　a　leash　in　future。”
Wulfe　felt　something　snap　inside　him。　He　bolted　s