Gunheads(科幻战争)-第20部分

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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　straight　at　Lenck　and　grabbed　him　roughly　by
the　collar；　hauling　him　up　on　his　tiptoes。　Other　hands　immediately　tried　to　free　Lenck；　tugging　at
Wulfe’s　wrists　in　vain；　trying　to　break　a　grip　that　was　like　solid　steel。
“What’re　you　going　to　do？”　Lenck　sneered；　looking　down　his　nose　at　Wulfe　without　a　hint　of
worry。　“You　know　the　regs。”
Wulfe　growled。　“I　ought　to　rip　your　bloody　tongue　out；　you　piece　of　garbage。”
“But　you　know　you’d　pay　for　it；”　said　Lenck。
“That’s　where　you’re　wrong；　Lenck。　It　doesn’t　go　both　ways。　I　could　beat　you　to　within　an　inch
of　your　life；　and　no　commissar　could　touch　me　for　it。”
Lenck’s　eyes　narrowed。　His　voice　became　a　hiss。　“I　wasn’t　talking　about　commissars。”
There　was　a　sudden　shout　from　atop　Last　Rites　II。　It　was　Beans。
“Good　morning；　commissar！　How　are　you？”
Wulfe　turned　and　saw　a　dark　figure　emerge　from　between　two　tanks　about　a　hundred　metres
away。　His　grip　automatically　loosened　on　Lenck’s　collar　and　the　younger　man　wrenched　himself
away。
When　Wulfe　turned　around　to　face　Lenck　again；　the　corporal　was　smiling　sardonically。
“I’m　sure　we’ll　have　a　chance　to　pick　this　up　again　sometime；　sergeant；”　he　said。　“In　the
meantime；　my　crew　has　work　to　do。　Excuse　us。”
Wulfe　watched　them　go；　fists　clenched　white　at　his　sides。　How　far　would　I　have　gone？　he　asked
himself。　Would　I　have　killed　him？　Could　I　have　stopped　myself？　He　remembered　the　panic　he　had
felt　as　Victor　Dunst’s　gang　had　restrained　him　all　those　years　ago　on　Cadia。　He　winced　as　he
recalled　the　pain　of　Dunst’s　knife　being　pushed　into　his　torso。　He　heard　the　laughter　of　the　gangers；
laughter　that　turned　to　curses　when　they　heard　the　siren　of　the　Civitas　patrol　car。
Lenck’s　crew　cast　filthy　looks　back　at　him　over　their　shoulders　as　they　went；　all　of　them　but
Lenck。
He’s　not　Dunst；　Wulfe　told　himself。　For　Throne’s　sake；　he’s　not　Dunst。
When　Lenck　was　about　twenty…five　metres　away；　he　turned　back　towards　Wulfe　without
breaking　stride　and　called　out　to　him。　Just　five　words。　Five　little　words。　But　they　hit　Wulfe　like　a
flurry　of　bolter　shells　that　detonated　in　his　mind。
Wulfe　was　struck　motionless。　He　saw　Lenck　laugh；　then　turn　around　and　lead　his　men　off
between　two　rows　of　Chimeras。
A　hard；　sharp　voice　at　his　shoulder　woke　Wulfe　from　his　paralysis。　“What’s　going　on；　sergeant？”
Wulfe　turned　to　meet　the　icy　stare　of　Commissar　Slayte；　his　eyes　glittering　in　the　shadow　of　the
brim　of　his　black　cap。
“Not　sure　what　you　mean；　commissar；”　said　Wulfe　readying　to　move　off　towards　his　tank。　The
commissar　moved　faster。　Wulfe　felt　a　heavy　mechanical　hand　grasp　his　upper　arm。
Crusher　turned　his　eyes　in　the　direction　Lenck　and　his　men　had　taken；　but　they　were　gone　from
view。　After　a　pause；　he　leaned　in　towards　Wulfe　and　said；　“You’ve　been　away　from　your　vox…set；　so
maybe　you　haven’t　heard；　but　Colonel　Vinnemann　has　ordered　the　regiment　to　muster　at　the　east
gate。　We　leave　Balkar　in　fifteen　minutes。　Make　sure　your　people　are　ready；　Sergeant　Wulfe。　I’ll
make　a　very　memorable　example　of　anyone　that　isn’t。”
Wulfe　looked　down　at　the　perfectly…machined；　black　metal　hand。　“We’ll　be　ready；　commissar。”
“Make　sure　of　it；”　said　Crusher。　There　was　the　slightest　whirring　of　gears　as　he　released　the
sergeant。　Then　he　walked　off；　taking　his　threats　to　other　ears。
Wulfe’s　crew　was　looking　at　him　wordlessly　as　he　marched　past　them。
“Get　to　your　stations；　all　of　you；”　he　said　gruffly。　“We’re　moving　out　in　fifteen。”
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Siegler；　Beans　and　Metzger　leapt　to　comply；　warned　off　asking　questions　by　the　dark　look　on
Wulfe’s　face。　As　always；　Wulfe　was　the　last　one　in。
As　he　swung　his　legs　over　the　lip　of　his　hatch；　he　thought　about　Lenck’s　parting　words。　They
had　frozen　his　blood。　As　he　dropped　into　his　command　seat；　those　five　words　rang　in　his　ears。　Did
they　mean　what　he　thought　they　meant？
Five　little　words；　each　one　rocking　him　like　a　cannon　shell。
“Watch　out　for　ghosts；　sergeant！”
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CHAPTER　SEVENTEEN
Two　days　east　of　Balkar；　Wulfe　and　the　rest　of　the　expeditionary　force　entered　a　rocky　region　of　the
Hadar　desert　known　as　Vargas。　Led　by　General　deViers；　riding　comfortably　in　a　specially　outfitted
command　Chimera；　the　Cadians　moved　in　a　long　column　that　slowly　snaked　along　the　floor　of　a
deep　canyon　marked　on　Officio　Cartographica　charts　as　Red　Gorge。
The　gorge　ran　for　almost　three　hundred　kilometres　along　a　meandering　path　that　would
eventually　lead　the　men　of　the　18th　Army　Group　to　the　site　of　the　largest　and　bloodiest　battle　of　the
last　Golgothan　War。　It　was　there；　at　long　last；　that　General　deViers　expected　to　find　The　Fortress　of
Arrogance。　It　was　there；　also；　that　he　expected　to　face　the　greatest　ork　resistance　to　his　progress　so
far。　By　all　accounts；　the　foothills　and　low　valleys　of　the　Ishawar　Mountains　were　littered　with
wrecks　from　the　war。　What　better　place　for　the　scavenging　greenskins　to　build　a　major　settlement？
Despite　the　likelihood　of　violent　confrontation；　the　mood　among　the　men　was　mixed。　Some　were
upbeat；　seeing　the　final　phase　for　what　it　truly　represented；　an　end　to　their　tormented　time　on　a　world
unfit　for　human　habitation。　Others　were　less　optimistic。　Some；　like　Major　General　Bergen；
anticipated　great　disappointment　on　arrival　at　the　coordinates　the　Mechanicus　had　provided。　Even
so；　the　realists　in　the　army　group　were　as　keen　to　get　the　whole　thing　over　as　the　optimists　were。
On　the　other　hand；　few　were　happy　about　having　the　entire　expeditionary　force　negotiate　Red
Gorge。　There　was　simply　no　other　choice。　The　rocky　clifftops　and　surrounding　highlands　were
riddled　with　chasms　and　crevasses；　many　of　them　impossible　to　spot　from　the　ground　until　too　late。
Under　other　circumstances；　Commodore　Galbraithe’s　Vulcan　gunships　could　perhaps　have　guided
the　column　from　the　air；　but　flying　conditions　were　far　from　ideal　over　the　Hadar。　Frequent　dust
storms　threatened　to　clog　air　intakes；　something　that　would　have　sent　the　Vulcans　crashing　to　the
ground。　Electromagnetic　surges　from　the　thick　clouds　made　mid…and　high…altitude　flights　just　as
deadly。　So　the　Vulcan　pilots　were　forced　to　fly　low；　making　slow　passes　along　the　canyon　floor；　just
a　few　hundred　metres　above　the　heads　of　the　Cadian　troops；　visored　eyes　scanning　for　signs　of
ambush。
Wulfe　watched　the　Vulcans　from　his　cupola；　black　birds　roaring　as　they　crossed　the　strip　of　red
sky　overhead。　They　left　trails　of　grey　smoke　that　moved　like　ribbons　on　the　wind。
For　Wulfe；　this　phase　of　the　journey　was　particularly　harrowing。　The　sharp　crags　and　deep；
shadowed　gullies　along　which　the　column　moved　were　a　powerful　reminder　of　Lugo’s　Ditch。　As　the
rock　walls　rose　to　fantastic　heights　on　either　side；　a　cold　sweat　began　to　soak　Wulfe’s　tunic。
Watch　out　for　ghosts；　sergeant！
Even　now；　with　the　glow　of　the　second　day　fading；　Lenck’s　words　were　still　eating　away　at
Wulfe’s　insides。　What　had　the　bastard　corporal　meant？　The　most　obvious　answer　was　that　he　knew
about　Lugo’s　Ditch。　But　how？　Wulfe　was　sure　that　Confessor　Friedrich　wouldn’t　have　betrayed　him。
He　doubted　any　of　his　crew　would　have；　either。　Beans　didn’t　know　anything　about　it　so　that　ruled
him　out。
Had　Lenck　simply　meant　Victor　Dunst？　A　ghost　of　the　past　rather　than　of　the　dead？　That　was
almost　as　much　of　a　stretch。　All　Lenck　had　regarding　Dunst　was　a　name；　wasn’t　it？
Wulfe　wracked　his　brain；　desperate　to　remember　who　he　had　told　about　Dunst。　He　hadn’t
recounted　the　story　often　—　it　wasn’t　exactly　one　of　his　favourites　—　but　it　was　an　old　custom
among　Cadian　troopers　to　compare　scars　and　tell　the　tales　of　how　they　had　been　won。　Wulfe　had
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shared　the　Dunst　story　with　a　handful　of　men　in　his　early　years　with　the　regiment。　Had　someone　told
Lenck？　Did　the　rotten　corporal　know　just　how　much　his　appearance　troubled　Wulfe？
As　the　day　wore　on；　Wulfe　tried　to　put　the　matter　to　the　back　of　his　mind。　He　sat　in　his　cupola；
occupying　himself　with　a　study　of　his　surroundings　as　Last　Rites　II　rambled　through　the　dust　kicked
up　by　the　tanks　in　front。　There　was　vegetation　in　the　canyon；　the　first　that　he　had　seen　since　crashing
on　this　world。　Not　much　of　it；　of　course　—　mostly　dry　grasses　and　scrawny；　thorn…covered　tangles　of
brash　—　but　it　meant　moisture。　There　was　animal　life；　too；　and　far　larger　than　the　biting　ticks　the
Cadians　had　endured　so　far。　Wulfe　saw　great；　slothful；　flat…bodied　lizards　basking　on　the　rocks。
Their　skins　were　armoured　with　hundreds　of　small；　bony　plates；　and　they　were　coloured　like　the　land
around　them。　As　the　Imperial　column　rolled　past；　they　hissed　and　slid　quickly　into　the　mouths　of
inky　black　caves。
Observing　these　things　offered　Wulfe　only　temporary　respite　from　his　thoughts。　Again　and
again；　he　returned　to　the　matters　that　troubled　him　most。　As　the　strip　of　sky　above　Red　Gorge　grew
dark；　he　dropped　back　down　into　his　turret　basket；　leaving　the　hatch　open　above　him　so　that　a
cooling　wind　could　circulate。
Siegler　was　dozing　in　his　seat；　thick　arms　folded　on　top　of　the　shell　magazine；　head　resting　in　the
crook　of　his　elbow。　By　the　glow　of　the　turret’s　internal　lamps；　Beans　was　leafing　through　a　tattered
magazine　featuring　monochrome　picts　of　hard…faced　Cadian　women　stripping　out　of　military
uniform。　Judging　by　the　state　of　the　pages；　the　magazine　had　had　a　great　many　owners　over　the
years。
Wulfe　smiled　to　himself　and　tapped　Beans　on　the　shoulder。　Speaking　low　on　the　intercom　so　as
not　to　wake　Siegler；　he　said；　“That　stuff　will　rot　your　soul。”
“Damage　done；”　said　Beans　with　a　grin。　“I’ve　been　through　this　one　so　many　times　I　think　I’ve
desensitised　myself。　You　want　it？”
Wulfe　laughed；　but　his　tone　was　serious　when　he　said；　“Listen；　Beans。　You　and　I　need　to　have　a
talk。”
“What　about；　sarge？”
“I　think　you　know　what。”
Was　it　Wulfe’s　imagination；　or　did　the　new　gunner　flush　a　little？
“The　stand…off　in　the　staging　area；　right？”
Wulfe　nodded；　frowning。　“A　tanker　stands　with　his　crew；　no　matter　what。　You　know　the　rules。
You’re　lucky　Siegler　and　Metzger　overlooked　it；　but　if　I　ever　see　you　standing　on　the　sidelines　like
that　again；　you’ll　be　back　on　the　support　crews　before　you　can　say　‘the　Emperor　protects’。　What　the
hell　were　you　thinking？”
Beans　shrugged　guiltily。　“If　it　had　been　any　other　crew；　sarge…　But　it　was　Lenck’s　lot。”
“What　difference　does　that　make？”
“Plenty。”
There　was　a　pause；　a　moment　of　uncomfortable　mutual　silence；　before　Wulfe　said；　“Tell　me
what　you　know　about　Lenck。”
Beans　looked　up。　“I　know　not　to　mess　with　him。　The　officers　might　have　all　the　official　power　in
the　Guard；　but　it’s　guys　like　Lenck　that　control　the　shadows。　Every　regiment　has　them；　right？　The
guys　who　can　get　you　more　booze；　more　smokes；　more　meds。”　He　held　up　his　shabby；　pornographic
pictomag。　“More　stuff　like　this。　They　make　a　business　of　it；　and　the　officers　let　it　go　on　because　the
men　grumble　a　little　less。　Fewer　fights　break　out。　I　can’t　imagine　Guard　life　without　such　guys；　can
you？　Well；　that’s　Lenck。　If　the　price　is　right；　he　can　get　just　about　anything。　He’s　more　like　a　hivegang
boss　than　a　soldier。　And　he　thinks　you’re　out　to　shut　him　down。”
Wulfe　knew　all　this；　of　course。　Beans　was　still　a　relative　newcomer　to　the　regiment；　but　he
clearly　had　a　good　handle　on　things。　Everything　he　had　said　was　true。　Regiments　needed　their
hustlers　and　fixers。　Things　became　unbearable　all　too　fast　without　them。　It　explained　a　lot　about
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Lenck’s　mysterious　popularity　with　the　newer　guys。　Still；　the　idea　that　Lenck　should　be　allowed
some　slack　on　account　of　this　alleged　service　to　the　regiment　didn’t　sit　well。　Wulfe　huffed。　“This　is
the　Imperial　Guard；　not　the　blasted　underhives。　Voeder　Lenck　is　a　cocky；　jumped…up　little　arsehole
and；　sooner　or　later；　he’s　going　to　wish　he’d　never　met　me。”
Beans　looked　uncomfortable　as　he　said；　“Um…　Didn’t　he　save　your　life；　sarge？”
Wulfe　spat　a　curse。　“He　killed　an　ork　that　was　about　to　kill　me。　Duty　demanded　it。　Any　trooper
would　have　done　the　same。”　His　voice　had　taken　on　an　angry　edge；　all　the　harder　because；　in　truth；
he　was　grateful　and　it　bothered　him　immensely。
Beans　raised　a　placatory　hand。　“I’m　just　saying　what　I　heard。”
Wulfe　muttered　under　his　breath。　Glancing　up　through　his　open　hatch；　he　saw　that　the　sky　was
almost　pitch　black。　Would　old　deViers　have　them　pressing　on　throughout　the　night　again？
Wulfe　addressed　his　driver；　“You　need　me　to　take　a　shift　on　the　sticks；　Metzger？”
“I’ll　be　fine　for　another　few　hours；　sarge；”　replied　Metzger。　“How　about　you　take　a　shift　then？”
In　his　long　and　bloody　career；　Wulfe　had　manned　every　single　station　aboard　a　Leman　Russ
tank。　He　wasn’t　nearly　as　talented　a　driver　as　Lucky　Metzger；　but　he　was　more　than　capable　of
keeping　his　crate　in　place　while　Metzger　got　some　much…needed　sleep。
“Fine；”　said　Wulfe。　“Two　hours。　Let　me　know　if　you　get　tired　before　that。”
“Will　do；　sarge；”　said　Metzger。
Wulfe　sat　back　in　his　command　seat。　He　wasn’t　feeling　particularly　sleepy　right　now。　He　mind
was　running　laps。　He　kept　hearing　Lenck’s　words　in　his　head。　The　old　scar　on　his　throat　was
irritating　him；　too。　He　scratched　it　lightly。
The　vox　channels　were　mostly　quiet。　The　only　regular　traffic　was　coming　from　the　Sentinel　and
motorbike　scouts　up　front。　After　a　minute；　Beans’　voice　broke　in　on　his　thoughts。
“Want　a　read？”　said　the　gunner　with　a　grin　as　he　offered　his　sergeant　his　magazine。
“Not　much　reading　in　it；”　Wulfe　replied　with　a　half…smile；　but　he　took　it　anyway。
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CHAPTER　EIGHTEEN
By　the　sixth　day　out　of　Balkar；　General　deViers　had　started　to　develop　a　dry；　itchy　cough。　It　wasn’t
nearly　as　bad　as　those　of　some　of　his　officers；　but　it　caused　him　a　certain　degree　of　panic　because　he
was　so　much　older　and；　therefore；　more　vulnerable　to　Golgotha’s　subtle　assaults　on　his　health。　He
had　seen　what　the　red　dust　had　done　to　some　of　his　troopers。　The　damned　medicae　staff　were　being
about　as　much　use　as　a　paper　lasgun；　in　his　opinion。
Last　night；　the　high　canyon　walls　of　Red　Gorge　had　come　to　an　abrupt　end。　The　column　had
made　it　through　without　incident　and　had　set　up　camp　briefly　on　the　open　sand　at　the　canyon’s
mouth。　Dawn　had　broken　only　an　hour　ago；　revealing　just　how　fortuitous　the　decision　to　halt　the
column　had　been。　His　decision；　of　course。　Had　the　men　of　Exolon　continued　pushing　eastwards；
they　would　have　run　straight　into　the　biggest　ork　fortification　that　deViers　had　ever　seen。
He　was　looking　at　it　now。
He　stood　just　outside　the　doorway　of　a　hastily…erected　command　tent；　magnoculars　pressed　to　his
eyes；　scanning　the　massive　ugly　structure　that　seemed　to　run　from　one　end　of　the　horizon　to　the
other。　Behind　it；　visible　as　little　more　than　a　faint　silhouette　in　the　morning　light；　he　could　see　the
slopes　of　the　towering　Ishawar　Mountains。　Their　peaks　were　invisible；　lost　in　the　bellies　of　bloodcoloured
clouds。
“Why　in　blazes　wasn’t　I　told　about　this？”　he　raged。　“It’s　colossal。　How　could　the　probe…servitors
possibly　have　missed　something　like　this？　Get　those　tech…priests　in　here。　Get　Magos　Sennesdiar。　I
want　some　damned　answers　at　once。”
The　ork　wall　was　easily　a　hundred　metres　tall。　Throne　knew　how　long　it　was。　It　was　breathtaking
in　its　scale。　It　was　plated　with　great　metal　slabs　of　armour　painted　red　from　top　to　bottom；　and
decorated　with　oversized　ork　glyphs　daubed　crudely　in　white。　There　were　sharp；　uneven
crenellations　all　along　the　battlements；　and　the　barrels　of　huge　cannon　could　be　seen　thrusting
outwards　from　behind　them。　But　was　the　wall　manned？　In　the　short　time　deViers　had　been　watching；
he　hadn’t　witnessed　any　signs　of　life。　Could　he　trust　his　eyes？　The　haze　of　dust　and　shimmering　air
made　it　difficult　to　discern　movement　at　this　range。　The　gun…towers　and　battlements　could；　in　fact；
be　seething　with　the　foe。
If　they　were　there　at　all；　however；　it　seemed　that　they　hadn’t　spotted　the　18th　Army　Group。　Not
yet。
Their　eyesight；　thought　deViers；　isn’t　as　good　as　ours；　but　the　longer　we　watch　and　wait；　the
more　time　we　give　them　to　discover　us。　We　can’t　lose　the　element　of　surprise。　A　sudden　thrust　is　our
best　chance　to　get　through；　and　we　must　get　through。　Glory　and　fame　await；　Mohamar。　It　won’t　be
long　now。
There　were　vast　iron　gates；　as　tall　as　the　wall　itself；　spaced　at　intervals　all　along　its　length；　but
none　were　open。　They　looked　very　heavy；　very　solid。
One　of　the　major　generals　cleared　his　throat。　DeViers　couldn’t　tell　which　one。
“And　we’ve　no　idea　how　far　it　extends？”　deViers　asked。　“No　idea　at　all？”
Bergen；　Killian　and　Rennkamp　all　stood　a　pace　behind　him；　staring　out　at　the　ork　wall　through
their　own　magnoculars。
“There　hasn’t　been　time　to　properly　reconnoitre　it　yet；　sir；”　said　Bergen。　“The　Vulcan　pilots　say
they’re　awaiting　your　order　to　go　up；　if　that’s　what　you　want。　There　might　be　a　way　around　it。　Best
estimates　at　this　time　suggest　it’s　over　a　hundred　kilometres　long；　though。”
110
“By　the　Golden　Throne；”　hissed　deViers。　“Over　a　hundred　kilometres。”
He　wasn’t　optimistic　about　finding　a　way　around。　A　feeling　in　his　gut；　an　instinct　developed　over
decades　of　battlefield　command；　told　him　this　was　all　part　of　his　great　test。　Here　was　an　obstacle　put
before　him　to　see　if　he　was　worthy　of　everlasting　fame。　No；　there　would　be　no　going　around　it。
There　was　nothing　for　free　in　this　universe。
The　sheer　size　of　the　wall　suggested　it　might　have　been　built　to　keep　out　Titans。　A　foolish
notion；　of　course。　Nothing　could　keep　out　a　Titan　for　long；　but　it　probably　made　some　kind　of
rudimentary　sense　to　the　greenskins。　Was　the　construction　of　the　wall　a　reaction　to　Yarrick’s　assault
on　Golgotha？　The　mighty　commissar　had　employed　Titans　throughout　his　campaign。　Perhaps　the
greenskins　had　anticipated　an　Imperial　return　all　along。
“Gather　the　officers　together；”　deViers　told　his　three　major　generals。　“I　want　us　through　those
gates　by　the　end　of　the　day。”
“Sir！”　protested　Killian。　“We　have　no　idea　of　the　enemy’s　strength。　We　need　full　and　proper
reconnaissance。　At　least　let　us　get　some　idea　of　their　numbers　before　we—”
“I　didn’t　ask　for　opinions；　Klotus；”　snapped　the　general。　“You　can　see　those　gates　as　well　as　I
can；　can’t　you？　Reconnoitre　all　we　like；　I　tell　you　now；　we’ll　find　no　way　around。　We’ll　have　to
punch　our　way　through　one　of　them。　I　will　not　be　stopped；　not　by　a　damned　wall；　not　by　anything。”
Bergen；　Killian　and　Rennkamp　dropped　their　magnoculars　and　shared　a　quick　look　that　deViers
decided　to　pretend　he　hadn’t　seen。
“Might　we　not　send　the　Vulcans　on　a　forward　sweep；　sir？”　asked　Bergen。　“Order　it　now　and
we’ll　know　what　we’re　dealing　with。　At　the　very　least；　they　could　give　us　some　idea　of　what’s
beyond　it。”
“We　don’t　exactly　have　air　support　to　spare；　Gerard；”　said　deViers。　“You　know　that。　They　could
be　cut　to　pieces　by　triple…A　fire。　I　don’t　suppose　you’d　like　to　explain　that　to　Commodore
Galbraithe？”
“But　surely　just　one；　sir；”　said　Rennkamp。
“It　would　be　better　than　charging　in　blind；”　said　Bergen。
“You　know；”　said　Killian；　“with　luck　and　a　prayer；　the　bloody　orks　might　well　have　moved　on。　I
didn’t　se