Gunheads(科幻战争)-第23部分

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grapefruit　right　in　the　centre　of　the　skull…glyph’s　forehead。　The　ork　tank’s　turret　stopped　moving。　It
stopped　firing；　too。
“That’s　a　kill；”　said　Wulfe；　slapping　Beans　on　the　back。　Quickly；　he　turned　his　attention　to　the
machines　Metzger　had　reported。　Bright　spears　of　lascannon　fire　were　blazing　out　from　Last　Rites
II’s　hull…mounted　weapon。　The　Cadian　tanks　on　either　side　had　also　turned　their　attention　to　the
newcomers；　while　others　blasted　the　last　monster　in　the　avenue　to　the　north；　reducing　it　to　twisted；
blazing　metal。
Wulfe　was　impressed。　Beans　was　doing　well。　That　last　kill　had　been　a　fine　shot。　His　men　were
functioning　as　a　unit。　This　was　the　way　it　was　supposed　to　be。　Nothing　else　weighed　on　his　mind　but
the　heat　of　battle　and　the　drive　to　win。　No　ghosts。　No　gangers。　He　felt　less　burdened　than　he　had　in　a
long　time。
One　of　the　orks’　looted　Leman　Russ　tanks　soaked　up　a　lascannon　blast　and　lurched　forward；
coughing　flame　from　its　main　gun。　Dirt　and　smoke　exploded　into　the　air　just　a　few　metres　to　the
right　of　Wulfe’s　machine。
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“Gunner；　traverse　right；”　Wulfe　barked　over　the　intercom。　“Ork　armour；　eight　hundred　metres
and　closing。　Armour…piercing。　Fire　at　will！”
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CHAPTER　TWENTY
“Say　again；　Eagle　Three；”　said　Bergen　into　the　mouthpiece　of　his　vox…set。　“Say　again。”
“Eagle　Three　to　Command；”　said　the　sharp；　high　voice　of　the　female　pilot。　“Eagles　One；　Two
and　Four　are　down。　Where　the　hell　is　that　Hydra　support？　I　can’t　outrun　the　damned　ork　jets。　And　I
can’t　keep　them　off　the　Angel　on　my　own。”
“The　Hydras　are　almost　there；”　said　Bergen。　“Listen；　Eagle　Three。　I　know　you’re　up　against　it
out　there；　but　just　hold　on。　We’ll　have　triple…A　support　for　you　in　a　few　seconds。　You　should　be　able
to　see　them　now。”
“Two　on　my　tail。　Can’t　shake　them。　Wait…　By　the　Golden　Throne！”
“What　is　it；　Eagle　Three？”
“Command；　I　have　visual　on　a　massive　ork　horde　closing　in　from　the　south。　A　huge　number　of
vehicles。　The　land　is　black　with　them；　sir。”
“Confirm；　Eagle　Three。　Significant　enemy　force　advancing　from　the　south。”
The　vox　hissed。
“Eagle　Three；”　said　Bergen；　already　sensing　she　wasn’t　there；　“confirm　enemy　force　in　the
south。　Eagle　Three；　respond。　Oh；　for　frak’s　sake！”
Anger　welled　up　inside　him。　Bergen　had　fought　alongside　women　before。　There　were　Cadian
regiments　entirely　composed　of　the　so…called　fairer　sex；　though　they　tended　to　serve　on　Cadia’s
Interior　Guard　rather　than　off…world。　They　were　as　tough　and　ruthless　as　any　male　soldiers　he　had
known；　but　his　attitudes　were　still　old…fashioned　in　some　respects。　The　knowledge　that　a　woman
attached　to　Operation　Thunderstorm　had　just　been　killed　by　orks　stung　him　with　unusual　sharpness。
Eagle　Three　was　Navy；　and　there　was　no　love　lost　between　the　Navy　and　the　Guard；　but　she　had
hung　on　bravely　to　the　end；　as　brave　as　any　of　his　tankers。
If　he　lived　through　this；　he　swore　he　would　try　to　find　out　her　name；　to　make　sure　she　and　her
fellow　Vulcan　crews　were　honoured。
Commodore　Galbraithe　will　have　to　be　told；　he　thought。　Throne　help　the　poor　bastard　tasked
with　that。
Of　more　immediate　concern；　of　course；　was　Eagle　Three’s　last　report：　a　significant　ork　force
moving　north　towards　their　position。　It　had　to　be　the　host　that　Stromm　and　van　Droi　had　reported。
How　fast　were　they　moving？　When　would　they　arrive？　He　couldn’t　know。　And　all　the　forces　at　his
disposal　were　already　engaged　with　the　orks　on　and　inside　the　wall。　He　had　to　tell　deViers。　But
first…
“10th　Division　Command　to　Armour；”　he　voxed。　“Are　you　there；　Kochatkis？”
“I’m　here；　sir；”　said　Vinnemann。　“Go　ahead。”
“You　just　lost　close　support　from　the　Vulcans。　Thought　you　should　know。”
“I　saw　that；　sir。　The　fuselage　hit　just　a　few　hundred　metres　away。　Looks　like　those　bombers　are
swinging　around　for　a　run　on　us。”
“Can　you　see　those　Hydras？　They　should　be　all　around　you　by　now。”
“They’ve　just　joined　us；　sir；”　said　Vinnemann。　“We　lost　two；　but　four　of　them　are　still　in　the
game。　The　wind　is　stripping　our　smoke　cover　off　and　the　ork　artillery　isn’t　missing　us　by　much。　But
the　Hydras　will　be　a　real　surprise　for　those　bombers　the　next　time　they　make　a　pass。”
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“Let’s　hope　so；”　said　Bergen；　“but　there’s　something　else　I　have　to　tell　you。　We’re　being　flanked
from　the　south。”
“Flanked；　sir？”　asked　Vinnemann。　“What　kind　of　numbers？”
“Can’t　confirm　that；　but　from　the　sounds　of　it；　far　more　than　we　can　reasonably　handle。”
“Our　forces　have　breached；　sir；”　said　Vinnemann。　“There’s　no　way　we　can　fight　on　two　fronts
and　still　push　through　to　reach　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。　What　does　the　general　say？”
“I’m　going　to　report　to　him　now；　Kochatkis；”　said　Bergen。　“Just　wanted　you　to　know。”
“Appreciate　that；　sir。　Armour；　out。”
DeViers　exploded　when　Bergen　told　him　the　news。
“They’re　bloody　what？　he　demanded。
“They’re　flanking　us　from　the　south；　sir；”　replied　Bergen。　“Last　transmission　from　Eagle　Three
stated　the　land　was　black　with　them。　Serious　numbers；　sir。　We’re　about　to　find　ourselves　between　a
rock　and　a　hard　place。”
“By　the　blasted　Eye　of　Terror！”　raged　deViers。　“Why　now？　We’ve　just　gained　the　breach。”
“If　I　might　suggest　something；　sir；”　said　Major　General　Killian。
“Out　with　it；　Klotus；”　snapped　deViers。
“Well；　sir。　It　seems　to　me　that　the　only　place　we　can　hope　to　fight　them　and　win　would　be　Red
Gorge。　We’d　be　cutting　it　fine　in　terms　of　the　time　left　to　us；　but；　if　we　could　effect　a　retreat　to　the
canyon　just　before　the　second　ork　force　arrives；　we　could　fight　them　on　a　much　smaller　single
front。”
Rennkamp　nodded。　“Straight　out　of　the　Tactica。　Engage　a　superior　force　at　a　bottleneck。　It
would　give　us　more　control。”
DeViers　eyes　were　so　wide　and　bug…like　with　anger　that　Bergen　thought　they　might　pop　out　of
his　head。　“Retreat　to　the　canyon？　And　turn　this　whole　thing　into　a　protracted　fight？　I　suppose　you
think　we　should　just　let　the　orks　patch　their　wall　up；　too；　so　we　can　waste　time　and　resources
attacking　it　all　over　again？　You　bloody　clods！”
Killian　and　Rennkamp　each　took　a　step　backwards。　“You　can’t　mean　to　fight　it　out　on　open　land；
sir；”　said　Killian。　“It’ll　be　a　bloody　whitewash。　A　massacre。”
“I’m　afraid　I　agree　with　them　on　that　count；　sir；”　said　Bergen。　“Our　expedition　will　end　here　if
we　engage　in　a　stand　up　fight。　You　can　forget　your　place　in　the　history　books　if　that　happens。”
The　last　sentence　seemed　to　surprise　deViers。　He　looked　like　he　had　been　slapped。　He　turned　on
Bergen；　hissing；　“What　would　you　have　me　do；　Gerard？　Call　a　general　retreat？　Should　we　run　back
to　Balkar　with　our　tails　between　our　legs？　No　holy　tank？　No　glory　of　any　kind？　I’ll　die　before　I　let
that　happen。　Nothing　will　get　in　the　way　of　my　success　here。　Do　you　understand？　Do　you　all　get　it？”
Bergen　thought　he　understood　only　too　well。　Whatever　happened；　it　was　deViers’　obsession　with
glory　that　would　decide　their　fate。　For　a　long　moment；　no　one　said　anything。　It　was　a　metallic　voice
from　the　entrance　to　the　tent　that　broke　the　spell　of　silence。　Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　stood　there；　his
huge；　angular　bulk　a　dark　silhouette。　Just　beyond　him；　standing　outside　in　the　daylight；　Tech…Adepts
Armadron　and　Xephous　waited　patiently。
“There　will　be　no　retreat；”　Sennesdiar　boomed　at　them　in　Gothic。　“There　will　be　no　going　back
to　Balkan。”
Bergen　turned。
“With　respect；　magos；”　he　said。　“That　decision　rests　with　the　general。”
Sennesdiar　stooped　a　little　so　that　he　could　fully　enter　the　tent。　Then　he　moved　towards　them；
stopping　a　few　metres　away；　dominating　them　with　his　size；　causing　them　all　to　look　up　at　him。
“I　did　not　mean　to　suggest　otherwise；　gentlemen。　But　some　moments　ago；　Adept　Armadron
received　a　land…line　transmission　from　Balkar。　Our　forward　base　is　under　assault。　The　orks　have
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managed　to　breach　Balkar’s　walls。　The　garrison　commander　does　not　expert　his　forces　to　last
another　hour。”
“They　what？”　gasped　deViers。　“Balkar　is　under　siege？”
“As　are　our　bases　at　Hadron；　Karavassa　and　Tyrellis；　if　word　from　Balkar　is　to　be　believed。
Great　numbers　of　orks　have　assaulted　our　outposts　from　the　north　and　south。　It　is　clear　that　the　orks
have　found　a　way　to　communicate　effectively　over　long　range　and　are　coordinating　their　attacks。”
DeViers　looked　ready　to　fall　down。　For　all　his　rejuvenat　treatments；　he　suddenly　seemed　every
bit　the　ninety…one…year…old　man　he　was。　“Coordinated　attacks？”　he　muttered。　“By　orks？”
“I　think　our　current　dilemma　confirms　the　possibility　quite　solidly；”　said　Killian。　“The　orks　on
the　wall　called　in　fighter…bombers；　after　all。”
“Yes；”　said　Sennesdiar。　“The　attacks　are　most　certainly　coordinated。　The　question　I　wish　to　have
answered；　however；　is　what　the　good　general　intends　to　do　next。”
“We　should　go　to　Balkar’s　aid　at　once；”　said　Rennkamp。　“How　can　we　even　consider　going　on
with　our　supply　lines　interrupted？”
Bergen　shook　his　head。　“By　the　time　we　get　back　to　Balkar；　it’ll　be　too　late　to　make　a　difference
anyway。”
Killian　agreed。　“There’ll　be　no　one　left；　not　if　the　outpost　walls　have　already　been　compromised。
Damn　it　all。　All　those　medicae　personnel；　the　sick　and　wounded…”
Bergen　scowled。　He　knew　good　men　back　there；　men　who　had　been　too　sick　to　go　on；　and
women；　too。　He　didn’t　want　to　think　about　all　those　gentle　medicae　nurses　left　to　face　the　savagery
of　the　orks　without　hope　of　salvation。
“There　will　be　no　retreat；”　said　General　deViers　icily。　“Understand　that　now。”
“We　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus；”　said　Sennesdiar；　“wish　to　recommend　that　this　expeditionary
force　continues　to　push　east。　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　has　never　been　closer。　The　general’s
glorious　quest　is　still　well　within　acceptable　feasibility　parameters。”
“You’ve　got　to　be　joking；”　said　Rennkamp。　“General；　please。　I　think　Klotus　is　right。　If　we　can’t
go　back　to　Balkar；　at　the　very　least　we　need　to　fall　back　to　Red　Gorge　and　dig　in　there。　Fight　the
orks　on　our　own　terms。”
Killian　nodded　emphatically。　He　looked　at　the　magos。　“Once　we’ve　secured　the　gorge；　we　could
send　up　one　of　the　orbital　beacons　to　call　for　evacuation。”
“Absolutely　not；”　raged　General　deViers。　“Magos；　the　beacons　must　only　be　used　if　and　when
we　secure　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。　Is　that　clear？”
Bergen　studied　the　general’s　face；　thinking　how　disappointed　he　was　that　the　man　he　had　once
looked　up　to　had　become　so　self…serving　and　obsessive。　Despite　all　that；　however；　he　felt　that　the
general　was　right。　To　get　bogged　down　in　a　long…term　engagement　at　Red　Gorge　would　do　them　no
good。
“Neither　I　nor　my　adepts　have　any　intention　of　utilising　the　beacons　until　the　moment　is　right；
general。　You　may　be　assured　of　that。　You　do　not　intend　to　leave　without　your　prize。　So；　too；　it　is
with　us。　No　one　will　be　lifted　from　Golgotha　until　our　objective　is　met。”
Bergen　read　between　the　lines。　He　heard　the　unspoken　words。　At　no　time　had　the　magos　said
that　his　objectives　were　the　same　as　the　general’s；　but　whatever　the　tech…priests　wanted；　it　suited
them　to　support　deViers。　He　saw　that　fact　give　strength　to　the　general　now。　The　old　man　stood　taller；
the　years　falling　from　him　once　again。
“Every　last　damned　one　of　you；”　deViers　said。　“When　you　get　back　to　your　vehicles；　I　want　you
to　tell　our　forward　elements　to　hold　that　breach　at　all　costs。　And　get　every　other　man　and　machine
under　my　command　through　it　before　the　orks　get　here　from　the　south。　That　means　the　fuel　trucks；
the　water　trucks；　food；　supplies；　munitions；　every　last　damn　bit　of　it。　I　want　everything　we　have；
everything　we’ll　need；　through　that　breach　and　heading　east　towards　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance
before　the　ork　reinforcements　are　on　us。　Is　that　understood？”
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Rennkamp　mumbled　something　incoherent。
“I　said　is　that　understood？”　hissed　deViers。
“Understood；　sir；”　said　the　three　major　generals。
Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　didn’t　wait　to　be　dismissed。　He　turned　and　left　the　tent；　saying　nothing
more。
“You’re　mad；　sir；”　said　Rennkamp。　“You　do　realise　that？”
DeViers　looked　at　him　and　grinned。　“Mad；　Aaron？　Or　inspired？”
It’s　a　thin　line　between　the　two；　thought　Bergen。　He　felt　miserable。　He　had　known　for　a　long
time　that　deViers　would　get　them　all　killed　for　his　own　sake：　Balkar　lost；　supply　lines　cut；　every
major　outpost　they　had　won　under　siege　by　the　greenskins。　It　was　worse　even　than　he　had　imagined
it　would　be；　but　still　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　pulled　the　general　on　relentlessly；　and　with　him；　the
men　and　machines　of　the　18th　Army　Group。
“You’ll　see　that　I’m　right；　gentlemen；”　said　deViers。　“It’s　odds　like　these　that　make　legends　of
men。　We　can　still　find　Yarrick’s　tank。　It　awaits　us　not　far　from　here。　And　one　day；　all　of　the
Imperium　will　know　our　story。”
No　they　won’t；　thought　Bergen。　Because　none　of　us　will　survive　this　to　tell　it。
DeViers　dismissed　them；　and；　after　a　salute　that　lacked　any　sincerity　whatsoever；　Bergen
returned　to　his　Chimera。　The　men　of　his　division　were　still　out　there；　fighting　for　their　lives；　fighting
to　hold　the　breach　in　the　ork　wall　so　that　the　infantry　could　keep　pouring　through；　helping　to　secure
more　and　more　ground　on　the　other　side。
If　he　and　the　other　divisional　commanders　could　just　get　everyone　through　before　the　orks　from
the　south　moved　into　range；　then　maybe；　just　maybe；　they　could　run　east。　With　luck；　they　might　stay
ahead　of　the　orks　for　a　while。　They　might　even　reach　the　supposed　coordinates　of　Yarrick’s　tank。
Bergen　hoped　he　survived　that　long。　He　hoped　the　tank　was　there；　despite　his　doubts。　He　wanted
to　know　that　the　dead　had　fallen　for　something　greater　than　an　old　man’s　self…importance。
In　the　back　of　Pride　of　Caedus；　he　hit　a　toggle　on　his　vox…caster　and　opened　a　link　to　Colonel
Vinnemann。
“Armour；　this　is　Division。”
No　answer。　Bergen　felt　his　skin　crawl。
“Armour　Command；”　he　voxed；　“this　is　Divisional　Command。　Respond；　please。”
Nothing　but　static。
“Damn　it；　Vinnemann；　respond。　That’s　an　order；　you　hear？”
Words　tumbled　over　and　over　in　his　mind；　like　a　mantra：　don’t　let　it　be；　don’t　let　it　be。
Perhaps　there　was　just　something　wrong　with　the　Angel’s　vox。
Emperor；　let　it　be　that；　he　pleaded。
He　switched　channels；　contacting　Colonel　Marrenburg；　who　was　overseeing　the　artillery
companies　not　far　from　deViers’　forward　command　tent。　“Marrenburg；　can　you　get　a　visual　on
Angel　of　the　Apocalypse？　I　can’t　raise　Vinnemann　on　the　vox。”
Marrenburg　sounded　like　a　different　man　when　he　answered；　and　Bergen　realised　that　his　fears
were　well…founded。
“It　was　the　ork　bombers；　sir；”　said　the　colonel。　“The　Hydras　got　most　of　them；　but　Vinnemann’s
tank　took　too　many　direct　hits。　We　just　took　the　last　one　down；　but　not　before　it　managed　to　deliver
a　final　payload。　Not　much　left　the　Angel　of　the　Apocalypse　now；　sir。　Throne　rest　the　souls　of　all
those　who　crewed　her。”
Bergen’s　mouth　went　dry。　He　was　speechless。　He　thought　of　Vinnemann；　of　the　hunched　little
man　who　had　endured　so　much　pain；　so　much　struggle　just　to　keep　on　fighting。　Few　men　Bergen　had
ever　met　could　be　said　to　embody　the　Cadian　spirit　of　honour　and　resilience　so　well。　His　eyes　began
to　sting；　and　his　throat　felt　tight。　He　would　miss　Kochatkis　Vinnemann。　The　unrelenting　colonel　had
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gone　beyond　the　call　of　duty　long　ago。　Perhaps　now；　his　soul　would　be　reunited　with　that　of　the　wife
he　had　spent　so　long　avenging。　He　had　more　than　earned　his　peace。
The　81st　Armoured　Regiment’s　second…in…command　would　have　to　take　over。　That　was　Captain
Immrich。
Bergen　would　promote　Immrich　later…　if　he　was　still　alive。
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CHAPTER　TWENTY…ONE
Captain　Immrich　was　alive；　and　he　was　working　damned　hard　to　stay　that　way。　He　was　doing　a　fine
job　of　it；　too；　and　of　gaining　ground　as　he　led　the　tanks　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment　against　the
ork　hordes　that　swarmed　towards　them　from　almost　every　direction。
Under　Immrich’s　command；　the　Imperial　armour　kept　pushing　out　beyond　the　wall；　and　the
space　they　created　behind　them　became　filled　with　ever　greater　numbers　of　Chimeras；　halftracks；
Thirty…Sixers　full　of　troops；　and　Sentinel　walkers　that　added　the　firepower　of　their　auto…cannon　to
the　battle；　slaughtering　hundreds　of　greenskin　filth　with　great　sweeps　of　fire。
The　ground　was　a　carpet　of　smoking　metal；　big　brown　bodies　and　raw　red　meat。　Ork　carcasses
covered　every　inch　of　sand　and　rock。　The　Cadian　tanks　pulped　them　as　they　rolled　forward。　There
was　no　way　to　avoid　them。　The　bodies　were　everywhere。　Treads　of　black　iron　became　slick　and
shiny　and　red。　Only　the　filter…masks　worn　by　the　Cadians　protected　them　from　the　stench。　Without
the　masks；　it　would　have　been　impossible　to　breathe　without　vomiting。
Even　with　all　his　hatches　locked　up　tight；　Wulfe’s　nose　crinkled　in　disgust　as　the　smell　of　so
much　death　permeated　his　turret；　competing　with　the　powerful　combined　stink　of　oil；　sweat　and
fyceline。
Last　Rites　II　had　knocked　out　three　ramshackle　ork　machines　already；　and　Beans　was　swinging
the　turret　around　on　a　fourth　that　was　approaching　from　front…left；　when　Wulfe　heard　Immrich’s
voice　on　the　vox…link。　It　sounded　different；　drained；　as　if　something　had　sapped　the　life　out　of　the
man。　He　sounded　lost。　“All　units；　listen　up。　This　is　Captain　Immrich。　New　orders　from　General
deViers。　All　tanks　are　to　focus　on　carving　and　holding　a　corridor　east。　The　rest　of　the　army　group　is
coming　through　behind　us。　When　they’re　clear；　I’ll　give　the　word。　I　want　all　tanks　to　fall　in　behind
them　and　cover　the　column’s　rear。”
We’re　running　east；　thought　Wulfe。　Why　the　frak　aren’t　we　solidifying　our　position　here　first？
The　orks　will　close　in　behind　us　and　harry　our　flanks　if　we　run　now。　Does　the　general　mean　to　let
them　cut　off　our　route　back　to　Balkar？
“There’s　more；”　said　Immrich。　“I’ve　just　been　placed　in　temporary　command　of　the　regiment。
Colonel　Vinnemann…　Colonel　Vinnemann　has　gone　to　meet　the　Emperor。”
Wulfe　reeled　backwards　in　his　seat。　It　couldn’t　be　true。　It　just　couldn’t　be。　Vinnemann　was　the
regiment。　To　every　man　who　knew　him；　he　was　as　permanent　as　the　stars。　What　would　the　regiment
be　without　its　guiding　light；　its　living　symbol　of　honour　and　duty？　He　felt　the　news　hit　him　like　a
physical　blow。
The　sudden　boom　of　his　tank’s　main　gun　shook　him　back　into　himself。　The　turret　jolted。　The
smell　of　burnt　propellant　tugged　his　nose。　He　checked　the　vision　blocks　and　saw　a　heap　of　burning
black　metal　straight　ahead。　The　main　gun　was　still　pointing　directly　at　it。
Beans　whooped　with　satisfaction。　“How　many　points　do　I　get　for　a　truck　full　of　the　bastards？”
“Metzger；”　said　Wulfe；　ignoring　the　gunner’s　celebration；　“wheel　us　around　to　the　north。　We’re
to　hold　a　corridor　here　for　the　others　to　come　through。”
“Aye；　sir；”　said　Metzger；　and　the　tank　started　to　move。
“Siegler；　Beans；　keep　that　rate　of　fire　up；”　said　Wulfe。　“Armour…piercing。　Focus　on　their　armour。
Our　infantry　can　deal　with　their　foot　soldiers。”
He　hoped　that　were　true。　So　far；　they’d　given　the　orks　a　damned　hard　time　getting　anywhere　near
the　Cadian　tanks。　Every　vehicle　that　careered　towards　them　had　been　lit　up　like　fireworks　at　a
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Founding　Festival。　The　orks　were　still　coming；　though；　pouring　towards　the　breach　from　all　along
the　wall；　desperate　to　join　the　fray　where　the　fighting