Gunheads(科幻战争)-第24部分

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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　was　at　its　thickest。　As　the　Imperial　tanks
steadily　thinned　down　the　number　of　ork　machines；　the　fight　became　one　of　lighter　weapons：
lasguns；　bolters；　stubbers　and　the　like。　Wulfe　moved　automatically；　unlocking　the　hatch　of　his
cupola　without　thinking；　still　numbed　by　the　news　of　Vinnemann’s　death。　How　would　van　Droi　be
taking　it？　The　lieutenant　had　idolised　his　senior　officer。
Shock　and　numbness　bled　off　the　moment　Wulfe　poked　his　head　and　shoulders　above　the　rim　of
the　hatch。　There　was　no　time　for　them。　The　air　was　filled　with　the　noise　of　gunfire；　alien　battle…cries
and　the　screams　of　the　dying。　In　his　peripheral　vision；　Wulfe　saw　the　guns　of　the　vehicles　on　either
side　of　him　blazing　away；　cutting　down　dozens　of　heavy　brown　bodies　as　they　charged。　Distantly；　he
noted　that　one　of　the　tanks；　the　one　to　his　right；　was　an　Exterminator。　Lenck’s　machine。
Wulfe　grabbed　the　grips　of　his　heavy　stubber；　knocked　the　safety　off；　cocked　it；　and　hit　the
thumb…triggers　hard。　He　barely　needed　to　line　up。
Fire　blazed　from　the　stubber’s　muzzle。　The　recoil　shook　him；　a　deep　juddering　that　travelled
right　through　his　body。　It　was　a　satisfying　feeling。　More　satisfying　still　was　the　sight　of　a　row　of
massive　greenskin　warriors　in　iron　plate　being　literally　chewed　apart　by　his　hail　of　fire。
“Beans；”　said　Wulfe　over　the　intercom；　“if　you　don’t　have　any　armoured　targets；　get　on　the
damned　co…ax。　Put　some　autocannon　fire　on　them。　We　have　to　hold　them　here　until　the　rear　elements
get　through！”
“I’m　on　it；”　replied　Beans。　Seconds　later；　the　co…axial　autocannon　rattled　to　life。
More　orks　fell。
“Push　through；”　shouted　General　deViers　over　the　vox。　“I　want　every　last　one　of　you　through　that
damned　gap　at　once。　Don’t　look　back。”
The　orks’　flankers　from　the　south　were　closing　fast。　DeViers　had　moved　the　vulnerable
machines　ahead　—　fuel　and　water　trucks；　all　the　transports　with　their　critical　supplies　—　and
ordered　a　rearguard　of　Chimeras　to　follow；　turrets　turned　to　protect　the　flanks。　If　any　of　the　ork　light
armour　closed　before　his　rear　echelons　passed　the　breach；　the　Chimeras　would　have　to　hold　them
off。　It　was　far　from　ideal；　but　all　the　heavy　armour　was　up　front；　holding　the　corridor　eastward。
There　was　no　time　to　reshuffle　his　forces。　Together；　the　orks　behind　the　wall　and　those　from　the
south　would　try　to　smash　his　force；　like　glowing　steel　between　anvil　and　hammer。
The　general’s　Chimera；　Arrow　of　Alibris；　moved　at　the　head　of　the　racing　column；　churning　up
the　dusty　ground　towards　the　gap　that　Angel　of　the　Apocalypse　had　made。　Beside　him；　the　Chimeras
of　his　divisional　and　regimental　commanders　matched　his　speed。
We　will　make　it；　he　told　himself。　If　the　tech…priests　have　it　right；　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　isn’t
more　than　eighty　kilometres　east　of　here。　But　how　will　I　be　able　to　recover　it　with　all　the　damned
pressure　from　our　rear？　How　long　will　the　Mechanicus　need　to　send　their　damned　beacon　into　space
and　bring　down　the　lifter？
Thinking　of　the　tech…priests；　he　put　out　a　verification　call。　Were　they　still　alongside　him？　What
was　their　condition？
Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　answered　the　call　personally。　His　tinny　voice　was　disturbingly　calm。
“Worry　not；　general。　We　are　still　with　you。　But　you　must　ensure　that　our　vehicles　are　adequately
protected。　If　anything　were　to　happen　to　them；　your　mission　would　end　prematurely。　Given
atmospheric　conditions；　only　we　can　signal　the　fleet　for　evacuation。”
It　almost　sounded　like　a　threat　to　deViers；　but　that　didn’t　make　it　untrue。
“We’ve　got　a　solid　rearguard　in　place；”　answered　the　general。　“The　orks　at　our　backs　will　not
take　us；　even　if　my　men　have　to　die　to　guarantee　our　window　of　escape。　And　the　armour　ahead　is
holding　a　road　east　for　us　as　we　speak。　If　you　can　think　of　anything　I’m　forgetting；　don’t　hold　your
tongue！”
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Actually；　he　doubted　the　old　Martian　priest　still　had　a　tongue。　He　doubted　he　had　a　soul；　either。
If　only　the　damned　Mechanicus　could　have　been　kept　out　of　all　this。　No　doubt　they　would　try　to
claim　some；　if　not　all；　of　the　glory　of　the　imminent　recovery。　He　wouldn’t　let　that　happen。　He
would…
No；　Mohamar；　he　told　himself。　It　isn’t　the　time　to　think　about　that。
“General　deViers　to　all　divisional　commanders；”　he　voxed。　“Status　report。　Now！”
“Armour　in　position　and　holding　the　corridor；”　replied　Bergen。　“North　and　south　parallels
secure；　sir；　but　let’s　not　gamble　on　holding　them　any　longer　than　necessary。　We’ve　taken　losses　all
across　the　board。”
“Rennkamp　here。　I’ve　split　my　infantry　to　support　Bergen’s　armour　on　both　sides　of　the
corridor。　I’m　working　with　Killian　to　forge　east。　Forward　elements　are　pushing　away　from　the
battle。”
“Major　General　Killian？”　voxed　deViers。
“Here；　sir。　My　forward　elements　report　a　clean　run　on　the　far　side　of　the　corridor。　No　large　ork
structures　to　speak　of；　but　the　terrain　gets　rough　a　few　kilometres　out。　The　Ishawar　peaks　aren’t　far；
sir。　If　we　keep　heading　east；　we’ll　soon　be　moving　into　the　foothills。”
“That’s　exactly　where　we　want　to　go；　major　general；”　said　deViers。　“That’s　where　she　waits。”
It　took　all　Bergen’s　efforts　just　to　make　sense　of　the　constant　vox…chatter　that　sounded　in　his　ears。
The　corridor　was　holding；　but　the　rearguard　had　been　engaged　by　the　orks　from　the　south。　Their
light　armour　wasn’t　a　serious　threat；　but　he　had　seen　this　all　before。　The　orks　used　their　fast　trucks；
bikes　and　buggies　to　slow　prey　down　while　they　moved　the　heavy　stuff　up　for　the　kill。　It　wouldn’t
happen　like　that　today。　The　18th　Army　Group　couldn’t　afford　to　turn　and　fight。
DeViers　was　pushing　everything　he　had　left　into　a　desperate　dash；　but　what　the　devil　would　he
do　when　he　got　there？　Bergen　wondered。　The　orks　would　be　coming　right　along　behind　them；　right
on　their　tail。　There　would　be　a　face　off；　sooner　or　later。　It　would　be　a　straight；　stand…up　fight；　and　the
Cadians　were　looking　at　bad　odds。
Immrich　seemed　to　be　holding　up；　at　least。　Bergen　had　worried　that　the　news　of　Vinnemann’s
death　might　undo　him；　but　battle　had　a　way　of　keeping　a　man’s　priorities　in　order。　There　would　be
time　for　sorrow　and　mourning　later。　Right　now；　the　fight　for　survival　was　keeping　him　together。
Bergen’s　driver；　Meekes；　called　back　to　him　that　they　were　through　the　breach。　Bergen　would
have　known　it　anyway。　The　sound　of　battle　was　deafening。　He　moved　into　the　Chimera’s　turret　to
get　a　look　through　the　vision　blocks。　All　around　him；　he　saw　Imperial　machines　blasting　away　with
everything　they　had。　Dead　xenos　lay　in　dense　heaps　all　around；　but　every　second；　hundreds　more
clambered　over　the　corpse…mountains　to　add　their　fire　to　the　battle。　Pistol　and　stubber　fire　danced
and　ricocheted　off　the　Chimera’s　hull。　There　were　other　weapons；　too。　The　orks　seemed　to　have
developed　las　and　plasma　analogues。　Could　it　be　that　they　were　learning　from　their　battles　with　the
Guard？
“Keep　your　speed　up；”　he　told　Meekes。　“There’s　no　time　to　join　the　fight。　The　sooner　we’re
clear　and　running　for　the　hills；　the　sooner　we　can　pull　our　armour　back　in　behind　us。”　And　the
sooner　deViers　will　realise　that　this　was　a　bloody　wild　grox　chase　from　the　start；　he　thought。
He　knew　Rennkamp　and　Killian　were　thinking　the　same　thing。　All　three　men　seemed　to　have　a
silent　understanding。　DeViers　was　out　of　control。　His　ambition　had　become　an　obsession；　and　the
obsession　had　led　to　madness。　Look　where　his　haste；　his　impatience；　had　got　them：　orks　left　and
right；　orks　at　the　rear。　It　was　a　blasted　miracle　that　Exolon　had　survived　this　long。
He　saw　Vinnemann’s　tanks　—　no；　Immrich’s　tanks　—　blasting　away　for　all　they　were　worth；
great　tongues　of　flame　and　beams　of　las…fire　leaping　out　from　their　weapons。　No；　he　thought；　it’s
nothing　to　do　with　miracles。　It’s　them。　It’s　their　determination；　their　refusal　to　lie　down　and　die。
Vinnemann　lived　on　in　them。
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They　were　Cadians；　and　he　was　damned　proud　of　them　all。
“Immrich　to　all　tanks；”　voxed　the　captain。　“The　command　staff　are　clear。　Rear　echelons　are　through。
I　want　all　machines　to　fall　in　by　company。　We　run　east；　but　keep　your　turrets　covering　the　rear。
There’ll　be　more　ork　machines　coming　through　that　breach　once　we　move　off。　Keep　your　speed　up。
They’ll　be　chasing　us　all　the　way。　Let’s　make　it　as　unpleasant　as　possible　for　the　bastards。”
Wulfe　listened　carefully；　and　then　relayed　the　information　to　Metzger。　In　formation　with　the
tanks　on　either　side；　Last　Rites　II　started　rolling　again；　still　firing　as　she　went。
The　orks　on　foot　rushed　into　the　space　left　by　the　departing　Imperial　machines；　but　they　couldn’t
hope　to　match　the　speed　of　the　fleeing　armour。　Wulfe　watched　the　tide　of　brown　bodies　grow
smaller。　He　could　still　see　the　breach；　but　the　light　that　shone　through　from　the　other　side　was　cut　off
by　massive　angular　shadows；　the　first　rows　of　reinforcing　ork　armour　moving　through　to　give　chase。
They　could　only　come　through　three　abreast。　That’ll　slow　them　down；　thought　Wulfe。　If　the　top
brass　hadn’t　been　in　such　a　damned　hurry　to　move；　we　could　have　used　the　bottleneck　to　slaughter
the　filthy　sods。　What　the　hell　are　the　brass　thinking？　If　we　come　back　this　way；　we’ll　have　to　go
through　this　all　over　again。
Metzger　was　pushing　Last　Rites　II　along　at　full　speed；　tearing　up　the　ground。　There　was　nothing
orderly　about　the　retreat。　It　was　a　mad；　desperate　flight。　There　was　an　undeniable　sense　of　panic　and
disorder　about　the　whole　thing。　Wulfe　hoped　someone　knew　what　they　were　doing；　because　right
now；　he　couldn’t　see　a　good　end　to　any　of　this。
As　the　ork　wall　disappeared　behind　the　Imperial　column　in　clouds　of　dust；　smoke　and　heat…haze；
Wulfe　turned　his　attention　straight　ahead　and　saw　the　Ishawar　mountain　range　rising　above　him。
They　dominated　the　landscape；　towering　over　everything　like　dark；　glowering　gods。　The　foothills
were　much　nearer。　The　land　was　already　rising　to　meet　them。
We’re　going　up；　thought　Wulfe？
Looking　back　the　way　he’d　come；　he　saw　the　sun’s　dull　red　glow　behind　the　clouds。　It　was
barely　visible；　just　peeking　now　and　then　from　cracks　in　the　thick　cover。　Night　would　be　coming
soon。　That　would　help。　Orks　didn’t　cover　so　much　ground　at　night。　He　remembered　the　Kasrkin　he
had　met　earlier　—　the　tooth　collector　from　Stromm’s　98th　—　and　the　general　belief　that　orks　were
highly　superstitious。　Wulfe　wondered　if　that　extended　to　feelings　about　the　dark。　Mankind　had
always　held　a　special　fear　of　the　night。　It　was　a　primal　thing。　Even　now；　Throne　only　knew　how
many　millions　of　years　since　mankind’s　mastery　of　fire；　it　was　still　deeply　ingrained。　The　darkness
was　to　be　feared。　Did　the　orks　feel　something　similar？
Wulfe　dropped　down　into　the　turret　basket；　reached　up；　and　locked　the　hatch　of　his　cupola。
Sitting　in　his　command　seat；　battle　having　turned　to　flight；　he　allowed　his　exhaustion　to　finally
settle　on　him。　His　muscles　ached。　Straining　against　a　growing　stiffness；　he　lifted　a　jerrycan　from　a
rack　on　the　floor　and　took　a　mouthful　of　lukewarm　water。　Siegler　and　Beans　were　looking　at　him
expectantly。　Beans　in　particular　looked　keen　for　his　sergeant　to　speak。
Wulfe　nodded　at　them；　but　he　couldn’t　smile。　Colonel　Vinnemann　was　gone。　Things　already　felt
different。
On　the　intercom；　he　told　his　crew；　“Good　job；　you　lot。”
“Thanks；　sarge；”　replied　Beans；　but　Wulfe　sensed　he　was　waiting　for　more；　which　was　only
natural　given　the　fact　that　he　had　just　survived　his　first　front…line　engagement。　In　fact；　he　had
distinguished　himself。　Wulfe　wasn’t　in　the　mood　to　give　him　his　dues　right　now；　though。　He　felt　like
he’d　had　the　wind　knocked　out　of　him。
“Beans；”　he　said；　“you　and　Siegler　need　to　get　some　rest。　Metzger；　I’ll　cover　for　you　as　soon　as
we　get　a　chance　to　stop；　but　that　might　not　be　for　a　while　yet。　Can　you　go　on？”
“I’ve　got　a　flask　of　caffeine　that’ll　see　me　through；”　said　Metzger。　“Get　some　rest；　sarge。　Sounds
like　you　need　it。”
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Wulfe　decided　he　would　tell　them　about　Vinnemann　later。　He　would　spare　them　the　grief　for
now。
He　closed　his　eyes　and　leaned　back　against　the　inside　wall。　The　rumble　of　the　tank　rattled　his
teeth　together；　but；　after　so　many　years　of　sleeping　on　the　move；　he　was　well　used　to　it。　It　actually
seemed　to　help　him　sleep　these　days。
“Wake　me　if　something　bad　happens。”
Raising　an　eyelid；　he　checked　to　see　if　Siegler　and　Beans　were　following　his　example。　Siegler
was；　but　Beans　was　still　looking　at　his　sergeant。
“I　meant　what　I　said；　Beans；”　said　Wulfe。　“Get　some　shut…eye　while　you　can。　There’s　going　to
be　more　fighting　soon。　And　if　you　thought　today　was　bad…”
He　never　finished　the　sentence。　A　warm　darkness　embraced　him；　and　thoughts　of　battle　slipped
from　his　mind。　He　dreamed　of　a　blue　sky　and　the　green　banks　of　a　shimmering　lake。　There　were
purple　mountains　in　the　distance；　each　with　a　perfect　cap　of　white　snow；　and；　on　one　of　the　grassy
hills　at　the　foot　of　the　mountains；　he　saw　a　great　structure　of　white　marble；　a　shining　fortress。
To　Wulfe’s　eyes；　it　seemed　close；　just　a　few　hours　walking　distance；　but；　at　the　same　time；　and
with　an　inexplicable　surety　that　can　only　exist　in　dreams；　Wulfe　knew　that　the　fortress　was　much；
much　further　away　than　it　looked。
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CHAPTER　TWENTY…TWO
“Then　where　the　frakking　hell　is　it？”　raged　General　deViers。
A　blood…red　dawn　found　the　general　and　his　beleaguered　forces　in　a　dry；　rocky　valley　between
the　foothills　of　the　Ishawar　Mountains。　It　was　a　scene　that　held　the　eye　and　boggled　the　mind。　Here；
at　long　last；　was　the　reported　resting　place　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance；　at　least；　so　the　Adeptus
Mechanicus　had　told　the　Munitorum。　General　deViers　had　pinned　all　his　hopes　on　it。
But　there　was　no　sign　of　Yarrick’s　tank。　In　fact　there　was　no　sign　that　it　had　ever　been　here　at
all。
The　valley　was　two　kilometres　long；　curving　away　to　the　north…east　where　its　floor　gradually
rose　to　meet　the　mountain　slopes。　The　hills　between　which　it　nestled　were　of　loose　orange　sand　and
darker　orange　rock；　but　much　of　the　land　was　covered　by　rusting　metal；　for　it　was　here　that　a　great
battle　had　once　been　fought。　Yarrick’s　forces　had　passed　through　these　foothills；　hounded　by
Ghazghkull　Thraka’s　hordes　from　the　north。　It　was　here　that　the　Imperial　troops　had　truly　foundered；
sandwiched　between　their　pursuers　and　a　well…equipped　secondary　ork　force　that　came　up　from　the
southeast　in　a　pincer　movement。　Thraka　had　surprised　Yarrick　and　wreaked　havoc　on　his　army；
fielding　some　of　the　greatest　monstrosities　available　to　any　ork　commander；　massive　avatars　of　war
to　rival　in　power　and　stature　the　mighty　Titans　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。
For　the　sake　of　target　identification；　the　Officio　Strategos　tagged　these　towering　creations
Gargants。　Similar　designs　of　a　lighter　class　had　been　code…named　Stompers。　They　looked　much　the
same　but　for　the　difference　in　size。　There　were　reports　of　Gargants　as　tall　as　the　greatest　machines　of
the　Legio　Titanicus。　They　were　as　tall　as　the　orks　could　make　them：　massive　effigies　of　their　savage
gods；　dressed　for　war　in　great　skirts　of　the　thickest　armour　plating　the　greenskins　could　find。　Clouds
of　toxic　gas　and　steam　vented　from　them　with　every　lumbering；　earth…shaking　step；　and　they　were
typically　armed　with　more　weapons　than　was　practical。
More　often　than　not；　their　arms　were　comprised　of　cannon　of　outrageous　calibre；　all　grouped
together　so　that　they　might　launch　volleys　of　devastating　shells　at　a　single　target。　Atop　each　giant
body　sat　a　control　deck　in　the　shape　of　a　monstrous　metal　head。　The　orks　designed　these　to　look
much　like　themselves；　they　had　red　eyes；　albeit　glowing　ones　made　up　of　sensors；　and　jutting　metal
jaws　that　thrust　forward；　providing　a　parapet　for　the　insane　infantry　that　manned　the　gun　positions
there。　Each　shoulder　was　a　firing　platform　bearing　everything　from　artillery　pieces　to　mortars　and
fixed　stubber　positions。　Nothing　else　in　the　ork　arsenal　embodied　their　enthusiasm　for　war　like　these
oversized　abominations。
It　was　the　wreckage　of　one　of　these　Gargants　that　told　General　deViers　he　was　looking　in　the
right　place。
The　Gargant　was　practically　skeletal。　Over　the　years　since　Yarrick　had　managed　to　fell　it；　ork
bands　had　come；　stripping　away　everything　they　could　use　from　its　mighty　carcass。　They　took　the
weapons。　They　took　the　armour　plates。　All　that　lay　before　deViers　and　his　forces　was　a　rusting
frame　that　barely　hinted　at　the　terror　of　the　original　machine。
Other；　smaller　machines　lay　all　around　it；　also　half　buried　in　the　sand；　also　looted。　They　were
mostly　dreadnoughts；　much　smaller　than　a　Stomper；　but　deadly　enough　in　their　own　right。　There
were　signs　that　Imperial　Titans　had　fought　here；　too。　The　wreckage　of　their　mighty　guns　lay　halfburied
in　the　hillsides。　The　valley　had　seen　a　great　battle；　so　great；　in　fact；　that　few　living　beings　had
walked　away　from　it；　and　few　machines　had　survived　it　intact。
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It　was　here　that　Yarrick　had　lost　his　Baneblade　and　his　freedom。　It　was　here　that　the　greenskin
warlord　Ghazghkull　Thraka　finally　captured　his　nemesis；　though　he　released　him　soon　afterwards　so
that　he　would　have　a　worthy　opponent　for　his　second　war　on　Armageddon。
“Someone　answer　me；”　demanded　deViers。　He　was　standing　halfway　up　the　left　hillside；
scanning　the　valley　desperately；　and　the　air　of　panic　he　exuded　was　palpable。　Bergen　stood　close　by；
shaking　his　head。
I　knew　it；　he　thought。　He　wasn’t　gloating。　His　feeling　was　one　of　resignation。　Here　was　the　proof
that　his　doubts　had　been　justified　all　along。　There　was　no　need　to　feel　guilty　for　harbouring　such
scepticism。　He　had　been　right；　but　he　had　truly　wanted　to　be　wrong。　The　current　question　was　this：
what　would　Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　do　now？　The　ancient　tech…priest　must　have　known　all　along
that　the　whole　expedition　would　eventually　come　to　this。　He　must　have　known　he’d　have　to　answer
for　the　missing　Baneblade　eventually。
General　deViers　was　thinking　about　the　tech…priests；　too。　“Get　the　damned　cogboys　over　here。　I
want　a　bloody　explanation。　And　don’t　let　the　men　stop　searching。　I　want　to　know　the　moment
anyone　finds　anything；　absolutely　anything　at　all。”
Bergen　looked　out　over　the　opposite　slope。　The　day　was　still　new；　but　the　air　was　already　warm。
There　was　no　breeze；　not　yet　anyway。　Looking　westwards；　he　gazed　along　the　row　of　tanks　and
transports　that　sat　waiting　patiently　for　their　orders。　The　tank　crews　were　out；　stretching　their　legs
after　a　long　hard　run　from　the　orks。　The　Sentinels　were　up　on　the　high　ground；　keeping　watch　on　the
gullies　below。　The　greenskins　couldn’t　be　far　off。　The　hours　of　pitch　darkness　might　have　slowed
them　down　a　little；　but　Bergen　knew　it　was　a　temporary　reprieve。　The　orks　wanted　to　fight。
What　would　deViers　do；　Bergen　wondered？　Would　he　have　Exolon　make　a　stand？　Or　would　he
urge　them　on？　Where　was　there　left　to　go　after　this？
“You　called；　general；”　said　a　mechanical　voice　from　Bergen’s　right。　He　turned　his　head　to　see
the　three　senior　tech…priests　drift　forward；　red　robes　rippling　around　them　as　they　moved。　“May　we
assume　that　your　men　have　found　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance？　I　shall　launch　an　orbital　beacon　as
soon　as　I　have