Gunheads(科幻战争)-第30部分

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majority　of　which　seemed　to　be　skulls　or　faces。
There　were　towers　placed　all　around　the　perimeter；　too；　unsteady…looking　frameworks　of　iron
and　steel　that　rose　as　high　as　any　of　the　mountainous　junk　heaps。　Atop　each　of　these；　Bergen　saw
observation　posts　boasting　pintle…mounted　heavy　weapons。　They　were　manned　by　members　of　the
smaller；　skinnier　greenskin　slave　caste。　They　were　hideous；　chittering　things；　known　to　the　soldiers
of　the　Imperial　Guard　as　gretchin　—　relatively　ore　capable　of　aiming　a
gun　than　their　bigger　kin。
“What　in　the　name　of　Terra　is　that　for？”　asked　Colonel　Graves。　“There；　on　the　north　side。　Is　that
a　cage？”
Bergen　panned　left　and　saw　the　structure　Graves　was　talking　about。　It　certainly　looked　like　a
cage；　but　it　stood　well　over　fifty　metres　tall。　What　in　the　warp　had　it　been　built　to　contain？　The　bars
were　thicker　than　an　average　steel　girder。　There　was　no　sign　of　life　inside；　but　the　sight　of　great　piles
of　reddish…brown　dung　left　Bergen　with　a　distinct　sinking　feeling。　He　thought　he　knew　the　kind　of
creature　such　a　cage　might　have　been　built　for。　If　they　were　lucky；　the　empty　cage　meant　it　was
already　dead。　If　they　were　unlucky；　it　was　out　on　patrol　somewhere；　perhaps　on　the　far　rim　of　the
crater。
He　saw　dozens　of　smaller　pens　around　the　cage；　filled　with　the　vicious…looking　ovoid　creatures
that　orks　were　known　to　eat。　These　were　called　squigs。　Just　over　a　decade　ago　on　Phaegos　II；　Bergen
had　witnessed　them　being　fired　into　the　midst　of　a　Mordian　infantry　regiment　via　a　kind　of　crude　ork
catapult　device。　It　was　one　of　the　strangest　tactics　he　had　ever　seen　the　greenskins　use。　Strange；　but
effective。　The　result　of　such　voracious　and　aggressive　creatures　landing　smack　in　the　middle　of
tightly　packed　troops　was　absolute　panic　as　the　squigs　attacked　everything　they　could　get　their
razor…like　teeth　into。　His　tanks；　moving　up　in　support　of　the　Mordians；　had　destroyed　the　catapults；
but　not　before　a　good　many　men　had　died。
“That’s　a　lot　of　armour　they’ve　got　sitting　around；”　said　Captain　Immrich。　“And　they’ve　plenty
of　light　vehicles；　too。　They’ll　give　your　infantry　something　extra　to　worry　about；　colonel。”
Graves　grunted　something　by　way　of　reply。　Bergen　didn’t　catch　it。
Immrich　was　a　few　metres　away　on　Bergen’s　left。　He　seemed　to　be　managing　well　in　his　new
position　as　leader　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment；　but　Bergen　had　been　a　little　stunned　at　the
physical　change　in　him。　He　looked　a　lot　less　robust　than　Bergen　could　ever　remember　him　being。
Then　again；　they　all　did。　Bergen　had　studiously　avoided　looking　in　a　mirror　recently。　The　reddish
tinge　of　his　flesh　was　warning　enough　that　Golgotha　was　taking　its　dreadful　toll。
As　Immrich　had　pointed　out；　ork　vehicles　were　everywhere。　Bikes　and　buggies　roared　back　and
forth　as　if　their　drivers　were　engaged　in　some　kind　of　game。　They　hooted　and　hollered；　and　their
passengers　lashed　out　with　hammers　and　blades　every　time　they　came　within　a　few　metres　of　each
other。　Bergen　saw　one　ork　beheaded　in　such　a　pass。　The　others　howled　with　laughter　as　its　lifeless
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body　tumbled　from　the　back　of　the　buggy　it　had　been　riding。　Seconds　later；　a　trio　of　bikes　ran
straight　over　the　corpse。
Mad　savages；　thought　Bergen；　but　his　revulsion　was　nothing　to　the　apprehension　he　felt　as　he
panned　his　gaze　over　the　disorganised　ranks　of　the　greenskin　armour。　There　were　literally　hundreds
of　tanks；　halftracks；　APCs；　artillery　pieces；　dreadnought　walkers　and　more。　Each　looked　just　as
likely　to　fall　apart　as　to　put　up　any　kind　of　fight；　but　Bergen　wasn’t　fooled。　Ork　machinery　could　be
deceptively　effective。　Whichever　Eye…blasted　warboss　ruled　here；　he　was　certainly　well　equipped。
“I’ve　seen　enough；”　said　a　sharp；　clipped　voice。
Bergen　heard　shuffling　to　his　left　and　lowered　his　magnoculars。　General　deViers　was　moving
backwards　down　the　slope。　When　he　was　below　the　ridgeline；　he　rose　to　his　feet　and　dusted　himself
off。
“The　scouts　say　there　is　no　other　way　forward；”　he　said；　addressing　them　all　at　once。　“We’ll
have　to　wipe　them　out。　We’ll　need　time　to　search　all　those　mountains　of　scrap　for　The　Fortress　of
Arrogance。”
Other　officers　had　begun　shuffling　backwards　down　the　slope。　Many　of　them　stopped　at　his
words　and　turned　to　gape　at　him。　Judging　by　the　look　on　Colonel　von　Holden’s　face　the　man　was
just　about　ready　to　explode；　but　Pruscht；　who　had　always　seemed　such　a　pragmatic　and　level…headed
officer；　beat　him　to　it。
“You　can’t　be　serious；　sir；”　he　hissed。　“In　the　name　of　Terra；　think　of　the　numbers。　It’ll　be　a
massacre　and　we’ll　be　on　the　wrong　side　of　it；　mark　you。”
DeViers　looked　around；　eyes　suddenly　hard；　and　Bergen　had　the　distinct　impression　he　was
searching　for　a　commissar。　Fortunately；　they　had　been　left　to　watch　over　the　troopers　while　the
senior　officers　moved　up　to　observe。
“It　will　be　massacre；”　the　general　snapped。　“A　massacre　of　orks。　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　must
be　out　there。　Any　coward　who　turns　from　our　glorious　path　will　be　shot　dead。　There　will　be　no　trials。
Our　very　fingertips　brush　the　prize。　Today；　we　seize　it。”
Emboldened　by　the　dismayed　looks　of　the　others；　Colonel　Meyers　of　the　303rd　Skellas　Rifles
added　his　voice　to　the　protest。　“But　there’s　no　evidence　that—”
The　crack　of　a　bolt　pistol　cut　his　sentence　short。　His　skull　detonated；　spraying　Colonels
Brismund　and　von　Holden　with　a　fine　shower　of　gore。
“In　the　name　of　Terra！”　exclaimed　Colonel　Marrenburg；　turning　suddenly　pale。
“That　man　was　a　senior　officer！”　gasped　Major　General　Killian。
“Sir；”　hissed　Major　General　Rennkamp；　“are　you　trying　to　get　us　all　killed？　If　the　orks　heard　that
shot…”
DeViers’　voice　was　utterly　level。　He　eyed　each　of　the　men　before　him。　“Does　anyone　else　wish
to　meet　the　Emperor’s　judgement　as　a　coward　and　a　traitor？　If　so；　step　forward。”
No　one　moved。
“Our　mission　has　but　one　goal；”　he　continued。　“All　else　is　irrelevant。　Whether　we　live　or　die；
gentlemen；　we　will　ensure　that　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　is　taken　from　the　orks　and　turned　over　to
the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。　Yarrick　will　have　his　tank　back；　and　our　expedition　will　be　forever
remembered　in　the　proud　annals　of　the　Imperial　Guard。　As　you　have　just　witnessed；　I　will　kill　any
man　who　stands　in　the　way　of　that；　for　he　is　an　enemy　of　the　Emperor　and　no　true　son　of　Cadia。”
Those　last　words　struck　out　at　the　officers　like　a　lash。　Bergen　saw　von　Holden　physically
steadying　himself　against　their　impact。　They　affected　the　speaker；　however；　in　quite　a　different　way。
As　he　finished　his　pronouncement；　the　general　stood　noticeably　taller　and　prouder；　his　chest
expanding　until　Bergen　thought　the　buttons　of　his　tunic　might　actually　fly　off。
The　mad　old　bastard　had　really　lost　it；　now。
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The　other　officers　were　frozen。　No　one　else　dared　speak。　No　one；　that　is；　except　the　tall；　hooded
figure　who　approached　from　the　bottom　of　the　slope；　his　fluttering　robes　as　red　as　the　rocks　on
which　he　trod。
As　red　as　blood；　thought　Bergen；　eyes　narrowing。
Magos　Sennesdiar’s　toneless　voice　seemed　to　echo　from　the　near　hillsides　as　he　said；　“A　rousing
speech；　general。　And　I　believe　you　will　soon　fulfil　your　destiny。　My　adepts　have　just　completed
consultations　with　the　spirits　of　our　auspex　scanners。　We　have　every　reason　to　believe　that　the　tank
you　seek　is　indeed　located　in　the　ork　base　up　ahead。　It　is　time　for　you　to　earn　your　place　in　history；
and　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　stands　ready　to　offer　our　support。”
His　hopes　confirmed；　a　broad　grin　spread　across　the　general’s　face；　creasing　the　skin　around　his
eyes。　Bergen；　however；　saw　all　too　clearly　that　the　old　fool　was　being　manipulated。　His　desperation；
his　need　to　leave　some　mark　on　the　Imperium；　had　made　him　a　willing　pawn　of　greater　forces。
Perhaps　it　wasn’t　entirely　his　fault。　He　had　been　great　once；　before　the　disaster　on　Palmeros　had
unhinged　him。　Most　men；　men　of　the　aristocracy　in　particular；　sought　to　leave　something　behind；
though　in　the　main　this　was　achieved　by　the　continuation　of　their　bloodlines。　DeViers　had　been
denied　that　path　to　immortality；　so　he’d　found　another。
The　poet　Michelos　had　said　something　about　fools　writing　history　in　the　blood　of　better　men；　but
Bergen　couldn’t　remember　the　exact　words。
Suddenly；　Magos　Sennesdiar　turned　his　head　southwards。　Something　had　caught　his　attention。
“We　must　move　at　once；”　he　said。　“Quickly。　Back　to　the　vehicles。　We　have　to　hurry。”　Though
his　vocaliser　couldn’t　convey　a　sense　of　urgency　through　tone；　his　words　were　adequate　to　the　task。
Everyone　turned　to　face　the　same　direction。
“What　do　you　hear？”　demanded　Rennkamp；　but　the　magos　didn’t　need　to　answer。　The　officers
could　hear　it　for　themselves　now；　the　roar　of　an　engine　getting　louder　all　the　time　until　it　was　almost
deafening。
“Above　us；”　shouted　Colonel　von　Holden　over　the　noise。
Bergen　looked　up　just　in　time　to　see　a　chunky；　snub…nosed　jet　fighter　scream　past　them　only　a
few　dozen　metres　above　the　ridge　line。　It　was　painted　red　with　some　kind　of　shark’s　tooth　pattern
around　the　air　intake　at　the　front。　There　were　rocket…pods　and　bombs　fixed　to　the　pylons　under　its
wings。　For　the　very　briefest　instant；　Bergen　thought　he　saw　the　leering　face　of　the　pilot；　a　hideous
goggled　ork　with　slavering；　tusk…filled　jaws。
“Move！”　shouted　deViers；　and　everyone　broke　into　a　sliding　run　that　carried　them　to　the　bottom
of　the　slope　in　a　torrent　of　rolling　rocks　and　dust。
The　pilot　must　have　reported　their　presence　over　some　kind　of　greenskin　vox　device　because；
from　the　ork　settlement　at　the　centre　of　the　crater；　the　thunder　of　war　drums　began。
The　Cadians’　chance　to　properly　plan　an　assault　was　gone。　Any　advantage　was　lost。　The　beasts
were　already　spilling　out　to　meet　them。
It　was　time　to　kill　or　be　killed。
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CHAPTER　THIRTY
They　clashed　halfway　towards　the　ork　settlement　with　a　violence　that　shattered　iron　and　bone。
Things　descended　into　madness　almost　immediately。　There　was　no　cover。　It　was　open　ground　all　the
way　in。　The　Cadians　dropped　hundreds　of　the　foe　at　range；　their　Basilisk　artillery　pieces　taking　a
terrible　toll　from　about　five　kilometres　back；　but　the　orks　had　numbers　to　spare。　They　were　a
roaring；　seething　storm　front　of　blades　and　guns；　tusks　and　muscle；　and　they　had　gone　a　long　time
without　a　fight。　At　last；　war　had　returned　to　Golgotha。　The　greenskins　roared　and　laughed　as　longrange
fighting　quickly　gave　way　to　mutual　slaughter　at　close…quarters；　and　the　bloodletting　began　in
earnest。
Sheet　lighting　began　to　flash　regularly　in　the　sky　above；　almost　as　if　the　excitement　of　the　orks
was　somehow　charging　the　atmosphere。
Leman　Russ　Exterminators　and　Conquerors；　Chimera　APCs　and　Heracles　halftracks　all　pushed
in　to　support　the　out…muscled　Cadian　infantry　with　sheets　of　blistering　fire；　opening　temporary　gaps
that　allowed　the　footsloggers　to　employ　their　lasguns　briefly　before　the　enemy　surged　forward　again；
trampling　the　bodies　of　the　dead。　Sentinels　stalked　the　far　left　and　right　flanks　charged　with
preventing　the　fast；　light　ork　bikes　and　buggies　from　circling　around　the　main　force　and　striking
from　the　rear。　Their　autocannon　blazed；　spewing　brass　casings　on　the　sand。　Those　sections　of　the
battlefield　soon　became　littered　with　smoking　machines　from　both　sides。
In　the　centre；　the　air　burned　and　throbbed；　filled　with　scorching　las…　and　plasma…fire。　Solid
rounds　whipped　and　whined　in　every　direction。　Streams　of　liquid　flame　turned　men　and　orks　alike
into　roasted　black　marionettes　that　fell　as　if　their　strings　had　been　cut。　Shelling　from　both　sides　made
the　floor　of　the　crater　shake　as　if　it　might　give　way　any　second　and　plunge　everyone　into　a　sea　of
orange　magma。
Outside　the　buttoned…up　turret　of　Last　Rites　II；　the　world　had　descended　into　deafening；　dustchoked
mayhem。
Lesser　men　might　have　lost　their　minds　in　the　face　of　such　ferocity；　for　nothing　could　match　the
savagery；　the　gleeful　brutality；　of　the　orks。　Cadians；　however；　were　not　lesser　men。　They　were　born
and　bred　for　war。　This　was　their　duty；　and　Wulfe　was　not　afraid。　His　years　of　training　and
experience　took　over　from　the　start；　moving　to　the　fore　of　his　consciousness。　His　senses　felt　sharper；
his　movements　faster　and　more　assured；　and　his　scar　was　itching；　a　reminder　of　all　the　hate　he
carried　within　him。
Whether　or　not　he　died　today；　he　intended　to　take　a　heavy　toll　on　the　race　that　had　killed　so
many　of　the　men　he’d　known。
He　heard　van　Droi　on　the　vox。　“Take　it　to　them；　Gunheads。　Show　those　bastards　what　it　means
to　unleash　the　Emperor’s　wrath！”
FOOM！
The　sound　of　cannon　fire　cut　across　everything　else　as　the　Cadian　tanks　loosed　round　after　round
into　the　melee。
Beans　stamped　his　foot　trigger　and　added　to　the　fusillade。
Major　General　Bergen　had　ordered　all　the　regiment’s　Vanquishers；　standard　Leman　Russ；
Executioners　and　Destroyers　to　race　straight　forward　through　the　xenos　lines；　guns　blazing；　with　the
objective　of　knocking　out　the　enemy　armour　and　artillery　pieces　lined　up　on　the　settlement’s　western
edge。　From　there；　they　could　wheel　around　and　strike　at　the　orks’　rear。
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It　wouldn’t　be　easy。　They　were　already　drawing　massive　amounts　of　fire。　Ploughing　straight
through　the　ork　horde　would　put　them　at　even　greater　risk；　but　the　long…guns　had　to　be　taken　out　if
the　infantry　were　to　push　forward。　There　was　simply　no　other　way。
Bergen　thumbed　the　trigger　of　his　autocannon；　strafing　the　orks　from　the　turret　of　Pride　of　Caedus；
sending　a　row　of　them　to　the　ground　as　lifeless　heaps。　All　around　him；　the　men　of　the　71st　Caedus
Infantry　fought　like　rabid　dogs。　They　were　inspiring；　even　as　their　numbers　dropped　lower　and
lower。　They　made　him　proud。　He　was　doing　his　best　to　support　them；　as　was　their　commander；
Colonel　Graves；　but　if　Immrich’s　tanks　couldn’t　gain　the　advantage　soon；　all　would　be　lost。　General
deViers’　holy　quest　would　end　here。
The　general　was　raging　over　the　vox　at　anyone　and　everyone　who　was　listening；　demanding　that
they　gain　ground　and　break　the　ork　charge。　Bergen　might　normally　have　cursed　him　or　ignored　him；
but　not　this　time。　This　time；　the　old　man　was　right　in　among　them；　in　the　eye　of　the　storm；　pouring
out　a　hailstorm　of　multi…laser　fire　from　the　turret　of　his　own　Chimera。　No　one；　he　had　insisted；　could
sit　this　one　out。　The　odds　were　too　great；　and　too　much　was　riding　on　victory。
That　suited　Bergen。　He　figured　it　was　about　time　the　mad　old　bastard　got　his　hands　dirty。
From　left　to　right；　the　battlefield　was　a　sea　of　monstrous　brown　bodies　clad　in　black　iron　plate。
Gaudily　painted　dreadnoughts　waddled　alongside　them；　almost　comical　in　their　clumsy　movements。
There　was　nothing　comical；　though；　in　the　torrents　of　death　they　spewed　from　hip…mounted　stubbers
and　flame…throwers。　Cadians　went　down　in　great　screaming　lines；　their　bodies　cooked　or　ripped　to
pieces　by　sprays　of　heavy　enfilading　fire。
The　8th　Mechanised　Division　and　12th　Heavy　Infantry　Divisions　were　pressing　the　enemy　from
the　north…　in　and　forcing　them　to　fight　on　three　fronts。
The　10th　Armoured　Division　had　the　middle　ground。　In　terms　of　strategy；　it　was　hardly　elegant；　but
there　hadn’t　been　time　for　much　else。
Van　Droi　heard　Captain　Immrich　cutting　across　the　10th　Company　command　channel　with　a
priority　message。　“Immrich　to　spearhead。　Drive　straight　over　their　infantry。　Crush　them　under　you。
Once　you’re　through；　I　want　you　to　light　up　that　damned　artillery。　Destroyers；　focus　on　their　tanks。
Everyone　else；　targets　of　opportunity。　We　can　make　all　the　difference　here。　Do　it　for　Vinnemann！”
For　Vinnemann；　thought　van　Droi　resolutely。　Throne；　yes！
Foe…Breaker　bounced　and　shook　as　she　rolled　over　scores　of　screaming　greenskins；　pulping　their
meaty　bodies　under　her　treads。　They　turned　on　each　other　to　get　out　of　her　way；　hacking　in　fevered
panic　at　the　backs　of　their　kin；　but　they　were　too　slow。　More　fell　with　every　metre　she　gained。　In　her
wake；　the　sand　became　a　blood…sodden　bog。
Something　slapped　the　turret　hard；　ringing　the　tank　like　a　bell。　The　loader；　Waller；　cried　out；
“We’re　hit。”
“Damage　report；”　van　Droi　called　back。
“No　breach；　no　breach；”　reported　Bullseye　Dietz。　“Anybody　hurt？　Any　spalling？”
They　had　been　lucky。　Looking　through　the　vision　blocks；　van　Droi　saw　a　spiral　trail　of　smoke
hanging　in　the　air　between　his　tank　and　a　rusty…looking　dreadnought　that　was　clanking　its　way
towards　him　kicking　ork　infantry　from　its　path。　A　rocket　had　struck　Foe…Breaker’s　gun　mantlet；
detonating　with　enough　power　to　give　the　crew　a　nasty　headache；　but　little　else。　Without　needing　to
be　told；　Dietz　traversed　the　turret　and　lined　her　up。
“Brace！”　he　shouted。
Foe…Breaker　rocked。　Her　turret　basket　filled　with　stinking　smoke。　The　dreadnought　seemed
frozen　in　time　for　a　split　second。　A　melon…sized　black　hole　had　appeared　in　its　armour；　transfixing　it。
Then　it　exploded　outwards　in　a　burst　of　white　fire；　raining　debris　on　the　howling　orks　around　its　feet。
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“Keep　pushing　her；　Nails；”　said　van　Droi　to　his　driver。　“If　we　let　them　slow　us　down；　we’re　done
for。”
Orks　were　clamouring　at　her　hull　as　she　rolled　on；　hacking　futilely　at　her　armoured　sides　with
their　big　chipped　blades。　Another　rocket　arced　in　and　smacked　the　hull。　Van　Droi　saw　a　different
dreadnought；　this　one　almost　twice　as　big　as　the　last。
“Damn　it；　Bullseye；”　he　called　to　his　gunner。　“Take　that　bastard　out。”
“I　can　only　shoot　one　at　a　time；　sir；”　snapped　Dietz；　but　he　stamped　on　the　floor　trigger　a　second
later。　The　breech　slid　back；　dumping　an　empty　brass　shell　casing。　The　dreadnought　had　its　right　leg
blown　off。　It　fell　forward　and　landed　on　its　face；　bladed　arms　wheeling　frantically；　dicing　ork　foot
soldiers　on　either　side。
“Nice　shot；”　said　van　Droi。　He　scanned　the　battlefield　for　the　rest　of　his　company。　It　was　hard　to
see　anything。　Dark；　billowing　smoke　rose　everywhere　and　the　horde　was　still　pressing　towards　him
on　every　side。　Blades　clanged　relentlessly　on　the　hull。
“Foe…Breaker　to　all　Gunheads；”　voxed　van　Droi。　“Call　in。”　Three　of　his　tank　commanders
responded。　One　did　not。
“Van　Droi　to　Holtz；　respond。”　Still　nothing。
“Old　Smashbones；　respond。”
Van　Droi　knew　Wulfe　would　be　listening。　They　all　knew　what　that　silence　would　mean：　another
veteran　dead。　If　van　Droi　had　just　let　him　stay　on　Wulfe’s　crew…
No；　there　was　no　use　in　thinking　like　that。　A　man　could　go　mad　on　what　ifs。
Go　with　the　Emperor；　corporal；　van　Droi　thought。　From　the　looks　of　it；　the　rest　of　us　will　be
following　you　soon。　I　don’t　think　anyone　will　be　left　to　grieve；　but　we’ll　hurt　the　bastards　on　the
way　out。　I　promise　you　that。
“Nails；”　he　yelled　over　the　intercom。　“We　need　more　speed；　damn　it。　Give　her　all　she’s　got。
Let’s　get　our　treads　bloody！”
Pressing　in　on　the　orks　from　the　south；　the　infantrymen　of　the　303rd　Skellas　Rifles　fought　valiantly
without　Colonel　Meyers。　The　word　was　that　he　had　been　shot　for　cowardice。　The　remains　of　his
regiment　—　some　four　hundred　and　sixty　men　—　set　out　to　prove　that　they　were　made　of　sterner
stuff。　They　achieved　exactly　that；　though　there　was　little　opportunity　for　anyone　near　them　to　truly
notice　in　the　dust…choked　maelstrom　of　battle。
Under　their　newly　appointed　commander；　Major　Gehrer；　who　led　from　the　very　front；　waving
the　regimental　banner　in　one　hand　and　brandishing　a　bloodstained　cha