Gunheads(科幻战争)-第9部分

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trigger。　Just　a　few　more　seconds。
He　revelled　in　the　rush　of　hot　desert　air　as　it　whipped　at　his　collar。　Adrenaline　surged　through
him；　familiar　and　welcome。　Two　and　a　half　decades　of　this；　with　combat　experience　spanning　a
dozen　contested　worlds；　and　still　it　thrilled　him　like　nothing　else　ever　could。　He　would　never　tire　of
it；　never。
In　lethal　range；　he　pulled　the　heavy　bolter’s　trigger　back　and　loosed　a　flood　of　explosive　shells。
The　noise　was　deafening；　even　with　his　ear…protectors　firmly　in　place。　The　recoil　was　wicked；　too；
despite　much　of　it　being　absorbed　by　the　pintle…mount。　The　gun　kicked　hard　in　his　hands；　pouring
spent　cartridges　from　its　ejector　like　brass　rain。
He　strafed　the　orks　in　front　of　him　as　their　return　fire　danced　and　sparked　on　the　thick　front
armour　of　his　tank。　Dozens　were　struck；　bolts　punching　deep　into　meaty　bodies　before　detonating　a
fraction　of　a　second　later　with　sickening；　yet　satisfying　effect。
All　along　the　line；　his　tank　commanders　were　doing　the　same；　manning　the　heavy　stubbers　and
bolters　that　graced　the　lip　of　each　cupola。　Those　few　tanks　with　sponson…mounted　weapons
chattered　and　blazed　even　louder　than　the　others。　Hull…mounted　weapons；　too；　spat　deadly　torrents
into　the　enemy　force；　leaving　the　orks　nowhere　to　run　to　escape　the　slaughter。
Van　Droi　didn’t　shout　or　growl　or　laugh　madly　like　some　men　did　while　they　fired　on　the　foe。
That　was　for　youngsters　and　fools；　in　his　opinion。　Instead；　he　let　go　of　everything；　losing　his　sense
of　self；　becoming　part　of　a　kind　of　gestalt　entity　that　encompassed　the　tank　and　her　entire　crew。　The
fighting　always　seemed　to　go　so　smoothly　when　this　happened；　as　if　each　man　instinctively　knew
what　needed　to　be　done　without　having　to　ask。　The　mark　of　a　good　crew；　he　thought。　No。　An
exceptional　one。
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A　sudden　crackle　of　static　on　his　intercom　yanked　van　Droi　from　his　almost　trance…like　state。
The　gruff　voice　of　his　loader　sounded　in　his　ear。　“Vox…panel’s　flashing　down　here；　sir。　Looks　like
you’ve　got　a　call　coming　in　from　one　of　the　footsloggers。”
Van　Droi　picked　off　a　few　more　of　the　orks　nearest　Foe…Breaker　and　dropped　down　into　the
turret。　As　he　checked　the　board；　he　told　Dietz；　“Hostiles　closing　on　our　two。　Get　the　co…ax　on　them。”
Then；　he　switched　from　intercom　to　vox；　and　said；　“This　is　Lieutenant　Gossefried　van　Droi；　81st
Armoured　Regiment；　10th　Company。　Go　ahead。”
The　voice　that　came　back　had　the　sharp　ring　of　the　Cadian　upper　ranks；　but　it　sounded　tired　and
more　than　a　little　desperate；　too。　“This　is　Colonel　Stromm　of　the　98th　Mechanised　Infantry
Regiment。　Can　you　hear　me；　van　Droi？”
“I　can；　sir。”
“Emperor　bless　your　armoured　arse；　man！　You　and　your　men　got　here　just　in　the　nick　of　time。
Bought　us　a　bit　of　space　to　fight　back；　but　not　much。　I’ve　lost　a　lot　of　troopers；　and　it’s　far　from—”
He　cut　off　mid…sentence　to　issue　orders　to　his　men。　Van　Droi　could　hear　the　sounds　of　intense
fighting　from　the　other　end。　It　sounded　all　too　close　to　the　colonel’s　position。
“Van　Droi；　are　you　still　there？”　asked　the　gasping　colonel　a　moment　later。
“Yes；　sir。　What’s　your　status？　I　have　a　squadron　flanking　the　orks　from　the　rear　and　two
engaging　from　your　left；　but　you’ll　need　to　hold　out　a　bit　longer。　I　can’t　risk　firing　any　closer　to　your
position。　It　looked　like　one　of　our　earlier　salvoes　was　close　enough　to　shave　you。”
“I　needed　a　shave　anyway；”　said　Stromm。　“But　listen；　it’s　touch…and…go　here。　The　loss　of　their
artillery　turned　their　heads；　as　did　your　arrival；　and　we　made　them　pay。　They’re　fighting　on　two
fronts；　and　that　has　split　their　forces；　but　there　are　still　plenty　of　them　hell…bent　on　bloodying　us　up
in　a　bit　of　hand…to…hand。　I　don’t　need　to　tell　you　how　long　we’re　likely　to　last　at　that　range。　They
grow　the　bastards　tough　on　Golgotha；　and　our　backs　are　to　the　wall；　literally。　Short　of　moving　inside
what’s　left　of　the　drop…ship　hull；　there’s　nowhere　else　for　us　to　go；　and　I’ve　no　intention　of　getting
trapped　in　there。　It’s　suicide。　If　there’s　any　chance　you　can　create　a　corridor　for　us；　I　have　a　few
platoons　of　Kasrkin　that　might　be　able　to　hold　it　open　long　enough　to　facilitate　our　escape。”
Van　Droi　nodded　as　he　listened。　“You’ll　have　your　corridor；　sir。　I’ll　send　one　of　my　squadrons
up　flush　with　the　drop…ship。　They’ll　cut　a　path　in　towards　you。　Keep　your　men　back　until　the　last
moment。　There’ll　be　plenty　of　lead　in　the　air；　you　understand。”
“The　more　the　better；”　replied　Stromm。　Grunting　and　shouting　almost　drowned　out　his　words。
Chilling　ork　battle　cries　could　be　heard　clearly　in　the　background　and；　despite　the　security　of　his
tank；　van　Droi　felt　his　blood　run　cold。　He　knew　he　had　to　order　Wulfe’s　tanks　forward　at　once。
Sword　Squadron　fielded　the　company’s　only　Leman　Russ　Exterminator；　New　Champion　of　Cerbera。
She　would　be　best　suited　for　the　job。
“As　soon　as　you　can；　van　Droi；”　Stromm　added。　“The　Emperor　protects。　Stromm；　out。”
Van　Droi　immediately　switched　back　over　to　the　company　command　channel　and　said；
“Command　to　Sword　Leader。　Respond；　Wulfe。”
“Sword　Leader　to　Command；”　Sergeant　Wulfe　voxed　back。　“Go　ahead；　sir。”
Van　Droi　could　hear　the　drumming　of　a　heavy　stubber　between　the　sergeant’s　words。
“Listen　up；　Wulfe；”　he　said。　“I　have　friendlies　in　urgent　need　of　an　escape　corridor。　I　want　the
New　Champion　on　it。　Understood？　Move　your　squad　up　and　cut　a　path　flush　with　the　ship’s　hull。　Let
the　wreck　cover　the　footsloggers’　backs。　Carve　them　a　path　to　safety。　Colonel　Stromm　has　the　vox；
F…channel；　band　six。”
There　was　only　the　briefest　pause　before　Wulfe　responded　—　“Wulfe　to　Company　Command。
Sove。”　—　but　van　Droi　could　read　into　it　easily　enough。
Wulfe　was　probably　cursing。　New　Champion　of　Cerbera　was　Corporal　Lenck’s　machine。
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“Let’s　take　it　to　them；”　Wulfe　told　his　crew　over　the　intercom。　“Metzger；　get　her　in　close；　three
hundred　metres；　a　hull…down　position　if　you　can　find　one。　Expect　plenty　of　fire。”　Last　Rites　II
gunned　forward；　churning　up　the　desert　under　her　treads；　throwing　waves　of　sand　up　behind　her。
Wulfe　dropped　down　into　the　turret　to　switch　vox　channels。　Once　he　had　opened　the　link　to　his
squadron；　he　said；　“Sword　Leader　to　One　and　Two。　Orders　from　van　Droi。　We’re　going　in。　New
Champion；　move　up　on　my　right　and　open　a　corridor　for　the　infantry。　Cut　a　path　in　line　with　the
wreckage　so　their　backs　are　covered。　And　try　not　to　hit　the　friendlies；　Lenck。　Last　Rites　II　and
Frontline　Crusader　will　give　supporting　fire　centre　and　left。　Frontline　Crusader；　stop　parallel　with
me；　fifty　metre　spacing。　Hammer　Squadron　will　be　supporting　us　from　the　rear。　Confirm。”
Corporal　Siemens　came　back　first。　“Frontline　Crusader　confirms；　sergeant。　Moving　up　to　cover
your　left。　The　Emperor　protects。”
“The　Emperor　protects；”　Wulfe　replied　automatically。
“New　Champion　confirms；”　reported　Lenck　a　moment　later。　“Watch　and　learn；　sergeant。”
“Stow　the　backchat；　corporal；”　Wulfe　spat　back。　“Just　do　your　job。”　He　had　seen　enough　of
Lenck　during　training　exercises　in　the　massive　holds　of　the　Hand　of　Radiance　to　know　that　he　was
good　—　far　better；　in　fact；　than　could　be　expected　given　his　level　of　combat　experience　—　but　Wulfe
wasn’t　about　to　let　Lenck　know　that。　The　man　was　already　infuriatingly　cocky。
With　Last　Rites　II　just　edging　in　front；　the　three　tanks　of　Sword　Squadron　closed　with　the
charging　orks。　Wulfe　scrambled　back　up　into　his　cupola　and　grasped　the　twin　grips　of　his　heavy
stubber。　Looking　out　at　the　wall　of　roaring　brown　bodies　that　surged　towards　him；　he　realised　that　he
barely　needed　to　aim。　Anywhere　he　fired；　he　was　sure　hit　something。　Hardly　pausing　to　line　up
along　the　weapon’s　iron　sights；　he　pressed　his　thumbs　down　hard　on　the　gun’s　butterfly　trigger。
There　was　a　deafening　rattle　as　the　stubber　unloaded　on　the　alien　horde；　cutting　dozens　of　them　to
pieces。　It　was　a　strange；　darkly　comical　sight；　one　that　Wulfe　had　witnessed　before。　The　bulky　alien
savages　appeared　to　dance　a　deathly　jig　as　they　were　literally　chewed　apart　by　the　hail　of　lead。
Corporal　Metzger　stopped　Last　Rites　II　just　behind　a　shallow　dune；　not　much　protection；　but
better　than　none。　It　would　keep　the　tank’s　vulnerable　underside　covered　while　the　hull　armour　took
the　brunt　of　the　enemy　fire。　Then　Metzger　manned　the　hull…mounted　heavy　bolter；　adding　his　fire　to
Wulfe’s；　devastating　the　press　of　enemies　that　were　desperately　trying　to　close　the　gap　so　they　could
swarm　the　tank’s　hatches。
At　this　range；　Wulfe　could　see　their　grotesque　faces　all　too　clearly；　reminding　him　of　so　many
other　greenskins　he　had　faced　over　the　years。　Some　men　said　they　all　looked　the　same；　but　Wulfe
knew　better。　One　face　in　particular　was　burned　into　his　brain：　the　wart…covered；　lopsided　face　of　the
ork　that　had　given　him　the　scar　on　his　throat。　The　old　scar　was　itching　like　crazy；　as　it　always　did
when　he　was　under　pressure。　Though　the　Golgothan　orks　were　similar　enough　to　their　distant　kin　to
dredge　up　unwelcome　memories；　they　were　different；　too。　They　were　brown　for　a　start；　discoloured；
he　imagined；　by　the　red　dust　to　which　they　had　been　exposed　for　so　many　years。　They　were　also
leaner　and　harder　than　any　he　had　seen　before；　their　muscles　rippling　like　steel　cables。　Golgotha　had
made　its　mark　on　them。　It　had　shaped　them。　Toughened　them。
Wulfe　stole　a　glance　to　left　and　right；　and　saw　that　Frontline　Crusader　and　New　Champion　of
Cerbera　had　halted　in　formation；　adding　their　lethal　firepower　to　the　slaughter。　The　toll　on　the　orks
was　mind…boggling；　and　a　number　of　the　smallest　turned　and　tried　to　break　from　the　fight。　These　few
began　struggling　against　the　tide　pressing　at　their　backs；　eager　to　escape　the　sweeping　arcs　of　fire
that　were　killing　so　many　of　their　foul　kin。　It　was　hopeless；　of　course。　Wulfe　swept　his　barrel　from
left　to　right；　cutting　them　down　without　mercy。
Suffer　not　the　alien　to　live。
Down　in　the　turret；　Corporal　Holtz　didn’t　need　Wulfe　to　tell　him　what　to　do。　He　had　plenty　of
experience　to　guide　him。　Last　Rites　II；　like　so　many　other　Leman　Russ　tanks；　boasted　a　co…axial
autocannon　that　could　chew　infantry　and　light　armour　apart　with　ease；　allowing　the　gunner　to　spare
the　precious；　limited　ammunition　of　the　main　gun。　Holtz　employed　the　co…ax　now；　traversing　the
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turret　slowly　in　a　ninety…degree　arc；　firing　relentlessly；　covering　the　sand　in　lifeless　alien　debris。　On
the　other　side　of　the　turret　basket；　Siegler　was　pulling　a　fresh　ammunition　belt　from　a　stowage　box。
With　its　incredible　rate　of　fire；　Wulfe’s　heavy　stubber　would　need　reloading　in　a　matter　of　seconds。
“Don’t　waste　any　time；　Lenck；”　Wulfe　voxed　to　the　New　Champion。　“Cut　that　corridor。　Those
men　can’t　last　much　longer。”
“I’m　on　it；　sergeant；”　Lenck　snapped　back。
Sure　enough；　Wulfe　saw　the　Exterminator’s　turret…mounted　heavy　bolters　blaze　into　life；
stitching　a　bloody　path　straight　through　the　foe。　They　made　one　hell　of　a　mess；　a　kill　for　almost
every　hit　scored。
Wulfe　felt　someone　tap　his　shin　twice。　He　tore　his　eyes　from　the　bloodbath；　dropped　his　hand
down　into　the　turret；　and　accepted　the　ammunition　belt　that　Siegler　was　feeding　up　to　him。　Ork　slugs
rattled　and　spanged　from　the　turret　armour　all　around　him；　sending　showers　of　sparks　into　the　air。
Wulfe　ducked　down；　staying　as　low　as　possible　without　abandoning　his　cupola　altogether。
“Sort　those　bastards　out；　Holtz！”　he　yelled　over　the　intercom。　“I’m　taking　an　awful　lot　of　fire　up
here！”
“If　I　could　just　use　the　main　gun；　sarge；”　Holtz　argued。
“Well　you　can’t！”　barked　Wulfe。　“No　high　explosives。　We’re　too　near　the　bloody　footsloggers。”
Wordlessly；　Holtz　traversed　the　turret　again；　using　the　autocannon　to　pour　out　another　lethal　hail
that　bought　Wulfe　the　time　he　needed　to　reload。　With　quick；　practised　hands；　Wulfe　re…threaded　the
belt　into　the　heavy　stubber；　yanked　hard　on　the　cocking　lever；　and　was　about　to　resume　firing　when
something　huge　and　dark　leapt　high　into　the　air　on　a　trail　of　blue　fire；　curved　straight　towards　him；
and　landed　with　a　heavy　clang　on　top　of　his　turret。　Just　a　metre　closer　and　Wulfe　would　have　been
fatally　crushed　under　the　heavy　body　of　a　monstrous；　mad…eyed　brute　with　a　smoking　red　rocket
strapped　to　its　back。　It　was　some　kind　of　insane　greenskin　assault　trooper！
Wulfe　and　the　ork　looked　at　each　other　for　the　briefest　instant；　blue　eye　locked　to　red；　and　Wulfe
knew　that　it　was　over。　The　ork’s　rusty　cleaver　was　already　in　the　air；　poised　at　the　start　of　a
sweeping　downward　stroke　that　would　hack　him　apart。　His　heavy　stubber　couldn’t　help　him。　The
ork　had　one　massive　foot　on　either　side　of　the　barrel。
Oh；　frak；　thought　Wulfe。
A　tidal　surge　of　adrenaline　slowed　time　to　a　crawl　and　blocked　out　everything　but　the　enormous
figure　of　the　monster　that　was　about　to　end　his　life。　Wulfe　didn’t　hear　the　burst　of　fire　from　his　right。
He　didn’t　hear　his　name　being　called　over　the　vox。　But　he　saw　the　ork’s　weapon　hand　disintegrate　in
a　bloody　mist；　followed　almost　immediately　by　its　massive；　razor…toothed　head。　It　burst　like　a　rotten
fruit；　and　he　felt　the　monster’s　foul　blood　spray　over　his　face　and　fatigues　like　hot　rain。
The　creature’s　heavy　blade　clattered　against　the　turret　armour　as　it　fell。　Then　the　headless　body
followed　it；　falling　backwards；　slipping　over　the　tank’s　track　guards　to　the　red　sand　below。
Wulfe　didn’t　move　for　another　second；　confused　that　he　was　somehow　still　alive。　He　didn’t
register　the　ork　shells　that　were　whining　past　his　head。
There　was　something　powerfully　salty　on　his　lips；　and　the　foul　taste　of　it　snapped　him　back　to
his　senses。　It　was　ork　blood。　He　wiped　it　off　with　his　sleeve　and　turned。　Looking　to　the　right；　he　saw
Corporal　Lenck　standing　in　the　cupola　of　the　New　Champion；　his　heavy　stubber　still　pointed　in
Wulfe’s　direction。
For　just　the　briefest　moment；　Wulfe　felt　absolutely　sure　that　Lenck　was　about　to　shoot　him。
There　was　a　look　of　utter　triumph　in　the　arrogant　corporal’s　eyes。　He　could　end　Wulfe’s　life　with　the
merest　pressure　of　thumb　on　trigger。
But　the　lethal　impacts　never　came。　After　a　tense　second；　Lenck　laughed；　turned　his　stubber　back
on　the　orks　and　continued　firing。　He　looked　sickeningly　pleased　with　himself。
By　the　frakking　Eye；　Wulfe　cursed。　Now　I’m　in　his　debt。　Damn　it　all！　Why　did　it　have　to　be
Lenck？
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His　eyes　followed　the　line　of　Lenck’s　tracers　and　he　saw　that　the　New　Champion　had　cut　a　deep；
broad　path　in　the　ork　ranks；　deep　enough　and　wide　enough　to　make　all　the　difference　to　Stromm　and
his　men。　The　orks　were　pushing　away　from　the　crashed　drop…ship；　eager　to　avoid　being　slaughtered
under　the　torrent　of　explosive　munitions　and　autocannon　fire。　They　left　hundreds　of　their　dead
behind　them　in　great　heaps　of　reeking　meat。　Wulfe　looked　beyond　the　piled　bodies　and　saw
Stromm’s　infantrymen　fighting　valiantly　with　their　backs　to　the　crashed　ship’s　hull。　Not　smart；　he
thought；　to　get　yourself　grounded　like　that　without　an　exit　strategy。　It　was　only　by　sheer　luck；　or
perhaps　the　machinations　of　the　Divine　Emperor；　that　the　Gunheads　had　found　Stromm’s　lot　in　time。
If　Lieutenant　van　Droi　had　picked　up　the　colonel’s　faint　vox…transmissions　any　later；　the　Gunheads
would　have　found　only　dead　men　and　scavengers。
Wulfe　had　said　it　before；　and　he　said　it　to　himself　again　now；　he　wouldn’t　have　been　a
footslogger　for　all　the　gold　on　Agripinaa。　What　kind　of　madness　made　men　march　to　battle　without
at　least　a　hundred　millimetres　of　solid　armour　between　them　and　the　foe？　Little　wonder　that　the　life
of　an　infantryman　was　so　short。　One　way　or　another；　most　died　within　their　first　six　months　of
combat　duty。　The　average　for　tankers　was　almost　double。　He　knew　some　men　resented　that；　but　it
was　tanks　and　their　crews　that　drew　most　fire　on　the　battlefield。
Through　the　veils　of　churning　smoke　and　dust；　Wulfe　spotted　a　man　that　could　only　have　been
Colonel　Stromm。　His　poise；　his　movements；　everything　about　him　radiated　strength　and　leadership。
He　and　the　men　immediately　around　him　were　fighting　desperately　against　those　orks　that　were　still
pressing　in　from　the　far　side；　protected　from　the　tank　fire　by　the　very　men　they　were　so　eager　to　kill。
At　a　glance；　Wulfe　judged　that　there　wasn’t　much　more　than　a　company’s　worth　of　men　left
standing：　two　hundred；　maybe　three。　The　number　was　dropping　even　as　he　watched。　The　orks　kept
up　a　constant　pressure；　clambering　over　banks　of　their　dead　to　fire　clumsily…made　pistols　and
stubbers；　or　to　charge　forward　with　blades　raised　high。　The　sand　under　the　carpet　of　dead　men　and
orks　had　turned　into　a　blood…sodden　quagmire。
Wulfe　dropped　down　into　the　turret　and　nudged　the　vox…selector　switch　to　F　channel；　band　six。
“Colonel　Stromm；”　he　voxed；　“you　have　your　corridor；　but　it　won’t　hold　for　long。”
Stromm　didn’t　waste　time　offering　thanks。　Instead；　he　answered；　“Understood；　armour。　We’ll
make　our　push。　Give　us　all　the　cover　you　can。　Stromm；　out。”
Wulfe　contacted　Lenck　and　Siemens　briefly　and　passed　this　on。　For　an　instant；　he　considered
thanking　Lenck；　but　he　couldn’t　forget　the　look　in　the　man’s　eyes。　He　decided　that　they　would　talk
about　it　later；　providing　they　both　lived　through　this。　He　scrambled　back　up　into　his　cupola；　intent　on
doing　whatever　he　could　to　help　Stromm’s　men。　He　sa　troopers
moving　out　from　the　colonel’s　side；　swiftly　taking　up　positions　that　would　allow　them　to　hold　the
passage　open　for　as　long　as　possible。　They　moved　as　one；　firing　clean；　disciplined　hellgun　bursts　for
maximum　effect；　and　Wulfe　found　he　was　profoundly　impressed。　The　Kasrkin　were　a　special　breed。
He　wondered　what　it　took　to　remain　so　cool…headed；　surrounded　by　all　that　death　and　horror；　by
alien　savages　that　outweighed　you　three　or　four　times。　He　marvelled　at　their　calm　efficiency。
Like　tankers；　the　Kasrkin　drew　a　certain　level　of　resentment　from　standard　infantrymen。　They
received　special　training　and　superior　kit；　and　commanders　tended　not　to　waste　them　in　wars　of
attrition　when　there　were　other　options　available。　Right　now；　however；　that　training　and　equipment
was　being　employed　to　save　lives。
Wulfe　wondered　how　any　soldier　could　resent　that。
With　the　corridor　momentarily　secured；　the　remnants　of　the　embattled　infantry　began　pouring
out；　desperately　making　for　the　cover　of　Sword　Squadron’s　tanks。　As　they　ran；　some　stopped　and
turned；　dropping　to　one　knee　to　fire　back　at　the　pursuing　orks。　When　the　men　behind　had　overtaken
them；　they　rose　again　and　ran　while　someone　else　covered　the　rear。　It　was　as　well…executed　a
staggered　retreat　as　Wulfe　had　seen。
While　Sword　Squadron’s　secondary　weapons　continued　to　blaze　and　stutter；　helping　to　hold　the
orks　at　bay；　Wulfe　saw　Colonel　Stromm　run　down　the　centre　of　the　corridor；　a　wiry…looking　comms50
officer　at　his　side。　The　comms…officer　was　carrying　a　regimental　banner　of　bright　crimson　and　gold
that　rippled　and　waved　above　his　head　as　he　ran。　It　might　have　been　glorious　but　for　all　the　bullet
holes　in　it。　Wulfe　noticed；　too；　that　Stromm’s　right　arm　had　been　strapped　to　his　body。　It　was
probably　broken；　and　yet　he　moved　towards　the　tanks　with　as　much　speed　as　any　of　the　others；
slowing　only　to　turn　and　fire　blazing　hellpistol　shots　back　at　his　howling　pursuers。
With　men　pouring　out；　racing　to　the　relative　safety　behind　the　tanks；　it　wa