Death World(科幻战争)-第1部分

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《Death　World（科幻战争）》
作者：＇英＇Steve　Lyons【完结】



Synopsis　（英文书籍文案）　

A　squad　of　Catachan　Jungle　Fighters　is　sent　to　the　deathworld　of　Rogar　III　in　response　to　an　ork　incursion。　But；　as　well　as　dealing　with　the　orks；　they　must　do　battle　the　planet　itself　…　not　to　the　mention　the　mysterious　figures　that　stalk　them　across　the　deadly　terrain。
The　troops　go　to　war　in　the　Gothic　battle…barges　of　the　Empire。　They　deal　with　the　inept　and　sometimes　corrupt　Imperium　commanders。　Horror　exists　at　every　turn……from　the　dangers　of　the　corrupting　warp　to　the　attack　of　zombies　in　the　night。




CHAPTER　ONE
As　soon　as　he　woke；　Trooper　Lorenzo　knew　there　was　something　wrong。
He　rolled　to　his　feet；　simultaneously　drawing　his　fang。　He　crouched　in　silence；　in　the　dark；　ready
to　drive　half　a　metre　of　Catachan　steel　into　the　heart　of　any　man　or　beast　that　thought　it　could　sneak
up　on　him。
But　Lorenzo　was　alone。
He　turned　on　the　light；　suppressing　a　prickling；　creeping　feeling　as　he　realised　again　just　how
close　the　walls　of　his　basic　cabin　were。　And　beyond　those　walls…
Lorenzo’s　bed　was　undisturbed：　he　preferred　the　floor；　though　even　this　was　too　flat　for　his
liking。　He　could　feel　the　beginnings　of　a　stiff　neck。　All　the　same；　he　had　slept　for　almost　five　hours。
Longer　than　usual。　Warp　space　did　that　to　him。　Out　there；　beyond　the　adamantium　shell　of　the　ship
that　carried　him；　there　was　nothing。　But　the　warp　itself　distorted　space　and　time；　and　that　played　hell
with　Lorenzo’s　instincts—and　his　body　clock。
His　brain　itched。　He　was　tired；　but　he　knew　he　wouldn’t　sleep　again　now。　He　cursed　his
weakness。　His　tiredness　would　make　him　less　alert。　In　the　jungle；　it　could　mean　the　difference
between　life　and　death。
Lorenzo　was　safe　here；　in　theory。　No　enemies　of　the　Imperium　lurked　in　the　shadows。　No
predators　to　sneak　up　on　him　as　he　slept；　unguarded。　Only　the　warp　itself　to　worry　about；　and　the
possibility　that　it　might　capriciously　tear　the　ship　and　its　occupants　apart—and　there　was　nothing　he
could　do　about　that　if　it　happened。　Nothing　anyone　could　do。
They　said　no　one　but　the　Navigators　could　look　into　the　warp。　They　said　it　would　drive　a　normal
man　insane。　Still；　Lorenzo　wished　he　could　take　that　chance。　He　wished　the　ship　had　windows；　so　he
could　face　his　enemy　and；　perhaps；　begin　to　understand　it　as　the　Navigators　did。
Lorenzo　had　been　in　the　thick　of　a　space　battle　once。　He　had　sat　inside　a　cabin　like　this　one；
gripping　the　side　of　an　acceleration　couch　as　he　rode　out　the　Shockwaves　of　near　misses　and
glancing　blows；　his　knuckles　white；　his　life；　his　destiny；　in　the　hands　of　a　ship’s　captain　and　his
gunners—and　of　the　Emperor；　of　course。　He　had　hated　that　feeling　of　helplessness。　He　had　prayed
for　the　attackers　to　board　the　ship；　so　he　could　have　met　them　face　to　face。　When　Lorenzo　died；　he
wanted　the　comfort　of　knowing　he　had　fought　his　best　against　a　superior　foe—and　if　he　had　his　way；
that　foe　would　be　no　mere　space　pirate　or　ork；　but　something　more　worthy　of　his　origins　and
training。
When　Lorenzo　died；　he　wanted　to　be　able　to　salute　his　killer；　and　be　buried　in　its　soil。
He　splashed　a　handful　of　water　on　his　face；　and　ran　a　hand　through　his　tangled　black　hair。　He
threw　on　his　camouflage　jacket；　though　it　would　be　useless　against　the　greys　and　whites　of　the　ship’s
interior。　He　re…sheathed　his　knife；　and　was　comforted　by　its　weight　against　his　leg；　his　Catachan
fang　was　a　part　of　him；　as　much　as　his　limbs　were。　As　unlikely　as　it　was　that　an　attack　would　come；
he　had　learned　always　to　be　prepared。　It　was　when　you　allowed　yourself　to　get　comfortable　that
death　could　strike　unexpectedly。
Somewhere　on　this　ship；　he　was　sure　that　other　members　of　the　company　would　be　awake。　He
could　probably　find　a　card　game。
Lorenzo’s　booted　feet　rang　against　the　metal　floor　as　he　left　his　cabin；　tinny　echoes　returning　to
his　ears。　The　air　was　recycled；　stale；　and　it　didn’t　carry　sounds　in　the　way　that　fresh　air　did。　The
artificial　gravity　e　as　that　of　any　planet　he’d　visited。　And　it　was　quiet—so
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deathly　quiet。　There　were　none　of　the　sounds　of　nature　to　which　Lorenzo　was　attuned；　the　subtle
clues　that　mapped　out　his　surroundings　for　him　and　warned　when　danger　approached。　Instead；　there
was　only　the　faint　throb　of　engines；　the　vibrations　reverberating　through　the　hull　so　their　origin　was
untraceable。
There　was　something　wrong…
Everything　was　wrong。　Man　wasn’t　meant　to　exist　in　this　unnatural　environment。　None　of　its
signs　could　be　trusted；　and　this　made　Lorenzo　uneasy。　If　he　couldn’t　rely　on　his　own　instincts；　what
could　he　rely　on？　“Fear　not　the　creatures　of　the　jungle　but　those　that　lurk　within　your　head。”　The　old
Catachan　proverb　came　to　him　unbidden　and　he　thanked　the　Emperor　that　his　company　had　its　next
assignment。　They　were　already　on　their　way　to　a　new　world；　a　fresh　challenge。
He　didn’t　know　the　details　yet。　Still；　he　had　no　doubt　of　one　thing。　Soon—within　days；　he
hoped—his　squad　would　be　fighting　their　way　across　hostile　terrain　and　through　hostile　creatures；
beset　by　threats　from　all　directions。　It　was　likely　some　of　them　would　die。　He　would　be　in　his
element　again；　his　destiny　returned　to　his　own　hands。
He　ached　for　that　moment。
It　was　early　afternoon；　ship　time；　when　Colonel　“Stone　Face”　Graves　summoned　his　Third　Company
of　the　Catachan　XIV　Regiment　to　the　briefing　room。
The　men　of　four　platoons；　their　bandoliers　slung　across　their　backs；　crowded　into　the　small　area。
Four　platoons；　comprising　twenty…two　squads—including　two　squads　of　Catachan　Devils；　who
stood　near　the　front　and　around　whom　even　the　most　hardened　veterans　left　a　respectful　space。　Then
there　were　the　hulking；　low…browed　ogryns；　included　in　the　briefing　as　a　courtesy　though　they　would
most　likely　understand　only　half　of　what　was　said。　So　long　as　they　were　pointed　towards　the　enemy
and　permitted　to　rend　and　maim；　they　would　be　happy。
Lorenzo　felt　comforted　by　the　presence　of　so　many　compatriots—by　the　press　of　their　bodies
and　the　natural；　earthy　odours　of　dirt　and　sweat。
“Listen　up；　you　soft…skinned　losers；”　barked　the　colonel。　A　howl　of　good…natured　protest　rose
from　the　assembled　company；　but　Graves’　chiselled　features　remained　harsh　and　rigid。　“Naval
Command　think　you　lot　have　had　it　easy　too　long；　and　I　agree　with　them。　I　begged　them：　‘No　more
milk　runs。　I　want　no　less　than　the　dirtiest；　most　dangerous　job　you’ve　got。　I　won’t　have　my　Jungle
Fighters　turning　into　fat；　lazy　sons　of　acid　grubs　who　wouldn’t　lift　a　hand　to　scratch　their　own
arses！’　So；　ladies；　last　chance　to　pamper　yourselves　in　your　luxury　quarters—because　as　of　this
evening；　you’ll　be　working　for　your　keep。”
This　pronouncement　was　met　by　a　rousing　cheer。
“Planetfall　at　19。00　hours；”　the　colonel　continued；　his　voice　loud　and　clear　across　the　tumult
though　he’d　made　no　effort　to　raise　it。　“Anyone　not　in　full　kit　and　waiting　at　the　airlocks　by　18。30
finds　himself　on　punishment　detail　for　a　month！”
“Yes；　sir！”　came　the　answering　swell　from　the　crowd。
“Colonel；”　someone　yelled　from　the　back。　Lorenzo　recognised　the　voice　of　“Hotshot”　Woods；
from　his　own　squad。　“You　serious？　Is　this　going　to　be　a　real　challenge　for　us　this　time？”
“You　idlers　ever　hear　of　Rogar　III？”　growled　Graves。　“It’s　a　jungle　world；　out　in　the　back　of
beyond。　Explorators　found　it　a　couple　of　years　ago；　decided　it　was　right　for　colonising　and　stripmining。
Just　one　problem：　They’d　been　beaten　to　it。　That’s　why　they　called　on　us。　We　have
Guardsmen　down　there　fighting　orks　for　the　past　year　and　a　half；　but　they’re　starting　to　find　it　tough
going。”
Lorenzo　joined　in　the　collective　jeers　of　mock　sympathy。
“They’re　crying　out　for　someone　to　hold　their　hands；”　added　Graves；　to　a　roar　of　laughter。　“You
see；　seems　Rogar　wasn’t　the　walk　in　the　park　they　thought　it’d　be。　Three　weeks　ago；　in　response　to
reports　from　the　front；　the　planet　was　re…categorised　as　no　longer　suitable　for　colonisation…”　He　left
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a　long　pause　there；　but　every　man　present　knew　what　was　coming；　and　anticipation　hung　heavy　in
the　recycled　air。
“…on　account　of　it　being　classified　as　a　deathworld！”　concluded　the　sergeant—and　this　time；　the
cheer　went　on　much　longer　and　louder。
“It’s　a　crock；　that’s　what　it　is。”
Lorenzo　was　sharing　a　mess　hall　table　with　four　other　members　of　his　squad。　He　looked　down　at
his　bowl　gloomily；　and　let　a　dollop　of　over…processed　grey　mulch　slide　from　his　spoon。　Another
thing　he　hated：　Imperial　Guard　rations。　If　he’d　been　planetside；　he’d　have　found　something—some
herb　or　spice—to　make　them　more　palatable。　Or　someone　would　have　hunted　down　some
indigenous　beast；　and　his　squad　would　have　feasted　on　meat。
Lorenzo　considered　not　eating　at　all　until　he　had　made　planetfall。　But　on　top　of　his　disturbed
sleep　patterns；　the　last　thing　he　needed　was　to　let　his　energy　levels　dip。　He　gathered　another
spoonful；　thrust　it　into　his　mouth　and　tried　to　swallow　without　tasting　it。
“Stone　Face　got　it　right；”　continued　Sergeant　“Old　Hardhead”　Greiss　in　his　gravelly　voice。　“This
is　just　another　wet…nursing　mission　for　a　bunch　of　city　boys　who　got　in　over　their　heads。　You　tell
me；　how　can　a　planet　go　from　being　colony　material　one　day　to　deathworld　the　next？　It　can’t
happen！”
“I　don’t　know；　sergeant；”　said　Brains　Donovits；　his　thick　black　eyebrows　beetling　as　his　brow
furrowed。　“I’ve　been　keeping　an　eye　on　the　comms　traffic；　and　the　latest　report　from　the　commissars
on　the　ground　makes　for　pretty　interesting　reading。　They’ve　had　some　real　problems　out　there。”
“Yeah；”　put　in　Hotshot　Woods；　his　blue　eyes　sparkling　as　he　suppressed　a　grin；　“and　you　know
Command　wouldn’t　send　us　in　without　good　reason；　sergeant。　They　know　what　they’re　doing。”
Greiss　shot　the　young　trooper　a　stern　glare　through　narrowed　eyes。　It　only　lasted　a　second；
though；　before　he　dropped　the　pretence　and　let　out　a　bark　of　laughter；　slapping　Woods　amiably　on
the　back。
“It’ll　be　the　same　old　story；”　grumbled　the　grizzled　sergeant　as　his　good　humour　subsided。
“Things　not　going　too　well　at　the　front；　orks　getting　too　close　to　Command　HQ　for　the　top　brass’
liking。　The　next　thing　you　know；　some　officer’s　been　stung　by　a　bloodwasp　or　got　himself　a　nettle
rash；　or…　or…”
“Got　his　foot　tangled　in　a　poison　creeper；”　suggested　Steel　Toe　Dougan　in　his　usual　laid…back
tone。
“Suddenly；　he’s　screaming　‘Deathworld！’”
“There　has　also　been　some　mention。”　Donovits　continued　undeterred；　“of　abnormalities　in　Rogar
III’s　planetary　readings。　The　Adeptus　Mechanicus　went　in　to　investigate；　but　found　nothing。　Nothing
but　orks；　anyhow。”
“Ah；　listen　to　Brains；”　scoffed　Greiss。　“Never　happy　“less　he’s　got　his　nose　in　some　report　or
other。”
Donovits　shrugged。　“It　pays　to　be　forewarned；　sergeant。”
“And　since　when　did　Navy　reports　tell　you　anything　worth　reading？　The　only　place　you　get　to
know　your　enemy；　trooper；　is　down　there　on　its　surface；　in　the　thick　of　the　jungle。　Man　against
nature。”
Lorenzo　felt　something　stirring　in　his　chest　at　Greiss’　words。　He’d　been　feeling　less　edgy　since
they’d　dropped　out　of　the　warp　into　real　space；　for　the　final　approach　to　their　destination；　but　still　he
longed　to　escape　this　prison。　It　was　almost　worse；　knowing　that　release　was　so　close。　Time　seemed
to　have　slowed　down　for　him。　Lorenzo　knew　the　others　were　restless；　too；　chafing　for　action。　He
didn’t　know　if　they　shared　his　sense　of　unease；　if　the　warp　had　affected　them　as　it　had　him；　and　he
wouldn’t　ask。　There　were　some　things　you　didn’t　talk　about。
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“I　don’t　know；　sergeant；”　said　Woods。　“There　were　times　on　that　last　world　I　wished　I　had
stayed　curled　up　on　a　bedroll　with　a　good　book。　Might　have　made　for　more　thrills；　if　you　know　what
I　mean。”
“Got　a　point　there；　Hotshot；”　laughed　Greiss。　“I　could　almost　have　felt　sorry　for　them…　what
were　they　called？”
“Rhinoceraptors；”　prompted　Donovits。
“Yeah；　right。　Few　frag　grenades　under　their　hide　plates；　and　boom！　Didn’t　know　what’d　hit
them。　A　couple　o”　squads　could’ve　taken　out　the　lot　of　’em。　Hell；　Marbo　could　probably　have　done
it　on　his　own。”
“He　wouldn’t　have　thanked　us　for　wasting　his　time；　though。”
“You’re　right　there；　Hotshot。”
“Of　course；”　said　Dougan；　quietly；　“they　did　get　Bryznowski。”
Greiss　sighed。　“Yes。　They　did　get　Bryznowski。　Heard　we　lost　a　few　of　the　ogryns；　too。”
“And　that　rookie　from　Bulldog’s　squad；”　said　Dougan；　easing　himself　back　in　his　chair　so　he
could　stretch　out　his　bionic　leg。　It　had　taken　a　hit　a　couple　of　worlds　ago；　and　now　it　had　a　tendency
to　seize　up　if　he　didn’t　keep　it　exercised。
There　was　a　short　silence　as　the　five　soldiers　remembered　fallen　comrades；　then　Greiss’　craggy
features　folded　into　a　scowl。
“Way　things　are　going；”　he　grumbled；　“I’m　going　to　end　up　dying　in　my　damn　bed！”　He　waved
aside　Woods　and　Donovits’　well…intentioned　protests。　“Come　off　it；　you　lot。　I’m　thirty…six　years　old
next　birthday。　Leaving　it　a　bit　late　for　that　blaze　of　glory。　But　that’s　okay。　I　made　my　mark。　I　just
want　to　go　out　the　right　way；　that’s　all。　Been　too　long　since　I　had　a　scrap　I　couldn’t　sleepwalk
through。　Long　time　since　I　faced　a　deathworld　worthy　of　the　name。”
“Maybe　you　should　put　in　for　a　posting　back　home；”　said　Dougan；　sympathetically。　“Back　to
Catachan。　Stone　Face　will　understand。　He’s　coming　up　to　the　big　three…oh　himself。”
Lorenzo　was　aware　that；　by　Imperial　standards；　Colonel　Graves　was　a　young　man；　and　Greiss
and　Dougan　only　middle…aged。　But　then；　most　Imperial　citizens　didn’t　grow　up　on　Catachan。　Life
there　was　shorter。
“Ah；　I　couldn’t　leave　you　jokers。　But　it’s　the　youngsters　I　feel　sorry　for。　Like　Lorenzo　here。
How’s　he　going　to　make　a　name　for　himself　if　he　never　sets　foot　on　a　world　worth　taming？”
Lorenzo　looked　up　from　his　meal；　to　grunt　an　acknowledgement　of　the　name　check。　He　didn’t
reveal　how　much　it　smarted。　Greiss　would　never　have　called　Hotshot　Woods　a　“youngster”；　and
Lorenzo　was　two　years　older　than　he　was。
“I　got　a　name　for　Lorenzo；”　quipped　Woods。　“Why　don’t　we　call　him　‘Chatterbox’　Lorenzo？　Or
‘Never　Shuts　His　Yap’　Lorenzo？”
Lorenzo　glared　at　him。
Greiss　pushed　his　bowl　aside；　and　hauled　himself　to　his　feet。　“All　right；　men；”　he　said；　his　voice
suddenly　full　of　confidence　and　authority。　“You　heard　what　Colonel　Graves　said。　Drop　positions　by
17。30　hours。”
“The　colonel　said　18。30；　sergeant。”
“That’s　for　the　rest　of　those　slackers；　Donovits。　My　squad　forms　up　at　17。30　sharp。　Fifty　deck
reps；　a　few　circuits　of　the　deck—that　should　loosen　up　the　muscles；　get　the　adrenaline　pumping。
Then；　when　we　get　down　to　this　‘deathworld’；　we’re　going　to　tear　through　it　like　it　was　nothing；
show　those　Guardsmen　down　there　a　thing　or　two。　This　time　tomorrow；　we’ll　be　back　in　warp　space；
headed　for　somewhere　worth　the　sweat！”
Lorenzo　greeted　the　prospect　with　mixed　feelings。
The　whole　of　Third　Company　could　have　fitted　into　one　drop　ship　with　room　to　spare。　Instead；
Colonel　Graves　had　ordered　them　to　split　up；　one　platoon　to　a　ship。　That　meant　only　one　thing。　He
8
was　expecting　trouble　on　the　way　down。　Better　to　lose　a　few　squads　and　have　the　rest　arrive　intact
than　to　risk　losing　all　twenty…two　to　a　lucky　shot。
The　five　squads　in　Lorenzo’s　ship　had　separated　to　the　edges　of　the　troop　deck；　sitting　in　their
own　small　clusters　in　the　rows　of　narrow　seats。　It　wasn’t　that　they　didn’t　get　on；　just　that
Deathworlders　found　it　best　to　make　no　more　attachments　than　they　had　to。　They　were　too　easily
broken。　Lorenzo　had　no　friends；　but　he　had　something　better。　He　had　nine　comrades；　who　would　die
for　him　in　a　heartbeat　and　he　for　them。
The　shadowy　spaces　around　the　cramped　seating　area　were　empty；　apart　from　a　dusty　Sentinel
scout　walker　tucked　into　one。　The　Catachans　carried　little　more　equipment　than　would　fit　into　their
kit　bags—and　those　bags　stayed　with　them；　nestled　in　their　laps　or　deposited　on　an　adjacent　seat。
Lorenzo　pictured　the　four　ships　streaking　towards　the　surface　of　Rogar　III；　blazing　with　the　heat　of
re…entry；　like　meteors　from　the　heavens。　He　wondered　how　many　Guardsmen　on　the　ground　would
turn　their　heads　upwards　and　thank　the　Emperor　for　sending　them　such　an　omen。　The　thought　made
him　feel　good。　It　almost　made　him　forget　that　he　hadn’t　touched　ground　himself　yet。
There　had　been　a　reallocation　of　troops　a　few　days　earlier。　The　commander　of　C　Platoon；
Lieutenant　Vines；　had　disbanded　one　squad　and　reassigned　its　members　to　bring　the　rest　up　to
strength。　Greiss’　squad　had　two　new　arrivals　to　complete　its　complement　often—and　old　hands
Myers　and　Storm　were　currently　passing　the　time　by　quizzing　one　of　them；　a　nervy　youngster　by　the
name　of　Landon。
Landon　was　eager　to　please；　bragging　about　a　time　back　on　Catachan　when　he’d　wrestled　a
blackback　viper　single…handed。　Myers　and　Storm　were　pretending　to　be　impressed；　but　Lorenzo
knew　they　were　poking　fun　at　the　rookie。
The　other　newcomer；　Patch　Armstrong；　had　an　easier　ride。　It　had　taken　an　ambush　by　four　ice
apes　on　the　frozen　world　of　Tundrar　to　deprive　Armstrong　of　his　left　eye—and　even　then　he　had
snapped　the　spine　of　one　beast；　gutted　two　more　and　gunned　down　the　fourth　as　it　had　fled。　The
patch　he　wore；　and　the　crooked　ends　of　the　scar　that　protruded　above　and　below　it；　were　his　badges
of　honour。　Like　Dougan’s　leg；　and　the　plate　in　Sergeant　Greiss’　head。
The　drop　ship　was　being　shaken。
It　had　only　been　a　little　at　first；　but　now　it　was　growing　stronger。　Sharkbait　Muldoon　had　rolled
up　the　left　sleeve　of　his　jacket　to　paint　his　own；　better；　camouflage　pattern　directly　onto　his　skin；
layering　on　natural　dyes　with　his　knife；　he　let　out　a　curse　as　the　blade　slipped　and　nicked　his　arm。
Lorenzo　said　nothing；　but　his　fingers　tightened　around　the　armrests　of　his　seat。
“Must　be　one　hell　of　a　storm；”　commented　Woods。　But　Lorenzo　observed　that　Greiss’　jaw　was
set；　his　teeth　clenched；　his　nostrils　flaring；　and　he　knew　this　was　no　mere　storm。
Then；　just　like　that；　they　were　falling。
The　drop　ship　plummeted　like　a　brick；　like　it　had　when　it　had　first　been　launched　from　its
mother。　Lorenzo’s　stomach　was　in　his　mouth　again；　had　he　not　been　strapped　in；　he　would　have
been　slammed　into　the　ceiling。　Woods；　cocky　as　ever；　had　loosened　his　own　restraints；　and　now　he
was　fighting　to　hold　himself　down　as　g…forces　rippled　the　skin　of　his　cheeks。
For　eight　long　seconds；　Lorenzo　was　facing　his　worst　nightmare。　Then　the　engines　caught　them
and　they　were　flying　level　again；　but　still　buffeted；　the　deck　lurching　unpredictably　beneath　their
feet。　Behind　the　din　of　the　protesting　hull；　the　soft；　artificial　voice　of　the　navigation　servitor　sounded
over　the　vox…caster：
“Warning：　extreme　atmospheric　turbulence　encountered。　Destination　coordinates　no　longer
attainable。　Prepare　for　emergency　landing。　Repeat；　prepare　for　emergency　landing！”
The　first　impact　came　almost　as　soon　as　the　warning　was　issued。
Lorenzo　had　barely　had　time　to　get　into　the　brace　position；　his　chin　on　his　chest；　his　hands
clasped　over　his　head。　It　felt　like　someone　had　taken　a　sledgehammer　to　every　bone　in　his　body　at
once。　And　then　it　happened　again；　with　only　marginally　less　force　this　second　time。
9
The　drop　ship　was　skipping　along　t