Death World(科幻战争)-第14部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


looking　for　him　all　morning。”
Lorenzo’s　mind’s　eye　flashed　up　a　picture　of　Muldoon　racing　into　the　light　of　the　ork
battlewagon；　and　he　felt　a　pang　in　his　stomach。　“They　won’t　find　him；”　he　said　numbly。　Woods
fixed　him　ost　needy　gaze；　and　Lorenzo　realised　that　it　was　up　to　him　to　tell
Sharkbait　Muldoon’s　last　story；　to　keep　it　alive。　He　had　that　honour；　and　that　responsibility。　So　he
took　a　deep　breath；　closed　his　eyes　for　a　moment　as　he　picked　his　words；　and　he　told　it。
He　emphasised　how　brave　Muldoon　had　been。　He　mentioned　the　gash　in　his　head；　because　it
made　him　seem　all　the　more　heroic　for　having　overcome　such　an　injury—and　he　exaggerated　the
number　of　orks　on　the　wagon；　that　he　had　killed；　because　after　all　it　had　been　dark　and　there’d　been
so　much　smoke　and　there　could　have　been　fourteen　or　fifteen　of　them；　and　Lorenzo　didn’t　want　to
sell　his　comrade　short。　Woods　listened　to　the　story　with　growing　admiration；　and　when　it　was　done
he　breathed　in　through　his　teeth　and　agreed　that　Sharkbait　had　died　well。　Lorenzo　felt　an　odd　sort　of
pride　at　having　been　there；　at　having　seen　something　so　inspiring；　but　most　of　all　at　knowing　he’d
done　justice　to　his　fallen　comrade’s　memory；　and　somehow　everything　seemed　a　little　brighter　then。
“A　couple　of　the　others　saw　how　Brains　went。”　Woods　related　in　return。　“There　were　a　few　of
them　together；　and　the　orks　were　searching　the　jungle；　and　they　hadn’t　had　time　to　find　a　proper
hiding　place　what　with　everything　going　to　hell　so　fast。　They　say　Brains　let　the　greenskins　find　him；
because　a　couple　more　steps　and　they　would’ve　stumbled　right　onto　Wildman　and　maybe　Bullseye。
He　gave　his　own　life　to　buy　the　rest　of　us　time。　Course；　he　came　out　firing。　I　have　to　confess；
sometimes　I　didn’t　have　much　time　for　old　Brains；　thought　he　yapped　too　much　when　he　should’ve
been　getting　on　with　it—but　the　way　the　others　tell　it；　he　would’ve　done　Marbo　proud　last　night。
Took　on　ten；　twelve　orks　by　his　lonesome；　and　stayed　standing　long　enough　for　the　others　to
retrench；　to　start　fighting　back。”
“What　happened？”　asked　Lorenzo。　“What　started　it；　I　mean？　We　were　almost　there；　almost　past
the　encampment；　and　then…”
“Oh　yeah；”　said　Woods；　screwing　his　face　up　into　a　scowl；　“I　almost　forgot　you　were　up　front；
missed　it　all。　I　bet　you　can　guess；　though。　I　bet　you　can　guess　who　was　brainless　enough　to　step　on
an　ork　trap；　blow　himself　right　up。”
“Mackenzie？”　Lorenzo　hazarded。　The　disdain　in　Woods’　voice　and　expression　had　been
something　of　a　giveaway。
“Mackenzie；”　he　confirmed。　“The　commissar。”
“I　wouldn’t　have　thought　even　he—”
“It　was　the　blue　light。　Came　up　on　us　all　unexpected　like。　I　felt　it　in　my　head　for　a　bit—just　a
second—like　it　was　scanning　me；　reading　my　mind；　then　it　moved　on。　Mackenzie…　I　figure　what
happened　was；　the　light　picked　on　the　weakest　of　us。　Mackenzie　got　up；　started　walking　towards　it
like　he　was　in　a　trance　or　something。　The　sergeant　tried　to　stop　him—brought　up　his　lasgun；　told
Mackenzie　he’d　shoot　him　dead　if　he　took　another　step；　though　I　don’t　know　why　he　cared；　can’t　say
I’d　have　shed　a　tear　if　Mackenzie　had　gone　on；　if　he’d　sunk　into　the　swamp　and　never　come　out
again。　But　Old　Hardhead　seemed　to　be　getting　through　to　him。　Mackenzie　just　froze；　and　he　was
looking　at　Old　Hardhead；　and　at　the　blue　light；　all　confused—and　it　was　Bullseye；　I　think；　who　saw
the　wire。　Mackenzie　was　standing　with　one　foot　in　front　of　it；　one　foot　behind。　God…Emperor　knows
how　he　hadn’t　tripped　it　already。　Old　Hardhead；　he　motioned　to　the　rest　of　us　to　get　back；　and　he
kept　talking　to　the　commissar；　all　quiet　and　calm。　Mackenzie；　he　was　listening；　he　could　see　the
sergeant　was　making　sense；　but　he　still　wanted　to　go　to　that　light；　you　could　tell。　He　kept　asking　why
he　should　trust　any　of　us。　He　talked　about　what　happened　at　the　river；　and　he　accused　the　sergeant　of
wanting　him　dead。　I　knew　we　were　in　trouble　right　then；　knew　he’d　bring　the　orks　down　on　us
eventually　even　if　he　didn’t　trip　that　wire。　Old　Hardhead　was　whispering；　trying　to　hush　the
commissar；　but　he　was　getting　hysterical。”
74
“That’s　what　the　light　does　to　you；”　said　Lorenzo　sombrely。　“It　plays　on　your　hopes；　your　fears。
And　Mackenzie　was　already　so　afraid…”　He　fell　silent　as　he　realised　what　he’d　said。　He’d　admitted
to　a　weakness；　in　front　of　Woods　of　all　people—a　soldier　who；　if　he’d　ever　feared　anything；　would
certainly　not　have　confessed　to　it。
It　didn’t　seem　to　matter。　“Makes　sense；”　said　Woods。　“I　think；　deep　down；　Mackenzie　maybe
wanted　to　believe—he　wanted　to　be　convinced—but　that　light　was　just　too　damn　strong　for　him。”
“What　about　Braxton？”
“Give　him　his　due。”　Woods　conceded；　“he　tried。　He　crawled　forward；　put　himself　in　the　danger
zone；　just　so　he　could　talk　to　Mackenzie；　back　up　what　Old　Hardhead　was　saying。　But　as　soon　as　he
opened　his　mouth；　Mackenzie；　he　just…　it　was　like　he　freaked　out　good　and　proper。　He　accused
Braxton　of　betraying　him；　said　he　was　alone　now　and　he　wasn’t　going　to　listen　to　anyone　anymore。
He　closed　his　eyes；　put　his　hands　over　his　ears；　like　he　was　in　pain；　and　he　was　screaming　for
everyone　to　stop　talking；　to　leave　him　alone；　to　let　him　think。
“Well；　it　was　all　over　then；　of　course。　Braxton　started　forward—I　don’t　know　why；　like　maybe
he　thought　he　could　drag　Mackenzie　to　safety　or　something—but　the　commissar　had　made　up　his
mind。”
“Or　rather。”　Lorenzo　murmured；　“the　light　had　made　it　up　for　him。”
“And　the　rest；　like　Commissar　Mackenzie；　is　history。”
“And　Braxton？”
“Oh；　he’s　alright。　Old　Hardhead　grabbed　hold　of　him；　pulled　him　back；　damn　near　got　himself
killed　in　the　process。　Now；　that—that　would’ve　been　a　tragedy！”
“I　shouldn’t　have　stopped　him；”　said　Lorenzo。　“Sharkbait。　At　the　river。　He　would’ve　killed
Mackenzie；　but　I　thought…　I　don’t　know　what　I　thought。　If　I’d　kept　quiet；　if　I’d　let　him…　Sharkbait
would　still　be　alive。　And　Brains。”
“Doesn’t　work　like　that；”　said　Woods；　with　more　understanding　than　Lorenzo　would　have
expected　from　him。　“No　one　made　Sharkbait　do　anything　he　didn’t　want　to　do。　You　made　him　think；
is　all。　He　let　Mackenzie　off　the　hook　for　the　same　reason　any　of　us　would’ve　done　it：　because　when
the　commissar’s　harness　went　and　he　grabbed　for　that　rope　and　he　held　on；　he　surprised　us　all。　You
were　right；　Lorenzo。　You　can’t　deny　a　man　a　second　chance　after　proving　himself　like　that。”
“Even　so…”
“If　the　light　hadn’t　got　Mackenzie；”　said　Woods；　“it　would’ve　worked　its　influence　on　someone
else。　Braxton；　maybe。　Or…　or…　I　told　you；　Lorenzo；　I　felt　it　in　my　head。　I　felt　it　calling　to　me—and
in　that　second；　I　think　I　would’ve　done　just　about　anything　it　told　me　to　do。”
That　sealed　it。　This　wasn’t　the　Woods　that　Lorenzo　knew。　He　turned　to　his　comrade　with　a　new
anxiety　prickling　at　him；　and　he　said；　“You　never　told　me　about　yourself。　How　you　ended　up…　I
mean；　how　you　went　on。　Last　night。”
“Hey；　don’t　worry　about　me；”　said　Woods　cheerfully。　“I　did　okay。　Really。　Just　tired　myself　out；
is　all—and　you　know　Greiss：　he　likes　to　think　he’s　looking　after　us。　He　said　if　I　didn’t　come　in　here
for　a　lie…down；　he’d　knock　me　out　himself。”
“Right；”　said　Lorenzo；　not　quite　buying　it。　He　was　just　starting　to　realise　how　pale　his　comrade
seemed　where　the　daylight　fell　across　him。　Sweat　beaded　his　brow；　as　if　he　was　feverish—or
perhaps　he　too　was　just　hot　in　his　ork　furs。
“Seriously；”　said　Woods；　“you　think　this　looks　bad；　you　should　see　the　ork　that　did　it　to　me。　I
should　say；　the　twenty　orks！”　And　he　launched　into　a　detailed　and　bloody　account　of　every　punch　he
had　thrown；　every　shot　he　had　fired；　every　thrust　of　his　devil　claw　against　the　ork　hordes。
Lorenzo　stopped　listening　after　a　time。　He　tuned　out　the　words；　and　strained　to　catch　the　distant；
muffled　sounds　beyond　the　hut’s　walls：　footsteps；　scraping；　the　odd　snatch　of　conversation。　He　felt
as　if　he　had　been　lying　in　this　bed　for　an　age；　and　he　longed　to　feel　fresh　air　on　his　face；　to　catch　up
75
with　the　comrades　he　had　thought　he　would　never　see　again。　To　see　what　fresh　challenges　had　arisen
in　his　absence。
He　knew　he　should　wait。　He　didn’t　know　the　extent　of　his　injuries。　He　didn’t　feel　too　badly　hurt；
but　then　his　head　was　muzzy　and　he　could　have　been　in　shock。　He　could　have　been　infected。　But
normally；　the　person　to　tell　him　that—the　man　who　ought　to　have　been　at　his　bedside　with　his
revolting　herbal　cures—was　Brains。　Lorenzo　couldn’t　bear　to　wait　any　longer。
Woods　had　fallen　silent。　Lorenzo　realised　he　was　asleep。
He　peeled　off　his　bed　coverings　and　tested　each　of　his　limbs；　trying　his　weight　on　them；　before
he　levered　himself　to　his　feet。　He　swayed　a　little；　and　felt　sickness　rising　in　his　throat　but　suppressed
it。　Morning　air　breezed　in　through　the　window；　and　prickled　his　skin　like　pins　and　needles。　He　crept
over　to　Woods　and　put　his　hand　to　his　forehead；　finding　it　hot　like　a　simmering　pan。　He　located　his
clothes　and　backpack　in　a　pile　in　the　corner；　with　Muldoon’s　lasgun　laid　out　almost　reverently
across　them。
His　jacket　felt　heavy　and　grimy　against　his　skin；　its　insides　caked　with　his　own　dried　blood。　It
was　only　when　he　saw　his　water　bottle　that　he　realised　how　dry　his　throat　was；　and　how　cracked　his
lips。　He　gulped　from　the　bottle　greedily；　and　had　to　stop　himself　before　he　emptied　it。　There　had　to
be　fresh　water　somewhere　in　the　camp；　he　reasoned。　The　skin　around　his　patched…up　wound　had
evidently　been　cleaned。　He　longed　for　a　pool　to　bathe　in；　though　a　bit　of　dirt　didn’t　usually　bother
him。
Finally；　Lorenzo　approached　the　door　to　the　outside　world—and　thought　it　was　locked　at　first；　as
it　jammed　in　its　frame。　He　put　his　shoulder　to　it；　and　tried　to　pretend　that　the　effort　hadn’t　made　stars
explode　in　front　of　his　eyes。　He　stumbled　out　into　the　sunlight；　unsteady　and　blinking；　and　walked
straight　into　Sergeant　Greiss。
Somewhere；　there　was　a　fire　burning；　and　Lorenzo　caught　a　glimpse　of　Myers　and　Storm
lugging　an　ork　corpse　between　them。
Then　Greiss　was　guiding　him　back　into　the　hut；　telling　him　to　take　it　easy　in　his　gentlest　growl；
and　Lorenzo　tried　to　throw　off　his　hold；　tried　to　prove　he　could　stand　unassisted；　but　before　he　knew
it　he　was　sitting　on　the　bunk　again；　just　grateful　that　the　room　wasn’t　spinning　anymore。　Greiss　took
Lorenzo’s　head　in　his　callused　hands；　peered　into　his　eyes；　and　nodded；　satisfied。　“You’ll　live。”
“We　did　okay—right；　sergeant？”
“Yes；　Lorenzo。　We　did　okay。　We　did　more　than　okay。　We’ve　been　tossing　ork　bodies　on　the
flames　all　morning。”　Lorenzo　didn’t　question　that　statement。　He　knew　the　Catachans　didn’t　burn
their　enemies’　corpses　for　the　sake　of　their　souls。　Orks　were　renowned　for　their　regenerative
properties；　it　was　common　for　one　thought　dead　to　rise　from　a　cold　battlefield　in　search　of　revenge。
On　Rogar　III；　he　realised；　there　was　even　more　reason　to　take　precautions。
“Sergeant！”　Lorenzo’s　fellow　patient　was　awake　again。　Lorenzo　found　himself　wondering　if
Woods’　voice　had　sounded　so　weak；　so　subdued；　the　last　time　he　had　spoken。　Perhaps　it　had；　and　he
just　hadn’t　noticed。　“Lorenzo　tell　you　about　Sharkbait？”　asked　Woods。　Greiss　replied　that　he　hadn’t；
and　Woods　repeated　the　story　as　the　sergeant　listened　patiently。　This　time；　there　were　twenty　orks　on
the　battlewagon；　and　Muldoon　had　to　hack　his　way　through　four　more　to　reach　it；　but　Lorenzo　didn’t
bother　to　correct　the　details。　Woods’　version　made　a　better　story；　and　Muldoon　deserved　his　glory。
“We　ready　to　move　out　yet；　sergeant？”　asked　Woods；　when　the　story　was　told。
“Not　yet；　Hotshot；”　said　Sergeant　Greiss。　“Still　cleaning　up　behind　ourselves。　We’ve　taken　apart
all　the　comms　we　can　find；　but　you　can　bet　a　few　gretchin　would’ve　made　a　run　for　it　when　they
realised　they　were　beaten。”
Woods　grimaced。　“Sooner　or　later；　they’ll　find　more　greenskins；　and　then　the　whole　planet　will
know　we’re　here。”
“If　we’re　lucky；”　said　Greiss；　“the　orks　won’t　put　two　and　two　together　in　a　hurry。　For　all　they
know；　this　camp　could’ve　been　our　target　all　along。”
“Yeah；　“specially　when　they　hear　about　the　attacks　on　their　other　camps。”
76
“But　they’ll　know　we’re　closing　in　on　their　warboss—whether　they　believe　we　know　it　or　not—
and　if　Big　Green　has　half　the　brains　Mackenzie　reckoned　he　had；　he’ll　be　doubling　his　personal
guard　about　now。　Our　dear；　departed　commissar　just　made　getting　to　our　target　about　ten　times
harder　than　it　ever　was。”
“I　thought　as　much；”　said　Woods。　“But；　we　just　came　through　against　thirty…to…one　odds。
Shouldn’t　think　there’s　a　whole　lot　can　stop　us　now；　yeah？”
“Funny　thing　about　that。”　Greiss　growled。　“There　aren’t　half　as　many　dead　orks　about　these
parts　as　there　ought　to　be。　I　think　we　got　lucky；　Hotshot。　I　think　our　job　was　half…done　before　we　got
here。”
“You　think　Rogar’s　been　as　hard　on　them　as　it’s　been　on　us？”
“About　the　size　of　it；　yes。”
“Now　you’re　wondering　what　happened　to　the　orks　it　killed。　And　how　long　it　took　the　survivors
to　work　out　that　any　bodies　they　leave　intact…”
Lorenzo　didn’t　remember　lying　down；　but　he　was　staring　at　the　ceiling。　He　didn’t　remember
discarding　his　backpack　and　jacket；　but　he　was　unencumbered　by　them。　He　had　been　thinking　about
Dougan；　or　rather　about　the　mockery　this　deathworld　had　made　of　his　memory。　About　the　skeletal
birds　that　had　refused　to　lie　down。　And　now；　about　a　hundred；　two　hundred；　dead　orks；　in　varying
stages　of　decay；　clambering　from　the　ground　all　over　the　planet…
“Should　make　for　an　interesting　few　days；”　murmured　Greiss。
“Nothing　we　can’t　handle　though；”　said　Woods；　“right；　sergeant？”
Lorenzo　drifted　into　a　dreamless　sleep；　then；　and　opened　his　eyes　only　once　in　the　next　few
hours　to　find　himself　on　the　cot　again；　and　Greiss　in　the　doorway　of　the　hut。　He　must　have　been
leaving；　waking　Lorenzo　as　he　shouldered　the　sticking　door　out　of　its　frame。　But　something　had
stopped　him。　He　was　looking　at　Woods；　and　with　the　sunlight　behind　him　casting　his　face　into
shadow；　Greiss　seemed　weighed　down　by　every　one　of　his　thirty…five　years；　older　and　more　tired
than　Lorenzo　had　seen　him　before。
When　next　he　woke；　Greiss　was　there　again；　standing　over　him；　shaking　him；　and　from　the
quality　of　the　light　through　the　window　he　guessed　it　was　early　afternoon。　“Time　you　dragged
yourself　out　of　that　pit；　trooper；”　he　said。　“We　got　a　lot　of　ground　to　make　up　if　we　still　want　a
chance　of　catching　the　warboss　by　surprise。　You　up　to　it？”
“Yes；　sergeant；”　said　Lorenzo；　getting　to　his　feet；　relieved　when　his　body　didn’t　make　a　liar　of
him。　He　still　felt　weak；　drained；　and　his　side　hurt　like　hell；　but　his　senses　were　clearer　now。
Catachan　men　healed　quickly。　He　donned　his　jacket　and　his　backpack　again；　picked　up　the　lasgun
that　he　supposed　was　now　his；　and　made　for　the　door。　He　stopped　when　he　realised　Greiss　wasn’t
following。　He　was　sitting　on　the　bunk　Lorenzo　had　vacated；　staring　into　space；　a　lasgun　laid　across
his　lap。　Not　his　own　gun：　that　was　slung　under　his　pack　as　normal。　Lorenzo　felt　a　knot　forming　in　his
stomach　as　he　was　finally　forced　to　face　an　unpleasant　truth。
“What　about　Hotshot；　sergeant？　Aren’t　you　going　to　wake　him？”
“In　a　minute；”　the　sergeant　said。
Lorenzo　looked　at　Woods。　His　skin　was　whiter　than　ever；　drenched　in　perspiration。　His
breathing　was　ragged；　and　his　face　twitched　with　emotions　that　Lorenzo　had　never　seen　writ　there
before。　Every　few　seconds　he　let　out　a　low　moan；　almost　a　whimper。　He　seemed　to　be　having　the
mother　of　all　nightmares。　The　young　trooper　looked　surprisingly；　awfully　small。
“Is　he…？”　Lorenzo　ventured。
“Hotshot　managed　to　find　a　sniping　position；”　said　Greiss；　“up　a　tree。　He　was　cutting　down　those
greenskins　like　dummies　on　a　shooting　range。　But　one　of　’em　got　lucky—happened　to　be　looking
the　right　way　when　an　explosion　went　off　and　the　light　glinted　off　Hotshot’s　lasgun。　He　couldn’t　get
down　in　time。　The　orks　surrounded　him；　started　firing　up　into　the　branches。　Hotshot　took　a　bullet　in
the　leg；　was　grazed　by　two　more；　but　nothing　critical；　he　knew　how　to　make　himself　small；　use　his
backpack　and　the　tree　trunk　to　protect　himself—and　with　his　camouflage　and　all；　the　greenskins
77
didn’t　know　where　they　were　aiming。　Hotshot　was　firing　at　’em；　dropping　grenades　on　their　heads—
he　must’ve　taken　out　a　dozen　or　more。　But　you　know　what　orks　are　like。　They　don’t　give　up　easy。
They　were　swarming　up　that　tree；　and　Hotshot　was　shooting　and　slashing　down　at　’em；　but　even　he
couldn’t　stay　put　forever。　He　made　a　jump　for　it；　sailed　right　over　their　heads。”　There　had　been　a
touch　of　admiration　in　Old　Hardhead’s　voice；　but　now　it　faded；　and　his　shoulders　slumped。　Lorenzo
knew　how　fond　he　had　always　been　of　Woods。
“He　didn’t　make　it。”
“If　it　hadn’t　been　for　that　damn　slug　in　his　leg…”　Greiss　was　silent　for　a　moment；　then　with
pride　in　his　voice；　he　continued；　“He　kept　fighting。　Even　though　he’d　shattered　his　spine；　he　was　on
the　ground；　and　the　orks　were　piling　onto　him…　I　should’ve　got　there　sooner。”
“No；　sergeant！”　Lorenzo　protested　automatically。
“Don’t　give　me　that；”　Greiss　growled。　“If　any　of　us　had　to　end　his　days　a　cripple；　better　it　be　an
old　warhorse　with　no　fight　left　in　him。　Better　it　be　someone　who’s　had　his　day；　whose　story’s　been
told。”
Lorenzo　was　still　digesting　the　full　import　of　what　Greiss　was　saying。　“…end　his　days　a
cripple…”　They　were　on　a　stealth　mission；　without　backup；　unable　to　vox　for　an　airlift—and　even　if
they　could　get　Woods　back　to　an　Imperium　facility；　it　would　certainly　have　been　the　last　thing　he
wanted。　It　was　unlikely　a　medic　could　do　much　for　him。　The　only　person　who　could　save　him　now
from　a　fate　worse　than　death　was　Greiss。　Lorenzo’s　gaze　strayed　to　the　spare　lasgun　on　the
sergeant’s　knee。
“He’ll　be　remembered；”　was　all　he　could　think　of　to　say。　It　seemed　to　cheer　Greiss　up　a　little。
Then　there　was　an　awkward　silence　as　Lorenzo　realised　there　was　nothing　more　he　could　say；
and　eventually　turned　to　the　door　again。
The　last　thing　he　saw　as　he　left　that　hut；　as　he　left　another　comrade　behind　forever；　was　Greiss
leaning　over　Woods；　shaking　him　gently　awake；　telling　him　it　was　time　and　pressing　the　lasgun　into
his　hands。　And　Woods’　smile—not　afraid；　but　relieved。　Grateful；　even。
Just　one　of　those　things。　Lorenzo　had　learned　to　accept　it。　He　walked　away　from　the　hut；　and
ignored　the　part　of　him　that　wanted　to　break　into　a　run；　to　get　away　from　there　before　he　had　to
hear…
He　thought　about　his　promise：　“He’ll　be　remembered。”　He　walked；　and　waited。　And　thought
about　his　comrade；　relating　his　last　story；　and　he　wished　he’d　known；　wished　he’d　been　more
attentive。　He　thought　about　the　dangers　that　still　lay　ahead；　all　his　depleted　squad　still　had　to　do；　and
he　told　himself　they’d　come　through　somehow。
Lorenzo　pretended　not　to　hear　the　dark　voice　in　the　back　of　his　head。　The　voice　that　said：　Yes；
Hotshot　Woods　will　he　remembered。　Sharkbait　Muldoon　will　be　remembered。　They　will　all　be
remembered。
But　for　how　long？
78
CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
The　rain　came　early　in　the　evening。
The　Jungle　Fighters　had　seen　the　clouds；　felt　the　cool；　fresh　breeze　that　presaged　the　outburst—
but