Death World(科幻战争)-第15部分

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The　rain　came　early　in　the　evening。
The　Jungle　Fighters　had　seen　the　clouds；　felt　the　cool；　fresh　breeze　that　presaged　the　outburst—
but　the　speed　and　ferocity　with　which　it　broke　defied　their　expectations。
The　rain　was　acidic。　Guardsman　Braxton　winced　as　the　first　drop　splashed　off　his　cheek；　and
Lorenzo　threw　a　hand　to　his　neck　as　the　skin　there　began　to　smart。　The　acid；　fortunately；　wasn’t
strong；　not　like　that　from　the　spitter　plants—but　with　prolonged　exposure；　it　could　do　as　much
damage。
They　found　some　shelter　beneath　the　spreading　branches　of　a　huge　tree。　Lorenzo　listened　as　the
rain　beat　down　on　its　roof　of　leaves；　and　he　looked　gloomily　at　the　cascade　of　redirected　liquid　like　a
waterfall　around　him。　He　wondered　how　long　it　would　be　before　the　leaves　were　burnt　through；　and
he　couldn’t　help　but　feel　that　even　this　downpour　was　deliberate。　It　was　as　if　the　planet　was　so
determined　to　destroy　them　that　it　would　sacrifice　a　part　of　itself。
They　debated　the　wisdom　of　turning　back；　of　scavenging　sheets　of　metal　from　the　ork　camp；　but
Greiss　in　particular　was　reluctant　to　lose　ground。　“Aside　from　which；”　he　growled；　casting　a　wary
glance　back　over　his　shoulder；　“we　don’t　know　what　might　be　behind　us。”　They　all　knew　what　he
meant。　Ever　since　they　had　set　off；　they　had　all　been　aware　of　ghosts　dogging　their　footsteps　again。
It　had　been　inevitable；　of　course。　Still；　Lorenzo　had　hoped　for　at　least　some　respite。　He　wasn’t
the　only　one　of　the　six　remaining　men　in　his　squad—half　their　original　complement—to　have　been
injured　in　the　previous　night’s　battle；　nor　to　feel　profoundly　tired。　Armstrong’s　left　arm　was　useless；
the　nerve　tendons　in　his　shoulder　severed　by　an　ork　axe；　and　Braxton　hadn’t　said　a　word　all
afternoon　and　looked　like　he　could　drop　at　any　moment。　Their　lasguns　were　low　on　energy；　too；
Myers　wore　a　belt　of　strung…together　power　packs；　letting　the　dwindling　sunlight　do　what　it　could　to
recharge　them　until　they　could　build　a　fire　to　do　the　job　properly。　But　the　nature　of　their　mission—
and　Greiss；　now　firmly　back　in　command—had　required　they　press　on；　and　not　one　of　those　six　men
was　prepared　to　admit　defeat。
Their　map　had　been　incinerated　along　with　Mackenzie；　but　Armstrong　knew　where　they　were
and　was　sure　he　could　remember　the　location　of　the　warboss’　lair　from　the　briefing。　He　could　get
them　close；　at　least。
They　broke　out　the　alkaline　powders　from　their　backpacks；　rubbed　them　into　their　exposed　skin
and　hair。　As　they　worked；　the　ghosts　began　to　gather；　in　the　corners　of　their　vision。　This　time；　they
had　attracted　more　than　one　stalker。　Many　more。　And　these　creatures；　it　seemed；　were　trying　less
hard　to　conceal　their　presence。
Or　maybe　it　was　just　that　they　were　bigger　and　clumsier　than　Dougan；　less　able　to　hide。　Ork
corpses；　as　the　Jungle　Fighters　had　anticipated。　This　close；　there　was　no　denying　the　stink　of　death
that　rose　from　them；　it　had　been　wafting　past　Lorenzo’s　nostrils　for　the　past　few　hours；　whenever　the
breeze　was　right。　Some　of　these　orks　had　been　dead　weeks　or　months；　but　now　they　were　a　part　of
the　planet　itself；　cocooned　in　its　substance　and　animated　by　its　mysterious　energy。
It　had　taken　six　Jungle　Fighters　to　send　one　monster　into　retreat。　A　smaller　monster。　Six　Jungle
Fighters；　relatively　refreshed　and　ready　for　battle。
For　now；　the　zombies　seemed　content　to　keep　their　distance；　to　watch。　Greiss　moved　his　squad
on　quickly　anyway；　worried　that　if　they　stayed　put　too　long　they　might　be　surrounded。　They　moved
through　the　rain　at　a　faster…than…normal　pace；　with　their　packs　over　their　heads；　hugging　the　trees。
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Fortunately；　they　knew　enough　about　Rogar　now　to　avoid　its　more　obvious　traps—though　Lorenzo
remembered　what　Donovits　had　said　about　this　world’s　rapid　evolution；　and　he　eyed　even　the　safestlooking
flowers　with　suspicion。
He　twitched　at　another　rustle　from　the　foliage。　It　was　closer　than　usual；　to　the　left　of　the　squad
rather　than　behind　them。　He　brought　his　lasgun　around　but　didn’t　dare　fire　lest　he　start　something
they　couldn’t　finish。　Another　ork　shape　was　clearly　outlined；　watching　him　with　unblinking　eyes；
one　of　which　had　slid　half　out　of　its　socket　on　a　slagheap　of　dried　blood。　As　Lorenzo　watched；　it
withdrew　and　sank　silently　into　the　ground。
“They’re　watching　us；”　he　announced。　“We’ve　survived　everything　else　Rogar　has　to　throw　at
us；　so　it’s　got　its　zombies　watching　us；　looking　for　a　weakness。”
“I’d　almost　rather　they　made　their　move；”　murmured　Braxton；　“and　got　it　over　with。”
“Careful　what　you　wish　for。”　Storm　cautioned　him　grimly。
“When　you　people　first　arrived；”　said　Braxton；　“and　you　were　talking　about　Rogar　like　it　was
a—I　don’t　know　–　a　living　thing；　an　enemy；　like　an　ork　or　something；　I　didn’t　know…　I　mean；　I’m
starting　to　see　it　now。　I’m　starting　to　feel　like　this　planet　is　alive；　like　it’s　intelligent；　like　it　really
wants　us　dead。”　He　sounded　as　if　he　wanted　somebody　to　contradict　him。　No　one　did。
The　jungle　had　started　to　close　in　again。　Greiss　had　sent　Myers　and　Storm　ahead　to　clear　the　way；
and　the　squad’s　pace　had　dropped　to　a　crawl。
And　the　ghosts　were　gathering　at　their　backs。
“Maybe　we　should　send　a　few　las…shots　their　way；”　suggested　Armstrong；　worriedly；　hefting　his
gun　in　his　good　hand　as　if　to　reassure　himself　he　could　still　operate　it。　“Discourage　them　a　little。”
“Don’t　know　if　it’d　work；”　murmured　Greiss。
“Hotshot　fired　at…”　Lorenzo　began；　then　was　unable　to　say　Dougan’s　name；　“…the　first　one。　It
didn’t　seem　to　react　at　all。”
“They　don’t　feel　pain；”　said　Greiss。　“You　remember　what　Brains　said。　We’ve　got　to　stop
thinking　of　these　things　as　living　creatures。　They’re　less　than　that—less　than　orks；　even。　They　don’t
have　hearts—or　if　they　do；　they　sure　aren’t　beating　anymore。　No　internal　organs；　no　nerves；　no
pressure　points；　and　I　doubt　their　brains　are　getting　much　use。　They’re　plants；　no　more　than　that。
Part　of　the　jungle—the　planet　itself—just　wrapped　around　the　remains　of　the　dead。”
Lorenzo　stole　a　quick　look　at　the　collecting　shadows；　searching　for　one　that　was　shorter　and
thinner　than　the　others；　hoping　he　wouldn’t　find　it。　If　the　God…Emperor　had　any　influence　at　all　here；
so　far　from　his　Golden　Throne；　he　would　see　to　it　that　Dougan　could　rest　in　peace。
“Then　we　deal　with　them　like　we　would　any　hostile　plant；”　reasoned　Armstrong。
“Can’t　tear　’em　up　by　the　roots；”　growled　Greiss。　“They’re　up　and　walking　about　already。”
“Shred　’em？”　suggested　Storm；　his　fingers　twitching　over　his　knife　hilt。
“Take　too　long　with　the　knives；”　said　Greiss。　“Way　I’m　thinking；　those　things　will　keep　going
till　you　get　to　the　skeleton　and　can　take　it　apart。”
“We’ve　got　to　do　something；”　said　Braxton；　“before　they　attack！”
“Boy’s　right；”　said　Armstrong。　“We　need　a　show　of　strength；　give　them　something　to　think
about。　If　they　can　think；　that　is。”
“If　they　can’t；”　muttered　Myers；　“looks　like　something　does　it　for　them。”
“How　much　ordnance　do　we　have　left　between　us？”　asked　Lorenzo。
“Couple　of　shredder　mines；”　offered　Storm。
“Still　got　my　demolition　charges；”　said　Myers。
“Save　’em；”　said　Greiss；　with　a　gleam　in　his　eye；　“for　a　special　occasion。　I　got　a　better　idea。”　He
and　Armstrong　spoke　as　one：　“Burn　“em！”
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Lorenzo　and　Braxton　took　over　clearance　duty　as　Myers　and　Storm　assembled　the　flamer　again。
Greiss　wielded　it　himself；　straining　under　the　weight　of　the　device　as　he　lugged　it　a　few　steps　closer
to　the　watching　zombies。　Then　he　pulled　the　trigger；　and　simultaneously　swept　the　flamer　around　in
a　wide　arc。
It　was　like　a　dozen　explosions　had　gone　off　at　once；　plants　and　trees　erupting　as　if　they’d　just
combusted　from　within。　The　zombies—those　Lorenzo　could　see—they　were　burning　too；　starting
with　the　parts　of　them　that　were　the　most　flammable：　the　clumps　of　weeds　and　grass　embedded　in
their　bodies。　They　reeled　in　apparent　confusion；　their　arms　pumping　in　futile　slow…motion；　patting
themselves　down；　trying　to　extinguish　themselves；　succeeding　only　in　setting　fire　to　their　hands　or
bumping　into　each　other　and　spreading　the　flames　to　their　comrades。
Lorenzo　was　amazed　at　the　severity　of　the　reaction；　until　he　remembered　that　Rogar　III　had　felt
fire　before—from　the　Jungle　Fighters’　small　campfire　of　two　nights　ago　to　the　all…out　attempts　by
humans　and　orks　alike　at　deforestation。　It　knew　what　fire　could　do　to　it；　and—Lorenzo　knew　this
didn’t　make　sense；　but　he　was　suddenly　sure　of　it；　more　sure　than　he’d　been　of　anything　his　instincts
had　told　him　of　late—it　was　afraid　of　it。　The　deathworld　itself　was　afraid；　and　in　its　fear；　it　chose　to
attack　the　creatures　that　had　hurt　it　so　much；　while　it　still　had　the　means　to　do　so。　And　it　sent　its
soldiers　forward…
The　Jungle　Fighters　drew　their　lasguns　as　six　flaming　zombies—those　that　could　still　walk—
came　stumbling　towards　them；　trailing　smoke；　like　a　small　army　of　infernal　daemons。　They　let　off　a
fusillade　of　shots；　to　no　effect；　and　Greiss　sent　another　blast　of　fire　the　zombies’　way　in　the　hope　of
hastening　their　demise；　before　abandoning　the　flamer　and　leaping　aside；　not　an　instant　too　soon。　A
zombie　hurled　itself　at　him；　and　hit　the　ground　where　Greiss　had　been；　setting　light　to　the
undergrowth。　It　tried　to　stand　again；　but　scorched　earth　was　sloughing　from　it　like　dead　skin；
withering　to　ash；　and　the　bones　of　its　purloined　skeleton　were　beginning　to　show　through　and　it
could　no　longer　lift　its　own　weight。
The　rest　of　the　squad　dropped　their　packs　and　tried　to　scatter；　but　they　couldn’t　go　far；　confined
to　the　narrowed　corridor　their　knives　had　cleared。　The　same　couldn’t　be　said　of　the　zombies：　their
movements　were　slow　and　awkward　but　unhampered；　the　foliage　itself　seeming　to　part　for　them。
They　separated　too；　each　choosing　a　target。　Lorenzo　found　himself　side　by　side　with　Braxton；　both
trying　to　press　themselves　back　into　the　jungle；　thorns　tearing　at　their　jackets　and　their　hair；　nettles
stinging　their　hands；　as　two　flaming　zombies　homed　in　on　them。
He　heard　a　yell；　“Aim　for　their　kneecaps！”　and　he　followed　Armstrong’s　suggestion　and　tried　to
shoot　the　nearest　zombie’s　leg　out　from　under　it。　He　got　in　four　shots　before　it　was　upon　him。　It
raised　a　ponderous　fist；　and　Lorenzo　wasn’t　sure　who　its　target　was—him　or　Braxton—but　then　the
fist　came　down　towards　him；　and　he　ducked；　and　he　tried　to　scramble　past　the　zombie’s　leg；　but　his
hand　recoiled　from　a　flaming　footprint　in　the　grass。　The　zombie　swung　around　to　follow　him　but　a
bone　snapped；　and　its　leg　buckled；　and　Lorenzo　knew　his　las…shots　had　done　some　good　after　all。
The　zombie　was　falling—but　it　managed　to　turn　its　fall　into　a　lunge；　and　Lorenzo　couldn’t　get
out　of　the　way　in　time　as　the　creature；　now　little　more　than　a　burning　skeleton；　plummeted　towards
him。　For　an　instant；　he　was　staring　into　its　hollow　eye　sockets—piggy　ork　eye　sockets—and　they
seemed　to　be　mocking　him。　A　tusked　mouth　gaped　in　a　rictus　grin。　Lorenzo　brought　up　a　foot；
planted　it　in　the　zombie’s　stomach　and　tried　to　fling　it　over　him。　It　fell　apart　with　the　impact　of　his
boot；　and　though　the　bulk　of　its　mass　passed　safely　over　his　head；　Lorenzo　was　showered　with　bones
and　mud　and　burning　leaves。
He　rolled；　to　put　out　any　flames　that　may　have　taken　hold　of　his　clothing。　Then　he　sprang　to　his
feet；　lasgun　in　hand；　to　find　that　the　other　zombies　had　suffered　the　same　fate　as　his。　The
combination　of　flames　and　las…fire　had　destroyed　their　cohesion；　and　they　were　collapsing　at　the　feet
of　the　relieved　Jungle　Fighters。　Two　skeletons　were　relatively　intact；　and　as　Lorenzo　watched　they
were　drawn　into　the　ground。　Storm　reached　one　before　it　could　vanish；　and　drove　his　gun　butt　into
its　spine；　breaking　it。　The　other—the　skeleton　of　the　monster　that　had　attacked　Greiss—escaped。
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The　Jungle　Fighters　relaxed　and　regrouped　in　the　sudden　silence；　dozens　of　small　fires　flickering
around　them　until　the　rain　extinguished　them。
“Think　that’s　the　last　we’ll　see　of　them；　sergeant？”　asked　Myers。
“I　hope　so；　Bullseye；”　growled　Greiss。　He　cast　a　disparaging　eye　over　the　discarded　flamer。
“Because　this　thing’s　just　about　on　empty。”　Myers　and　Storm　packed　up　the　device　anyway；　in　case
they　were　being　watched—although　for　the　first　time　in　two　days；　none　of　the　Catachans　felt　as　if
they　were。
“There　were　more　of　those　things　out　there。”　Armstrong　pointed　out　to　Greiss。　“You　only　burnt
the　front　ranks　of　them。　There　were　at　least　a　dozen　more　behind—they　escaped　into　the　ground
when　they　saw　the　flames。”
“Not　to　mention　all　the　other　orks　that　must’ve　died　on　Rogar　these　past　few　years；”　said
Lorenzo。
“And　Guardsmen；”　said　Braxton　quietly。
Greiss　nodded。　He　knew。
“Do　you　think　they　can　move　underground；　sergeant？”　Braxton　asked。　“Or　will　they　have　to
resurface　where　they　went　down？”
“I　don’t　know；”　said　Greiss。　“What’re　you　thinking？”
“That　it　might　be　the　right　occasion　to　break　out　those　mines。”
Greiss　studied　Braxton　for　a　moment；　then　a　grin　tugged　at　his　lips。　“I　like　the　way　you　think；
Guardsman。　Right；　troopers；　all　the　shredders　you　have；　hand　’em　over。　Patch；　you’re　with　me。　You
saw　where　some　of　them　walking　corpses　disappeared；　right？　Well；　the　next　time　they　try　climbing
out　of　their　graves；　they’ll　have　a　nasty　shock　waiting　for　’em。　Lorenzo；　Braxton；　you　get　back　to
clearing　the　way。　Once　these　babies　are　laid；　we’re　going　to　want　to　get　out　of　here　real　quick。”
“Yes；　sergeant；”　said　Lorenzo。
Greiss　had　half…turned　away　when　a　thought　occurred　to　him　and　he　looked　back　at　Braxton。
“Let　me　see　your　knife；”　he　demanded。　Braxton　showed　him　the　small；　blunt　blade　he　had　been
using；　and　Greiss　expressed　his　contempt　for　what　he　called　an　“Imperial　pig…sticker”。
Lorenzo　had　noticed　that　he　had　been　wearing　two　knives　today；　and　he’d　guessed　where　the
second　had　come　from。　Still；　he　felt　his　eyes　widening　as　the　sergeant　drew　Woods’　devil　claw—at
over　a　metre　long；　more　a　sword　than　a　knife—and　handed　it　to　the　Validian。　“Here；”　he　granted；
“you　should　find　it　easier　going　with　this。　It’s　only　a　loan；　mind。”
Braxton　accepted　the　claw；　and　turned　it　over　in　his　hands。　He　admired　its　well…honed　edge；　and
gauged　how　light　and　well　balanced　it　was　thanks　to　its　hollow　blade；　half…filled　with　mercury。
“Yes；　sergeant；”　he　said；　in　a　voice　full　of　awe。
“I　can　see　now　why　you　think　so　much　of　him；”　said　the　Validian；　when　he　and　Lorenzo　were　alone
together。　Greiss　and　Armstrong　were　still　some　way　behind；　laying　mines；　and　Myers　and　Storm　had
taken　this　opportunity—while　their　progress　was　impeded—to　fall　back　and　hunt　jungle　lizards　and
anything　else　they　deemed　edible。　Lorenzo　and　Braxton　were　left　with　the　repetitive　and　wearying
work　of　swinging　their　knives；　forging　ahead—though　Lorenzo　had　to　admit；　it　was　going　a　lot
faster　now　that　Braxton　was　properly　equipped。
“Who？”　he　asked。
“Sergeant　Greiss。”
“Of　course　we　do。　He　wouldn’t　have　that　rank　if　he　hadn’t　earned　the　respect　of　all　of　us。”
“I　didn’t　realise。　At　first；　he　seemed—I　don’t　know—surly；　I　guess。　Distant。　Disapproving。”
“If　you’re　looking　for　a　soft　approach；”　said　Lorenzo；　“I’m　afraid　Catachan　doesn’t　breed　’em
like　that。”
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“I　guess　not。　But　now　I’ve　seen　Greiss　in　action—the　way　he　leads　from　the　front；　keeps　this
squad　together；　keeps　us　focused　on　the　mission。　And　the　way　he…　I　mean；　he　really　does　care
about　his　troopers；　even　if　he　doesn’t　always…”
“He’d　give　his　life　for　us；”　said　Lorenzo　simply；　“as　we　would　for　him。　Your　point　is？”
“I’m　used　to　sergeants　who　do　things　by　the　book；　that’s　all。　Same　with　the　commissar。　If
Mackenzie　had　survived；　if　he　could　see　Greiss　now…”
“If　he’d　been　willing　to　look；”　said　Lorenzo　pointedly。
“Yes。　I　just　think；　Mackenzie；　he　was　like　most　of　us。　We　don’t　know　till　we　see　for　ourselves。　I
can’t　imagine　what　it　must　have　been　like　for　you；　for　Greiss；　for　all　of　you；　being　brought　up　on　a
world　like　this。　A　deathworld。　But　I’m　starting　to　understand；　and　Mackenzie—I　think　he　would
have　understood　too；　in　time。”
“You　don’t　think　he’d　have　filed　his　complaint　against　Old　Hardhead？　You　don’t　think　he’d
have　had　him　shot？”
“We’ll　never　know；”　said　the　Validian。　“Best　thing；　I　think；　is　to　let　it　lie。　I　certainly　won’t　be
saying　a　thing。”
Lorenzo　was　about　to　agree　when　he　spotted　something。　A　triangle。　Silver。　He　could　easily　have
mistaken　it　for　an　exotic　leaf；　lying　flat　against　a　branch；　had　the　pattern　not　connected　with
something　in　his　memory。　A　warning。　Braxton’s　knife　hand　was　moving　towards　it；　and　Lorenzo
batted　it　away　even　before　his　conscious　mind　remembered　what　the　pattern　represented。　The
triangle　wrinkled；　as　a　snake　head　jerked　out　from　beneath　it　and　made　a　stab　at　where　the　hand　had
just　been。
“I　think　we　should　both　talk　less；”　said　Lorenzo；　“and　pay　more　attention　to　where　we’re　going。”
Braxton　nodded。　But　it　wasn’t　long　before　he　spoke　up　again。　“I　just　wondered；”　he　said；　“if　I
should　say　something。　To　the　others。　Let　them　know。　That　they　can　trust　me；　I　mean。”
Lorenzo　smiled　tightly。　“They　know。　Old　Hardhead　in　particular。”　He　indicated　the　devil　claw　in
Braxton’s　hand。　“Trust　me；　he　knows。”
Then　Greiss　and　Armstrong　came　pelting　towards　them；　sweeping　Myers　and　Storm　along　in
their　wake。
They　had　barely　come　to　a　halt　when　a　series　of　explosions　from　behind　them　rattled　the　ground
and　shook　leaves　from　their　branches。　The　trap　had　been　sprung。　Greiss’　cruel　grin　exposed　his　teeth
and　flared　his　nostrils。　They　all　waited　for　a　minute；　listening　for　the　shuffling　footsteps　of　zombies；
squinting　through　the　rain　for　the　shape　of　an　ork；　but　there　was　nothing。
And；　a　few　minutes　after　that；　Braxton　found　a　trap。　A　snare　in　the　undergrowth；　ready　to　tighten
about　the　ankle　of　an　unwary　traveller　and　hoist　him　into　the　trees。　A　sign；　Lorenzo　agreed　when　the
Validian　pointed　it　out　to　him；　that　orks　had　been　here。　Crafty　orks。　Then　he　inspected　the　snare
more　closely。　It　was　fashioned　from　creepers—but；　far　than　having　been　knotted　together　by　hand；　it
seemed　to　have　grown　into　its　unnatural　shape。
“Rogar’s　still　learning；”　he　murmured　as　Braxton　used　his　devil　claw　to　slice　through　the　snare。
“It’s　learning　from　us。”
They　forged　on　well　into　the　night；　making　up　for　their　late　start；　until　Lorenzo’s　body　wanted
nothing　more　than　to　shut　down。　He’d　been　running　on　adrenaline；　but　now　even　this　was　spent。　The
acid　rain　hadn’t　let　up；　and　despite　his　precautions　Lorenzo’s　face　and　neck　were　red　raw。　The
wound　in　his　side　felt　like　it　was　ablaze。　He　had　begun　to　wonder　if　Sergeant　Greiss　would　ever　call
a　halt　to　this　torture；　though　of　course　he　would　never　have　complained。
At　last；　Greiss　accepted　that　even　his　squad　needed　rest。　He　warned；　however；　that　they　didn’t
have　much　time。　He　intended　to　move　out　early　in　the　morning—and　until　then；　the　Jungle　Fighters
would　have　to　keep　watch　in　three　shifts　of　two　in　case　the　blue　light　returned。
83
For　the　first　time；　Lorenzo　didn’t　volunteer　for　first　watch。　Greiss　detailed　Myers　and　Storm　to
that　duty；　and　Lorenzo　was　grateful　to　be　placed　on　the　third　and　final　watch　with　Armst