Death World(科幻战争)-第17部分

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last　batch　he’d　gathered。　In　case　the　planet　had　brewed　up　a　new　poison　to　surprise　them。
They　knew　there　was　a　small　chance　that　foraging　gretchin　would　happen　upon　them；　so
Lorenzo　helped　Armstrong　set　up　a　few　traps。　Any　creature　that　came　within　earshot　of　them　would
be　strung　up　in　a　net；　unable　to　raise　an　alarm。
They　ate；　and　their　conversation　turned　to　the　usual　subject：　to　comrades　gone　but　not　forgotten。
They　spoke　of　Hotshot；　Sharkbait　and　Brains’　defiance　of　the　ork　hordes。　They　had　all　heard　the
stories　by　now；　of　course；　but　it　helped　to　reiterate　them。　It　comforted　them；　and　ensured　that　they
had　the　details　right；　for　the　next　time　the　stories　were　told。　They　talked　of　Landon’s　bravery；　and　of
the　heroic　fight　Steel　Toe　Dougan　had　no　doubt　put　up　against　the　blue　light。　In　time；　their
conversation　turned　to　earlier　exploits；　and　they　found　these　stories　were　even　more　worth　the　telling
because　Armstrong　and　Guardsman　Braxton　were　new　to　their　squad　and　hadn’t　heard　them　before。
Greiss　recalled　how；　as　an　eager　young　rookie；　Hotshot　Woods　had　rushed　an　ork　sniper　that　had
pinned　the　squad　down；　miraculously　reaching　it　without　a　scratch　and　wrestling　it　from　its
emplacement。　Myers　and　Storm　took　it　in　turns　to　relate　how　Brains　Donovits　had　survived　an
encounter　with　a　stranded　Chaos　Space　Marine；　simply　by　outthinking　it；　and　were　pleased　when
Braxton　asked　questions　and　made　expressions　of　admiration　in　all　the　right　places。　Then　they　all
listened　attentively　to　Armstrong’s　fresh　tales　of　heroes　from　his　former　squad；　and　expressed　a
collective　wish　that　they　could　have　known　these　great　men　and　witnessed　their　deeds。
Myers　followed　that　with　the　tale　of　how　Old　Hardhead　had　earned　his　name。　It　was　a　story　from
before　Lorenzo’s　time；　of　course—before　Myers’；　for　that　matter—but　they　had　both　heard　it　often
enough。　Trooper　Greiss；　as　he　had　been　then；　had　been　part　of　a　single　platoon　that　had　taken　down
a　Chaos　Dreadnought。　He　had　lain　some　of　the　snares　into　which　it　had　walked；　and　planted　a　mine
on　its　leg　as　it　had　struggled　to　free　itself。　Unfortunately；　he　hadn’t　been　able　to　outran　the　explosion
that　had　ripped　the　Dreadnought　apart。　Or　maybe　it　hadn’t　been　fortune　but　fate　that　had　lodged　a
sizeable　hunk　of　shrapnel　in　Greiss’　skull。　The　surgeons　had　reportedly　written　him　off；　but　his
strength　of　character　had　buoyed　him　to　a　full　recovery。　“Without　that　metal　plate　they　put　in　his
head；”　Myers　concluded；　“he　wouldn’t　be　the　cantankerous　old　sod　we　know　today。”
“Knock　it　off；　Bullseye；”　growled　Greiss；　“unless　you　want　latrine　duty　when　we　get　back　to
civilisation。”
“You　wait　till　you’re　splashed　over　the　front　page　of　Eagle　&　Bolter；　sergeant；”　said　Myers。
“We　got　their　star　reporter　in　our　midst；　you　know。”
“Yes；　that’s　right；”　remembered　Storm；　turning　to　Braxton。　“Didn’t　I　hear　you　were　working　on
a　story　about　us？”
“We　give　you　enough　material　yet？”　put　in　Myers。
“Ease　off；　you　two；”　said　Greiss。　“You　know　what　those　rags　are　like。　The　higher…ups　wouldn’t
let　Braxton　print　any　of　this　stuff　if　he　wanted　to。　They’re　only　interested　in　their　own　truths。”
“I　wish　I　could　argue　with　that；”　said　Braxton；　“but　you’re　right；　yes。　I　always　wrote　what　I　was
told　to　write—about　successful　missions；　and　ground　that　we’d　gained。　I　don’t　think　half　of　it　was
even　true。　I　didn’t　ask。”
“Never　saw　a　broadsheet　that　was　any　different；”　remarked　Myers。
“And　I　thought　that　was　alright；”　continued　Braxton；　“because　it　was　all　about　morale。　That　was
what　Mackenzie　always　said；　and　the　commissar　before　him。　Put　the　best　possible　spin　on　it；　they
said。　Tell　the　troops　about　the　overall　campaign；　about　the　Imperium　resisting　its　enemies；　and
remind　them　why　they’re　doing　it。　Don’t　let　them　dwell　on　the　details；　how　people　like　them—like
us—are　suffering　and　dying　for　the　cause。　Your　story　would　have　been　no　different。　Just　a　few　lines
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about　your　great　victory；　maybe　a　name　check　for　the　commissar。　They’d　never　have　let　me　write
about　Woods　or　Dougan　or　the　others。”
“All　the　more　reason　for　us　to　make　it　back　alive；”　said　Storm。　“Because　if　we　don’t　tell　those
stories；　who　will？”
“I　will；”　swore　Braxton。　“One　day。　I’ll　tell　them　how　it　is　with　you—how　you　make　sure　that
everyone　matters；　every　life　counts　for　something。”
“Keep　talking　like　that；”　said　Greiss；　“and　your　next　commissar　will　probably　boot　you　right　out
on　the　first　suicide　mission　to　cross　his　desk。”
Braxton　grimaced；　but　took　the　joke　in　the　spirit　it　was　intended。
They　were　all　still　smiling　when　the　ground　shook　again。
This　tremor　was　worse　than　the　first　one。　It　lasted　longer；　felt　deeper　and　more　destructive；
although　the　only　visible　signs　of　it　above　ground　were　a　slight　blurring　of　the　trees　and　the
dislodging　of　a　few　leaves　and　fruits。　The　tremor　died　down　with　no　harm　done；　but　Lorenzo　could
see　his　apprehension　mirrored　in　die　other　Jungle　Fighters’　eyes；　because　they　knew　what　it　might
presage。
Maybe　Rogar　III　hadn’t　conceded　defeat　after　all。　Maybe　it　was　just　waiting；　planning；　and
building　up　to　its　biggest　offensive　against　its　interlopers　yet。
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CHAPTER　FIFTEEN
“Sergeant—you’ve　got　to　see　this。”
As　the　Jungle　Fighters　had　ventured　deeper　into　ork　territory；　they　had　switched　to　stealth
tactics；　as　they　had　by　the　encampment。　This　time；　it　was　Myers　who　had　the　task　of　scouting　ahead
for　traps。　He　had　already　guided　the　squad　around　several　tripwires　and　a　concealed　pit。　Now　he
came　scurrying　back　to　them；　face　flushed。
They　followed　him　through　the　foliage；　all　too　aware　that　they　were　moving　parallel　to　a　path
worn　down　and　churned　up　by　footprints。　Lorenzo　could　hear　clinking　and　clunking　and　the　guttural
sounds　of　ork　voices　ahead；　and　he　moved　as　carefully　as　he　could；　disturbing　hardly　a　leaf。
A　light　spilled　into　the　jungle；　and　Lorenzo　feared　at　first　that　it　was　the　mind…altering　blue　light。
It　was　white；　though；　far　more　harsh；　and　it　seemed　to　emanate　from　many　sources。　The　Jungle
Fighters　were　careful　to　stick　to　the　shadows；　not　to　let　the　light　reveal　them。
Then；　with　a　cautious　touch；　Myers　parted　a　cluster　of　spiny　fronds；　and　Lorenzo　saw　what　the
excitement　was　about。
The　orks　had　set　up　a　mining　operation。　They　were　working　well　into　the　night。　A　clearing　was
illuminated　by　lanterns　strung　up　in　trees；　turned　inwards；　their　light　bleaching　out　all　but　the
faintest　hints　of　colour。　Across　the　clearing；　the　ground　rose　steeply；　and　a　tunnel　had　been　dug　into
the　side　of　this　hillock。　A　square　wooden　frame　propped　up　its　entrance—and　as　the　Jungle　Fighters
watched；　another　light　appeared　in　the　tunnel’s　depths。　An　ork　emerged；　the　light　streaming　from　a
battered　helmet　that　was　balanced　atop　its　misshapen　head。　It　was　wheeling　a　lopsided　barrow
overloaded　with　rocks；　which　it　dumped　unceremoniously　onto　one　of　several　heaps　dotting　the
area。
Four　gretchin　were　sorting　through　this　heap；　giving　each　rock　a　cursory　glance　before　they
tossed　it　onto　a　discard　pile。　Nearby；　two　orks　quarrelled　over　a　pickaxe—and　ten　more　stood　sentry
at　regular　intervals　around　the　clearing；　with　one　stationed　to　each　side　of　the　mine　entrance。　A　few
more　gretchin　were　scampering　about；　fetching　and　carrying；　offering　their　ork　masters　food　and
drink。
“What　do　you　suppose　they’re　looking　for？”　asked　Armstrong；　after　the　Jungle　Fighters　had
backed　up　a　safe　distance。
“Isn’t　much　worth　digging　up　on　Rogar；”　said　Wildman　Storm；　“at　least　not　according　to
Brains—or　did　I　hear　that　wrong？”
Greiss　shook　his　head。　“You　heard　right；　Wildman。　But　remember　what　else　Brains　said—about
this　world’s　energy　signature。　There’s　something　here；　something　the　explorators　couldn’t　identify。
I’m　guessing　the　green…skins　are　after　it。”
“How？”　protested　Lorenzo。　“If　the　explorators　couldn’t　find　it…”
Greiss　shrugged。　“You　know　orks。　Bloody…minded。　Likelihood　is　they　got　nothing；　know
nothing；　but　they’ll　just　keep　on　looking　on　the　off…chance　that　there’s　some　miracle　rock　down
there　they　can　mine　and　use　against　us。　Probably　hollow　out　this　whole　planet　before　they　admit
defeat。”
“Emperor　help　us　if　they　do　find　something；”　murmured　Armstrong。
“So　what　now？”　asked　Storm—and　Lorenzo　recognised　the　impatient　gleam　in　his　eyes。　“The
odds　are　way　better　than　they　were　two　nights　ago；　and　this　time　we　have　the　advantage　of　surprise。
We　come　out　firing；　we’ll　have　half　those　greenskins　down　before　they　know　what’s　hit　them。”
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“I　don’t　care　about　‘half　those　greenskins’；”　growled　Greiss。　“We’re　here　for　one　reason；　and
one　reason　only—and　I　didn’t　see　anyone　out　there　answering　Big　Green’s　description。”
“There　were　no　huts。”　Braxton　realised。　“Where　do　these　orks　live？”
“Another　encampment；　somewhere　nearby？”　hazarded　Myers。
“Your　job　to　find　out；”　said　Greiss。　“When　I　give　the　word；　you　take　a　scout　round　that　clearing；
see　if　there’s　any　wheel　tracks　or　evidence　of　orks　tramping　to　and　fro。　My　guess　is；　there　won’t　be。
I　reckon　these　greenskins　have　taken　their　equipment　and　their　beds　underground；　into　the　mine
itself。”
“So；　getting　to　their　boss　won’t　be　as　easy　as　it　sounded；”　added　Myers。
“He’s　got　to　show　his　face　on　the　surface　sometime；”　opined　Braxton。
“Has　he？”　said　Armstrong；　cynically。
“Normally；　I’d　say　wait；”　said　Greiss。　“Set　up　sniper　positions；　sit　it　out　for　a　few　days；　let　our
target　come　to　us。　But　this　is　Rogar　III。　We　sit　around　here　too　long；　we　don’t　know　what　it’s　going
to　throw　at　us。”
“If　we　go　into　that　mine　with　all　guns　blazing；”　said　Armstrong；　“Big　Green　will　know　about
it—and　I’m　betting；　if　he’s　half　as　smart　as　Mackenzie　reckoned；　he　won’t　let　himself　be　cornered　in
there。”
“Something　else　for　you　to　keep　an　eye　out　for；　Bullseye；”　said　Greiss；　“on　your　reconnoitre：　a
back　way　in—though　if　there　is　one；　it’s　probably　kilometres　away；　and　well　hidden。　No；　I’ve　a
feeling　in　my　old　bones：　the　only　way　we’re　getting　in　sniffing　distance　of　our　man　is　if　we　barge　in
the　front　door。　Question　is；　how　to　do　it　without　tipping　off　the　warboss　that　we’re　coming？”
Twenty　minutes　later；　Lorenzo　was　lying　flat　on　his　face　in　the　grass；　having　mud　slapped　onto　his
back　by　his　comrades—some　of　them；　he　thought；　with　a　little　too　much　relish。　He　protested　as
Storm　tried　to　tie　a　branch　into　his　hair　with　clumsy　fingers；　but　succeeded　only　in　poking　him　in　the
eye。
Finally；　Sergeant　Greiss　suggested　he　try　standing；　and　Lorenzo　did　so；　helped　to　his　feet　by
Braxton。　A　heap　of　vegetation　crashed　to　the　ground　around　his　feet；　and　he　looked　at　Armstrong；
upon　whom　similar　indignities　had　been　heaped；　and　stifled　a　laugh。
It　took　another　ten　minutes’　work　to　achieve　anything　like　the　effect　they　wanted。　Lorenzo　and
Armstrong　remained　standing　for　this　final　stage；　and　Lorenzo　watched　admiringly　as　his　comrade
disappeared　beneath　layer　after　layer　of　dirt。　Much　of　it　didn’t　stick；　and　even　now　some　patches　of
Armstrong’s　skin　showed　through；　but　that　didn’t　matter　so　much。　A　garland　of　plants　had　been
knotted　together　and　draped　around　Armstrong’s　shoulders；　from　a　distance；　it　might　have　looked
like　the　leaves　were　growing　out　of　him。　The　likeness　wasn’t　perfect；　but　even　Lorenzo　had　to
suppress　a　shudder；　staring　now　at　a　figure　that　reminded　him　of　the　zombies　that　had　almost　killed
them　all。　Of　course；　although　he　couldn’t　see　it；　didn’t　dare　tilt　his　head　for　fear　of　dislodging　its
dressings；　he　knew　he　had　undergone　a　similar　transformation。
Greiss　cast　an　appraising　eye　over　his　two　troopers；　and　announced　that　they　were　ready。　“At
least；”　he　added；　“I’d　say　we’ve　done　as　much　as　we　can　with　you。　I　suggest　you　stick　to　the
shadows　at　the　edge　of　the　clearing；　and—I　don’t　know—try　and　puff　yourselves　up　a　bit；　stick　your
shoulders　out。　You’re　supposed　to　be　orks　under　all　that　muck。　Pair　of　scrawny　buggers　like　you
two；　you’ll　be　lucky　to　pass　for　gretchin。”
“So　long　as　the　greenskins　don’t　pick　’em　as　Catachans；　eh；　sergeant？”　said　Myers。　He　had
surprised　everyone　by　producing　two　ork　guns　from　his　backpack；　now　he　pressed　one　into
Lorenzo’s　hands；　and　the　other　into　Armstrong’s。　“Here；　this　should　help　keep　up　the　illusion。”
“You　got　any　more　of　them；　Bullseye？”　asked　Greiss。
“Afraid　not；　sergeant。　Just　picked　up　two　at　the　encampment；　for　a　rainy　day。　I　loaded　’em　both
up；　though。”
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“Rest　of　us　will　have　to　make　do　with　lasguns；　then。　We　let　Patch　and　Lorenzo　start　firing　first；
and　with　a　bit　of　luck　the　orks　won’t　think　about　it　in　the　confusion。”
It　sounded　like　a　risky　plan。　For　a　start；　the　Jungle　Fighters　were　relying　upon　the　likelihood　that
the　orks　had　had　their　own　encounters　with　the　plant　zombies。　“When　they　start　falling。”　Greiss　had
said；　“we　want　them　to　think　that　that’s　who’s　behind　it：　their　own　living　dead。　So；　no　heroics。
We’re　just　going　to　pick　off　a　few　sentries；　narrow　the　odds　against　us　and　fall　back；　no　more　than
that。”
Greiss；　Myers；　Storm　and　Braxton　slipped　away　to　their　positions　then；　and　left　Lorenzo　and
Armstrong　standing；　looking　at　each　other。　Lorenzo　hoped　that　Armstrong；　with　all　he’d　been
through；　was　up　to　this—but　when　Greiss　had　expressed　a　similar　sentiment；　the　veteran　had
snapped　that　he　had　lost　an　eye　and　an　arm；　not　the　use　of　his　legs　or　his　brain。
They　waited　two　minutes　as　arranged；　then　began　to　shuffle　toward　the　lights　and　the　sounds　of
ork　voices。　It　was　easier　than　Lorenzo　had　expected　to　replicate　the　zombies’　stiff；　unnatural　gait：　it
came　naturally　to　him；　so　worried　was　he　about　shedding　his　disguise　before　it　was　even　put　to　use。
They　split　up　as　they　neared　the　clearing；　Armstrong　going　right；　Lorenzo　left。　He　saw　no　sign　of
his　other　comrades；　but　he　knew　they　were　nearby。　He　drew　in　a　deep　breath　and　stepped　out　into
the　open；　stopping　just　short　of　the　footprint　of　the　nearest　lantern。　The　nearest　ork　sentry　was　a　little
closer　than　he’d　anticipated；　and　he　squeezed　the　trigger　of　his　gun　and　sent　a　hail　of　bullets　its　way。
Somewhere　to　Lorenzo’s　right；　the　chatter　of　a　second　ork　gun　echoed　his　own。
The　ork　was　coming　at　him；　snarling；　foaming　at　the　mouth。　It　must　have　known　it　was　dead；　but
it　was　using　its　body　as　a　shield；　giving　its　fellows　time　to　react　to　the　intruders　in　their　midst。　There
was　every　chance　that　if　it　could　cling　to　life　long　enough　to　reach　Lorenzo；　it　could　do　some　real
damage。　He　took　a　step　back；　but　he　couldn’t　display　too　much　speed　or　agility　for　fear　of　exposing
his　deception。　All　he　could　do　was　keep　shooting；　and　pray。
Then　the　ork　fell；　and　the　clearing　was　full　of　answering　fire；　then　the　whines　of　las…bolts
shooting　in　from　positions　unknown；　and　there　were　four　more　orks　coming　Lorenzo’s　way　and　it
was　time　to　get　the　hell　out　of　there。
It　took　all　the　self…control　he　could　muster　not　to　duck　or　run—to　turn　his　back　and　to　shamble
away；　hearing　ork　feet　pounding　ever　closer；　making　himself　a　clear　target　for　an　agonising　second。
A　bullet　whistled　by　his　ear；　another　blew　a　clump　of　mud　from　his　shoulder　and　grazed　his　skin。
Then　Lorenzo　rounded　a　bush；　passed　out　of　his　enemies’　sight；　and　abandoned　all　pretence。
He　left　a　trail　of　debris　behind　him　as　he　raced　through　the　jungle；　he　just　hoped　his　pursuers
wouldn’t　recognise　it　for　what　it　was。　He　put　as　many　obstacles　as　he　could　between　him　and　them。
The　orks　were　snarling　and　howling；　and　letting　off　gunfire　in　random　directions；　so　he　knew　they
wouldn’t　hear　him；　as　long　as　they　didn’t　see　him　either；　they　should　assume　he　had　sunk
underground　like　Rogar’s　other　zombies。　In　theory；　at　least。
The　explosions　came　in　quick　succession—two　of　them。　The　orks　had　run　into　their　own　traps；
the　positions　of　the　tripwires　changed　by　Greiss　and　Myers。　Some　of　them　would　have　died。　It　was
still　too　early　to　tell；　though；　if　the　rest　of　the　plan—the　important　part—had　succeeded。
There　was　mud　in　Lorenzo’s　eyes　and　mouth；　but　he　had　reached　his　rendezvous　point　with　the
rest　of　his　squad。　He　was　the　first　there。　He　clawed　great　handfuls　of　dirt　from　his　face；　breathed
deeply　of　the　warm　night　air　and　coughed　up　a　leaf。　He　was　recognisably　Lorenzo　now；　but　a　film　of
the　planet’s　substance　clung　to　him　like　a　second　skin。　He　didn’t　think　he　would　ever　feel　clean
again。
Somebody　spoke；　and　he　jumped；　he　hadn’t　heard　anybody　approaching。　Then　he　recognised
Greiss’　voice；　and　saw　the　familiar　figure　of　his　sergeant　out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye；　though　he
couldn’t　make　out　what　he　was　saying；　so　bunged　up　were　his　ears。　He　started　to　clean　them　with　his
fingers；　as　Greiss　padded　up　to　him　and　laid　a　hand　on　Lorenzo’s　shoulder。
That　was　when　he　saw　his　mistake。
93
Lorenzo’s　head　snapped　up；　and　he　looked　into　the　hollow　eyes　of　an　effigy。　A　better　effigy；　far
better；　than　the　first　two；　Rogar　had　sculpted　Greiss’　craggy　features　perfectly；　even　found　plant
tendrils　to　match　the　iron　grey　of　his　hair。　And　that　voice—it　had　possessed　exactly　the　right　gruff
tone；　even　if；　Lorenzo　now　realised；　it　hadn’t　been　saying　a　thing。　He　muttered　a　curse；　aimed　at
himself　for　not　having　paid　attention；　as　he　pushed　the　effigy　away　from　him　and　dived　at　the　same
time；　but　knew　it　was　hopeless。
The　effigy　exploded；　and　Lorenzo　felt　his　ears　popping；　felt　its　spines　stabbing　into　him　before
he　hit　the　ground；　his　left　side　feeling　as　if　it　was　on　fire。
He　rolled　onto　his　back；　raised　his　left　arm；　and　saw　four　spines　protruding　along　its　length；　three
more　embedded　between　his　ribs。　He　yanked　them　out　quickly；　some　tearing　his　skin　and　sending
more　lances　of　pain　through　him。　Most　of　the　spines；　he　was　grateful　to　see；　still　dripped　poison　and
therefore　hadn’t　pumped　the　whole　of　their　doses　into　him。　Seven　spines；　though…　He　was　bleeding
through　some　of　his　wounds；　and　this　too　was　good　because　it　meant　he　might　bleed　some　of　the
poison　out。　He　twisted　his　arm　around　until　he　could　reach　two　of　its　punctures　with　his　mouth；　and
he　sucked　at　them；　his　tongue　recoiling　at　a　strong；　sour　taste。
His　heart　was　hammering；　his　head　light。　The　first　effects　of　the　poison—or　of　his　own　fear？　He
didn’t　want　it　to　end　like　this。　Not　through　his　own　carelessness。　Not　without　a　name　by　which　his
comrades　could　remember　him。
He　searched　his　pockets；　found　the　capsule　of　herbs　that　Donovits　had　given　him　some　months
ago。　A　generic　antitoxin；　he　had　called　it—though　he　had　warned　it　wouldn’t　work　in　all　situations。
Deathworlds；　Donovits　had　said；　had　a　habit　of　evolving　poisons　faster　than　men　could　combat
them—and；　Lorenzo　supposed　gloomily；　he　would　have　said　that　went　double　for　a　world　like
Rogar　III。
He　gulped　the　herbs　down　anyway；　taking　hold　of　all　the　lifelines　he　could。　He　clambered
unsteadily　to　his　feet　as　Armstrong　burst　through　the　jungle　behind　him；　followed　by　Storm；　Greiss
and　then　Braxton。
Lorenzo　told　them　what　had　happened　to　him。　He　had　no　choice：　he　had　to　warn　them　in　case
Rogar　tried　the　same　trick　on　them。　He　downplayed　his　injuries；　though；　claiming　to　have　been　hit
by　only　three　spines　and　professing　a　false　confidence　that　he　had　sucked　most　of　the　poison　out　of
his　bloodstream。　Gr