Death World(科幻战争)-第2部分

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once。　And　then　it　happened　again；　with　only　marginally　less　force　this　second　time。
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The　drop　ship　was　skipping　along　the　ground；　its　engines　shrieking。　Lorenzo　was　rattled　in　his
seat；　his　straps　biting　into　his　chest。　He　concentrated　on　keeping　his　muscles　relaxed；　despite　the
situation；　knowing　that　to　resist　the　repeated　shocks　would　do　him　more　harm　than　good。
Then　they　hit　the　ground　for　the　final　time；　but　they　were　still　barrelling　forwards；　and　the　scrape
of　earth　and　branches　against　the　outer　hull　was　almost　deafening。　Rogar　III；　as　Donovits　had　taken
pleasure　in　informing　everyone；　was　blanketed　in　jungle。　There　were　no　open　spaces　in　which　to
land；　but　for　those　cleared　with　axe　and　flame。　Lorenzo　pictured　the　scene　outside　the　drop　ship’s
hull　now；　as　it　ploughed　through　tangled　vegetation；　the　servitors　straining　to　rein　in　its　speed　before
it　hit　something　that　wouldn’t　yield　to　its　considerable　mass。　Before　it　crumpled　in　on　itself　like　a
ball　of　paper。
And　then；　at　last；　they　were　still；　the　engines　letting　out　a　last　dying　whine　as　the　drop　ship’s
superstructure　creaked　and　settled。　The　lighting　flickered　and　cut　out；　and　Lorenzo　could　see　nothing
in　the　sudden　total　darkness。　But　he　knew　his　way　to　the　hatchway；　and　his　squad　was　the　closest　to
it。
The　drop　ship　had　come　to　rest　at　an　angle。　The　deck　was　tilted　some　forty…five　degrees　to　the
horizontal；　so　Lorenzo　had　to　climb　to　reach　his　goal。　He　swung　himself　from　one　empty　seat　to　the
next；　using　their　backs　to　keep　his　balance　and　his　bearings。　From　all　around；　he　could　hear　the
sounds　of　buckles　popping　and　men　leaping　to　their　feet。
He　was　almost　there　when　he　realised　he　had　been　beaten　to　it。　The　hatch　had　buckled　a　little
and　was　sticking　in　its　frame；　but　Woods　managed　to　shoulder　it　open　even　as　Lorenzo　was　about　to
lend　him　a　hand。　First　a　crack；　then　a　rectangle　of　brilliant　light　blazed　in　Lorenzo’s　eyes；　and　he
blinked　to　clear　the　patterns　it　burnt　into　his　retinas。
In　the　meantime；　Woods　had　clambered　out　onto　the　angled　side　of　the　ship。　“Hey；”　he　called
down　to　the　others　enthusiastically。　“You’ve　got　to　see　this。　It’s　a　beautiful　evening！”
Lorenzo　frowned。　The　upturned　hatchway　offered　him　the　familiar　sight　of　a　jungle　canopy—but
behind　the　greens　and　browns；　the　leaves　and　the　branches；　the　sky　appeared　to　be　a　perfect；　deep
blue；　free　from　cloud。　Woods　was　right。　If　there　had　been　a　storm；　it　had　passed；　impossibly；
without　trace。　But　then；　what　else　could　have　tossed　the　drop　ship　about　like　that？
It　was　there　again：　that　sense　of　wrongness　he　had　felt　in　the　warp。　He　needed　to　get　out　into　the
open。　The　rest　of　the　platoon　were　crowding　up　behind　him　anyway；　so　Lorenzo　followed　the　sweet
scent　of　fresh　air；　mingled　though　it　was　with　the　stench　of　burning。　He　gripped　the　sides　of　the
hatchway　and　pulled　himself　up　and　out　through　it。
He　had　barely　raised　his　head　above　the　parapet　and　started　to　take　in　his　new　surroundings；
when　Trooper　Woods　pushed　him　down　again；　with　a　warning　yell：　“Incoming！”
Three　plants　were　shuffling　towards　the　drop　ship。　They　looked　like　the　mantraps　of　Catachan；
but　taller。　Three　bulbous　pink　heads；　surely　too　heavy　for　their　stalks　to　support；　split　open　like
mouths。　No　teeth　within；　though。　These　plants　were　spitters。
Three　jets　of　clear　liquid　plumed　through　the　air。　Lorenzo　and　Woods　tumbled　back　into　the
drop　ship　together。　Woods　had　been　hit；　a　thick　gobbet　of　acid　sizzling　on　his　arm。　He　whipped　out
his　knife—a　devil　claw；　typically　ostentatious—and　half…cut；　half…tore　his　sleeve　away　before　it　was
eaten　through。　Still；　the　attack　had　left　a　livid　red　burn　on　his　skin。
Somewhere；　not　far　away；　a　carrion　bird　was　screeching　in　delight。
“So；　how’s　it　looking　out　there？”　asked　Greiss—and　Lorenzo　realised　that　the　sergeant　was
addressing　him。
A　smile　tugged　at　his　lips　as　he　gave　the　traditional　answer：　“Reckon　I’m　going　to　like　this
place；　sergeant。　It　reminds　me　of　home！”
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CHAPTER　TWO
The　air　outside　the　hatch　filled　with　acid　spray　again；　and　a　few　drops　made　it　inside　the　ship。　The
Catachans　withdrew　from　the　danger　area；　those　at　the　front　yelling　at　the　others　to　get　back。
Lorenzo’s　bandolier　was　splashed—only　a　little；　but　enough　to　leave　a　steaming　hole　in　the　fabric。
Sergeant　Greiss　had　shouldered　his　way　up　to　Lorenzo　and　Woods　through　the　crush。　The
platoon　commander　was　only　a　few　steps　behind　him。　Lieutenant　Vines　was　a　quiet…voiced；
unassuming　man—but；　because　he　had　earned　his　rank；　been　elected　to　it　by　his　fellow　Catachans；
they　listened　when　he　spoke。　He　asked　the　two　troopers　to　describe　what　they’d　seen；　and　Woods
told　him　about　the　spitting　plants。　“Three　of　them；　sir；”　Lorenzo　confirmed；　“at　two　o’clock。”
“Who’s　your　best　marksman；　sergeant？”
Without　hesitation；　Greiss　answered；　“Bullseye；　sir。　Trooper　Myers。”　As　he　spoke；　he　seized　the
shoulder　of　a　wiry；　dark…skinned　man；　and　pulled　him　forward。
“You　know　what　to　do；　Myers；”　said　Vines。
With　a　nod　of　understanding；　Myers　drew　his　lasgun。　He　waited　a　few　seconds　to　be　sure　it　was
safe；　then　darted　up　to　the　sloping　hatchway。
As　soon　as　he　popped　his　head　up　into　the　open；　there　came　another　deluge。　Myers　let　off　two
shots；　then　dived　and　rolled　back　under　cover；　landing　at　Lorenzo’s　feet。　Lorenzo　heard　acid
spattering　the　drop　ship’s　hull　above　his　head。　He　looked　down；　and　saw　that　the　deck　plates　were
bubbling　beneath　the　droplets　left　from　the　previous　attack。
Donovits　was　a　second　ahead　of　him；　his　eyes　already　turned　upward。　“Do　you　think　it　can　melt
through　adamantium？”　asked　Lorenzo。
“It’s　possible；”　said　Donovits；　“with　the　damage　we　must　have　taken　on　the　way　down。　I’d　keep
an　eye　out　up　there。　You　see　that　ceiling　starting　to　discolour；　you　find　yourself　a　steel　umbrella
quick。”
“And　that’d　help？”
“For　a　few　seconds；　yes。”
“I’ve　never　seen　plant　acid　so　strong；”　breathed　Sharkbait　Muldoon；　“not　even　back　home。”
“Makes　you　wonder；”　said　Donovits；　“what　kind　of　insects　live　on　this　world　if　that’s　what　it
takes　to　digest　them。”
In　the　meantime；　Myers　had　made　his　report　to　Lieutenant　Vines：　“Three　of　them；　sir；　like
Hotshot　and　Lorenzo　said。　I　picked　off　the　first；　but　I　swear　the　second　ducked　under　my　shot。　Got
the　measure　of　it　now；　though。”　Vines　signalled　his　approval　with　a　terse　nod；　and　Myers
approached　the　hatchway　again。
He　was　halfway　there　when　the　plants　fired　a　fourth　time。
This　time；　their　two　sprays　were　perfectly　aimed。　They　collided　above　the　hatchway；　so　that　a
sheet　of　liquid　dropped　into　the　ship　with　a　slap。　Myers　let　out　a　curse　and　leapt　back。　Several
troopers　were　splashed；　but　those　who　had　alkali　powders　in　their　kits—ground　from　the　vegetation
of　their　last　deathworld—had　readied　them；　and　they　quickly　pressed　them　into　service。
An　acid　river　trickled　down　the　angled　deck；　petering　out　as　it　sizzled　into　the　metal。　Still；
Lorenzo　wasn’t　the　only　trooper　forced　to　climb　onto　a　seat　to　escape　its　path。
“Cunning　critters；”　breathed　Myers；　almost　admiringly。　And　then　he　was　off；　without　awaiting
instructions。　He　vaulted　through　the　hatchway；　the　ship’s　hull　ringing　as　his　booted　feet　connected
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with　it。　Then　he　was　out　of　sight；　but　Lorenzo　could　still　hear；　and　feel；　his　footsteps　overhead；　and
the　crack　of　a　lasgun；　firing　once；　twice；　three　times；　four　times；　then　another　spattering　of　acid；
uncomfortably　close　to　the　point　from　which　the　last　footstep　had　sounded。
Then　there　was　silence。
Lorenzo　held　his　breath；　alert　for　any　sounds　from　outside　the　drop　ship。　Then　he　caught
Sergeant　Greiss’　eye；　and　realised　that　Old　Hardhead　was　smiling。　A　moment　later；　Myers　appeared
in　the　hatchway　again；　and　he　too　was　grinning　from　ear　to　ear。　He　blew　imaginary　smoke　from　the
barrel　of　his　lasgun。　“All　clear；”　he　announced。
Four　sergeants　bellowed　at　once；　ordering　their　respective　troopers　out　of　the　ship　double…quick。
Lorenzo　kne　up　outside　would　pay　with　extra　duties　for
embarrassing　their　commander。
Fifty　men　rushed　for　the　hatchway；　but　Woods　reached　it　first。　As　Lorenzo　climbed　out　onto　the
surface　of　a　new　world　and　looked　for　his　squad；　he　felt　a　thrill　of　excitement。　He　was　back　in　the
jungle—back　in　his　element。　He　knew　that；　whatever　perils　may　lie　in　store　for　him　on　Rogar　III；
they　couldn’t　be　as　discomforting　as　that　stifling　room　with　its　single　bed；　up　there　in　space。
The　trees　of　Rogar　III　were　generally　tall；　thin　and　gnarled；　but　they　grew　close　together—too　close；
in　places；　for　a　man　to　squeeze　between　them。　Their　leaves　were　jagged；　some　razor…edged—and
creepers　dangled　from　their　topmost　branches；　bulging　with　poisonous　pustules。　The　undergrowth
was　thick；　green…brown　and　halfway　to　knee　height；　the　occasional　splash　of　colour　thrown　out　in
the　shape　of　a　flower　or　a　brightly　patterned　thistle　or　patch　of　strangle…weed。　From　a　distance；　it
looked　like　any　jungle　Lorenzo　had　seen。　He　wanted　to　get　closer；　to　inspect　the　peculiar　shapes　and
patterns　of　this　jungle；　to　begin　to　learn　which　shapes　he　could　trust　and　which　spelled　danger—but；
for　now；　it　was　not　to　be。
The　drop　ship　had　gouged　a　great　gash　out　of　the　planet。　Undergrowth　had　been　flattened；　trees
felled；　branches　shorn。　Small　fires　were　still　burning；　and　creepers　twitched　like　severed　limbs　in
their　heat。
Vines　checked　his　compass；　and　received　a　navigational　fix　from　the　troop　carrier　in　orbit。　They
were　ten　kilometres　away　from　the　Imperial　encampment；　he　reported；　and　the　quickest　route　to　it
was　to　retrace　the　trail　of　devastation　to　its　source。　It　was　also　the　safest　route—for；　although
Lorenzo　saw　several　more　acid　spitters　among　the　ashes；　most　had　been　burnt　or　decapitated。　When
one　plant　did　dare　stir；　and　cracked　open　its　pink　head；　it　immediately　became　the　focus　of　eight
lasguns；　and　was　promptly　blasted　out　of　existence。
The　Catachans　proceeded　cautiously　to　begin　with；　and　there　was　little　talk。　Each　of　them　knew
this　was　the　most　dangerous　time：　their　first　footsteps　on　a　new　world；　not　knowing　the　threats　it
posed；　knowing　that　an　attack　could　come　at　any　second　from　any　quarter。　In　time；　they　would
become　familiar　with　Rogar　III—those　of　them　who　survived　these　early　days。　They　would　learn　to
anticipate　and　counter　anything　it　could　throw　at　them。　Then　this　world　would　be　no　challenge
anymore　and；　Emperor　willing；　they　would　move　on　to　another。
Lorenzo　loved　this　time。　He　loved　the　feeling　of　adrenaline　pumping　around　his　body；　loved　the
edge　it　gave　him。
For　the　moment；　though；　the　planet　was　nursing　its　wounds；　keeping　its　distance。　He　heard　more
birds　screeching　to　each　other；　but　apart　from　a　brief　flutter　of　wings　on　the　edge　of　his　vision　he
never　saw　a　single　one。　A　jungle　lizard　skittered　away　as　the　Catachans　approached。　Lorenzo
estimated　it　to　be　about　twenty　centimetres　long；　but　without　a　closer　inspection　he　couldn’t　tell　if　it
was　an　adult　or　a　baby。
It　was　almost　as　if　Rogar　III　was　watching　the　new　arrivals；　sizing　them　up　just　as　they　were
sizing　up　it。
Bulldog　Rock　was　the　first　to　order　his　squad　to　double　time；　and　Greiss　and　the　other　sergeants
followed。　Not　to　be　outdone；　another　squad　struck　up　a　cadence　call。
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A　scream　of　engines　drew　his　attention　to　the　sky；　and　he　caught　a　glint　of　red　as　the　rays　of　the
sinking　sun　struck　metal。　Two　drop　ships；　ascending；　from　a　point　no　more　than　a　couple　of
kilometres　ahead。　He　wondered　what　had　happened　to　the　third；　and　suppressed　a　shudder　at　the
thought　that　one　platoon　may　not　have　been　as　fortunate　as　his　own。
Not　long　after　that；　they　came　to　the　end　of　their　own　ship’s　trail—the　point　at　which　it　had　hit
ground。　Lorenzo　had　looked　forward　to　entering　the　jungle　proper；　but　instead　he　found　himself　at
the　edge　of　an　expansive　clearing。　It　was　man…made；　about　two　kilometres　in　diameter；　doubtless　the
product　of　many　hours　of　toil　by　Imperium　troops　with　flamers—and　yet　the　vegetation　at　the
clearing’s　edge　was　already　showing　signs　of　re…growth。
Without　breaking　step；　the　Jungle　Fighters　made　for　a　huddle　of　prefabricated　buildings　in　the
clearing’s　centre；　now　little　more　than　shadows　in　the　twilight。　As　they　reached　it；　the　sergeants
shouted　more　orders；　and　the　Catachans　formed　up　in　their　squads　again　and　fell　silent。　Lorenzo　was
aware　that　their　noisy　arrival　had　turned　the　heads　of　several　Guardsmen　who’d　been　standing
sentry。　It　had　also　given　fair　warning　of　their　approach　to　the　commissar　who　now　came　to　meet
them。
He　was　a　young；　fair…haired　man　with　pale　skin　and　ears　that　protruded　very　noticeably。　The
Imperial　eagle　spread　its　wings　proudly　on　his　peaked　cap；　and　his　slight　form　was　almost
swallowed　by　a　long；　black　overcoat。　Fresh　out　of　training；　Lorenzo　thought。　Even　Lieutenant
Vines；　not　a　tall　man；　seemed　to　tower　over　the　senior　officer　through　presence　alone。　Lorenzo
thought　he　could　see　a　sneer　pulling　at　Vines’　lips　as　he　folded　his　arm　into　a　lazy　salute　and
announced；　“C　Platoon；　Third　Company；　Catachan　XIV　reporting　for　duty；　sir。”
“Not　before　time；　lieutenant；”　said　the　commissar　tersely。　“I　assume　it　was　your　drop　ship　that
screamed　over　our　heads　an　hour　ago；　and　almost　demolished　the　very　camp　we’ve　been　fighting　to
defend？”　He　made　it　sound　like　an　accusation；　as　if　Vines　had　been　piloting　the　ship　himself。　Before
Vines　could　speak；　however；　the　commissar　raised　his　voice　to　address　the　assembled　platoon。　“My
name　is　Mackenzie。　I　am　in　command　here—and　as　long　as　you　are　on　Rogar　III；　my　word　is　the
Emperor’s　word；　is　that　clear？”
A　few　of　the　Catachans　mumbled　a　derisory；　“Yes；　sir。”　Most　of　them　said　nothing。
Mackenzie　scowled。　“Let　me　make　this　clear　from　the　outset；”　he　snapped。　“I　don’t　like
deathworlders。　In　my　experience；　they　are　sloppy　and　undisciplined；　with　an　arrogance　that　far
outstrips　their　ability。　The　Emperor　has　seen　fit　to　send　you　here；　and　I　concede　you　may　have
certain　expertise　that　will　hasten　a　conclusion　to　this　war。　But　had　the　decision　been　mine；　let　me　tell
you；　I　would　rather　have　fought　on　　the　blessed　birth　world　than　ten　from　Canak
or　Luther　McIntyre　or　whatever　hellhole　it　was　you　lot　crawled　out　from。”
“Catachan；　sir！”　hollered　Vines；　and　a　proud　roar　swelled　from　the　ranks　of　his　men。　If
Mackenzie　had　expected　to　get　a　rise　out　of　the　Jungle　Fighters；　he　was　disappointed。　Most　of　them
ignored　him；　not　quite　looking　at　him；　undermining　him　with　a　wave　of　indifference。　Woods　said
something　under　his　breath；　a　few　men　laughed；　and　the　commissar’s　eyes　narrowed—but　he　hadn’t
quite　caught　the　words　and　couldn’t　pinpoint　their　source。
“As　you　are　here；”　he　continued；　“I　intend　to　make　the　best　of　it。　I’m　making　it　my　mission　to
whip　you　rabble　into　shape。　By　the　time　I’m　finished　with　you；　you’ll　be　the　smartest　Guardsmen　in
the　Imperium。”
Mackenzie　turned　on　his　heel；　then；　and　snarled　in　Vines’　direction；　“Your　platoon　is　late　for　my
briefing；　lieutenant。　Ten　laps　round　the　camp　perimeter；　double　time。　Last　squad　back　does　another
ten。”
“With　respect；　sir…”　began　Vines；　the　look　of　contempt　in　his　eyes　suggesting　that　respect　was
the　last　thing　he　wanted　to　show。
“That　includes　you；　lieutenant。”　Mackenzie　barked—and　he　marched　away　stiffly；　into　the
largest　of　the　buildings。
Vines　took　a　deep　breath。　“All　right；”　he　said；　“you　heard　the　man。”
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The　Catachans　took　their　circuits　at　a　leisurely　pace；　and　with　a　cadence　call　that　contained　a　few
choice　lyrics　about　senior　officers。
By　the　time　they　got　to　the　lower　ranks’　mess　hall；　there　was　only　enough　slop　left　for　half　rations；
and　it　was　cold。
About　fifty　Catachans　and　a　handful　of　ogryns　from　A　and　D　Platoons　had　taken　over　a　generous
area；　perching　on　tables　with　their　feet　up　on　chairs；　swigging　from　flasks　and　punching　each　other
boisterously。　They　had　broken　out　the　hooch　to　celebrate　their　arrival；　it　had　been　brewed　on　the
troop　ship；　and　put　aside　for　a　special　occasion。　They　filled　the　large　space　with　their　raucous
laughter。
There　were　other　Guardsmen　here—they　outnumbered　the　Catachans　two　to　one—but　they　were
finishing　their　meals　in　silence；　along　one　side　of　the　hall；　looking　very　much　like　they’d　been　edged
out　by　the　newcomers。　They　wore　red　and　gold；　and　were　identified　by　their　flashes　as　members　of
the　32nd　Royal　Validian　Regiment。　To　Lorenzo’s　eyes；　most　of　them　looked　tall　and　gaunt—but
then；　he　was　aware　that　Catachan　had　a　higher　than　average　gravity；　which　made　its　people　more
squat　and　muscular　than　most。
It　didn’t　surprise　him　that　the　two　groups　had　self…segregated。　The　Catachans　were　Jungle
Fighters—elite　deathworld　veterans。　The　best　the　Imperium　had　to　offer；　they　believed。　The　rankand…
file　Guardsmen　regarded　them　with　a　mixture　of　curiosity；　admiration　and；　here　more　than　in
many　places；　outright　resentment。
Lorenzo’s　squad　picked　up　their　meals　and　took　over　a　table。　Greiss　joined　them　presently；　he’d
had　the　rookie；　Landon；　fetch　his　food　for　him　while　he’d　pumped　the　other　platoons　for　what　they’d
learned　so　far。
He　threw　a　folded　sheet　of　paper　onto　the　table。　Lorenzo　saw　the　crudely　printed　header　Eagle　&
Bolter；　and　needed　to　look　no　closer。　Another　propaganda　broadsheet；　doubtless　full　of　consoling
“news”　about　how　the　war　here　was　being　won。　“Looks　like　we　hit　the　jack　pot　this　time；”　said　the
sergeant　happily。　“We　got　killer　plants；　man…eating　slugs；　poison　insects；　acid　swamps；　all　the　usual。
On　top　of　that；　there’s　talk　of　invisible　monsters—and　ghosts；　would　you　believe！”　He　saw　that　a
couple　of　Validians　were　eavesdropping　from　the　next　table　but　one；　and　he　added　slyly；　“Course　we
only　got　the　word　of　a　few　rookie　Guardsmen　for　that。　Probably　jumping　at　their　own　shadows。”
“Ghosts？”　echoed　Donovits；　interested。
“Yes：　ghosts；　lights；　whatever。　Supposed　to　appear　at　night；　lure　men　into　the　jungle—and　those
crazy　enough　to　follow　them　don’t　come　back。”
“Speaking　of　which；　sergeant；”　said　Armstrong；　“any　news　on　B　Platoon？”　The　one…eyed　trooper
made　the　question　sound　nonchalant；　but　Lorenzo　knew　Armstrong　had　belonged　to　the　missing
platoon　before　his　recent　transfer。
“Not　yet；”　said　Greiss。　“They　had　the　same　trouble　we　did　on　the　way　in；　but　it　looks　like　they
set　down　further　away。　They’re　out　there　somewhere。”
“Lucky　for　them；”　said　Woods。　“They　don’t　have　to　put　up　with　Commissar　Jug…Handles
throwing　his　not　considerable　weight　around。”
“It　must’ve　been　some　storm；”　remarked　Donovits。
“Blew　up　out　of　nowhere；”　said　Greiss；　“by　all　accounts。　One　second；　the　sky　was　clear；　the
next；　our　drop　ships　were　drawing　strikes　like　lightning　rods。　Then　clear　blue　again。”
“Still　think　Naval　Command　were　exaggerating；　sergeant；”　asked　Woods　with　his　characteristic
cheeky　grin；　“about　this　place　turning　into　a　deathworld？”
“Can’t　see　this　place　ever　having　been　anything　but；”　commented　Bullseye　Myers。　“I　don’t
know　why　it　took　’em　so　long　to　admit　it。”
“Maybe　it　was　Mackenzie；”　considered　Dougan。　“You　heard　what　the　man　said。　He　doesn’t
want　us　here。”
14
“Yeah；”　said　Woods—and　in　a　passable　impression　of　the　commissar’s　nasal　whine；　he
continued；　“‘I　don’t　like　deathworlders。　I’m　making　it