Death World(科幻战争)-第6部分

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screaming。　Lack　of　oxygen　had　an　effect　on　the　frenzied　trooper　at　last；　and　Muldoon’s　eyelids
fluttered　and　closed。　Dougan　waited　a　moment　longer　before　he　relinquished　his　grip。　A　flicker　of
regret　crossed　his　face　as　Muldoon’s　legs　buckled　beneath　him　and　he　crashed　into　the　undergrowth。
Lorenzo　and　Dougan　drew　their　Catachan　fangs；　cut　down　a　couple　of　thin　vines　and　bound　their
unconscious　comrade’s　wrists　and　ankles　with　them。　Lorenzo　yanked　the　night　reaper　out　of　the
ground；　and　respectfully　returned　it　to　its　sheath。　Even　with　Muldoon　in　this　state；　he　couldn’t
deprive　him　of　his　knife—though　he　ensured　that　his　tied　hands　couldn’t　reach　it。
Lorenzo　could　hear　las…fire　through　the　foliage；　and　he　knew　the　rest　of　his　squad　were　close　on
the　heels　of　their　prey。
Myers　and　Storm　were　the　first　back　from　the　gretchin　hunt。　They　were　followed　by　Donovits　and
Armstrong。
“How　is　he？”　asked　the　one…eyed　veteran；　nodding　in　Muldoon’s　direction。　He　must　have　seen
the　start　of　the　fight；　and　deduced　the　reason　for　it。
Dougan　shrugged。　“Hard　to　tell。　His　fever’s　broken；　so　he　could　be　alright。　Best　leave　him　to
sleep　it　off；　and　hope　he’s　seeing　things　more　clearly　when　he　comes　to。　How’d　it　go　with　the
gretchin？”
“We　got　’em；”　said　Storm；　baring　his　white　teeth。　“They　won’t　be　taking　any　tales　back　to　their
greenskin　masters。”
Commissar　Mackenzie　came　crashing　through　the　foliage　then；　Guardsman　Braxton　at　his　heels。
“What　the　hell　was　all　the　screaming　about？”　the　young　officer　demanded　to　know。　“And　who　let
off　a　bomb？　Where’s　the　point　in　our　chasing　down　gretchin　left；　right　and　centre　if　some　idiot　just
broadcasts　our　position　to　every　ork　on　the　planet？”
“Couldn’t　be　helped；　sir；”　said　Dougan。
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“And　the　jungle　would　have　deadened　the　sound　of　the　explosion；”　added　Donovits。　“I’d　say　it
couldn’t　have　been　heard　more　than；　say—”
“I　don’t　want　to　know；　trooper！”　snapped　Mackenzie。　“This　operation　is　turning　into　a　shambles。
Where’s　Greiss？”　He　turned；　and　jumped　to　find　that　the　sergeant　had　appeared　noiselessly　at　his
shoulder。　Recovering　himself；　he　snarled；　“Sergeant　Greiss！　Is　it　too　much　to　expect　you　to　exercise
a　modicum　of　restraint　over　your　men？　God…Emperor　knows；　I　wasn’t　expecting　much—but　so　far
I’d　have　been　better　leading　a　squad　of　orks　into　the　jungle。　At　least　they　have　some　semblance　of
self…control！”
Greiss　glared　at　Mackenzie　as　if　he　was　an　acid　grub　he’d　just　found　eating　into　his　boot。　The
rest　of　the　Catachans—somehow　without　seeming　to　move；　just　shifting　their　stances—formed　into
a　vague　circle　around　the　commissar。　No　words　had　been　spoken；　but　something　had　definitely
changed。
Lorenzo　caught　Braxton’s　eye。　The　Validian　didn’t　know　what　was　happening—but　he　couldn’t
have　been　more　aware　at　that　moment　that　this　was　Catachan　turf；　that　he　and　the　commissar　were
the　outsiders　here。　Instinctively；　he　shrank　back　against　Mackenzie。　He　looked　pale。
Mackenzie　himself　appeared　to　keep　his　cool；　but　Lorenzo　could　see　the　apprehension　in　his
eyes。
Sergeant　Greiss　broke　eye　contact；　took　a　half…step　back；　and　just　like　that　the　threat　was
dissipated。　“Well　done；　men；”　the　sergeant　barked。　“A　bit　of　bad　luck；　Sharkbait　here　going　crazy
when　he　did—but　it　couldn’t　have　been　helped；　and　you　dealt　with　it　well。”
Greiss　wasn’t　normally　so　effusive　with　his　praise—it　wasn’t　usually　needed—so　Lorenzo　knew
his　words　hadn’t　been　for　the　Jungle　Fighters’　benefit。　Mackenzie　looked　irritated；　but　he　didn’t
protest。
It　was　only　when　Greiss　detailed　Woods　to　pick　up　the　unconscious　and　bound　Muldoon　that　the
commissar　broke　his　silence　with　an　outraged　splutter。　“What　the　hell　are　you　thinking；　Greiss？　That
trooper　has　given　us　away　once　already。　We　can’t　afford　to　let　it　happen　again。”
“And　it　won’t。”　Greiss　promised。　“I’ll　see　to　it。”
His　tone　left　no　room　for　argument；　but　Mackenzie　didn’t　take　the　hint。　“That　man　is　diseased。
He　might　be　infectious。　Even　if　he　isn’t；　what　can　we　do　for　him　out　here？”
“You　got　anything　at　the　camp　that　could　help　him？”
“No；”　said　Mackenzie　emphatically。
“Then　Muldoon　comes　with　us；”　said　Greiss　with　equal　force；　“until　I’m　sure　there　isn’t　a　cure
for　him。”
“You　think　you　can　drag　him　all　the　way　to　the　warboss’　hideout　and　back？　You　think　you　can
guarantee　he　won’t　wake　up　along　the　way　and　bring　the　orks　down　on　us？　No；　sergeant。　No；　no；　no。
I　don’t　like　doing　this—but　I’m　ordering　you　to　abandon　this　trooper　for　the　sake　of　the　mission！”
“Sorry；　sir；”　said　Woods；　who　by　now　had　slung　Muldoon　over　his　shoulders　and　was　carrying
the　bigger　man　effortlessly。　“Isn’t　the　sergeant’s　decision　no　more。　Sharkbait　is　my　buddy。　You
want　me　to　drop　him　now；　and　leave　him　here　for　the　lizards　and　the　birds；　you’ll　have　to　shoot　me。”
With　that；　Woods　turned　his　back　defiantly　and　set　off　into　the　jungle　once　more。　The　rest　of　the
Catachans　wasted　no　time　in　joining　him；　leaving　Mackenzie　standing。　The　commissar　turned　to
Greiss　as　if　for　support；　but　recoiled　at　the　malicious　half…grin　on　his　face。　So　he　took　the　only
course　open　to　him　at　that　moment。　He　lapsed　into　a　judicious；　if　sullen；　silence。
They　moved　on。
It　was　as　the　evening　closed　in　that　the　birds　launched　their　attack。
The　sky；　where　it　could　be　seen；　was　still　a　light　shade　of　blue—but　with　the　sun　having
surrendered　its　efforts　to　pierce　the　trees；　the　shadows　had　free　rein　down　here。　The　canopy　had
captured　much　of　the　heat；　but　it　was　beginning　to　evaporate。　The　Catachans　were　used　to　jungle
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nights；　of　course；　and　their　eyes　adapted　well　to　the　gloom。　The　same　could　not　be　said　of
Mackenzie　and　Braxton。　After　stumbling　one　too　many　times；　Braxton　had　made　to　light　a　torch；　but
Greiss　had　hissed　at　him　to　put　it　away。　“You　want　to　draw　every　critter　in　the　jungle　to　us—and
blitz　our　night　vision　while　you’re　at　it？”
They　were　caught　by　surprise；　because　they　hadn’t　heard　the　birds　massing。　This　in　itself　was
unusual。　It　suggested　a　level　of　coordination　unprecedented　in　such　creatures；　in　Lorenzo’s
experience—that　the　birds　had　appeared　in　such　numbers；　so　quickly。
The　beating　of　their　wings　was　like　oncoming　thunder；　except　that　it　sounded　from　all　directions
at　once。　Their　bodies　were　a　storm　cloud；　drawing　with　it　a　darkness　even　the　Catachans　couldn’t
penetrate。　And　then　they　were　there；　the　birds；　plummeting　through　the　leaves　like　hailstones—but
hailstones　that；　when　they　hit；　burst　into　screeching；　scratching　darts　of　fury。
Lorenzo　had　just　had　time　to　draw　his　Catachan　fang　and　lasgun。　He　was　wielding　the　latter　onehanded；
keeping　his　knife　hand　back　to　protect　his　face。　He　fired　repeatedly；　aiming　up　above　the
heads　of　his　comrades。　It　felt　like　the　air　was　full　of　whirling　blades；　scratching；　cutting；　pecking　at
his　flesh。　He　could　barely　see　to　take　aim　through　the　tumult　of　black　wings—but　as　a　particularly
large　bird　flew　up　before　him；　claws　outstretched；　beady　eyes　trained　upon　him；　Lorenzo　saw　his
chance　and　struck。　He　felt　his　bayonet　punching　into　the　soft　tissue　of　the　bird’s　heart；　and　he　smiled
grimly　as　blood　welled　onto　his　fingers。　The　bird　had　been　skewered；　and　Lorenzo　didn’t　have　time
to　remove　it；　so　he　fired　the　lasgun　again　and　swung　it　like　a　club；　knocking　a　few　of　his　avian
attackers　from　the　sky；　hopefully　stunning　some。　The　dead　bird’s　corpse　split；　lost　its　grip　on　the
bayonet；　and　hit　Lorenzo’s　boot　with　a　wet　slap。
A　sharp　beak　had　clamped　onto　his　ear　and　was　tugging　at　it；　so　he　sideswiped　its　owner　with　his
fang；　which　left　his　face　exposed　for　a　split…second　and　gave　another　bird　the　chance　to　swoop　in
and　jab　at　his　eye。　Lorenzo　twisted　his　head　aside　in　time；　but　they　were　tugging　at　his　hair；　clawing
at　his　scalp。　The　birds　had　torn　away　his　bandana；　and　drawn　blood。　He　was　pumping　las…bolt　after
las…bolt　through　feathered　bodies；　but　for　each　one　that　dropped　two　more　seemed　to　replace　it。　And；
unexpectedly；　they　had　his　gun；　their　claws　scrabbling　at　its　furniture；　working　in　concert　to　yank　it
from　Lorenzo’s　grasp。　They　didn’t　quite　have　the　strength；　so　instead　they　piled　their　weight　on　top
of　it；　forcing　its　barrel　down　until　he　couldn’t　pull　the　trigger　for　fear　of　blowing　off　his　own　foot。
The　gun　was　useless　to　him　now；　a　dead　weight　in　his　hand；　so　he　sacrificed　it。　He　flung　it　to　the
ground；　taking　several　startled　birds　with　it。　He　delivered　a　vicious　kick　to　one　as　it　struggled　to
right　itself；　and　sent　it　sprawling。　Then　he　brought　his　boot　down　on　another；　and　snapped　its　neck。
Was　it　his　imagination　or　was　the　flock　thinning　at　last？　Lorenzo　could　focus　on　individual　birds
now；　rather　than　being　overwhelmed　by　their　mass。　They　were　indeed；　as　first　impressions　had
suggested；　jet　black；　from　their　wingtips　to　their　claws；　even　their　eyes。　There　was　no　expression　in
those　eyes—no　rage　or　satisfaction；　just　a　matter…of…fact　blankness。　Their　wings　were　short；　flapping
furiously　to　keep　their　squat　bodies　aloft。　Their　black　beaks　came　to　wicked　hooked　points。
Lorenzo　found　a　tree　and　backed　up　to　it；　denying　them　the　chance　to　come　at　him　from　behind。
He　kept　his　fang　in　motion；　slashing　at　any　bird　that　ventured　too　close。　They　had　become　less　bold
with　fewer　numbers；　keeping　their　distance；　giving　the　impression　of　watching；　waiting　for　an
opening；　although　their　eyes　were　still　glassy。　Lorenzo　feinted；　drew　one　of　them　in；　and　tore　open
its　stomach　with　his　blade；　showering　himself　in　its　guts。
Another　tried　to　blindside　him；　but　he　caught　it　by　the　throat；　squeezed；　felt　its　bones　popping
between　his　fingers　and　thumb。　Its　body　joined　the　growing　pile　at　his　feet—and　then；　something　in
that　pile　nipped　his　ankle。　At　first　Lorenzo　thought　it　was　just　one　bird；　crippled；　unable　to　fly　but
still　single…minded　in　purpose。　He　raised　his　foot；　tried　to　kick　the　wretched　creature　away—but
there　were　more　of　them　down　there；　scratching　and　pecking。　The　air　around　him　seemed　to　have
darkened　with　their　bodies　again。　Reinforcements？
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A　bird　shot　up　from　below　and　got　past　Lorenzo’s　defences；　latching　onto　his　face　and　hugging
it；　and　he　would　have　let　out　a　cry　if　he　hadn’t　bitten　his　tongue　in　time。　He　was　blinded；　he　could
barely　breathe　for　the　bird’s　sticky；　bloodied　feathers　in　his　mouth　and　nose。
He　clawed　at　it；　but　its　brethren　were　pecking　at　his　knuckles；　biting　his　fingers；　keeping　him
from　getting　a　grip；　and　his　tormentor’s　claws　were　like　nails　raking　his　cheeks。　He　dropped　into　a
protective　crouch；　closed　his　fingers　around　the　creature　on　his　face　at　last；　and　tore　it　away　from
him；　taking　too　much　of　his　own　skin　with　it。　He　saw　it　properly　for　the　first　time　as　it　struggled　in
his　hands—and　although　Lorenzo　had　seen　much　in　his　short　career　as　a　Jungle　Fighter；　the　sight
that　greeted　him　now　caused　his　mouth　to　gape　in　surprise。
The　bird’s　neck　had　been　cut　almost　through。　Its　head　flapped　lifelessly　against　its　wing　until；　as
Lorenzo　watched；　it　detached　itself　at　last　and　plopped　into　the　long　grass。　But　the　body　was　still
moving—and　not　just　the　uncoordinated　twitching　that　could　follow　death　in　some　species；　but　a
deliberate　and　almost　successful　attempt　to　squirm　free　from　him。　With　a　shudder　of　revulsion；　he
dashed　the　bird　against　the　nearest　tree；　with　enough　strength　that　his　hand　cracked　through　its　body
like　an　egg。　It　didn’t　move　again。
Then　Lorenzo　felt　them；　saw　them　clawing　their　way　up　his　legs：　more　bird　corpses；　some
nursing　broken　legs；　wings；　backs；　some　eviscerated。　Some　of　them　had　been　dead　a　long　time
before　this　battle　had　begun。　Putrid　flesh　slid　from　their　gnarled　bones；　the　stench　that　hit　Lorenzo’s
nostrils　would　have　been　sickening　to　someone　less　familiar　with　it。
The　first　few　skeletons　had　climbed　as　far　as　his　lap；　and　they　sprang　for　his　throat；　falling　short；
their　wings　too　tattered　and　rotted　to　catch　an　air　current。　Lorenzo　tried　to　brush　them　off；　but　they
were　tenacious。　He　mimicked　Muldoon’s　earlier　actions；　rolling　on　the　ground；　feeling　a　satisfying
crunch　of　bones　beneath　him。　One　skeletal　bird　hopped　onto　his　face；　and　he　stabbed　at　it　with　his
knife。　The　blade　passed　through　its　empty　eye　sockets；　and　he　lifted　the　undead　creature　off　him；　its
legs　pedalling　the　air；　wing　bones　cranking　uselessly。　He　flicked　it　away。
And　then；　suddenly；　he　was　unmolested；　the　last　of　the　birds　around　him　finally　still　in　death。
His　own　survival　assured　for　the　moment；　Lorenzo’s　thoughts　went　to　his　comrades。　He　was
relieved　to　see　that　each　of　them　had　won　or　was　winning　his　own　battle。　He　joined　them　in
shooting；　slicing　and　bayoneting　the　few　remaining　birds。　Without　their　superior　numbers；　they　were
easy　prey；　and　soon　the　Jungle　Fighters　were　jumping　and　stamping　on　hundreds　of　small　corpses。
Then　there　was　silence。
They　regrouped；　and　took　stock　of　their　injuries。　Landon　was　the　worst；　his　face　red　with　his　own
blood—but　nobody　had　escaped　harm；　apart　from　the　unconscious　Muldoon。　Lorenzo’s　comrades
all　sported　crazed　scratch　patterns　on　their　arms　and　faces；　and　he　could　tell　from　the　prickling　pain
in　his　cheeks　and　forehead　that　he　looked　no　better　than　any　of　them。　His　jacket　sleeves　were　gashed
and　ragged；　one　trouser　leg　also　torn。
Guardsman　Braxton　appeared　to　have　held　his　own；　though　he　was　exhausted。　He　leaned　against
a　tree　trunk　for　support；　flushed　and　out　of　breath。　Storm　was　looking　particularly　irked　that　the
birds　had　taken　great　clumps　out　of　his　beard。　Dougan’s　bionic　leg　had　been　gummed　up　with
feathers；　which　he　was　picking　out　of　its　joints　ruefully。
Woods　was　the　first　to　find　his　voice。　“Well；”　he　said；　“that　was　interesting。　Who’s　up　for
seconds？”
Mackenzie　was　in　no　mood　for　jokes。　“What　the　hell　just　happened？”　he　demanded。　“I’ve　been
on　this　world　a　year；　and　never　seen　the　birds　behave　like　that。”
Greiss　frowned。　“No？”　And；　for　a　moment；　their　animosity　was　softened　in　the　face　of　a　shared
concern。
“I　mean；　don’t　get　me　wrong；”　said　Mackenzie；　“they　were　always　vicious—but　after　a　few
initial　sorties；　they　kept　their　distance。　They　knew　they　were　no　match　for　us。”
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“They　made　no　attempt　to　retreat；”　Donovits　mused；　“even　when　it　became　obvious　they
couldn’t　survive。　“As　if　they　had　no　choice　but　to　fight　us。”
“Even　in　death；”　grumbled　Mackenzie。
“Some　of　those　birds　had　been　dead　for　months；”　said　Donovits。　“There　was　no　tissue　left
holding　their　skeletons　together。　What　was　animating　them？”
There　was　silence　for　a　long　moment　as　everyone　pondered　that　question。　Lorenzo　suppressed　a
shudder；　and　his　eyes　involuntarily　flicked　towards　the　crushed　and　splintered　bones　at　his　feet；　as　if
they　might　yet　somehow　spring　to　life　again；　repair　and　rebuild　themselves。
Greiss　made　an　attempt　to　diffuse　the　tension。　“You　ask　me；　it　was　sheer　bloody…mindedness！”
he　said；　as　if　that　might　explain　everything。　“We　probably　stumbled　into　their　territory。　How　about
it；　Brains？　Think　they　could　have　been　protecting　something　down　here？　Eggs；　maybe？”
Mackenzie　shook　his　head。　“There　was　nothing　here　a　few　weeks　ago。　I　sent　a　squad　to
reconnoitre　this　area；　and　they　reported　nothing　like　this。”
Greiss　raised　an　eyebrow。　“This　area？　You　sure　about　that；　commissar？”
“Of　course　I’m　sure；　sergeant。　What　are　you　suggesting？”
“Well；　I　know　the　jungle　can　be　good　at　covering　tracks—but　I’d　swear　that；　till　we　turned　up；
there　hadn’t　been　anyone　come　this　way　in　a　long　time。”
That　sent　the　commissar　scrambling　for　his　sketch　map。　In　the　meantime；　his　adjutant　had
recovered　his　breath；　though　he　still　looked　pale。　“I　guess　that　could　have　been　worse；　right？”　said
Braxton—and　Lorenzo　looked　at　him；　and　tried　to　work　out　what　he　really　wanted。　Some
reassurance　that　the　Catachans　had　everything　under　control？　Or　that　things　couldn’t　have　been
worse；　that　he’d　just　survived　the　best　this　jungle　had　to　throw　at　him？　He　couldn’t　give　the　Validian
either。
“I　mean；　most　of　us　escaped　with　superficial　cuts。　Unless—”
“Unless？”
Braxton’s　eyes　flickered　towards　Muldoon；　and　now　Lorenzo　understood。
“Relax；　city　boy；”　drawled　Woods。　“If　the　birds　had　poisoned　us；　we’d　know　about　it　by　now。
You　feeling　ill？　Because　I’ve　never　felt　healthier　in　my　whole　life。　Raring　to　go！”
“Muldoon　didn’t　know；”　said　Braxton　quietly。
Lorenzo　and　Woods　glanced　at　each　other；　and　Lorenzo　knew　they　were　both　thinking　the　same
thought：　that　Muldoon　had　known；　that　he’d　felt　the　sickness　creeping　up　on　him；　even　fought　off
the　first　of　the　hallucinations。　He　had　known；　but　he　had　been　too　proud　to　speak　up。
“You　want　to　worry　about　something；”　said　Woods；　“you　worry　about　those　‘superficial　cuts’—
because　out　here；　there’s　no　such　thing。　Any　cut　can　be　deadly。　Jungle　worlds　breed　diseases—and
not　all　of　them　are　carried　by　insects　and　vermin。　Most；　you　can’t　see—but　they’re　around　us　all　the
same；　in　the　air。　And　they’re　just　looking　for　a　way　into　your　bloodstream！”
Woods　wiggled　his　fingers；　miming　the　action　of　a　bacteria　creeping　its　way　under　Braxton’s
flesh。　Then　he　closed　his　fist　with　a　clap；　and　Braxton　jumped。
He　laughed；　but　Lorenzo　didn’t　join　in。　Woods　had　seemed　to　enjoy　tormenting　Braxton—but
the　threat　he　described　was　real；　to　all　of　them。　Maybe；　he　thought　numbly；　that　had　been　the　point
of　the　birds’　attack　all　along。
35
CHAPTER　SIX
Mackenzie　was　all　for　setting　up　camp　there　and　then；　the　fight　knocked　out　of　him；　but　Greiss
insisted　on　moving　on。　“This　place　stinks　of　death；”　he　growled；　kicking　out　at　a　fresh　bird　corpse
that；　despite　having　lost　its　wings　and　its　head；　had　crawled　out　from　a　bush　to　make　a　feeble　attack
on　his　ankle。　“God…Emperor　knows　what　that　might　attract　here　tonight。　Bigger　birds；　maybe。”
Lorenzo　knew　there　was　one　other　reason。　The　Jungle　Fighters’　mood　had　darkened　since　the
attack。　They　ore　apprehensive。　They　spoke　few　words　as　they　treated　their
wounds　with　sterilising　fluid　and　synth…skin。　Even　Woods；　now　he’d　had　time　to　reflect　upon　what
had　happened；　seemed　subdued。　They　had　faced　greater　threats—Braxton　had　been　right　about
that—but　none　like　this。　The　way　their　attackers　had　fought　on　beyond　death—that　was　different。
The　men　of　Catachan　lived　by　the　laws　of　Nature；　and　tonight　those　laws　had　been　violated。　Greiss
wanted　to　get　them　away　from　the　scene　of　that　violation；　from　the　broken　bones；　to　give　them
something　else　to　think　about。
“Five　minutes；　troopers；”　he　growled。　“Finish　up　what　you’re　doing；　then　we’re　getting　out　of
here！”
Landon’s　left　eye　was　bleeding。　One　of　the　birds　must　have　found　it　with　its　hooked　beak。　Myers
and　Storm　had　sat　the　rookie　against　a　tree；　cleaned　his　face　with　swabs　from　their　first　aid　kits；　and
now　they　were　applying　a　field　dressing　to　the　injured　area。　“Look　at　you。”　Storm　tutted　goodnaturedly；
“this　is；　what；　your　first；　second；　time　out　in　the　field；　and　you’re　trying　to　get　yourself
scarred　permanent…like。　What；　you　bucking　for　your　earned　name　already？”
“Can’t　be　that；　Wildman；”　said　Myers。　“Even　a　rookie　wouldn’t　be　stupid　enough　to　let　those
birds　go　for　his　eye；　knowing　we　got　a　‘Patch’　already。”
“Yes；”　said　Storm；　nodding　with