Gunheads(科幻战争)-第13部分

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Excepting　for　any　problems；　Bergen　expected　the　couriers　to　reach　Army　Group　HQ　the　following
day。
“Very　wise；　sir；”　replied　Marrenburg　with　a　nod。
Bergen　didn’t　feel　wise。　Today’s　victory　had　lifted　his　spirits　—　he　had　seen　the　raw　might　of
his　armoured　division　overcome　a　significant　enemy　presence；　and　he　knew　a　good　number　of　his
men；　including　no　small　percentage　of　those　who　had　died；　deserved　medals　for　what　they　had
achieved　—　but　he　still　railed　against　the　stupidity　of　the　whole　operation。　Taking　Karavassa
wouldn’t　matter　a　damn　once　General　deViers　got　to　the　final　way…point　and　found　nothing　left　of
the　legendary　tank　he　so　desperately　sought。
Bergen　intended　to　be　there　when　it　happened；　to　see　the　look　on　the　general’s　face。
“Any　word　on　getting　a　hospital　set　up？”　he　asked；　returning　his　mind　to　more　immediate
concerns。
Marrenburg　said　he　didn’t　know；　but　Bergen’s　adjutant；　Katz；　stepped　forward　and　answered；
“The　Officio　Medicae　staff　have　taken　over　a　two…storey　barracks　building　close　to　the　west　gate。
It’s　been　swept　for　threats。　No　problems。　Their　triage　teams　have　already　brought　in　the　high　priority
cases。”
“Good；”　said　Bergen。　“Make　sure　they　have　everything　they　need。　I’m　also　worried　about
Colonel　Vinnemann。　I　want　him　seen　by　an　augmetics　specialist　as　soon　as　possible。　The　gravity
here；　the　dust　and　all　the　rest　of　it…　From　the　sounds　of　it；　it’s　all　playing　absolute　hell　with　that
damned　metal　spine　of　his。”
Marrenburg　seemed　about　to　comment　when　Colonel　Graves　marched　in；　boot　heels　loud　and
sharp　on　the　stone　floor。　After　a　momentary　glance　in　the　direction　of　the　dead　warboss　on　the　floor；
he　stopped；　saluted；　and　said；　“Just　had　word　from　one　of　my　sweeper　teams；　sir。　There’s　something
I　think　you　ought　to　see。”
The　something　in　question　did　nothing　to　improve　Bergen’s　dark　mood。　In　fact；　it　had　quite　the
opposite　effect。
“Slaves；”　he　gasped。　“Human　slaves。”
He　stood　in　an　open　square　a　few　hundred　metres　inside　the　north　wall；　looking　at　a　mound　of
dead　men　and　women。　All　were　stripped。　All　were　chained　together；　each　iron　collar　linked　to　the
next；　every　wrist　and　ankle　tightly　manacled。　The　flesh　of　their　skinny　chests　and　buttocks　had　been
cruelly　branded　with　the　same　glyph　that　Bergen　had　seen　on　the　greenskin　leader’s　breastplate。
Worst　of　all；　each　torso　bore　broad　axe　and　cleaver　wounds。　They　had　been　slaughtered　like　grox。
But　why？　He　could　only　guess。　Perhaps；　with　the　battle…lust　on　them；　the　orks　within　the　walls　had
lost　control；　desperate　to　share　in　the　bloodletting；　and　turned　on　those　humans　closest　to　hand。　The
results　were　stomach…churning。　If　Bergen’s　heart　had　not　already　been　filled　with　hatred　for　the
greenskin　race；　the　sight　before　him　would　certainly　have　done　the　trick。　Blood…drinking　ticks
crawled　in　swarms　over　the　cooling　bodies；　searching　for　the　sustenance　they　craved；　but　finding
little　in　veins　that　no　longer　pulsed。
“We　should　have　expected　this；”　muttered　Lieutenant　Katz　from　behind　Bergen’s　right　shoulder。
“Should　we；　Jarryl？”
“I　would　have　thought　so；　sir；”　answered　the　adjutant。　“Orks　have　been　raiding　the　nearby
systems　unchecked　for　years。　Salvage　ships；　mostly。　The　Navy　can’t　do　much　to　protect　those　that
break　the　spacing　restrictions。　High　risk；　high　reward　and　all　that。”
“I’m　glad　my　adjutant　is　so　well　informed；”　said　Bergen。
“Sorry；　sir；”　stuttered　Katz。　“I　didn’t　mean　to　sound—”
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“Actually；　Jarryl；　I　was　being　sincere。　You　know　I　value　your　observations。　I　just　hadn’t　thought
to　see　something　like　this。”
“I　imagine　the　poor　souls　were　brought　here　from　Hadron；　sir。　It　was　the　only　ork　spaceport　in
the　immediate　area　before　the　Navy　cleansed　it。　We　know　ork　clans　sometimes　trade　with　each
other。　These　poor　souls　might　have　been　traded　for　fuel　or　ammunition。”
“May　the　saints　guide　them　on；”　said　Bergen。　He　pressed　his　hands　to　his　chest　in　the　sign　of　the
aquila；　and　Katz　immediately　followed　suit。　Together；　heads　bowed；　they　offered　a　prayer　for　the
dead。　When　they　were　done；　Bergen　said；　“We’ll　find　more　of　them　out　there；　won’t　we？”
Katz　looked　grim。　“I　expect　so；　sir；　but　not　alive。　I　imagine　the　other　divisions　will　find　some
when　they　take　Tyrellis　and　Balkar；　but　the　orks　will　kill　them　before　they　can　be　saved。”　He
gestured　miserably　at　the　pile　of　bodies　in　front　of　him。　“There’s　nothing　we　could　have　done；　of
course。”
Bergen　saw　the　truth　of　that；　but　it　didn’t　make　him　feel　any　better。　These　people’s　lives　had
been　stolen　from　them　by　dirty　xenos　scum。　Their　spirits；　on　the　other　hand；　still　belonged　to　the
Emperor。
“Make　sure　the　confessors　are　told　of　this；　Jarryl。　I’d　like　the　souls　of　these　men　and　women　to
be　commended　to　the　Emperor’s　side　as　soon　as　possible。　I　know　the　priests　are　busy　with　our　own
dead　right　now；　but　these　bodies　will　have　to　be　burned。　I　don’t　want　the　outpost　crawling　with
disease　now　that　we’ve　taken　it　back。　Understood？”
“Understood；　sir；”　said　Katz。　“With　your　permission；　I’ll　be　about　it；　now。”
“Good　man；”　said　Bergen。　He　listened　to　his　adjutant’s　footsteps　fade　behind　him。
Above　Karavassa；　the　sky　was　dimming　with　the　onset　of　afternoon。　The　brown…bellied　clouds
looked　almost　low　enough　to　touch。　They　flickered　with　sheet　lightning。　Booming　claps　of　dry
thunder　shook　the　air。
A　crackle　of　sound　in　Bergen’s　right　ear　announced　a　short…range　vox…transmission　just　a
fraction　of　a　second　before　Colonel　Graves’　voice　said；　“Graves　to　Division　Command。　Are　you
there；　sir？”
Bergen　tapped　a　finger　on　the　transmit　stud　of　his　vox…bead　and　replied；　“Bergen；　here。　Go
ahead；　Darrik。”
“One　of　my　squads　just　reported　the　discovery　of　primary　and　secondary　ork　munitions　dumps；
sir；　plus　a　significant　fuel　reserve　by　the　south…east　corner。　Looks　like　they　didn’t　get　around　to
scuttling　it。　Also；　I’ve　set　up　sentry　patrols　on　the　walls；　as　ordered。　No　room　up　there　for　the
Tarantulas；　I’m　afraid；　unless　we　extend　the　parapets　ourselves。　One　more　thing；　sir。　Captain
Immrich　is　requesting　permission　to　refuel　his　tanks　from　the　greenskin　cache。”
“Immrich？”　asked　Bergen。
“Yes；　sir。　He’s　standing　in　for　Colonel　Vinnemann。　The　colonel　is　seeing　the　medicae
augmeticist　on　your　orders；　remember？”
“Right；　yes；”　voxed　Bergen。　“Tell　Captain　Immrich　to　go　ahead；　but　I　want　the　fuel　store
searched　for　nasty　surprises　first；　and　have　him　ask　one　of　the　tech…priests　for　a　substance　analysis
before　he　fills　up。　Emperor　alone　knows　what　the　orks　put　in　their　fuel　tanks　apart　from
promethium。”
“One　more　thing；　sir；”　said　Graves。　“Tech…Adept　Armadron　tells　me　his　preparations　are
complete。　A　vox…node　antenna　has　been　set　up　and　connected　to　the　landlines。　We’ve　just　opened　a
link　with　Army　Group　HQ。　The　sound　quality　isn’t　too　bad　at　all。　General　deViers　expects　you　to
report　personally　within　the　next　thirty　minutes。”
“Understood；　colonel。　I’ll　be　back　at　the　comms　station　in　ten。　Meet　me　there。　Division；　out。”
Bergen　turned　and　began　marching　back　towards　the　centre　of　the　outpost；　retracing　his　steps
along　streets　filled　with　rusting　junk　and　reeking　of　ork　blood　and　excrement。　He　was　glad　of　a
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reason　to　leave　the　piled　bodies　of　the　murdered　slaves　behind　him；　but　the　image　of　what　he　had
seen　stayed　with　him；　a　powerful　memory　that　he　would　draw　on　later。
It　would　fuel　his　hate　in　the　days　to　come。
Three　days　after　Karavassa　was　secured；　Major　General　Rennkamp’s　8th　Mechanised　Division
moved　up　to　take　the　old　Imperial　supply　base；　Tyrellis；　located　in　the　Garrando　region　of　the　desert
to　the　east…south…east　of　Bergen’s　position。　Resistance　was　fractionally　lighter　than　at　Karavassa；
and　the　troopers　might　have　been　in　high　spirits　had　it　not　been　for　the　increase　in　sickness　and
parasitic　infestation　that　they　suffered。　The　flesh…boring　dannih　were　a　constant　nuisance。　Orders
had　gone　out　for　the　men　to　shave　their　heads　and　remove　any　thick　body　hair　in　order　to　help
combat　the　problem。　Some　troopers；　preferring　to　drink　their　valuable　alcohol　rations　rather　than　use
them　to　get　rid　of　the　vicious　ticks；　developed　nasty　infections。　Others　reported　to　the　medicae
station　with　skin　so　saturated　by　the　fines　that　they　looked　as　if　they　had　been　bathing　in　spinefruit
juice。　The　jokes　and　taunts　didn’t　last　long。　The　worst　afflicted　men　suffered　so　badly　from　the
resulting　sickness　that　they　died。　It　was　a　miserable　way　to　go；　organs　clogged　by　accumulating
dust；　failing　one　after　the　other　until　the　whole　body　shut　down。　That　cast　a　dark　shadow　over　those
who　survived；　for　they　knew　it　was　only　a　matter　of　time　before　their　own　cells　became　choked　with
the　stuff。　The　quicker　the　general　gained　his　prize；　they　grumbled；　the　better。
In　that　respect；　at　least；　things　were　proceeding　well。　It　was　apparent　that　the　greenskin　presence
between　Hadron　Base　and　the　last　known　coordinates　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　had　been　greatly
overestimated。　It　seemed　Ghazghkull　Thraka’s　pogrom　against　mankind　had　called　far　more　of　the
orks　away　from　Golgotha　than　the　Officio　Strategos　had　anticipated。　This　alone　remained　in
Exolon’s　favour；　for　if　the　orks　were　proving　less　of　a　threat；　Golgotha　was　doing　her　level　best　to
make　up　for　it。
Bergen　and　the　men　of　his　division　remained　garrisoned　in　Karavassa；　anxiously　patrolling　the
surrounding　lands；　waiting　impatiently　for　the　general’s　order　to　move　east。　That　order　was　expected
to　come　through　on　the　landline　once　the　fortified　settlement　at　Balkar　—　last　of　the　major　outposts
needed　to　secure　the　route　between　Hadron　Base　and　the　site　of　the　objective　—　had　been　retaken
by　the　12th　Heavy　Infantry　Division　under　Major　General　Killian。　Until　then；　there　was　little　to　do
but　wait；　and；　with　time　on　his　hands；　Bergen　began　to　notice　little　things　that　worried　him；　such　as
the　subtle　change　in　the　tone　of　his　skin。　Each　time　he　shaved；　he　looked　into　the　mirror　and　noted
the　deepening　pink　tinge　that　coloured　the　whites　of　his　eyes。　He　was　far　from　alone　in　this。　Medicae
staff　had　issued　everyone　in　the　division　with　detox　packages　to　help　them　combat　the　fines；　but
they　didn’t　seem　to　be　doing　much　good。　Bergen　had　pressed　Sergeant　Behr；　the　medic　on　his
personal　staff；　for　worst　case　scenarios。
The　sergeant’s　answers　offered　little　comfort。
There　were　wildly　varying　levels　of　resistance　between　men。　The　hardiest　would　hold　out　for
months；　perhaps　even　a　standard　Imperial　year；　but　the　symptoms　would　steadily　worsen　throughout
that　time。　Growing　headaches　and　nausea　could　be　dealt　with　easily　enough；　the　pills　to　suppress
these　were　plentiful。　For　the　changes　in　skin　and　eye　colour；　and　the　damage　to　organs；　nothing
could　be　done　ent　and　facilities　at　hand。　Despite　Sergeant　Behr’s　insistence　that　it
would　make　little　difference；　Bergen　nevertheless　issued　new　orders　to　his　men：　they　must　wear
goggles　and　rebreather　masks　as　much　as　possible。
If　the　able…bodied　men　of　10th　Division　were　suffering；　though；　it　was　as　nothing　compared　to
Colonel　Vinnemann’s　pain。　Day　after　day；　Bergen　marvelled　at　the　colonel’s　resilience。　The　man
rarely　uttered　a　word　of　complaint；　at　least　not　in　company；　but；　between　the　dust　and　the　higherthan…
standard　gravity；　his　augmetic　spine　was　bothering　him　like　never　before。　The　Medicae
augmeticist　kept　Bergen　informed　of　Vinnemann’s　condition；　breaking　his　oath　of　patient
confidence　for　the　sake　of　keeping　the　divisional　leader　fully　apprised。　Colonel　Vinnemann　had
been　authorised　to　increase　his　self…administered　injections　of　immunosuppressants　and　pain69
mediators；　but　the　drugs　were　problematic　if　taken　in　high　quantities。　Bergen；　who　held　great
affection　and　respect　for　the　resilient　little　officer；　began　to　offer　daily　prayers　to　the　Emperor　and
His　Saints　that　Operation　Thunderstorm　would　come　to　a　speedy　conclusion。　To　lose　Vinnemann
prematurely　would　be　a　huge　blow　to　the　expedition。　To　lose　him　at　all　would　be　a　huge　blow　to　the
men　who　knew　him。
Finally；　on　the　fifteenth　day　after　planetfall；　it　seemed　as　if　the　Emperor　might　be　listening　to
Gerard　Bergen’s　prayers。
Reports　started　coming　through　on　the　landline。　With　Karavassa　and　Tyrellis　securely　held　and
protecting　Imperial　supply　lines；　Killian’s　12th　Heavy　Infantry　Division　had　pushed　forward；
storming　the　ruined　fortress　at　Balkar；　capturing　it；　and　converting　it　into　a　front…line　stronghold。
The　fighting　had　been　heavy　there；　and　the　casualty　figures　were　high；　hinting　at　a　much　heavier　ork
presence　closer　to　the　site　of　the　general’s　ultimate　objective。　But　Killian　succeeded　all　the　same；
and　the　forward　base　so　vital　to　supporting　the　final　leg　of　the　expedition　was　firmly　and　fully
established。　Those　officers　with　a　pessimistic　bent　predicted　massive　greenskin　retaliation；　but；　for
now；　Hadron；　Karavassa；　Tyrellis　and　Balkar　were　all　back　in　Imperial　hands　after　almost　forty
years　of　enemy　occupation。　The　final　stage　of　the　Operation　Thunderstorm　could　commence　at　last。
Bergen　received　all　this　news　with　a　feeling　of　great　relief。　He　was　even　more　relieved　when　the
10th　Armoured　Division’s　new　instructions　came　through　from　Hadron　Base　shortly　after　dawn　on
the　sixteenth　day。　General　deViers　ordered　Bergen’s　forces　—　minus　an　adequate　garrisoning　force
—　to　press　east　from　Karavassa；　heading　straight　for　Balkar　with　all　possible　speed。　Once　there；
they　would　link　up　with　elements　from　the　other　divisions　and　await　the　general’s　arrival。　DeViers
would　personally　lead　them　out　into　the　Hadar　region；　to　the　foothills　of　the　Ishawar　range；　for　the
final　phase　of　the　operation。
Talking　directly　to　Bergen　over　the　landline；　the　old　man　sounded　practically　ecstatic；　like　an
over…stimulated　child　on　the　night　before　Emperor’s　Day。　Perhaps　he　sensed　his　long…sought
immortality　waiting　just　beyond　his　fingertips。　He　would　find　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance；　whatever
was　left　of　it；　and　the　operation　would　enter　its　closing　stage。　The　Mechanicus　would　fire　a　beacon
into　the　upper　atmosphere　to　signal　their　position。　A　lifter　would　then　descend　from　The　Scion　of
Tharsis　to　haul　the　holy　machine　from　the　desert　sands　and　lift　it　back　into　space。　Safely　aboard　the
Reclamator　craft；　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　would　be　restored　to　its　former　glory　during　transit　to
the　Armageddon　system。　There；　it　would　be　presented　to　Commissar　Yarrick；　and　he　would　ride　it
out　onto　the　battlefields　of　Armageddon　Prime；　rousing　the　spirits　of　his　tired　soldiers；　inspiring　in
them　a　glorious　new　strength。　Thus　uplifted；　they　would　roll　out　to　crush　the　foe。
It　sounded　wonderful；　and　in　Bergen’s　heart　of　hearts；　he　hoped　it　would　be　so；　but　the　voice　in
his　head　still　held　to　the　certainty　that　it　was　nothing　but　a　pretty　dream。　Things　would　not　come　to
pass　that　way。
Thirty…eight　years；　he　thought。　To　imagine　that　she　would　still　be　there…
The　moment　General　deViers　closed　the　vox…link　from　the　other　end；　Bergen　sent　out　a　call　to
his　regimental　commanders。　When　he　gave　them　their　updated　orders；　all　three　sounded　genuinely
glad　to　hear　that　they　would　be　on　the　move　again　within　hours。　Colonel　Vinnemann　in　particular
expressed　his　relief　in　no　uncertain　terms。　Bergen　had　considered　ordering　the　man　to　remain　here；
convinced　that　it　would　be　the　best　thing　for　his　health。　But　he　knew　Vinnemann　would　only　have
railed　against　him；　seeing　it　as　the　ultimate　betrayal。　The　man　was　a　tanker　through　and　through；　just
as　Bergen　had　once　been；　and　Bergen　knew　that；　for　any　real　tanker；　nothing　beat　riding　out　in　your
crate；　treads　chewing　up　the　dirt；　the　hearty　roar　of　a　promethium　engine　vibrating　through　your
whole　body。　So　Vinnemann　would　stay　in　command　of　his　regiment　despite　his　suffering；　and
Captain　Immrich　would　be　there　to　step　in　if　needed。
The　regimental　commanders　broke　the　link　to　pass　the　new　orders　on　to　their　executive　officers
and　company　commanders。　From　these　men；　the　news　filtered　down　to　everyone　in　the　base。
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Soon；　Karavassa　was　buzzing　with　preparations　as　the　10th　Armoured　Division　prepared　to　roll
out　once　again。
In　all　the　scurrying　around；　the　loading；　the　refuelling；　the　last…minute　checks；　and　everything　else
that　went　on　prior　to　deployment；　few　men　spared　a　thought　for　the　fate　of　those　companies　that　had
mysteriously　disappeared　on　that　first　fateful　day。　Some　men　did。　Kochatkis　Vinnemann　was　one　of
them。　Despite　having　troubles　enough　of　his　own；　he　prayed　regularly　for　the　souls　of　Lieutenant
Gossefried　van　Droi　and　his　men；　convinced　that；　after　so　many　days　without　word　or　sign；　they　had
perished。
As　he　rolled　out　of　Karavassa　at　the　head　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment；　the　long…suffering
colonel　could　not　have　guessed　that；　just　ten　days’　journey　to　the　southeast　of　his　position；
Gossefried’s　Gunheads　were　doing　their　best　to　avoid　exactly　that。
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CHAPTER　TEN
Colonel　Stromm　was　a　man　of　his　word。　He　embraced　the　Gunheads　as　if　they　had　always　been　part
of　his　outfit；　and　it　pleased　Lieutenant　van　Droi　greatly；　because；　though　he　admitted　it　to　no　one；　he
had　harboured　grave　doubts　about　placing　his　men　and　machines　at　the　disposal　of　a　man　he　had
only　just　met。　There　were　those　in　the　upper　ranks　who　might　have　said　he　knew　all　he　needed　to
about　the　colonel。　He　had　seen　Stromm　turn　aside　certain　death；　after　all；　and　there　were　surely　few
better　measures　of　a　man　than　that；　but　an　officer’s　performance　in　combat　gave　few　clues；　if　any；　as
to　how　he　would　command　on　the　move。　Then　there　was　Golgotha　herself　to　consider。　She　was　an
enemy　that　couldn’t　be　fought。　Her　endless　sands　ground　away　at　the　Cadians’　morale；　and　the　more
time　they　spent　crossing　them；　the　more　they　seemed　to　stretch　forever。
Van　Droi　knew　his　tanks　were　slowing　the　whole　column　down。　The　Chimeras　were　much
faster；　and　the　Thirty…Sixers　were　faster　still　at　top　speed；　but　without　the　tanks；　the　column　would
have　made　an　easy　target　for　greenskin　marauders。　Colonel　Stromm　kept　everyone　moving　together；
with　the　exception　of　the　Chimeras　he　sent　to　scout　ahead　in　shifts。　Did　it　frustrate　him　that　the
Leman　Russ　could　barely　manage　thirty　kilometres　an　hour？　wondered　van　Droi。　If　so；　he　didn’t
show　it。
For　days；　the　tired；　dirty；　ragged　column　had　pressed　north…east　over　rolling　dunes　and；
gradually；　the　landscape　began　to　change；　becoming　rockier　and　more　uneven　in　stages。　Was　the
change　in　terrain　a　good　sign？　Van　Droi　wasn’t　sure。　If　it　meant　they　were　nearing　high　ground；　it
certainly　didn’t　show。　The　horizon　to　the　north…east　remained　choked　in　a　pink　haze。　He　saw　no
jutting　spurs　of　rock；　no　distant　hints　of　a　towering　mountain　range。
The　mood　of　the　men　was　as　dark　as　the　mud…coloured　sky　and　getting　darker　all　the　time。　Little
communication　passed　from　tank　to　tank。　Almost　a　dozen　of　van　Droi’s　men　had　taken　seriously　ill；
and　the　number　was　three　times　greater　among　Stromm’s　infantry。　There　were　two　medics　with　The
Fighting　98th；　two　who　had　survived　the　dreadful　onslaught　at　the　crash　site。　They　took　a　look　at
van　Droi’s　sick；　consulted　with　each　other；　and　told　him　that　at　least　three　of　the　twelve　would　be
dead　within　a　day。　Nothing　could　be　done　to　save　them。　The　dust　had　poisoned　them。　Liver；　kidneys；