Gunheads(科幻战争)-第17部分

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happened　here　and　now　than　back　there　in　the　desert　with　the　orks　at　our　backs。”
Van　Droi　was　silent　for　a　moment。　When　he　replied；　a　touch　of　his　usual　good　humour　had
returned　to　his　voice。　“Fair　comment；　sergeant。　Glad　to　hear　she’s　finally　grown　on　you。　Took
bloody　long　enough；　mind　you。　Anyway；　what’s　this　about　refusing　Lenck’s　assistance？”
Wulfe　knew　van　Droi　was　probing　with　that　last　addition。　Wulfe’s　contempt　for　Lenck　was　still
a　matter　of　concern　to　the　lieutenant；　then。　“Didn’t　want　to　hold　him　up；　sir；”　he　said。　“We’ve　been
on　quarter　rations　and　bog…water　for　so　long；　I　figured　that　rookie　crew　of　his　would　fall　over　if　they
didn’t　get　some　proper　provisions。”
“You’re　a　damned　poor　liar；　sergeant；”　said　van　Droi。　“And　there　are　no　rookies　in　my　company；
not　anymore。　They　bled　and　sweated　like　the　rest　of　us；　and　they　killed　their　share　of　greenskins；　so
let’s　drop　the　whole　them　and　us　bit；　shall　we？　I’m　moving　through　the　gates　now。　Find　me　in　the
officers’　mess　when　you’ve　been　fed　and　watered。”
“Understood；　sir。”
Van　Droi　signed　off；　but　another　light　was　blinking　on　the　vox…board　now。　Wulfe　hit　the　switch
and　said；　“This　is　Last　Rites　II。　Go　ahead。”
“Last　Rites　II；　this　is　Atlas　recovery　tank　Orion　VI。　We’re　pulling　up　to　you　now。　Give　us　a
minute　to　get　tow…lines　hooked　up　and　we’ll　be　under　way；　over。”
The　Atlas　commander　sounded　young；　and　his　voice　made　Wulfe　reflect　on　van　Droi’s　words：
no　more　us　and　them。　He　had　been　obstinate　in　his　refusal　to　accept　the　new　tank。　He　had　been
obstinate　in　not　telling　his　crew　about　the　apparition　in　the　canyon　on　Palmeros。　Was　he　being　just
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as　obstinate　about　the　new　meat？　Was　Lenck　really　as　bad　as　he　seemed；　or　had　Wulfe　cultivated
bad　feeling　between　them　from　the　start　on　account　of　the　man’s　likeness　to　Victor　Dunst？　He　was
starting　to　suspect　it　was　the　latter。
“Understood；　Orion　VI；”　he　voxed。　“Let　me　know　when　you’re　ready　to　take　us　in。”
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CHAPTER　FOURTEEN
Evening　fell　quickly　over　the　base　at　Balkar。　The　sky　turned　black　just　as　Last　Rites　II　finally
reached　the　motor　pool　where　she　would　undergo　her　much…needed　repairs。　Wulfe　thanked　the
young　commander　of　the　Atlas　tank；　asked　him　where　the　mess　hall　and　barracks　buildings　were；
and　led　his　crew　off　to　find　them。　Their　search　would　have　been　impossible　but　for　the　electric
lamps　that　had　been　strung　up　throughout　the　base；　their　thick　cables　running　along　streets　and
dangling　from　rooftops。　Even　so；　it　wasn’t　easy。　The　lights　were　kept　relatively　dim　at　night　in　order
to　avoid　drawing　attention　from　itinerant　ork　bands。　Earlier　that　day；　units　from　the　259th
Mechanised　Infantry　Regiment　under　Colonel　von　Holden　—　part　of　Rennkamp’s　8th　Mechanised
Division　—　had　been　sent　out　to　eliminate　a　band　of　travelling　greenskin　scavengers。　The　greenskins
had　been　spotted　forty…some　kilometres　out　from　the　base　by　scouts　on　Hornet　bikes　as　they
patrolled　the　low　hills　to　the　north。　The　scouts　had　then　guided　Armoured　Fist　units　in　for　the　attack。
The　action　was　short；　bloody　and　decisive；　and；　importantly；　none　of　the　orks　had　escaped。　Even　a
single　fleeing　greenskin　might　have　brought　a　larger　force　back　down　on　the　Imperial　camp。　The　last
thing　Exolon　needed　was　a　full…scale　assault　on　their　forward　position。　The　top　brass　were　desperate
to　avoid　anything　that　might　delay　success；　and　a　siege　more　than　qualified。
The　mechanised　units　that　engaged　the　orks　actually　managed　something　quite　unusual；　they
brought　two　of　the　orks　back　alive。　Naturally；　both　of　them　were　horribly　maimed　and　crippled；
hanging　onto　their　worthless　alien　lives　by　virtue　of　their　raw　inhuman　resilience　alone。　Even　so；　the
struggle　to　capture　them　had　been　immense。　Wounded　orks　were　often　even　more　dangerous　than
healthy　ones。
Wulfe　heard　of　it　first　from　a　group　of　soldiers　in　the　mess　tent　as　he　finished　off　a　few　slices　of
cooked　meal…brick　and　a　glass　of　rather　tepid；　but　thankfully　clear　and　salt…free　water。　He　shook　his
head　as　he　listened。　Captive　orks？　It　sounded　like　the　officer　in　charge　of　the　Armoured　Fist　unit　in
question　was　some　kind　of　show…off。　Wulfe　wouldn’t　have　brought　them　back。　He’d　have　executed
them　on　the　spot。　The　top　brass；　on　the　other　hand；　must　have　seen　some　gain　in　the　situation　—　a
morale　boost；　probably　—　because　someone　had　approved　the　construction　of　two　cages　in　an　area
by　the　east　wall。　According　to　the　troopers　that　told　Wulfe　all　this；　the　captured　xenos　were　proving
quite　a　draw。
Wulfe　was　just　finishing　his　meal　when　word　reached　him　that　the　men　of　10th　Company　were
to　pay　the　caged　aliens　a　visit。　Wulfe　guessed　van　Droi　wanted　the　less　experienced　men　to　see　the
foe　up　close　and　personal；　based　perhaps　on　some　notion　that　familiarity　eliminated　fear。
Groxshit；　thought　Wulfe。　The　closer　you　got　to　orks；　the　more　you　saw　how　damned　dangerous
they　were。
Despite　his　earlier　promise　to　give　thanks　to　the　machine…spirit　of　his　tank；　he　found　himself
with　little　time　to　do　so。　Stopping　briefly　at　his　barracks；　he　made　arrangements　to　meet　his　crew　by
the　cages　a　little　later；　but　his　first　order　of　business　was　to　find　Lieutenant　van　Droi　in　the　officer’s
mess。　Thus；　after　a　few　moments　spent　trying　to　smarten　himself　up　a　bit　—　not　easy　given　all　he
had　been　through　—　he　crossed　the　base　and　arrived　outside　a　single…storey　sandstone　building　with
the　appropriate　marker…glyph　on　the　door。
There　was　a　surly；　bored…looking　soldier　on　guard　duty　outside。
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“Sergeant　Wulfe　to　see　Lieutenant　van　Droi；”　said　Wulfe。　The　trooper　nodded；　asked　him　to
wait；　and　then　popped　inside　to　verify　things　with　the　lieutenant。　A　moment　later；　he　reappeared　and
ushered　Wulfe　inside。
The　officer’s　mess　had　a　low　ceiling　of　cracked　plaster；　and　at　least　half　of　the　red　floor　tiles
were　missing；　leaving　large　areas　of　bare　concrete　visible。　Strip…lights　hung　above　long　trestle
tables；　buzzing　and　flickering；　their　bright　glare　somewhat　harsh　to　eyes　accustomed　to　the　dull
Golgothan　day。　As　he　looked　around；　Wulfe　decided　this　place　wasn’t　much　of　an　improvement　on
the　grunts’　mess。　He　wondered　idly　if　the　food　and　drink　was　any　better。
Even　here；　inside　this　building；　the　orks　had　painted　typically　crude　images　of　the　things　that
generally　occupied　their　tiny　minds：　guns；　blades；　skulls；　strange　gods；　and　much　more　besides。
Many　of　the　scrawls　were　so　obscure；　so　badly　rendered　that　Wulfe　couldn’t　begin　to　guess　what
they　might　represent。　Some　effort　had　been　made　to　cover　them　up；　of　course；　but　there　were　so
many。　They　were　literally　everywhere。　As　he　had　walked　here；　Wulfe　had　seen　miserable　troopers
plastering　the　walls　with　propaganda　material　from　the　Departmento　Munitorum。　It　was　a　minor
punishment　detail。　The　commissars　had　ordered　it。　One　of　the　posters　near　Wulfe’s　assigned
barracks　building　had　caught　his　eye。　Check　your　kills！　it　ordered。　There　was　a　well　painted　image
of　a　big；　strong　Cadian　trooper　blowing　an　ork’s　brains　out　as　it　lay　limp　on　the　ground。　The　bottom
of　the　poster　read：
Destroying　the　brain　will　put　most　targets　down　for　good！
The　ork　in　the　poster　was　a　damned　sight　smaller　than　any　of　the　ones　Wulfe　had　met；　but　there
was　no　denying　the　artist’s　talent。　His　or　her　work　graced　a　number　of　other　posters；　too。　Most　were
concerned　with　showing　proper　reverence　to　the　Emperor　and　the　authority　of　his　agents；　from　the
political　to　the　theological。　Others　yet　bore　the　seal　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　and　offered　concise
reminders　on　the　proper　care　and　operation　of　standard…issue　field　equipment。
It　wasn’t　that　the　troops　needed　reminding　—　their　drill　sergeants　back　on　Cadia　had　seen　to　that
with　an　abundance　of　cruel　enthusiasm　—　but　leaving　the　walls　of　an　Imperial　base　covered　in　ork
iconography；　no　matter　how　short　the　intended　stay；　was　tantamount　to　heresy　under　Imperial　Law。
The　mess　hall　was　busy。　The　air　was　filled　with　the　constant　hum　of　conversation；　and　no　one
paid　him　much　attention。　Wulfe　soon　spotted　van　Droi　at　a　table　on　the　far　left。　The　lieutenant　was
sitting　with　a　number　of　officers　from　the　other　companies　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment。　As
Wulfe　walked　over　to　present　himself；　he　noted　how　damned　tired　his　company　commander　was
looking。　The　others　didn’t　look　much　better。　Golgotha　hadn’t　been　particularly　kind　to　any　of　them。
“Sergeant　Wulfe　reporting　as　ordered；　sir；”　he　said；　saluting　stiffly。　The　men　seated　around　the
table　looked　up。
“At　ease；　Wulfe；”　said　van　Droi　around　a　mouthful　of　food。　Wulfe　glanced　at　the　lieutenant’s
plate　automatically　and　saw　a　dark；　thick　slice　of　meal…brick。　It　looked　hard　and　cold。　So；　he
thought；　the　food　isn’t　any　better。　They’re　on　the　same　rations　as　us　grunts。
He　took　no　satisfaction　in　the　knowledge。　He　wouldn’t　have　grudged　the　lieutenant　a　better
standard　of　fare。
“Take　a　seat；　Oskar；”　said　van　Droi；　indicating　an　empty　chair　at　the　corner　of　the　table。
Wulfe　hesitated；　looking　at　the　other　officers。　Most　were　busy　chewing　or　chatting　to　their
neighbours。　A　few　smiled　at　him　or　nodded。　Wulfe　recognised　Captain　Immrich　among　them；
Colonel　Vinnemann’s　right…hand　man；　tipped　to　replace　him　if　the　old　tiger　ever　got　bored　of　his
quest　for　vengeance。
“I　wouldn’t　want　to　impose　on　the　captain　and　his　companions；　sir。”
“None　of　that；　sergeant；”　laughed　Captain　Immrich。　“Sit　down　at　once。　Let’s　not　make　it　an
order。　You’ll　find　none　of　that　classist　crap　at　my　table。　Isn’t　that　right；　gentlemen？”
The　other　officers　agreed；　though　some　less　readily　than　others。　Wulfe　bowed　a　little　to　the
captain；　and　then　sat　down；　stiff　as　a　board。　Immrich　noted　it；　grinned　and　shook　his　head。　“We’ve
met　before；　sergeant；”　he　said；　“aboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance。　You　remember？”
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“I　do；　sir。”
“Just　after　that　blasted　mercy　run　we　sent　you　on。”　He　turned　to　the　other　officers　and　added；
“The　Kurdheim　affair；”　before　turning　back　to　Wulfe。　“Bad　business　that。　You　should　never　have
been　sent　back　out　there　with　so　little　time　left。”
Damned　right　we　shouldn’t；　thought　Wulfe　angrily；　remembering　the　men　who　had　given　their
lives　that　day。　Not　that　it　was　Immrich’s　fault。
The　captain　seemed　to　read　Wulfe’s　mind。　Tremendous　pressure　from　up　top　on　that　one。　The
damned　Officio　Strategos　were　adamant　about　it。　Colonel　Vinnemann　objected　from　the　start；　but　it
was　never　going　to　count　for　much。　Did　those　posthumous　decorations　ever　come　through　for　the
other　two？　Medallion　Crimson；　second　class；　wasn’t　it？”
This　question　was　directed；　not　at　Wulfe；　but　at　van　Droi；　who　forced　down　a　dry　mouthful　of
meal…brick　before　answering。
“Sergeants　Kohl　and　Strieber；”　he　said；　sorrow　stealing　across　his　face。　“No　medals。　I　must’ve
pushed　for　them　half　a　dozen　times。　Damned　OS　classified　the　whole　operation　Zenith　Eyes　Only。
Officially　speaking；　it　never　even　happened。　All　the　normal　channels　are　closed。”
Immrich’s　smile　had　vanished。
“Damned　Strategos　have　a　lot　to　answer　for；”　he　hissed。　“How　many　Imperial　heroes　have　died
unsung　on　account　of　those　pen…pushing　bastards；　I　wonder。　I’m　sure　Sergeant　Wulfe　here　deserves
a　medal　for　what　he　went　through。”
“The　captain　is　too　kind；”　Wulfe　said　absently。　He　was　thinking；　not　of　medals；　but　of　the
ghostly　vision　he　had　seen　that　day。
What　I　went　through；　he　thought？　You　don’t　know　the　half　of　it。
Another　officer　piped　up；　eager　to　guide　the　conversation　in　a　slightly　different　direction。
“Decorations　aplenty；”　he　said；　“when　our　General　deViers　gets　his　name　in　the　history　books；
though；　what？”
It　was　Hal　Keissler；　a　sturdy；　heavy…browed　lieutenant　with　deep…set　eyes。　He　was　commander
of　the　regiment’s　2nd　Company；　Colonel　Vinnemann’s　number　three　man；　and　something　of　an
occasional　rival　to　Immrich。　Wulfe　wasn’t　overly　fond　of　him　—　the　man’s　love　of　extreme　physical
discipline　bordered　on　sadism　—　but　he　knew　him　for　a　solid　battlefield　commander。　The　ribbons
and　tin　on　his　chest　had　been　earned　fair　and　square；　just　like　van　Droi’s。
Immrich　laughed；　changing　his　mood　in　short　order。　“We　all　know　how　much　you　and　your　boys
love　a　bit　of　decoration；　Hal。　Tell　you　what；　if　you　leave　now；　you　could　have　The　Fortress　of
Arrogance　back　here　before　breakfast。　They　might　even　give　you　a　damned　governorship　for　that。”
The　others　laughed；　and　Wulfe　joined　in　politely；　though　not　loud　enough　to　draw　attention　to
himself。　In　his　head；　he　was　thinking；　frak　your　bits　of　tin。　If　Strieber　and　Kohl　couldn’t　get　theirs；
why　in　the　blasted　Eye　should　anyone　else？　They　served　the　Golden　Throne　with　honour　and
courage。　They　gave　their　lives。
As　the　officers　embarked　on　a　round　of　good…natured　jibes；　Wulfe　leaned　across　to　van　Droi　and
said　pointedly；　“If　you　don’t　mind；　sir…　What　was　it　you　wanted　to　see　me　about？”
Van　Droi　had　been　chuckling　at　the　banter　of　the　other　men。　When　he　looked　across　at　Wulfe；
ho　his　face。
“Markus　is　sick；　Oskar。”
“Rhaimes？”　asked　Wulfe；　taken　aback。　His　fellow　sergeant　had　been　goggled　and　masked　last
time　they　had　talked；　but　he　had　seemed　healthy　enough。
“He’s　in　a　medicae　bed　right　now。　Held　out　as　long　as　he　could。　He　wanted　to　see　his　crew　to
safety；　at　the　very　least。　It　all　caught　up　with　him　just　as　we　came　in。”
“What’s　wrong　with　him？”
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“It’s　the　fines；　mostly；”　said　van　Droi。　He　sipped　from　his　glass　of　water；　and　then　placed　it
heavily　on　the　table。　“He’s　having　a　bad　reaction　to　the　build…up　in　his　body。　Allergic；　apparently。
He　can’t　command　anymore；　not　in　his　current　state。”
“How　long　will　he　be　out？　Days？　Weeks？”
Van　Droi　locked　eyes　with　Wulfe。　“I　won’t　sugar…coat　it；　Oskar。　We’re　not　talking　about
recovery。　We’re　talking　about　death。　You　saw　what　happened　to　those　lads　who　got　sick　on　our　way
across　the　desert。　You　heard　Colonel　Stromm’s　medics。　Even　with　the　facilities　here　at　Balkar；
Markus　will　die　unless　he　gets　off　this　planet　soon。　And　he’s　not　alone。　The　beds　are　full　of　sick
troopers。”　He　pointed　at　the　back　of　Wulfe’s　hand。　“More　to　come；　too。　Don’t　pretend　you　haven’t
noticed　the　colour　change。”
Wulfe　looked　down　at　his　fingers。　The　reddish　tinge　was　undeniable。
“I　don’t　get　it；　sir；”　he　said。　“Golgotha　was　a　Mechanicus　world　once。　They　must’ve　had
millions　of　workers　here。　How　did　they　manage？”
“If　I　get　the　chance　to　ask　them；　I’ll　let　you　know；　sergeant。　Maybe　the　planet　has　changed　since
then。　Perhaps　the　factory…settlements　were　sealed　somehow。　I　think　most　of　them　were　in　the　polar
zones；　anyway。　It　hardly　matters　now；　does　it？”
Wulfe　couldn’t　miss　the　bitterness　in　van　Droi’s　voice。　Rhaimes　and　the　lieutenant　had　been
good　friends　for　longer　than　Wulfe　had　known　either　man。
“I’m　sorry　to　hear　about　Rhaimes；　sir；”　said　Wulfe。　“I’ll　offer　prayers　to　the　Emperor　that　he
pulls　through。　With　luck　and　a　blessing；　we’ll　find　Yarrick’s　tank　quickly；　and　the　sick　will　be　lifted
out　in　time。　I　should　visit　him。”
“No；　Oskar；”　said　van　Droi。　“He　doesn’t　want　that。　Respect　his　wishes。”
Wulfe　couldn’t　find　anything　to　say　to　that。
“General　deViers　is　expected　tomorrow；”　continued　van　Droi。　“He’s　flying　in。　According　to
Major　General　Bergen；　he’s　keen　not　to　waste　any　time。　The　major　general　has　been　in　regular
contact　with　him　via　a　cable…based　communications　system　that　the　tech…priests　set　up。　Didn’t　quite
get　the　gist　of　it　myself；　but　at　least　it　seems　to　be　more　reliable　than　the　bloody　vox。　Anyway；　the
general　wants　all　forward　elements　to　be　ready　for　deployment　on　his　arrival。　Gives　you　about
fourteen　hours；　Wulfe。　How　serious　are　the　repairs　you　need？”
“She　just　needs　a　new　radiator；　new　fuel　lines；　new　filters；　and　a　bit　of　love　from　the　cogboys；
sir。　She’ll　be　good　to　go　after　that。　I’d　say　eight　or　nine　hours；　give　or　take。”
“Good；”　said　van　Droi；　“but　it’s　not　just　the　condition　of　your　tank　that　concerns　me　right　now。”
He　stared　at　Wulfe　without　blinking。　“Listen；　I’m　sorry　to　do　this　to　you；　but　I　have　to　pull　Corporal
Holtz　off　your　crew。”
Wulfe　felt　like　he　had　been　slapped　in　the　face。　“Holtz？　You　must　be　bloody　joking；　sir！　He’s
only　just　mastered　the　main　gun。　You　already　stripped　Viess　out。　Now　you’re　reassigning　his
replacement？　What’s　it　about？”
“War　is　what　it’s　about；　sergeant；”　replied　van　Droi；　suddenly　brisk。　“With　Markus　out　of　the
game；　you’re　my　senior　man。　You　had　better　understand　what　that　means。　The　crew　of　Old
Smashbones　came　in　as　new　meat　before　the　drop。　Holtz　has　plenty　of　combat　experience　and　he’s
worked　his　way　up　from　sponson…man。　Plus　he’s　a　hard　bastard。　They’ll　need　someone　like　that　to
get　them　through。”
Damn　it；　thought　Wulfe；　if　I　thought　he　was　ready　for　command…
“Put　me　in　charge　of　Rhaimes’　crate；”　he　told　van　Droi。　“I’ve　got　more　experience。　I　can　deal
with　a　rookie　crew。　Put　Holtz　in　charge　of　mine。　He’ll　be　much　better　off　with　men　he　already
knows。”
Van　Droi　shook　his　head。　“I’ve　thought　about　that；”　he　said；　“but；　to　be　frank；　Wulfe；　your　crew
is　unorthodox；　and　I’m　being　kind　with　my　wording　here。　With　you　at　the　helm；　they’re　working　out
all　right；　but　with　anyone　else…”
93
“Unorthodox？”
“For　starters；　you’ve　got　a　driver　most　troopers　still　believe　is　cursed。　They　still　call　him　Lucky
Metzger。　It’s　damned　hard　to　erase　a　reputation　for　being　the　only　survivor　on　crew　after　crew。”
“That’s　all　behind　him；”　said　Wulfe。　“His　luck　hasn’t　killed　me　yet；　has　it？”
“I　hope　it　stays　that　way。　But　then　there’s　Siegler。”
“What　about　him？”
“Come　on；　Oskar。　He’s　damaged　goods。　You　know　what　he’s　like。　As　hard　as　it’ll　be　for　a　new
commander　to　get　used　to　him；　it’ll　be　twice　as　hard　for　him　if　you　leave　that　crew。　The　only　reason
he　still　functions　as　a　frontline　loader　is　the　strength　he　draws　from　your　presence。　I　honestly　think
he’d　lose　it　under　someone　else。”
Wulfe　was　quiet　while　he　thought　about　that。　Since　the　accident　that　had　damaged　his　brain；
Siegler　had　clung　to　Wulfe　like　a　lifeline；　a　rock　in　a　turbulent　ocean；　one　of　the　few　things　that
remained　familiar　to　the　man　after　so　much　about　his　universe　had　changed。　What　would　he　be　like
without　his　sarge　to　watch　out　for　him？　Van　Droi　was　right。
“I　promise　you；”　said　the　lieutenant；　“you’re　getting　the　best　gunner　we　could　find　from　the
reserve　squads；　a　lad　from　Muntz’s　platoon　that　I’ve　had　marked　out　for　a　while。　Good　scores　on　the
ranges　and　I　reckon　he’s　got　the　right　stuff。　He　only　missed　out　on　a　frontline　posting　earlier　because
of　misconduct。　Nothing　serious；　you　understand。　Commissar　Slayte　has　given　him　the　lash　a　few
times　for　brawling；　but　you　weren’t　exactly　an　angel　yourself　at　his　age。　You’ll　like　him。”
Wulfe　was　still　angry　over　Holtz　being　swapped　out；　but　he　was　in　no　position　to　argue。
“This　trooper　got　a　name；　then；　sir？”　he　asked。
Van　Droi　sat　back。　“Most　of　the　troopers　call　him　Beans。　Heard　of　him？”
“Beans？”　repeated　Wulfe　suspiciously。　“Why　the　hell　do　they　call　him　that？”
“I　think　I’ll　leave　you　to　discover　the　specifics　yourself；”　said　van　Droi　with　a　grin。　“It’ll　give
you　something　to　talk　about。　You’ll　find　him　waiting　for　you　at　C…barracks。　He’s　expecting　you。
You’ll　need　to　break　the　news　to　H