Gunheads(科幻战争)-第3部分

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pulled　out　a　wadded　piece　of　rag；　the　type　of　cloth　used　to　shine　boots　or　buttons　before　inspection；
and　stuffed　it　into　his　mouth。　With　a　miserable　expression；　he　bit　down　on　it。　Wulfe　guessed　it　must
taste　strongly　of　polish。
From　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　saw　Rhaimes　nodding　at　the　young　trooper。　“Good　thinking；　son。
Good　thinking。　We’ll　make　something　of　you　yet。”
“…three；　two；　one；”　buzzed　the　voice　from　the　ceiling。　“Tropospheric　entry　achieved。　Height；
nine　thousand　metres。　All　personnel　brace　for　increased　atmospheric　buffeting。　Touchdown　in
approximately　nineteen　minutes。　Disengaging　onboard　gravitational　systems。　Switching　to　local
gravity　in　three；　two；　one…”
For　the　second　time　since　he　had　come　aboard；　there　was　an　instant　of　gravitational　overlap　that
made　Wulfe　feel　twice　as　heavy　as　he　normally　did。　Some　of　the　men　grunted　as　their　bodies
protested　against　the　sudden　strain　but；　once　the　grav…plates　below　their　feet　went　dead；　they　hardly
noticed　the　difference。
According　to　the　thick　wad　of　briefing　papers　that　everyone　had　been　issued　—　though　few　but
the　guys　in　recon；　as　usual；　had　bothered　to　read　—　Golgotha’s　surface　gravity　was　a　fairly
manageable　1。12Gs。　Wulfe；　who　typically　weighed　around　eighty…five　kilograms；　now　weighed
twelve　per　cent　more；　a　little　over　ninety…five；　but　the　increase　didn’t　bother　him。　The　tech…crews
onboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance　had　taken　care　of　that。　Since　leaving　Palmeros；　they　had
incrementally　increased　the　shipboard　gravity　each　day；　subtly　preparing　the　troops　for　their
eventual　ground　deployment。　Men　like　Siegler　and　Sergeant　Rhaimes；　usually　a　little　soft　around　the
middle；　had　hardened　up　a　lot　over　the　last　few　months。　Wulfe　had　felt　his　appetite　increasing　little
by　little；　and　had　noticed　his　clothes　tightening　around　his　arms；　legs　and　chest。　His　body　had
adapted。　Now；　with　the　planet’s　local　gravity　acting　on　him　directly；　he　didn’t　feel　any　heavier　than
normal。　It　would　make　a　big　difference　to　the　tanks；　though；　fuel　efficiency；　firing　distance；
trajectory；　speed；　wear　and　tear。　All　of　these　were　matters　of　serious　concern。　The　enginseers　in
charge　of　the　regimental　tech…crews　wouldn’t　be　getting　much　sleep。
Thinking　of　the　strange　cybernetic　tech…priests；　Wulfe　decided　they　probably　didn’t　need　much
sleep　anyway。　Maybe　they　just　popped　in　some　fresh　batteries。　The　image　that　formed　in　his　mind
using　and　disturbing。
The　drop…ship　was　really　bouncing　around。　Golgotha’s　atmosphere　was　thicker　than　most
populated　worlds；　and　the　pressure　differentials　between　the　planet’s　hot　and　cold　zones　reportedly
made　for　some　truly　ferocious　storms。　Some　of　the　rookies　looked　set　to　soil　themselves　as　the　craft
was　tossed　this　way　and　that。
Wulfe　fought　an　instinct　to　tense　his　muscles。　It　was　far　smarter　to　relax　if　one　didn’t　want　to
suffer　torn　tendons　and　the　like。　Such　injuries　were　all　too　common　during　a　drop。
“Altitude；　seven　thousand　five—”
The　static…ridden　voice　was　suddenly　drowned　out　by　the　most　awful；　ringing　screech。　Wulfe
pressed　his　hands　to　his　ears。　He　knew　that　sound；　knew　it　never　heralded　good　news。　It　was　the
sound　of　tearing　metal！
The　drop…ship　suddenly　rolled　hard　to　the　right。　Wulfe’s　head　flew　backwards　and　struck　the
padded　surface　of　the　seat。　His　stomach　felt　like　it　was　doing　backflips。　His　vision　dimmed。　He　saw
stars。　Some　of　the　men　on　the　opposite　row　were　thrown　so　hard　against　their　restraints　that　their
gumshields　flew　out。　Yelled　curses　filled　the　air。
“We’re　frakkin’　hit！”　shouted　a　young　trooper　in　a　panic。　Wulfe’s　heart　felt　like　it　was　stuck
somewhere　up　by　his　throat。
“We’re　not　hit；　Webber；”　barked　another。　“Don’t　say　that！”
“What　the　hell　was　it；　then？”　demanded　someone　else。　“By　the　bloody　Eye！”
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“Quiet！”　Sergeant　Rhaimes　yelled　at　them　around　his　gumshield。　“That’s　enough　of　that！　It’s
turbulence；　you　kak…eating　dung…worms。　You　heard　the　cogboy。　Buffeting；　he　said。　Now；　pipe
down！”
Rhaimes’　lie　was　all　too　obvious。　He　was　trying　to　keep　them　calm；　but　no　one　was　buying　a
word　of　it。
The　ship　rolled　hard　in　the　other　direction　and　righted　itself；　though　the　juddering　was　so　severe；
now；　that　it　was　painful。　The　men　gripped　their　impact　frames　with　white…knuckled　hands。
Wulfe　chanced　a　look　up　the　row　at　Lenck　and　was　irritated　to　see　him　sitting　quietly；　lips
bulging　over　the　tell…tale　bump　of　a　gumshield；　apparently　unfazed。　The　cocky　upstart　only　jumped
when　a　noise　exploded　from　the　vox…speakers。　It　was　a　deafening；　high…pitched　whine　that　cut　off
suddenly　to　be　replaced　by　the　cold　flat　tones　of　the　cogboy　addressing　them　once　again。　This　time；
the　voice　was　amplified　to　ear…damaging　levels　and；　whether　Wulfe　simply　imagined　it　or　not；　he
heard　hints　of　his　own　panic　reflected　in　the　broken　sentences。
“…concentrated　anti…aircraft…　storm…　below…　off　course　and…　down。　All　personnel…　for
immediate…”
Suddenly；　a　great　wave　of　nerve…searing　pain　blossomed　in　Wulfe’s　head。　The　whole　galaxy
seemed　to　roll　over　on　its　axis。　Up　was　down；　left　was　right。　Then　everything　shifted　again　with
frightening　speed。　He　shut　his　eyes　tight；　saw　fireworks　bursting　behind　his　eyelids；　felt　his　muscles
cry　out　in　protest　as　his　body’s　limits　were　brutally　tested；　and　then；　with　his　heart　battering　the
inside　of　his　chest　like　it　wanted　out…
Darkness。　Thoughtlessness。　Silence。
He　sank　into　an　unfeeling　void　in　which　even　bad　dreams　ceased　to　exist。
Something　stung　Wulfe’s　left　cheek。　The　pain　was　sharp；　and；　slowly；　though　he　struggled　against　it；
it　dragged　him　back　from　the　comfort　of　his　dark　oblivion。　Half　awake；　he　probed　the　inside　of　his
cheek　with　his　tongue。　The　flesh　was　ragged。　He　tasted　blood。　His　tongue　played　over　nearby　teeth
and…　Damn　it！　Two　of　them　were　much　sharper　than　before。　They’d　been　broken。　He　wondered
idly　if　he’d　swallowed　the　pieces　and　decided　that　he　probably　had。
Next；　there　came　a　shooting　pain　in　his　eyes。　He　wanted　to　shut　them　tighter；　but　the　lids　were
already　squeezed　together　hard。　Then　a　shadow　fell　across　him；　and　the　pain　dissipated。　Slowly；
carefully；　he　eased　the　lids　apart　and　saw…
“Holtz？　Is　that—”
Waves　of　fire　surged　through　his　muscles　as　he　tried　to　rise。　He　grunted　in　pain　and　sank　back
down。
“Easy；”　said　Holtz；　leaning　over　him。　“Siegler’s　gone　to　scare　up　a　medic；　but　they’ve　got　their
hands　full。　There　were　deaths；　sarge。　Brebner　and　half　his　crew。　Some　of　Fuchs’　men。　Krauss　and
Siemens　both　lost　their　drivers。　A　score　of　lads　from　the　support　crews　bought　it；　too。”
Holtz　paused　for　a　second。　Then；　with　sorrow　giving　way　to　relief；　added；　“By　the　bloody　Eye；
sarge；　we　thought　you　were　out　of　the　game　for　good　this　time。　Just　lie　still　for　a　bit；　will　you？”
They　were　wasted　words。　Wulfe　was　already　moving。　With　another　grunt　of　pain；　he　rolled　to
his　left　and　braced　himself　with　his　right　hand。　His　fingers　pressed　down　into　warm　red　sand　and　he
froze。
“Golgotha；”　he　whispered。
Holtz　heard　him。　“Aye；　sir。　Golgotha；　for　better　or　worse。”
Wulfe　paused；　letting　the　sensation　of　the　fine　red　grains　filter　up　into　his　brain。　He　raised　a
handful　of　sand　up　in　front　of　his　eyes　and　watched　it　pour　like　water　from　between　his　fingers。　He
rubbed　his　forefinger　and　thumb　together　and　noticed　that　the　sand　left　a　stain　there；　a　thick　smear　of
dark　red　dust。
“Like　blood；”　he　murmured。
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Holtz　caught　only　the　last　of　these　words　and　mistook　Wulfe’s　meaning。　“No　bleeding；　sarge；
except　your　mouth。　You　feel　like　anything’s　broken？　If　you’ll　just　wait　for　the　medic。”
Again；　Wulfe　brushed　off　this　advice。　Injured　or　not；　he　didn’t　have　time　to　lie　around　on　his
back。　He　lifted　his　head　towards　the　horizon　and；　through　his　nose；　drew　a　few　deep；　deliberate
breaths　of　the　Golgothan　air。　He　immediately　wished　he　hadn’t。　The　air　was　thick；　stung　his　nostrils
a　little；　and　smelled　like　eggs。　Is　that　sulphur；　he　wondered；　or　something　worse？　Open　sands
stretched　out　all　around　him；　flat　and　featureless；　running　all　the　way　to　the　shimmering　distance
where　land　and　sky　seemed　to　melt　and　flow　together　in　a　mirage　line　that　hovered　above　the　surface
of　the　desert。
He　turned　his　face　and　looked　directly　up。　The　sky　was　heavily　overcast　with　rich；　swirling　reds
and　browns。　Quite　beautiful；　he　supposed；　but　oppressive；　too。　The　cloud　ceiling　was　very　low；　and
lightning　flashed　deep　inside　it；　though　no　precipitation　fell。　He　detected　the　muted　glow　of　the　local
star；　directly　above　him；　hinting　at　midday；　its　light　barely　managing　to　struggle　through。　Then　he
realised　how　dark　everything　was。　Even　in　the　middle　of　the　day；　the　ambient　light　was　only　a　shade
stronger　than　twilight　on　Cadia。
Holtz　followed　his　gaze。　“According　to　the　cogboys；　we　should　be　glad　of　them　clouds；　sarge。
They　say　one　clear　day　is　enough　to　kill　a　man。”
“A　million　ways；”　Wulfe　murmured。
“Again；　sarge？”
“That　Terraxian　poet…　I　can’t　remember　his　name。　He　said　Golgotha　has　a　million　ways　to　kill
a　man。”　Wulfe　pulled　himself　up　into　a　sitting　position；　wincing　as　he　did　so。　Holtz　watched　without
comment；　giving　up　on　trying　to　keep　Wulfe　still；　merely　shaking　his　head　in　frustrated　disapproval。
“Is　Siegler　okay？”　asked　Wulfe。　“Metzger？　Viess　and　his　men？”
“Siegler　and　Metzger　are　all　right；”　said　Holtz；　“not　a　scratch　on　either　of　them。　Same　goes　for
Viess；　though　his　driver　is　a　bit　messed　up。”　Absently；　he　reached　up　and　rubbed　the　ugly；
discoloured　mass　of　scar　tissue　that　covered　the　left　side　of　his　face。　Seven　years　ago　on　a　world
called　Modessa　Prime；　a　secessionist　guerrilla　had　hit　Wulfe’s　tank　with　a　shaped…charge　explosive。
Holtz　had　been　in　one　of　the　sponsons。　A　fine　spray　of　molten　metal　had　turned　him　from　a
handsome；　confident　trooper　into　one　of　the　most　bitter　men　Wulfe　had　ever　known。　Very
occasionally；　however；　Wulfe　saw　hints　of　the　old　Holtz　shining　through；　a　bit　like　the　Golgothan
sun。
“Eye　blast　it！”　exclaimed　Wulfe　suddenly。　“Van　Droi　was　up　front　with　the　pilot。　He　isn’t—”
“No；”　said　Holtz；　cutting　him　off。　“Chipped　a　tooth；　though。　Raging　about　it；　he　is。　He　was　here
earlier　with　that　damned　soggy　cigar　sticking　out　of　his　mouth。　Seemed　to　know　you’d　be　all　right。
Said　you　were　to　report　to　him　once　you　were　on　your　feet。　You　and　the　rest　of　the　tank
commanders；　that　is。”
That　prompted　another　question。　“What　about　Lenck？”　Wulfe　asked；　trying　not　to　sound　too
hopeful。
Holtz　snorted。　He　had　declared　his　own　dislike　for　the　new　tank　commander　early　on。　Wulfe
guessed　that　Holtz’s　feelings　were　based　on　envy　more　than　anything　else；　though。　Holtz　had
enjoyed　great　success　with　the　ladies　before　his　face　had　been　scorched　and　ruined。　Lenck　had
reportedly　enjoyed　comparable　attention　from　some　of　the　nurses　and　female　naval　officers　aboard
the　Hand　of　Radiance。　From　what　Wulfe　had　heard；　he　wasn’t　shy　about　sharing　the　details；　either。
“First　out　the　lander；　that　one；”　said　Holtz　with　a　scowl。　“He’s　back　inside　it　now；　checking　on
his　tank。”
“Damn　it；”　muttered　Wulfe。　He　looked　up　at　the　sky　again；　addressing　the　Emperor。　“Was　it　too
much　to　bloody　ask？”
Holtz　gave　a　dry　laugh。
“Look　on　the　bright　side；”　he　said。　“If　that　Terraxian　ponce　was　right；　there’ll　be　plenty　more
chances　for　him　to　snuff　it　before　we　pull　out　of　here。”
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Wulfe　shifted　his　weight　and　struggled　gingerly　to　his　feet。　He　was　a　little　dizzy；　but　he　managed
to　stand　under　his　own　power。　Once　he　was　up；　he　turned　and　cast　his　gaze　over　the　wreckage　of　the
crashed　craft。
It　was　a　sorry　sight。　The　desert　was　littered　for　hundreds　of　metres　with　fragments　of　every　size
and　shape。　Black　smoke　poured　from　the　aft　section；　churning　on　a　hot　breeze。　Wulfe　watched　it
rise；　climbing　towards　the　clouds；　and　thought；　frak！　Talk　about　advertising　our　position。　We　won’t
be　able　to　stay　here　long；　not　running　a　flag　like　that。
He　looked　back　at　the　crumpled　body　of　the　drop…ship。　Scores　of　sweating　men　moved　around　it；
carrying　supply　crates　out　from　a　tear　in　the　hull。　Others　worked　to　manually　widen　the　massive
emergency　doors　at　the　ship’s　rear　so　that　10th　Company’s　vehicles　could　be　extracted。　They　were
having　a　hard　time　of　it；　but　there　was　little　choice。　There　was　no　way　to　get　the　tanks　out　via　the
loading　ramp。　The　ship’s　belly　was　pressed　flat　to　the　ground。
Another　smaller　group　of　men　handled　the　grimmest　task　of　all。　They　knelt　in　the　sand；　leaning
over　lifeless　bodies　to　pull　dog　tags　from　their　necks。
Wulfe’s　eyes　lingered　on　the　motionless　form　of　a　trooper　not　twenty　metres　away。　The　lad
looked　barely　out　of　his　teens。　The　pale　skin　of　his　face　was　bright　against　the　dark　red　sand　on
which　he　lay。
Bugfood；　thought　Wulfe。　He　touched　the　silver　aquila　badge　on　the　left　breast　pocket　of　his
tanker’s　fatigues　and　whispered　a　quick　prayer　for　the　young　trooper’s　soul。　Such　pitiful　sights　were
something　he　had　gotten　used　to　after　so　long　in　the　field。　Life　in　the　Guard：　you　either　dealt　with　it
or　you　didn’t；　and　if　you　didn’t；　the　commissars　would　sort　you　out；　permanently。
A　million　ways　to　die　here；　he　thought；　and　we’ve　already　had　the　first。　Welcome　to　Golgotha；
troopers。
“Right；”　he　said；　facing　Holtz。　“I’ll　see　a　medic　later。　For　now；　though；　I’d　better　find　van　Droi。
Get　Siegler　and　Metzger　together　and　see　about　getting　our　old　junk…heap　out　of　the　ship。　Come　find
me　when　it’s　done。”
“Right；　sarge；”　said　Holtz；　“but　do　me　one　favour；　will　you？　Go　easy　on　the　tank…bashing。　You’ll
turn　her　against　us　if　you　keep　that　up。　Besides；　you　can’t　judge　a　tank　on　shipboard　exercises；　can
you？”
“Maybe　not；”　said　Wulfe　grudgingly。　“Maybe　not；　but　you　and　I　both　know　she’s　got　a　heck　of　a
lot　to　live　up　to。”　He　turned　and　limped　off　to　find　Lieutenant　van　Droi；　determined　to　ignore　the　fire
in　his　joints　and　muscles　as　he　went。
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CHAPTER　THREE
Far　to　the　north　of　Wulfe’s　position；　things　were　very　different　for　those　elements　of　the　18th　Army
Group　that　had　landed　safely。　Their　fourth　evening　on　Golgotha　saw　General　Mohamar　deViers
descend　from　orbit　in　his　private　aquila　lander　to　personally　oversee　operations　at　the　Imperial
beachhead；　located；　as　the　ork　slavers’　base　had　so　recently　been；　on　the　Hadron　Plateau。
The　preparatory　stages　of　Operation　Thunderstorm　were　already　drawing　to　a　close。
Construction　of　the　neplete；　well　ahead　of　schedule　thanks　to
the　contributions　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。　Their　abundant　technologies；　the　impressive
prefabricated　structures　they　had　provided；　the　unceasing　toil　of　their　legions　of　brain…wiped
biomechanical　slaves；　these　things　and　more　had　seen　the　laser…blasted　surface　of　the　plateau
converted　and　fortified　in　record　time。　The　10th　Armoured　Division　was　preparing　to　roll　out　on　the
morning　of　the　following　day；　having　been　charged　with　securing　the　first　of　a　series　of　outposts
critical　to　establishing　key　supply　lines　in　the　east。　So；　with　his　private　rooms　already　constructed
and　awaiting　occupation；　it　was　high　time；　in　the　opinion　of　General　deViers；　that　the　men　on　the
ground　felt　the　presence　of　their　leader　among　them。　Time；　he　thought；　to　remind　them　just　whose
show　this　was。
The　sleek　aquila　touched　down　in　the　early　evening；　alighting　on　the　base’s　small　rockcrete
runway　without　incident。　The　last　of　the　day’s　light　was　just　visible　as　a　ruddy　glow　in　the　far　west；
and　the　base’s　floodlights　were　buzzing　to　life　one　by　one。　The　lander’s　boarding　ramp　had　barely
touched　rock　when　the　general　strode　down　it　and　began　barking　orders。　He　was　a　thin　man；　taller
than　average　for　a　Cadian；　clean…shaven　with　pomaded　silver　hair　and　sunken　cheeks。　At　ninety…one
years　of　age；　seventy…six　of　those　spent　in　military　service；　he　looked　surprisingly　young；　no　older；
in　fact；　than　sixty。　The　treatments　and　surgeries　he　had　undergone　to　achieve　this　were　both
expensive　and　painful；　but　never　unacceptably　so。
He　was　a　man　who　placed　a　great　deal　of　value　on　appearances；　an　attitude　reflected　in　the
tailoring　of　his　immaculate　uniform　and　in　the　polished　sheen　of　the　medals　that　glinted　over　his　left
breast　pocket。　His　voice；　when　he　spoke；　was　sharp　and　clear；　and　he　had　a　tendency　to　emphasise
certain　words　with　little　thrusts　of　his　chin。　The　first　order　of　business；　he　told　his　men；　was　a　swift
round　of　interviews　and　inspections；　and　no；　they　could　not　wait　until　the　following　morning。
He　initiated　the　inspections；　beginning；　significantly；　with　the　massive　tank…crowded　motor　pool
and　progressing　anti…clockwise　through　each　area　in　turn。　After　two　hours　spent　marching　around
the　base　snapping　out　questions　and　comments；　trying　in　vain　to　acclimatise　to　the　thick；　unpleasant
air；　deViers　confided　to　his　long…suffering　adjutant；　Major　Gruber；　that　he　was　deeply　impressed。
Things　had　apparently　been　proceeding　very　well　without　him。　With　its　high　curtain　walls；　towers
topped　with　Manticore　and　Hydra　anti…air　defences；　and　the　broad；　extended　parapets　boasting　row
after　row　of　Earthshaker　artillery　platforms；　Exolon’s　new　Army　Group　HQ　represented　a　vital
bastion　of　security　on　an　otherwise　hostile　world。　DeViers　was　quietly　convinced　that　it　would　hold
against　even　the　most　overwhelming　ork　siege。　It　would　have　to。　In　all　likelihood；　such　an　attack
was　mere　days　away。　The　Golgothan　orks　would　have　seen　lights　in　the　sky　as　the　drop…ships　had
descended。　Sooner　or　later；　they　would　come　to　investigate。　No　matter　how　many　came；　the　base
could　not　be　allowed　to　fall。　It　was　the　lynchpin　of　deViers’　whole　operation。
The　plateau　on　which　Hadron　Base　was　being　constructed　measured　over　four　kilometres　in
diameter　and　lay　almost　directly　on　the　line　of　the　equator。　It　had　been　selected　on　the　basis　of　two
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critical　factors。　Firstly；　with　its　sheer　sides　and　few　sloping　access　routes；　it　was；　even　without
fortification；　eminently　defensible。　Secondly；　and　more　significantly；　at　a　distance　of　some　six
hundred　kilometres　from　the　general’s　ultimate　objective；　it　was　the　closest　suitable　geological
feature　to　the　last　known　position　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。
His　base　inspection　over；　deViers　ordered　a　briefing　session　with　his　three　divisional
commanders；　Major　Generals　Rennkamp；　Killian　and　Bergen。　It　was　deViers’　intention　to　keep　the
session　short；　for　he　had　also　arranged　a　rather　splendid　banquet　to　celebrate　the　auspicious
beginning　of　his　ground　operation。　This　beginning；　he　felt；　was　marked；　not　by　the　descent　of　the
first　drop…ships；　but　by　his　own　arrival　planet…side；　and　he　would　not　let　the　moment　pass　without
some　kind　of　commemorative　function。　After　all；　Operation　Thunderstorm；　as　he　so　regularly
reminded　his　officers；　was　a　righteous　quest　the　likes　of　which　had　rarely　been　seen　in　the　recent
annals　of　the　Imperial　Guard。　Why　should　the　end　of　its　opening　phase　not　be　celebrated　in　good
spirits？
That　was　the　plan；　at　least；　but　deViers　soon　found　his　good　spirits　dampened。
“How　many？”　he　hissed。　His　face　was　red　with　rage；　and　his　fists　were　clenched　on　the　surface
of　his　desk。　“Tell　me　again！”
“Six；　sir；”　answered　Major　General　Bergen。　“Six　missing；　with　a　seventh　discovered　fifty
kilometres　to　the　northeast；　spread　across　two…and…a…half　kilometres　o