Gunheads(科幻战争)-第31部分

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the　regimental　banner　in　one　hand　and　brandishing　a　bloodstained　chainsword　in　the　other；　the　303rd
railed　hard　against　the　ork　infantry　and　momentarily　managed　to　drive　them　back。　It　didn’t　last　long。
At　such　close　quarters　and　our　support；　the　Cadian　troopers　were　simply　outmuscled；
and；　all　too　soon；　the　orks　closed　around　them　and　butchered　them　with　heavy；　rusting
blades。
Gehrer　was　the　last　to　fall；　protected　to　the　bitter　end　by　a　swiftly　shrinking　circle　of　his
strongest　men。　Even　as　the　orks　hacked　him　down　and　chopped　at　his　fallen　body；　he　fought　to　keep
the　banner　upright；　to　stop　its　sacred　cloth　from　touching　the　ground。
Seconds　later；　greenskin　feet　trampled　it　into　the　dust。
“Shore　up　the　southern　flank；”　screamed　General　deViers。　“Where　the　devil　are　the　303rd？　And
what’s　wrong　with　our　artillery？　Gruber！　Tell　them　to　increase　their　rate　of　fire。　That’s　the　worst
excuse　for　a　sustained　barrage　I’ve　ever　seen。　Our　men　are　getting　slaughtered　out　there！”
He　sat　high　in　the　turret　of　his　Chimera；　hatch　locked　above　his　head；　firing　rapid　multi…laser
bursts　at　anything　and　everything　that　came　into　range。　It　had　been　too　long；　decades　in　fact；　since
he　had　led　from　the　front。　The　sight　of　hideous　greenskins　being　cut　into　smoking　chunks　by　his
own　hand　brought　a　murderous　satisfaction　that　he　had　forgotten　was　possible。　He　revelled　in　it。
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There　was　no　leading　from　the　rear　this　time。　He　had　known　it　the　moment　he　had　first　laid　eyes
on　the　ork　base。　Every　man；　every　machine；　every　bead　of　sweat　and　drop　of　blood　would　be　needed
to　win　this　day。　The　only　individuals　not　engaging　in　combat　were　those　damned　Martian　priests。
“We　are　not　a　combat　unit；”　Sennesdiar　had　said；　as　if　it　weren’t　already　obvious。　“And　we　are
not　under　the　command　of　the　Departmento　Munitorum。　We　shall　stay　back　with　the　artillery　and
offer　technical　assistance。　Our　servitor　bodyguards　will　help　to　protect　the　Basilisks　in　the　event　that
orks　outflank　your　forces；　general。”
Outflank　my　forces；　thought　deViers？　That　Eye…blasted　cogboy！
The　orks　would　not　get　through。　To　hell　with　the　odds。　Only　in　a　crucible　such　as　this　could　true
legends　be　forged。　The　blessing　of　the　Emperor　had　given　him　this　chance；　this　shot　at　genuine
glory。　Every　last　one　of　his　senior　officers　felt　it；　too；　he　was　sure。　They　were　out　there　now；　Bergen；
Killian　and　Rennkamp；　leading　their　divisions　from　the　front；　turret　guns　blazing　as　their　Chimeras
pressed　forward　inch　by　inch。
It　was　hard　to　see　much；　what　with　the　clouds　of　dust　and　smoke　that　cloaked　everything；　but　up
ahead；　just　a　little　to　his　left；　he　glimpsed　the　tanks　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment　roaring　straight
across　the　thick　press　of　enemy　infantry。　Big　alien　bodies　were　being　mashed　into　the　sand；　pulped
by　the　rolling；　grinding　iron　treads。
Stubber…fire　danced　and　sparked　across　hulls。　Huge　handheld　blades　clattered　uselessly　against
armour　plates。　As　he　watched；　two　were　struck　with　anti…tank　rockets　or　perhaps　some　kind　of
limpet　charge。　DeViers　couldn’t　tell　which。　They　stopped　dead　in　their　tracks；　turned　into　blazing
cauldrons；　the　men　inside　cooking　to　death。
DeViers　thanked　the　Throne　that　he　couldn’t　hear　their　screams。
The　other　Cadian　tanks　were　almost　through。　Their　guns　coughed。　He　could　just　make　out　the
first　of　the　enemy　armour　starting　to　burn　up。
“Gruber；”　deViers　yelled　again；　“what　about　my　artillery　fire？”
“I’ve　told　them；　sir；”　replied　the　adjutant　from　the　troop　compartment　at　the　back　of　the　vehicle。
“They　say　they’re　firing　at　full　capacity。　And　they’re　worried　about　hitting　our　own　troops　now。”
“Damn　it；”　deViers　called　back。　“Get　in　touch　with　their　commissar。　Tell　him　to　make　an
example　of　someone。　Then　we’ll　see　what　full　capacity　is！”
He　saw　a　massive　black　ork　kick　two　others　from　its　path　and　race　towards　the　troopers　in　front
of　his　Chimera　with　a　chilling　war　cry。　It　was　wielding　a　massive；　whirring　chainsword　with　both
hands。
“No　you　don’t；”　said　deViers。
With　a　grin；　he　thumbed　his　butterfly…trigger　and　gunned　the　monster　down。
Holtz；　thought　Wulfe；　by　the　blasted　Eye！
He　kept　repeating　the　name　in　his　head；　like　a　mantra　against　the　truth　of　what　he　had　just　heard。
He　couldn’t　believe　he　was　gone。　It　hurt　like　a　hot　knife　in　his　chest。　He　kept　seeing　Holtz’s　face
behind　his　eyelids　when　he　blinked　—　not　the　disfigured　face　he　had　worn　in　recent　years；　but　Holtz
as　he　had　been　in　the　years　before　Modessa　Prime。　The　man　had　changed　a　lot　after　that；　everything
but　those　ice…blue　eyes。
He　had　been　a　good　friend。　Wulfe　promised　to　let　the　real　pain　in；　to　stop　holding　it　at　bay；　if　he
lived　through　this。　For　now；　though；　he　had　to　fight　it　off。　There　was　no　time　to　miss　anyone　out
here　in　all　this　madness。
“Incoming；”　shouted　Metzger　over　the　intercom。
Something　hit　the　tank’s　glacis　plate　with　so　much　force　that　the　back　end　lifted　clear　of　the
sand。　Half　a　second　later；　it　crashed　down　again。　The　treads　bit　into　the　dirt；　and　Last　Rites　II　leapt
forward；　pulling　more　orks　underneath　her。
Through　his　vision　blocks；　Wulfe　saw　a　black　shadow　peel　away　in　the　sky　above。
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“Damn　and　blast！　Don’t　we　have　anything　that　can　take　out　their　air　support？　How　are　we
supposed　to　clear　their　artillery　out　if　we　keep　getting　bombed　from　the　air？”
Just　as　he　finished　his　sentence；　something　small　and　bright　screamed　towards　the　jet　and
clipped　its　tail　section。　There　was　a　burst　of　red　flame　and　a　puff　of　black　smoke　that　quickly
became　an　elegant　curving　trail。　The　ork　fighter　rolled　slowly　onto　its　back；　and　then　slammed　down
into　the　horde。　There　was　a　mighty　boom　and　a　mushroom　of　dirt　and　fire。　Wulfe　judged　that
hundreds　of　orks　must　have　been　maimed　or　killed。
“By　Terra；　yes！”　he　shouted。　He　couldn’t　see　the　heavy　weapons　team　that　had　fired　the　missile；
but　he　saluted　them　anyway。
He　had　enough　to　worry　about　without　the　damned　greenskin　fliers　trying　to　blow　up　his　crate。
In　trying　to　crush　their　way　through　the　thickest　press　of　orks；　the　Cadian　tanks　had　been　forced　to
slow　down。　That　made　them　easier　targets　for　the　ork　tanks　that　spluttered　and　rumbled　at　the　rear　of
the　horde。　They　were　massive；　lumbering　junk　heaps　with　far　too　much　armour　bolted　on　at　all
angles。　They　crawled　forward　on　rusting　treads；　traversing　their　turrets　almost　in　slow　motion；　trying
to　draw　a　bead　on　their　faster　Imperial　counterparts。　Every　few　seconds；　they　would　fire　a　volley。
Some　of　them　had　already　exploded　due　to　misfires；　while　others　had　killed　scores　of　their　own
infantry；　but　the　closer　Wulfe　got；　the　more　he　knew　that；　sooner　or　later；　they　would　make　a　lucky
shot。
Captain　Immrich　must　have　thought　so　too；　because；　in　addition　to　6th　Company’s　Destroyers；
he　ordered　his　first　and　second　companies　to　break　off　and　attack　the　tanks　while　the　others　dealt
with　artillery　and　static　defences。　As　soon　as　the　1st　and　2nd　Companies　broke　through；　they　roared
straight　past　the　enemy　armour；　turned　their　turrets　one　hundred　and　eighty　degrees；　and　began
blasting　them　to　pieces　from　the　rear。
The　Destroyers　joined　the　attack　from　the　front；　the　raw　destructive　power　of　their　lethal　beams
cutting　straight　through　hulls　and　turrets　irrespective　of　armour　thickness　or　density。　They　were　a
fearsome　sight。　Soon；　most　of　the　ork　tanks　were　reduced　to　blazing　metal　heaps。
With　the　exception　of　Lenck；　who　had　been　ordered　to　support　Marrenburg’s　mechanised
infantry；　Wulfe　and　the　remaining　Gunheads　broke　through　the　rear　ork　ranks　just　seconds　later。　The
artillery　pieces　were　only　a　few　hundred　metres　away：　rows　of　massive；　thundering　howitzers
crewed　by　skinny　gretchin。　They　struggled　to　lift　shells　the　size　of　fuel　drums　into　the　breech　of
each　monstrous　weapon。
From　his　left；　there　was　a　flash　and　a　boom；　and　Wulfe　saw　that　van　Droi　had　opened　up　with
Foe…Breaker’s　main　gun。　Steelhearted　II’s　battle　cannon　coughed　half　a　second　later。　Two　of　the　ork
artillery　pieces　came　apart　in　great　balls　of　orange　flame。
“Beans；”　Wulfe　called　over　the　intercom；　“light　those　bastards　up。　Don’t　stop　until　there　are
none　left。”
“You’ve　got　it；　sarge；”　replied　the　gunner。
Traverse　motors　hummed；　and　then　stopped。　The　gun　kicked　hard。　Extractors　whined　and　sucked
out　all　the　smoke　from　the　turret　basket。　Last　Rites　II　had　notched　up　another　kill。
Colonel　von　Holden’s　259th　Mechanised　Infantry　Regiment　held　its　section　of　the　line　with　a　mix　of
Chimeras；　halftracks　and　troopers　on　foot。　The　vehicle　gunners　were　charged　with　supporting　the
footsloggers　by　knocking　out　any　ork　vehicle　that　pushed　in　their　direction。　This　they　did　with　great
success；　pouring　las　and　autocannon　fire　on　them；　turning　a　number　of　light；　fast　enemy　buggies　into
spinning　metal　junk　that　scattered　burning　debris　and　dead　bodies　in　all　directions。
Their　weapons　were　far　less　effective；　however；　on　the　heavily　armed　and　armoured　trucks　that
the　orks　were　using　as　frontline　APCs　and　light　tanks。　Some　of　these　machines　mounted　fearsome
customised　weapons　that　really　belonged　on　a　more　stable　firing　platform。　The　orks　didn’t　care。
Each　time　the　trucks　fired；　they　came　dangerously　close　to　toppling　over；　but　the　effect　on　the
Cadians　was　devastating。　The　shots　that　missed　the　Chimeras　hit　the　men　behind　them；　killing
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dozens　outright　and　fatally　maiming　scores　nearby。　The　shots　that　struck　managed　to　shred　tracks
and　cause　spalling；　killing　many　of　the　men　inside。
Von　Holden　saw　it　all。　It　happened　to　a　Chimera　just　ten　metres　away　from　him；　and　he　ordered
his　driver　to　pull　back　immediately。
“But　we’ll　crush　the　men　behind　us！”　protested　his　driver。
“Do　it　at　once！”　von　Holden　snapped。　“Or　I’ll　have　you　shot　for　insubordination。”
With　a　prayer　for　the　Emperor’s　forgiveness；　the　reluctant　driver　shifted　the　Chimera　into
reverse　and　began　accelerating　away　from　the　oncoming　ork　trucks。　Shots　landed　to　the　left　and
right；　and　the　men　that　didn’t　die　instantly　went　down　screaming　for　the　Emperor　and　their　home
world。
“Faster！”　shouted　von　Holden；　ignoring　voxed　demands；　from　Major　General　Rennkamp　that　he
explain　his　impromptu　retreat。
One　of　the　ork　trucks　spat　a　great　gout　of　flame；　and　von　Holden’s　Chimera　was　knocked
sideways；　slewing　to　a　halt。　The　high…explosive　round　had　shredded　her　right　tread。
Von　Holden　checked　himself　for　injuries。
“I’m　all　right；”　he　gasped。　“By　the　Throne；　I’m　all　right！”
He　didn’t　see　the　dark　shadow　in　the　sky　above　him。　It　dropped　something　small　and　oval。
Seconds　later；　the　burning　debris　of　his　Chimera　rained　back　to　the　ground。
Janz　von　Holden　was　dead。
Without　Katz；　Bergen　was　having　a　hard　time　monitoring　all　the　vox　traffic　from　his　regimental
commanders。　He　had　taken　on　a　temporary　aide　by　the　name　of　Simms；　a　youngster　from　one　of
Captain　Immrich’s　support　crews。　All　things　considered；　Simms　wasn’t　doing　a　bad　job。
Over　the　noise　of　stubber　fire　rattling　off　his　Chimera’s　armour；　Bergen　heard　Captain
Immrich’s　voice　in　his　right　ear。　Simms　had　patched　him　straight　through。　At　least　the　boy　was　a
quick　learner。
“We’ve　practically　wiped　out　their　tanks；　sir；”　said　Immrich。　“They　looked　tough；　but　they　were
a　bunch　of　junkers。　Half　of　them　blew　themselves　up。　Just　a　few　left　now。　Companies　one　through
four　are　tackling　the　static　defences。　I’ve　ordered　them　to　ram　the　gun…towers　rather　than　waste
ammunition。　Those　things　look　ready　to　fall　over　in　the　next　breeze　anyway。　There　are　other
garrisoned　structures　here；　so　I’m　hitting　them　with　high…ex　shells。　Companies　five　to　ten　are
already　mopping　up　the　last　of　the　artillery　pieces。　However；　six　and　seven　took　heavy　losses　on　the
way　through　the　horde。　The　orks　are　employing　short…range　RPGs　and　magnetic　mines。　Warn　the
Armoured　Fist　units　not　to　get　as　close　as　we　did。　I’m　ordering　my　Exterminators　and　Executioners
to　push　through　and　join　us。　With　my　armour　on　this　side　and　the　infantry　on　the　other；　we　can　really
start　to　punish　them。”
Bergen　was　about　to　respond　when　a　terrifying　sound；　halfway　between　a　scream　and　a　roar；　cut
across　the　noise　of　the　battle。
Captain　Immrich　had　heard　it；　too。　Then；　apparently；　he　saw　it。
“Holy　frak！”　he　voxed。　“That’s　big。”
By　the　Golden　Throne；　thought　Bergen。　Don’t　let　it　be　what　I　think　it　is。
“What　can　you　see；　captain？”　he　demanded。　“What　the　hell　is　it？”
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CHAPTER　THIRTY…ONE
Immrich　was　absolutely　frozen　in　his　seat。
An　armoured　behemoth　lumbered　into　view　around　a　towering　mountain　of　rusting　scrap　metal。
It　was　easily　twenty　metres　tall　at　the　shoulder；　almost　thirty　with　its　heavily　armed　howdah。
This　was　no　rickety　ork　contraption。　It　was　a　living　thing；　a　member　of　the　ork　race；　but　so
gigantic；　so　utterly　different　in　physical　form　from　its　smaller　kin　that　it　seemed　a　different　species
altogether；　unrelated　in　anything　other　than　skin　colour　and　temperament。
“Squiggoth！”　Immrich　gasped。
“Damn；”　voxed　Bergen。　“Did　you　just　say　squiggoth？”
“I　did；　sir。　But　I’ve　never…　It’s　gargantuan；　sir！　And　it’s　not　happy　to　see　us。”
With　a　calmness　Immrich　did　not　feel；　he　added；　“You’ll　have　to　excuse　me；　sir。　I　think　my
tankers　and　I　are　about　to　be　very；　very　busy。”
*　*　*
Wulfe’s　mouth　hung　open　as　the　biggest　living　thing　he　had　ever　seen　filled　his　forward　vision
blocks。　It　was　a　nightmare　of　armour…plated　muscle　and　teeth。　Its　scaly　skin　looked　as　tough　as　rock。
Each　of　the　jutting　lower　tusks　was　easily　as　long　as　a　Vanquisher　cannon　barrel　and　many　times
thicker；　and　its　eyes；　those　giant　glistening　red　orbs；　burned　with　all　the　rage　and　insane　bloodlust　of
its　kind。　The　squiggoth　shook　its　massive　head　and　bellowed　a　challenge　at　the　Cadian　tanks。　Wulfe
felt　his　whole　turret　vibrating。
“By　the　bloody　Throne！”　exclaimed　Beans。
“You　can　say　that　again；”　Metzger　replied。
“Siegler；”　said　Wulfe；　still　unable　to　blink。　“High…explosive。　Load　her　up。　Beans；　draw　a　bead　on
that　thing　and　make　it　fast。　You　can’t　miss。”
To　the　left　and　right；　other　turrets　were　already　turning。　Surely　together；　thought　Wulfe；　with　all
our　firepower　combined；　we’ll　be　able　to　put　the　bastard　down。
It　was　Lieutenant　Keissler；　recently　appointed　second…in…command　of　the　regiment；　who　was　the
first　to　issue　the　fire　command。　Flame　licked　out　from　the　muzzle　of　his　tank；　The　Damascine。　The
first　shell　struck　the　beast’s　armour…plated　shoulder　with　a　burst　of　fire　and　smoke。　The　squiggoth
made　an　angry　rumbling　noise　deep　in　its　throat　and　turned　to　face　Keissler’s　tank　full　on。　It　wasn’t
even　scratched。
“Frak；”　muttered　Wulfe。　“That’s　just　made　it　angry。”
Over　the　intercom；　he　said；　“Metzger；　get　ready　to　run。　You　understand？”
“Already　ahead　of　you；　sarge；”　replied　the　driver。　He　began　rotating　the　hull　away　from　the
squiggoth；　rolling　one　tread　forward；　the　other　one　back。
“Beans；”　said　Wulfe。　“Hit　it　somewhere　soft。”
“Belly　shot；”　said　Beans。　“I　think　I　can　get　one　under　the　skirts　of　the　howdah。”
Other　tanks　began　blasting　away。　Most　of　the　shells　struck　the　howdah；　and　the　orks　onboard
began　firing　back　with　rockets　and　heavy　stubbers。　Their　aim　was　terrible。　Bullets　stitched　the　dirt。
The　rockets　corkscrewed　and　exploded　harmlessly　in　the　air。
Then　the　howdah’s　gigantic　main　gun　fired。
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The　sound　made　the　squiggoth　buck　and　rear；　throwing　off　most　of　its　passengers。　They
plummeted；　hit　the　sand　hard；　and　lay　there；　twisted　and　unmoving。
A　Destroyer　on　Wulfe’s　left　was　suddenly　swallowed　in　a　great　ball　of　fire。　Tiny　metal　pieces
rained　down　on　Last　Rites　II。
“Frak；”　exclaimed　Metzger　over　the　intercom。　“We　have　to　move。”
The　other　tanks　were　pounding　it；　but　the　squiggoth　wasn’t　even　bleeding。
It　clawed　at　the　dirt；　preparing　to　charge。
“What　are　you　waiting　for；　Beans？”　Wulfe　demanded。　“Fire！”
“Brace！”　shouted　Beans。
Last　Rites　II　kicked　and　sent　a　glowing　round　towards　the　squiggoth’s　belly。
There　was　a　burst　of　fire。　The　monster　brayed。　When　the　smoke　cleared；　its　belly　scales　were
blackened；　but　undamaged。
That　damned　thing’s　skin　must　be　thicker　than　our　bloody　hull；　thought　Wulfe。
The　squiggoth　had　had　more　than　enough　of　the　tanks。　With　another　deep　bellow；　it　lumbered
towards　them；　kicking　ork　huts　and　squig　pens　out　of　its　way；　trampling　everything　unlucky　enough
to　get　in　its　path。　For　the　most　part；　this　meant　squigs；　orks　and　gretchin；　but　one　of　the　tanks　from
Lieutenant　Czurloch’s　3rd　Company　wasn’t　quick　enough。
It　had　stalled。
As　Last　Rites　II　accelerated　away；　Wulfe　looked　back　to　see　the　unlucky　tank　and　its　crew
crushed　almost　flat　by　a　massive　clawed　foot。
“That　thing　must　weigh　a　thousand　tonnes！”　he　exclaimed。
Tanks　were　scattering　in　every　direction；　and　officers　started　shouting　over　the　vox；　trying　to
keep　their　companies　together；　to　maintain　some　kind　of　discipline。　Turrets　turned　to　fire　back　at　the
enraged　beast；　but　shot　after　shot　burst　on　its　armour；　only　serving　to　enrage　it　further。
Immrich’s　urgent　voice　cut　across　all　the　panicked　chatter。　“Listen　up；　tankers。　Switch　to
armour…piercing。　High…ex　isn’t　doing　a　damned　thing。　And　try　to　draw　it　onto　the　rear　ork　lines。　It’s
mad　as　hell。　We　can　use　that　to　our　advantage。”
Wulfe　took　half　a　second　to　survey　the　rest　of　the　battlefield。　Much　of　it　was　obscured　by　dust
and　smoke；　but　what　he　could　see　was　an　absolute　maelstrom；　the　fighting　insanely　fierce　in　every
quarter。
Once　Immrich　had　dropped　the　link；　van　Droi’s　voice　came　through。
“You　heard　the　captain；　Gunheads；”　he　voxed。　“Stick　together。　Follow　1st　Company’s　lead。　And
keep　firing；　for　Throne’s　sake。”
“That　idiot　captain　is　going　to　get　us　all　killed；　lieutenant；”　said　a　voice　that　made　Wulfe　scowl。
“We　should　scatter。　Think　about　it。　The　minute　we　crash　back　into　the　rear　ork　lines；　our　speed’ll
drop　by　half。　That　big　beast　will　stomp　us。”
“Do　as　you’re　bloody　told；　Lenck；”　van　Droi　barked　back。　“That’s　an　order！”
Wulfe　cursed。　He　could　picture　Lenck’s　snide　face。　That　piece　of　crap！　He　would　put　his　own
survival　first　every　damned　time。　Maybe　van　Droi　would　see　that　now。
Wulfe　looked　out　and　saw　that　the　giant　squiggoth　was　giving　chase。　The　ground　shook。　Every
footfall　was　like　a　miniature　earthquake。
Last　Rites　II　bounced　and　swayed　as　she　crashed　over　the　orks’　backs；　Metzger　keeping　her
speed　as　high　as　he　could。
“Armour…piercing　up　the　spout；　sarge；”　reported　Siegler。　“Locked　and　lit。”
“Line　her　up；　Beans；”　said　Wulfe。　“You’ll　have　to　fire　on　the　move。　Just　do　your　best。”
Beans　didn’t　answer。　He　was　concentrating　hard。
“Brace！”　he　shouted。
The　tank　kicked。　The　turret　basket　filled　with　smoke。
174
“What　are　they　playing　at？”　demanded　General　deViers。　“I　want　that　damned　thing　killed　this
instant！”
A　wind　had　picked　up；　dragging　the　smoke　and　dust　away　from　the　battlefield；　improving
visibility　with　each　passing　moment。
Brave　men　were　fighting　for　their　lives　all　around　his　Chimera；　but　it　was　the　squiggoth　that　held
the　general’s　eye。　It　was　the　biggest　threat　on　the　battlefield；　and　that　made　it　the　biggest　threat　to
his　success。　He　saw　his　chances　for　victory　thinning。　Already；　the　beast　had　crushed　or　kicked　apart
eight　of　the　Imperial　machines；　and　Captain　Immrich　was　leading　the