Gunheads(科幻战争)-第33部分

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unmounted　troops。　It　would　have　needed　time；　coordination；　and　a　healthy　serving　of　old…fashioned
Cadian　courage；　but　the　orks　had　armour　support　of　their　own　—　a　single　lethal　machine　that
nothing　on　the　Cadian　side　seemed　capable　of　damaging　—　and　it　was　picking　the　18th　Army　Group
tanks　off　one　by　one。
Beans　had　fired　on　that　clanking；　rumbling；　smoke…spewing　monstrosity　three　times　already；
switching　from　high…explosive　to　armour…piercing　when　it　was　clear　the　former　was　utterly
ineffective；　but　the　armour…piercing　shot　hadn’t　done　much　in　the　way　of　damage　either。　The　other
tanks　had　discovered　this　too。　Their　rounds　either　exploded　without　effect　or　lodged　in　metre…thick
slabs　of　iron　skin。
Some　of　the　remaining　Executioners　and　Destroyers　had　enjoyed　slightly　more　success；
managing　to　blast　a　few　pieces　off　here　and　there；　but　the　oversized　lump　of　metal　was　still　rolling
forward；　emerging　into　the　daylight　with　aching　slowness。
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This　was　the　monstrosity　that　had　brewed　up　Foe…Breaker。　Wulfe　had　heard　it　all　over　the　vox；
his　gut　knotting　until　it　caused　him　actual　physical　pain。　Seconds　after　the　vox　report；　he　and　the
other　mixed　units　had　arrived　on　the　open　ground　before　the　big　hangar。　That　was　when　the　orks　had
poured　out　to　surround　them。
What　in　the　blasted　warp　is　it？　Wulfe　wondered；　glancing　in　the　direction　of　the　ork　machine。
Only　half　of　it　was　visible　so　far；　but　Wulfe　guessed　its　speed　had　nothing　at　all　to　do　with　an
underpowered　engine。　It　had　been　built　by　orks。　Already　its　armour　had　proved　superior　to　the
Cadian　weapons。　It　was　most　likely　fitted　with　an　insane　excess　of　weaponry；　too。
As　he　thought　this；　the　machine’s　main　gun　fired　again；　its　thunderous　roar　shaking　the　hangar
walls　and　the　buildings　on　either　side。　The　air　trembled。　A　Leman　Russ　Conqueror　belonging　to　2nd
Company　spun　on　a　pillar　of　flame　and　crashed　to　the　ground　on　its　side。
Wulfe　wondered　darkly　if　Foe…Breaker　had　landed　the　same　way。
The　report　of　van　Droi’s　death　had　hit　him　with　all　the　force　of　an　Earthshaker　round；　harder；　if
he　was　honest；　than　the　death　of　Holtz　or　Viess。　He　had　known　van　Droi　longer。　The　man　had
seemed　immortal　to　a　young　Wulfe　when　he　had　first　joined　the　regiment。　He　had　been　somewhat
like　Colonel　Vinnemann　in　that　regard。　For　Wulfe；　Gossefried　van　Droi　had　embodied　everything
that　was　strong　and　true　and　noble　about　the　Imperial　Guard。　He　was　a　symbol。　Gossefried’s
Gunheads　had　been　named　for　him。　Symbols　weren’t　supposed　to　die。　Only　people　died。　People　and
orks。
Hungry　for　revenge；　he　loosed　a　battle　cry　and　thumbed　the　trigger　of　his　heavy　stubber；　sending
another　lethal　torrent　straight　into　a　pack　of　orks　that　were　hacking　the　arms　and　legs　from　an
infantryman　on　the　left。　Wulfe　couldn’t　save　him　—　it　was　too　late　for　that　—　but　he　punished　the
soldier’s　killers。　Their　grotesquely　muscled　bodies　crumpled　to　the　ground；　torsos　almost　cut　in　half
by　the　stubber’s　high　rate　of　fire。　Their　thick　red　blood　mixed　with　that　of　the　man　they　had　just
killed。
Wulfe　heard　Beans　calling　“Brace！”　on　the　intercom　just…before　a　tongue　of　fire　flickered　at　the
end　of　Last　Rites　II’s　battle　cannon。　The　sharp　boom　it　made　set　his　ears　ringing。
The　round　went　curving　in　towards　the　massive　ork　machine；　striking　a　plate　of　red…painted　iron
bolted　to　the　front。　White　sparks　showered　out　as　the　round　ricocheted　and　punched　a　hole　in　the
corrugated　surface　of　the　hangar　wall。　After　a　second；　the　plate　fell　off　and　was　pulled　under　a　set　of
massive　iron　treads。
“Damn　it！”　cursed　Beans　over　the　intercom；　but　Wulfe　wasn’t　listening　to　him。　He　was　listening
to　the　divisional　vox　channel。　The　chatter　there　had　suddenly　intensified；　for　Beans’　shot　had
uncovered　the　forward　edge　of　a　massive　black　track…guard；　on　top　of　which　sat　an　icon　cast　in
bright；　shining　gold。
Every　man　on　the　battlefield　recognised　it。　It　hung　from　their　necks；　imprinted　on　one　side　of　the
dog…tags　they　all　wore。　Many　had　paid　to　have　it　tattooed　on　their　bodies。
It　was　the　holy　aquila；　two…headed　eagle；　icon　of　the　Imperium　of　Man。
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CHAPTER　THIRTY…FOUR
General　deViers　felt　his　heart　hammering　in　his　chest　as　his　Chimera　raced　in　towards　the　battle。　He
ordered　his　driver　to　crash　straight　through　the　orks　that　filled　the　street　up　ahead。　Beyond　them；　he
could　already　see　the　ground　where　his　forces　were　fighting　for　their　lives。　There　was　the　massive
hangar　he　had　heard　about　on　the　vox；　and；　there　she　was：　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。
There　was　no　doubt　it　was　her。　Some　tanker　in　the　10th　Armoured　Division　had　knocked　off　a
piece　of　her　disguise；　and　now　everyone　knew。　They　had　found　her。　They　had　tracked　her　down　at
last；　but　what　in　blazes　had　the　greenskins　done　to　her？　In　all　the　general’s　dreams　of　how　this
moment　would　unfold；　he　had　never　imagined　this。　In　the　ultimate　act　of　sacrilege；　the　orks　were
using　her　to　slaughter　Imperial　forces。　His　forces。
Even　so；　he　had　no　choice　but　to　give　the　order。
Through　gritted　teeth；　he　voxed；　“This　is　Army　Group　Command　to　all　units。　Cease　fire　on　the
enemy　superheavy　at　once。　I　repeat；　do　not　fire　on　the　ork　super…heavy　under　any　circumstances。
Concentrate　on　the　enemy　infantry。”
Gerard　Bergen　wasn’t　slow　to　respond。　He　didn’t　bother　with　propriety；　either。
“You’re　out　of　your　frakking　mind；　general；”　he　hissed。　“Whether　that　abomination　is　Yarrick’s
Baneblade　or　not；　it’s　devastating　my　armour。　We　have　to　take　it　out　right　now。　Reverse　that　order！”
“Mind　your　damned　tone；　major　general；”　deViers　barked　back。　“I　will　do　no　such　thing。　Ask
Magos　Sennesdiar；　if　a　round　pierces　the　onboard　fuel　or　ammunition　supplies；　she’ll　be　beyond　all
hope　of　repair。”
“And　if　we　don’t　put　her　out　of　commission；　there　won’t　be　anyone　left　to　claim　her。　Have　you
lost　your　mind；　you　old　fool？　You’re　acting　like　a　damned　Mechanicus　puppet。　You　know　that？”
DeViers　felt　his　face　grow　hot。
“I　hope　you　live　through　this；　Gerard；”　he　growled；　“I　really　do；　because　if　you　ever　speak　like
that　to　me　again；　I’ll　see　you　swing　from　the　gallows。　Is　that　clear？　The　order　stands。　Anyone　who
fires　on　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　will　answer　to　me。”
“Fine；”　said　Bergen　bitterly；　“and　may　you　answer　to　the　souls　of　the　men　you’ve　just
condemned。　Bergen　out。”
“You　have　got　to　be　bloody　joking！”　exclaimed　Beans。
“I　wish　I　was；”　answered　Wulfe。　He　turned　to　his　left　and　fired　on　an　ork　wielding　a　bulky　heavy
flamer　as　if　it　were　little　more　than　a　pistol。　It　had　just　finished　roasting　three　Guardsmen　to　death　at
close　range。　When　Wulfe’s　stubber…rounds　punched　into　its　body；　the　ork　threw　up　its　hands。　One　of
the　rounds　punctured　the　fuel　tanks　on　its　back；　and　it　exploded　in　a　fountain　of　bright　fire　and
burning　meat。
The　bastardised　Baneblade　was　almost　fully　out　of　the　hangar。　Wulfe　could　see　an　absolutely
massive　ork　standing　on　top　of　it。　It　had　to　be　the　warboss。　It　wasn’t　just　the　size　of　the　creature；
though　it　certainly　made　even　the　biggest　of　the　black…skinned　veterans　look　almost　small。　It　was　the
massive　suit　of　power　armour　that　it　wore。　Energy　crackled　in　blue　arcs　along　its　arms。　It　flexed
huge　blade…like　claws　and　bellowed　its　war　cry　through　some　kind　of　amplifier　attached　to　its
shoulder。
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The　bestial　roar　swept　over　the　battlefield；　and　the　orks　all　around　began　fighting　with　fresh
reserves　of　energy　and　zeal。
“Look；”　said　Beans；　“I　might　just　be　a　gunner；　but　I　know　that　order　is　utter　bloody　ball…rot；
sarge。　If　we　can’t　fire　on　it；　we’re　dead　men。”
As　if　to　prove　his　point；　the　Baneblade’s　main　gun　fired　again。　The　last　surviving　Leman　Russ
Executioner　detonated　in　a　spectacular　burst　of　orange　fire　and　glowing　blue　plasma。
“Throne　damn　it；”　cursed　Wulfe。　“Listen；　Beans；　do　you　think　you　can　hit　the　warboss　without
hitting　the　tank？”
About　twenty　metres　behind　Last　Rites　II；　a　Chimera　exploded。　Wulfe　felt　the　intense　heat　of　the
blast　on　the　back　of　his　neck　and　turned。
A　slavering　black　ork　was　hauling　its　way　up　the　back　of　his　tank　with　an　axe　in　one　hand　and　a
rusty　metal　hook　in　the　other。　A　suing　of　desiccated　human　heads　bobbed　around　its　waist。
Wulfe　dropped　down　into　the　turret　basket　just　in　time。　The　beast’s　axe　clanged　on　the　rim　just
as　his　head　disappeared　inside。
“By　the　Throne！”　shouted　Siegler。　He　began　scrambling　to　unhook　one　of　the　lasguns　from　the
fixings　by　his　station。　In　the　meantime；　the　ork　had　thrust　its　metal　hook　into　the　turret　basket　and
was　slashing　backwards　and　forwards；　trying　to　snag　the　crewmen　it　knew　were　inside。
Wulfe　threw　both　his　arms　around　the　ork’s　massive　wrist；　but　the　damned　thing　was　so
powerful　it　began　battering　him　off　the　turret　walls。　In　desperation；　Wulfe　let　go　with　one　hand　and
scrambled　for　his　knife。　He　grasped　the　handle；　drew　it　from　its　sheath；　and　stabbed　it　hard　into　the
ork’s　forearm。
With　a　roar　of　pain；　the　ork　withdrew　its　arm；　taking　the　knife　with　it；　but　the　reprieve　was　only
temporary。　Seconds　later；　it　thrust　its　massive　head　down　into　the　turret　and　began　snapping　at
Wulfe　with　its　razor…toothed　jaws。　The　stink　of　its　foul　breath　filled　the　compartment。
“Down；”　shouted　Siegler；　and　Wulfe　dropped　his　weight　to　the　floor　just　in　time。　Tusks　clashed
an　inch　above　his　head。　Then　the　ork　turned　to　face　the　loader；　drawn　by　his　shout。
Siegler　rammed　the　barrel　of　a　lasgun　into　the　creature’s　mouth　and　yanked　back　hard　on　the
trigger。　The　blast　blew　out　the　back　of　the　ork’s　head；　spattering　the　wall　of　the　turret　basket　and　two
of　its　occupants　with　blood　and　brain　matter。
“By　the　bloody　Eye　of　Terror；”　shouted　Beans。　The　back　of　his　head　was　drenched　in　foulsmelling
gore。
“Good　work；　Sig；”　said　Wulfe。　He　immediately　set　about　trying　to　clear　the　cupola；　but　it　wasn’t
easy。　Shifting　the　heavy　corpse　took　all　his　strength。
When　the　hatch　was　free；　he　poked　his　head　out　to　check　for　any　other　orks　waiting　to　lop　his
head　off。　There　were　none。　He　stood　and　gripped　the　handles　of　his　heavy　stubber　again。　In　the　few
seconds　it　had　taken　to　deal　with　the　hook…wielding　ork；　yet　another　Cadian　tank　had　been　reduced
to　a　flaming　black　skeleton。
Something　else　had　changed；　too。　There　were　more　Cadians　than　before。　The　reinforcements
from　the　rear　had　arrived。　Chimeras　were　pouring　laser　and　autocannon　fire　in　every　direction　but
that　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance；　and　the　foot　soldiers　were　tapping　in　to　some　kind　of　hidden
reserves。　They　fought　back　with　a　renewed　sense　of　purpose。　Wulfe　decided　it　must　be　the　sight；　or
perhaps　the　proximity；　of　the　holy　tank　that　had　inspired　them。　If　they　could　only　stop　it　knocking
out　their　damned　armour…
Just　as　he　was　thinking　this；　the　disfigured　Baneblade　fired　again。
This　time；　the　victim　was　Hal　Keissler　and　The　Damascine。　The　2nd　Company　leader　died
instantly；　blown　apart　with　the　rest　of　his　crew。　Wulfe　swore；　realising　that　he　could　count　the
number　of　surviving　tanks　on　the　fingers　of　two　hands。　To　the　right　he　saw　New　Champion　of
Cerbera　and　was　amazed　that　she　had　stayed　in　the　fight　for　this　long。
Perhaps　he　had　underestimated　Lenck’s　skill　as　a　commander。
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It　hardly　mattered。　If　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　kept　picking　them　off　like　this；　none　of　it　would
mean　a　damned　thing。
“Beans；　you　never　answered　my　question。”
Having　been　denied　the　only　armoured　target　on　the　field；　Beans　was　strafing　ork　infantry　with
the　co…ax。　“What　question？”
“Do　you　think　you　can　hit　the　damned　warboss？”
“I　can　try；”　said　Beans；　“but　if　I　hit　his　ride　instead；　the　general　will　have　me　shot！”
“Do　it　anyway；”　barked　Wulfe。　“I’ll　answer　for　it；　but　you　have　to　take　the　shot。　That　damned
thing　is　getting　ready　to　fire　again；　and　we　might　just　be　the　next　target。　Siegler？　Load　her　up。　Highexplosive。
Let’s　blow　that　greenskin　bastard　into　the　next　life。”
“We’re　out　of　high…ex；　sarge；”　replied　Siegler。　“Only　armour…piercing　left；　and　not　many　of
’em。”
“Damn　it；”　spat　Wulfe。　“AP　it　is。　Load　her　up。　Aim　well；　Beans。”
“Locked　and　lit；”　shouted　Siegler。
“Do　it；”　said　Wulfe；　“and　may　the　Emperor　guide　your　shot！”
Beans　stamped　on　the　floor　trigger。
Last　Rites　II　shuddered　as　exploding　propellant　burst　from　her　muzzle　brake。　The　shot　zipped
straight　in　towards　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。　Wulfe　held　his　breath；　praying　that　the　ork　leader
would　disintegrate　in　a　shower　of　blood　and　bone　shards。
The　shot　curved　low　and　smacked　straight　into　the　Baneblade’s　turret　instead。
Another　massive　armoured　plate　fell　away；　revealing　more　of　the　black　and　gold　that　lay
underneath。
The　reaction　on　the　vox　was　immediate。　Wulfe　heard　General　deViers　screeching　at　the　top　of
his　voice。　“Who　fired　that　shot？　Identify　yourself　at　once。　You　are　disobeying　a　direct　order　from
your　general！”
Wulfe　was　about　to　respond　when　another　voice　cut　in。　It　was　Major　General　Bergen。
“Frak　it！”　said　Bergen。　“This　is　a　direct　order　from　10th　Division　Command。　All　tanks；　open　up
on　that　monstrosity　with　everything　you　have。　We　won’t　lose　anyone　else　to　it。　You　hear　me？　Fire　at
will。”
Wulfe　knew　that　the　general’s　orders　overrode　Bergen’s；　but　he　wasn’t　about　to　let　that　stop　him。
“Siegler；　load。　Beans；　do　what　you　do　best；　son！”
Thunderclaps　echoed　from　the　rusting　metal　walls　all　around　as　the　surviving　tanks　of　the　10th
Armoured　Division　blasted　the　bastardised　Baneblade　with　everything　they　had。　Fire　blossomed　all
over　it　and　heavy　pieces　of　armour　spun　away　in　all　directions。
“Stop！”　yelled　deViers　over　the　vox；　but　nobody　was　listening。　“I　command　you　to　stop！”
The　Adeptus　Mechanicus　also　added　their　protestations；　overriding　the　Cadian　vox…comms　to
issue　warnings　of　their　own；　but　to　no　avail。
Again　and　again；　the　tanks　fired。　More　and　more　of　the　true　shape　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance
was　revealed。　Then　one　shot　struck　the　raging　warboss　that　stood　atop　the　turret。　There　was　a　sudden
burst　of　bright　blue　light　and　a　loud　cracking　sound　as　the　energy　field　generated　by　the　warboss’
armour　straggled　to　absorb　the　blast。　Against　lesser　weapons　like　lascannons；　it　might　have　held
indefinitely；　but　it　simply　wasn’t　powerful　enough　to　repel　the　sheer　force　of　a　tank　round　impacting
at　full　velocity。　The　field　collapsed　and　the　beast’s　right　arm　vanished　completely　in　a　fine　red　mist。
The　warboss　staggered　and　looked　sideways　at　the　ragged；　bleeding　stump　of　flesh　with　an
expression　of　slack…jawed　disbelief。　That　was　when　a　second　round；　an　armour…piercing　shell　from
Captain　Immrich’s　Vanquisher；　Firemane；　struck　it　dead　centre　in　the　torso。　The　round　punched
straight　through　the　ork’s　power　armour；　blew　its　guts　out　its　back；　and　blasted　it　from　its　feet。
A　great　cheer　went　up　from　the　Cadian　soldiers；　and　they　rallied　for　the　third　time　that　day。
Wulfe　marvelled　at　them。　He　knew　how　tired　they　were；　but　they　were　Cadians；　all　of　them。　They
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would　rather　die　of　exhaustion　than　give　up　the　fight。　It　was　their　planetary　heritage；　this　discipline
and　strength。
“Cease　fire；”　shouted　deViers　again。　“Cease　fire；　at　once！”
The　tankers　stopped　firing。　The　Baneblade　still　rumbled　forward；　but　without　their　commander；
the　crew　were　confused　and　lost。　The　ork　foot　soldiers　were　distracted　by　the　sound　of　the　Cadian
cheer　and　turned　to　find　that　their　warboss　had　been　slain。　Without　his　overwhelming　strength　and
dominance；　the　unity　of　the　ork　force　collapsed。　Old　factions　that　had　once　been　rivals　were
suddenly　free　to　wage　war　against　each　other　again；　and　the　entire　force　fell　into　absolute　and
immediate　disarray。　Greenskins　began　hacking　and　firing　at　other　greenskins　just　as　fiercely　as　they
were　fighting　with　the　Cadians。　It　didn’t　take　the　Guardsmen　long　to　capitalise　on　this。
The　clashing　of　heavy　blades　and　the　barking　of　large　calibre　stubbers　and　pistols　gradually　gave
way　to　the　ordered　crack　of　las　and　hellgun　volleys。
Within　the　hour；　the　sounds　of　fighting　died　off　altogether。
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CHAPTER　THIRTY…FIVE
“Get　those　men　down　from　there；”　deViers　stormed。　“Get　back　all　of　you。　Damn　your　eyes；　I’d　have
some　of　you　shot　but　for　the　fact　that　we　have　our　prize　at　last。　Gruber；　give　me　that　vox…amp　unit。
And　you　there！　Yes；　you。　Help　me　up　at　once。”
A　young　trooper　bearing　the　insignia　of　the　110th　Mechanised　Regiment　gave　General　deViers　a
boost　up　onto　the　track…guards　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。
Kasrkin　storm　troopers　had　already　popped　her　hatches　and　slaughtered　her　greenskin　crew；　and
her　engines　had　stopped　rumbling。　She　stood　still　and　silent　as　the　general　climbed　up　to　stand　on
the　top　of　the　turret。　It　had　been　a　pulpit　once；　a　place　from　which　Commissar　Yarrick　had　given　his
rousing　speeches　to　Imperial　troops　before　leading　them　into　battle。　DeViers　could　feel　it　now；　all
that　glory　settling　on　his　shoulders　like　a　fine　heavy　cloak。　He　glanced　down　at　the　body　of　the
warboss　where　it　lay　on　its　back。
Disgusting　beast；　he　thought。
The　stench　from　its　innards　made　his　nose　crinkle；　but　it　would　take　much　more　than　that　to　ruin
the　moment。　He　turned　and　faced　out　towards　the　ordered　ranks　of　troopers。　There　were　so　damned
few　of　them。　Had　he　really　started　all　this　with　over　twenty　thousand　men？　The　losses　seemed
incredible；　but　Yarrick　had　demanded　victory　at　any　cost。　DeViers　had　held　to　that　remark；　and　now
he　had　his　victory。
He　saw　Magos　Sennesdiar　and　his　tech…adepts　moving　towards　the　front；　their　robes　stained　dark
at　the　hem　by　all　the　blood　that　soaked　the　ground。
DeViers　lifted　the　microphone　of　his　vox…amp　unit　and　began；　“Men　of　Exolon　and　of　the
Adeptus　Mechanicus；　let　us　always　remember　this　day。　It　has　taken　time；　resources　and　the　sacrifice
of　many　of　our　Cadian　brothers　to　make　this　dream　a　reality。　But　here　we　stand；　victorious；　and　the
greatest　prize　in　all　the　Imperium　of　Man　is　finally　in　our　hands。　I　stand　upon　it；　and　I　feel　its　holy
spirit　all　around　me：　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance；　a　holy　relic　the　likes　of　which　few　men　could　ever
hope　to　see。　Come　forward　if　you　wish。　Lay　your　hands　on　it。　Feel　its　holy　spirit　wash　over　you　and
inspire　you。　Even　in　this　wretched　state；　desecrated　by　our　enemies；　robbed　of　its　true　glory；　it　still
exudes　a　power　that　surely　embodies　something　of　the　Emperor　Himself。”
On　he　went；　talking　of　a　glory　that　would　never　be　forgotten。　He　believed　every　word　that　came
out　of　his　mouth；　and　the　strength　of　his　conviction　convinced　many　of　the　men　who　listened。
Caught　up　in　the　moment　with　all　those　eyes　fixed　on　him；　all　those　ears　hanging　on　his　every
word；　General　deViers　didn’t　hear　the　scrape　of　metal　on　metal。
He　didn’t　know　anything　was　wrong　until　he　felt　hot；　stinking　breath　on　the　back　of　his　neck。
His　blood　ran　cold　as　ice　and　he　moved　to　turn；　but　it　was　a　motion　he　never　finished。　The　ork
warboss　was　barely　alive；　able　to　stand　only　by　virtue　of　a　central　nervous　system　that　had　been
developed　to　work　through　indescribable　levels　of　physical　pain；　that；　and　the　all…consuming　hatred
it　felt　for　weak；　pathetic　humans。
It　closed　its　remaining　power　claw　around　the　general’s　middle　and；　with　the　briefest　twitch　of
its　fingers；　cut　the　man　in　half。
Colonel　Stromm　of　The　Fighting　98th　was　in　the　front　row；　standing　just　a　few　metres　in　front　of
the　Baneblade’s　hull。