Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第2部分

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formed　an　arc　in　front　of　them；　closing　in；　the　port　sponson　gun　was　lost；　and　of　course　there　was　no
hope　of　back…up　out　here。
He　couldn’t　complain。　The　whole　crew　had　known　what　they　were　getting　into　when　Barreski
had　suggested　this；　when　Grayle　had　confirmed　that　he　could　drive　them　into　position；　when　the
tank　commander　had　approved　their　plan。
They　had　achieved　their　goal；　delivered　a　good；　solid　blow　to　the　enemy　and　slowed　their
advance；　and　that　was　all　they　could　have　hoped　for。
This　had　always　been　a　suicide　run。
The　war　on　Cressida　was　lost。
Trooper　Mikhaelev　had　seen　it　weeks　ago。　There　was　something　about　the　scent；　the　feel；　of　the
air；　as　if　the　planet　itself　had　given　up。　He　had　heard　that　whole　continents　had　been　transformed　in
days；　verdant　fields　devolving　into　arctic　tundra　—　and　even　here；　where　the　walls　of　civilisation
had　only　just　begun　to　come　down；　there　were　patches　of　a　freezing　purple　fungus　sprouting　amid
the　wreckage。
Mikhaelev　knelt　on　the　plinth　of　a　statue　—　of　whom　he　couldn’t　tell；　as　a　frag　blast　had　cut　it
off　at　the　knees　—　and　steadied　his　missile　launcher　against　his　shoulder。　He　saw　the　shape　of　an
enemy　tank；　and　he　sent　a　krak　missile　whistling　over　the　heads　of　his　squad；　and　of　nine　more　ranks
of　Ice　Warriors。　He　didn’t　wait　to　see　if　he　had　struck　the　tank；　too　busy　with　the　cumbersome　task
of　reloading。　He　should　have　had　a　comrade　to　assist　him；　but　the　last　one　had　been　cut　down　in　the
enemy’s　last　push　and　hadn’t　yet　been　replaced。
When　he　tried　to　fire　again；　the　launcher　clicked　and　jammed；　and　Mikhaelev　let　out　a　resigned
sigh　and　reached　for　his　lasgun。　At　the　rate　at　which　his　comrades　were　falling；　he　would　be　on　the
front　line　soon；　anyhow。
It　was　all　right　for　the　clerks　at　Naval　Command；　he　thought。　They　could　afford　to　dither；　so
reluctant　to　lose　a　productive　world　that　they　had　hung　on　to　hope　long　after　hope　had　died。　They
should　have　ordered　this　withdrawal　long　ago。　They　could　have　spared　millions　of　Guardsmen　to
fight　again　—　but　to　them；　those　Guardsmen’s　lives　were　only　numbers　on　a　data…slate；　so　what　did
they　care？
It　didn’t　especially　bother　Mikhaelev　that　he　was　going　to　die　today。　It　just　rankled　with　him　that
it　would　be　for　nothing。
Then　a　voice　crackled　over　his　earpiece；　and　rewrote　his　destiny。
He　slipped　down　from　the　plinth　and　made　his　way　deeper　into　the　hive；　still　lugging　the　useless；
heavy　missile　launcher　along　with　him　in　case　a　tech…priest　could　salvage　it。　He　thought　about　the
summons　he　had　received；　and　it　cheered　him　up　a　little　to　think　how　irritated　his　commander　would
be　to　let　him　go。
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So；　Colonel　Stanislev　Steele　was　putting　together　a　special　mission；　and　he　wanted　Mikhaelev
on　board。　The　only　question　Mikhaelev　had　was…　why　me？
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CHAPTER　TWO
Time　to　Destruction　of　Cressida：　47。04。33
The　Sentinel　walkers　were　equipped　as　power　lifters；　not　intended　for　combat　use。　The　lost　and　the
damned　had　got　hold　of　a　pair　somehow　—　either　they　had　captured　them　or　their　pilots　had　simply
defected；　as　so　many　Guardsmen　had　done　during　this　war　—　and　their　Imperial　markings　had　been
defaced。
The　Sentinels　were　being　used　to　deal　death　now。　They　were　marching　amid　a　legion　of　Chaos
spawn　and　other　mutant　creatures；　sweeping　and　gouging　at　the　defenders　of　Alpha　Hive　with　their
single　metal　claws。
Trooper　Borscz’s　Ice　Warrior　platoon　was　ranged　along　the　edge　of　an　empty　residential　sector。
So　far；　they　had　been　holding　the　tide　back；　but　the　Sentinels’　appearance　threatened　to　change　that。
It　had　fallen　to　Borscz’s　squad　to　deal　with　that　threat。　His　sergeant；　Romanov；　was　bellowing
orders；　instructing　his　nine　troopers　to　aim　their　fire　at　the　leftmost　of　the　two　leviathans。　Borscz’s
first　beams　went　hopelessly　wide；　and　he　cursed　the　unreliable　sights　of　his　lasgun　under　his　breath。
Many　of　his　comrades　struck　true；　but　their　las…beams　seemed　to　do　little　damage；　at　least　to　begin
with。
At　last；　their　sustained　barrage　began　to　bear　fruit；　and　Borscz　saw　sparks　flying　from　the　left
knee　joint　of　the　bipedal　machine。　Without　needing　to　be　told；　the　Ice　Warriors　refocused　their　fire
on　that　spot　—　and　a　long；　agonising　minute　later；　the　Sentinel　collapsed；　and　flattened　a　number　of
luckless　spawn　beneath　its　mass。
It　had　taken　too　long。
Sergeant　Romanov　shouted　again；　and　his　squad　turned　its　fire　on　the　second　Sentinel。　Before　it
could　be　felled；　though；　the　spawn　would　be　upon　them。
Borscz　weighed　up　his　options；　and　then　lowered　his　gun。　He　caught　Romanov’s　suspicious
glare；　and　he　shrugged　his　broad；　muscular　shoulders。
“Sorry；　sergeant；”　he　yelled；　“the　machine　is　kaput；　it　jams　up　in　the　cold。　What　is　a　trooper　to
do？”　Then　he　drew　his　long…bladed　knife；　lowered　his　head　and　took　a　single　giant　step　forward　to
meet　the　first　of　the　charging　mutants。
It　cannoned　into　him；　rebounding　from　his　bulk；　and　Borscz　thought　he　could　read　surprise　in　its
twisted　face。　While　it　was　still　reeling；　he　seized　it；　kicked　its　legs　from　beneath　it；　and　sent　it
sprawling　against　two　more　mutants　behind　it。　Two　more　came　up　alongside　him；　and　he　dodged
their　clumsy　swings；　and　threw　one　of　them　over　his　shoulder　into　the　other。
Borscz　knew　that　the　mutants　were　stronger　than　he　was。　He　was　using　their　unwieldiness
against　them；　keeping　them　off…balance；　but　he　couldn’t　keep　it　up。
He　didn’t　have　to。
The　second　Sentinel　was　upon　him；　towering　over　him；　more　than　three　times　his　height。　It　had
raised　its　foot　to　stamp　on　him；　to　crush　him；　and　the　mutants　were　trying　to　hold　him　still；　wrapping
their　disgusting　tentacles　around　him。
Borscz　loosed　a　great　roar　from　his　powerful　lungs；　and　hacked　at　the　tentacles　with　his　blade。
He　slashed　and　tore　them；　ploughing　forward　as　one　great　foot　slammed　down　in　the　spot　where　he
had　just　been。　Then　he　whipped　a　krak　grenade　from　his　belt；　and　with　a　grim　flourish；　he　slapped　it
against　the　armoured　stanchion　of　the　Sentinel’s　leg。
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The　mutant　saw　what　he　had　done；　and　even　their　tiny　minds　told　them　to　run　from　the
predictable　explosion。　This　gave　Borscz　the　chance　to　run　too；　back　towards　the　rest　of　his　squad；
who　were　watching　in　astonishment　and　backing　him　up　as　best　they　could　with　las…fire。
A　second　later；　there　came　a　tremendous　bang；　and　the　shadow　of　the　teetering　Sentinel　fell
across　him。　Borscz　twisted　out　of　its　way　as　it　crashed　to　the　ground；　its　cockpit　beside　him　now。　He
could　see　his　reflection　in　its　cracked　front　shield；　his　wild　black　beard　split　by　a　white　maniacal
grin　—　and　behind　that　shield；　the　pilot；　the　cockpit’s　lone　occupant；　his　face　white　with　terror　as　he
realised　that　his　unexpected　plunge　had　taken　him　right　to　his　enemy。
He　was　operating　his　controls　feverishly；　employing　the　only　weapon　he　still　had。　The　Sentinel’s
giant　claw　pivoted　back　on　itself；　and　came　snapping；　grasping　for　the　Ice　Warrior。　Borscz　ducked
underneath　it；　and　drove　his　meaty　fists　through　the　plexiglas　shield。　He　grabbed　the　pilot　by　the
scruff　of　his　tunic；　tore　him　from　his　seat　and　drove　him　headfirst　into　the　unyielding　ground；
breaking　his　neck。
Robbed　of　their　advantage；　the　mutants　and　spawn　were　being　driven　back　once　more。　His
cheeks　flushed；　Borscz　took　his　place　among　his　comrades　and　drew　his　gun。　He　was　alarmed　to　feel
a　firm　hand　on　his　shoulder；　and；　turning；　he　found　himself　fixed　by　the　glowering　eyes　of　an
Imperial　commissar。
For　a　moment；　Borscz　feared　he　was　to　be　disciplined　for　disregarding　orders。　He　and　his
sergeant　had　an　understanding　born　of　long　service　together　—　Romanov　knew　that；　unconventional
though　his　methods　were；　Borscz　got　results　—　but　he　knew　that　an　outside　observer　might　see
things　differently。
To　his　surprise；　the　commissar　didn’t　want　to　talk　about　his　behaviour。　He　had　a　message　for
Borscz；　although；　to　judge　by　his　scowl　as　he　delivered　it；　he　wasn’t　at　all　happy　about　it。　It　was　a
summons　from　Colonel　Steele。
Trooper　Anakora　heard　the　Chaos　hounds　before　she　saw　them；　the　scampering　of　their　clawed　feet
in　the　tunnels　and　their　ravening　howls　as　they　scented　fresh　meat　even　over　the　underhive’s　stink。
She　whirled　around；　and　saw　the　first　of　them；　its　twisted　black　bulk；　in　the　light　of　the　beam
from　her　lamp…pack　as　it　leapt　on　Petrovski　and　tore　out　his　throat。
There　were　three　more　behind　it。　Anakora　swore　and　abandoned　the　limpet　mine　she　had　been
struggling　to　adhere　to　the　crumbling　wall　of　a　slum　building。
Her　squad　of　eight　had　been　sent　down　here　on　a　demolition　mission。　Their　commanders　were
concerned　that　as　the　Imperial　Guard　withdrew　from　Cressida；　there　weren’t　enough　men　left　to　hold
all　fronts　in　the　ongoing　war。　By　collapsing　strategic　sections　of　these　underground　levels；　they
could　at　least　close　off　one　route　to　the　heart　of　Alpha　Hive；　preventing　the　Chaos　forces　from
coming　up　beneath　them。
Their　enemies；　it　transpired；　were　a　step　ahead　of　them。　They　had　penetrated　deeper　into　the
underhive　than　anyone　had　known。　Anakora　and　her　comrades　hadn’t　planted　even　half　their　mines
yet。
One　of　the　hounds　came　for　her；　but　with　remarkable　precision　she　fired　a　las…beam　through　its
left　eye　and　killed　it。　The　momentum　of　its　pounce　kept　it　coming；　and　it　hit　with　enough　force　to
knock　her　from　her　feet。　She　crashed　to　the　ground　with　the　hound’s　slavering　tusks　in　her　face；　and
gagged　on　its　last　gasp　of　rancid　breath　as　she　hauled　herself　out　from　beneath　it。
She　had　dropped　her　lamp…pack；　breaking　it；　but　the　tunnel　was　lit　by　the　criss…crossed　beams　of
her　surviving　six　comrades　and　the　staccato　flashes　of　their　lasguns。　The　latter　created　an　eerie　kind
of　stop…motion　effect　in　which　Anakora　saw　the　remaining　two　Chaos　hounds　dosing　with　their
chosen　prey。
She　shouldered　her　weapon　again；　looking　for　a　clear　shot。　When　a　second　comrade　fell；　his
broken　body　tossed　in　the　air　to　be　caught　in　the　mantrap　jaws　of　his　feral　killer；　she　let　out　a
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strangulated　cry　and　pulled　on　the　trigger　for　all　she　was　worth；　furious　with　herself　for　her　wellmeaning
hesitation。
Tbers　had　the　same　thought；　and　the　hound　was　struck　from　three　angles　at
once；　twisting　and　melting　in　the　sizzling　las…beams；　slumping　dead　at　last　with　a　Valhallan　leg　still
clamped　in　its　mouth。
The　third　hound　got　past　Sergeant　Kubrikov’s　defences。　It　bore　him　down；　and　its　claws　pinned
his　shoulders　before　he　could　stand。　Once　again；　Anakora　couldn’t　fire　without　endangering　her
comrade；　but　this　time　she　didn’t　waste　a　second。　She　leapt　onto　the　creature’s　back；　and　felt　its
jagged　spines　digging　into　her　thighs。　She　turned　her　lasgun　around　and　slipped　it　over　the　Chaos
hound’s　head　so　that　the　barrel　was　resting　across　its　throat。　She　clenched　her　teeth　and　pulled　for　all
she　was　worth。　She　could　feel　thick；　knotted　neck　muscles　resisting　her；　but　she　was　determined　not
to　fail；　not　to　show　herself　to　be　weak　again。　At　last；　she　felt　bone　snap。　The　monstrous　black　body
sagged　beneath　her；　and　a　grateful　Kubrikov　tore　himself　free　from　its　dying　grip。
In　the　time　this　had　taken；　Anakora’s　comrades　had　dealt　with　the　final　hound；　although　two
more　of　them　had　been　eviscerated　in　the　process。　The　danger　was　not　over；　however。　New　shadows
were　looming；　growing　on　the　tunnel　walls：　dark；　ominous　shadows。　A　scant　moment　later；　the　first
of　their　owners　came　marching　around　the　bend；　and　Anakora’s　breath　caught　at　the　sight　of　them。
Clad　in　baroque　armour　and　hailing　from　the　Eye　of　Terror；　the　giant　warriors　exuded　a　palpable
air　of　menace　and　power　that　turned　men’s　blood　to　ice。　They　raised　and　fired　bolt　pistols；　and
Anakora　flung　herself　against　the　wall；　using　the　tunnel’s　slight　curvature　to　shield　her　body。　She
returned　fire；　knowing　that　it　was　hopeless。　The　Ice　Warriors　were　outgunned　—　outmatched　not
just　by　a　little；　but　ludicrously；　almost　laughably　so。
Sergeant　Kubrikov　knew　it　too；　and　he　was　screaming　at　his　three　remaining　troopers　to　fall
back。　There　was　something　else　too：　another　sound；　an　insistent　buzz　in　Anakora’s　earpiece。　A
voice；　its　tone　urgent　but　its　words　drowned　in　a　sea　of　static。
She　didn’t　have　time　to　worry　about　it。　She　was　pinned　down　by　the　bolt　pistols；　but　the　glimmer
of　an　idea　formed　in　her　head；　and　she　screamed　at　Kubrikov；　“The　mines；　sergeant！　Blow　the
mines！”
Kubrikov　was　ahead　of　her；　already　fumbling　with　the　detonator。　The　buildings　to　each　side　of
the　Chaos　Space　Marines　blew　out；　and　a　cloud　of　dust　billowed　towards　Anakora。　She　was　already
running　when　it　caught　up　to　her；　engulfed　her。　She　could　hear　the　throaty　growls　of　chainswords
starting　up　behind　her；　and　she　knew　that　the　explosion　hadn’t　been　enough；　not　nearly　enough　—
that　their　pursuers　were　still　standing；　still　ploughing　forwards；　and　that　all　the　Ice　Warriors　had
gained　was　to　slow　them　a　fraction　and　to　make　themselves　a　harder　target　for　their　ranged　weapons。
She　almost　wished　that　wasn’t　the　case。
There　were　just　two　of　them　left；　her　and　Kubrikov。　Anakora　reached　the　ladder　first；　glanced
back；　and　saw　her　sergeant’s　eyes　glazing　over。　Blood　poured　from　his　mouth；　and　then　his　body
separated　into　two　pieces　along　a　horizontal　line。　The　dust　parted　for　a　second　to　show　the　dead　face
of　a　Chaos　Space　Marine　behind　him；　jerking　his　sword　free　of　his　victim’s　remains。
Then　she　was　climbing；　hand　over　hand；　foot　over　foot；　expecting　at　any　moment　to　feel　cold
fingers　closing　around　her　ankle；　dragging　her　back。　Bolts　pinged　off　the　ladder；　and　she　dropped　a
frag　grenade　to　discourage　another　burst。　Then　she　could　see　the　open　manhole　above　her；　and　she
knew　that　she　could　make　it。　She　ought　to　have　been　relieved　—　because　now　at　least　her　comrades
could　be　forewarned；　that　the　Chaos　Space　Marines　were　about　to　emerge　into　their　midst　—　but　her
stomach　sank　instead；　because　she　knew　that　her　mission　had　failed。　Her　squad　was　dead。
And　the　worst　of　it　all；　the　hardest　thing　for　Anakora　to　accept；　was　that　she　had　survived…
again。
Trooper　Grayle　stumbled　over　the　rubble；　hacking　and　coughing　from　the　smoke　in　his　throat；　his
arm　gushing　blood　from　a　stray　piece　of　shrapnel。　His　eyes　and　ears　had　been　deadened；　but　he　fired
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his　lasgun　blindly　over　his　shoulder　as　he　staggered　on；　just　hoping　and　waiting　—　waiting　for
Barreski　to　let　go　of　him；　to　stop　dragging　him　along；　so　that　he　could　fall　over。
He　didn’t　know　how　they　had　got　this　far。　His　recent　past　was　a　blur　of　bangs　and　flashes；　the
only　clear　impression　being　of　the　searing；　agonising　pain　he　had　felt　when　the　controls　of　the
Leman　Russ　had　blown　up　in　his　face。
Then　he　was　on　the　ground；　staring　up　at　Cressida’s　grey　sky；　the　last　flakes　of　the　sputtering
snowstorm　wetting　his　cheeks　and　soothing　his　burns。　His　chest　was　heaving　and　his　arm　was
throbbing；　and　he　wondered　for　a　moment　if　this　was　it；　if　Barreski　had　been　gunned　down　and　if　he
was　to　be　next。
Then　he　saw　his　comrade’s　concerned　face　looming　over　him；　his　skin　a　livid　pink　too；　the
stubble　on　his　chin　singed　and　even　more　ragged　than　usual。
“Did…　did　we　get　the　last　of　them？”　stammered　Grayle。
“I　reckon　so；　yeah；”　said　Barreski。　Then　something　made　him　tense　up；　turn；　and　fire　a　burst
from　his　lasgun　at　something　Grayle　couldn’t　see　—　though　he　did　hear　the　scream　that　followed　the
blast；　a　scream　abruptly　curtailed。　“Yeah；”　repeated　Barreski；　turning　back　to　him；　“yeah；　we　got　the
last　of　them；　now。”
Not　many　cultists　had　followed　them　back　into　the　ruins。　Those　that　had　survived　were　mostly
licking　their　wounds；　shell…shocked　from　the　fury　that　had　just　erupted　around　them。　The　Ice
Warriors　were　safe　from　the　enemy　tanks　—　assuming　that　none　of　their　drivers　had　Grayle’s　skill；
which　was　a　pretty　safe　bet。
“I　think　the　captain　made　it；”　said　Grayle；　chasing　a　confused　memory。　“I　think　I　saw　him
with…　with　someone　else；　I　couldn’t　make　out　who。”
“Kampanov；　probably。　As　soon　as　he　heard　the　evacuation　order；　he　was　out　of　that　hatch　like　a
snow　leopard　with　a　frag　grenade　up　its　backside。”
Grayle　pulled　himself　up　onto　his　elbows；　catching　his　second　wind；　and　said；　“They　took　out
the　turret　guns；　I’m　assuming？”
“Cold　got　the　first；　shrapnel　the　second。　Think　I’d　be　here　if　I　still　had　a　lascannon　to　fire？　They
were　works　of　art；　they　were。　Another　minute　with　them；　I　could　have　polished　off　two　more　tanks；
no　problem。”
“Never　mind；　eh；　Barreski。　I’m　sure　we　can　find　you　a　new　toy　to　play　with　soon；　maybe　an
even　bigger　one。”
“You　think　they’ll　let　us　have　another　vehicle？”　asked　Barreski。　“We　didn’t　take　such　good　care
of　the　last　one。　Of　the　last　three；　in　fact。”
Grayle　smiled　at　his　fellow　tanker　with　the　smug　air　of　one　who　knew　an　important　secret。　“Oh
yeah；”　he　said；　“I　think　we’ll　get　another　vehicle。　I　expect　we’ll　be　back　in　action　before　you　know
it。”
Then　he　told　Barreski　about　the　message。　The　one　that　had　come　in　through　the　Leman　Russ’
vox　system；　just　before　it　had　exploded。　Grayle　had　never　had　the　chance　to　acknowledge　the
message；　nor　to　relay　it　to　its　intended　recipient；　the　battle　tank’s　captain　—　but　it　had　now　been
heard　by　both　of　the　Ice　Warriors　name…checked　therein。
“Better　get　yourself　back　on　your　feet　then；　my　friend；”　said　Barreski；　“because　if　we　want　to
report　to　Colonel　Stanislev　Steele　on　time；　I’d　say　we’ve　got　a　long；　dangerous　walk　ahead　of　us。”
Calchas　Spaceport　was　teeming　with　Guardsmen；　many　of　them　lost；　unable　to　hear　their　orders
over　the　roar　of　an　incoming　lander。　The　ship　was　trying　to　squeeze　its　bristling　form　into　a　tight
spot　between　a　near…identical　vessel　and　an　older；　scarred　Ironclad。　The　Navy　had　assigned　all　the
craft　it　could　spare；　all　that　could　reach　Cressida　in　time；　to　the　evacuation　effort；　whatever　their
usual　function。
13
The　lander　set　down；　at　last；　and　its　engines　cut　out；　but　those　of　another；　departing　ship　had
already　fired　up。　Sergeants　yelled　themselves　hoarse　to　be　heard　over　the　continuing　racket；
marshalling　their　troopers　to　the　loading　ramps。　From　the　window　beside　Trooper　Blonsky’s　head；
the　Guardsmen　looked　like　coloured　ants；　streaming　across　a　concrete　bowl　into　the　bellies　of　the
great　metal　behemoths。
His　interrogator　delivered　a　backhanded　slap　to　his　face；　drawing　a　little　blood　and　snapping　his
attention　back　to　the　small；　grey　room　in　which　he　was　seated。
“I　asked　you　a　question；　Blonsky。”　The　lieutenant　was　from　a　Validian　regiment。　Royal
Validians；　they　called　themselves。　His　uniform　was　red　with　highlights　in　polished　gold；　and　he
displayed　the　same　superior　attitude　that　Blonsky　had　seen　in　so　many　of　his　breed。　He　was　probably
also　one　of　the　most　senior　officers　on　Cressida。　Most　of　the　rest　had　been　aboard　the　first　ships　to
leave　—　Blonsky’s　Valhallan　commanders　excepted；　of　course。
He　glanced　down　at　his　cuffed　wrists；　resting　in　his　lap。　Then　he　looked　up　to　meet　his
interrogator’s　glare；　and　he　said　calmly；　“With　all　due　respect；　sir；　I　think　I　have　answered　it。　I　have
given　you　a　full　account　of　my　actions　this　morning。　I　executed　Sergeant　Arkadin—”
“You　killed　him；”　the　Validian　spat；　“killed　him　in　cold　blood！”
“I　executed　him；”　restated　Blonsky；　“because　he　was　a　deserter。”
The　lieutenant’s　nostrils　flared。　“Arkadin　wa