Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第3部分

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“I　executed　him；”　restated　Blonsky；　“because　he　was　a　deserter。”
The　lieutenant’s　nostrils　flared。　“Arkadin　was　a　good　friend　of　mine。　If　you　had　reason　to　doubt
his　courage；　you　should　have　come　to　me　or　to　one　of　his　other　commanders。　What　evidence　do　you
have；　what　evidence　could　you　have；　to　support　this　claim？”
“I　have　the　evidence　of　my　own　senses；　sir。　My　platoon　was　fighting　a　horde　of　mutants　when　I
was　separated　from　them　by　an　explosion。　I　took　cover　in　an　old　storage　depot。　That’s　where　I
encountered　Sergeant　Arkadin。　I　believe　he　had　been　hiding　in　there　for　some　time。”
“Did　he　tell　you　that？”　asked　the　lieutenant　sharply。
“No　sir；”　said　Blonsky；　“but　it　was　evident　from　his　body　language　that—”
“I　don’t　want　to　hear　about　his　body　language。”
“Very　well。　The　mutants　must　have　seen　me　entering　the　building。　I　had　barricaded　the　door　as
best　I　could；　but　they　were　starting　to　batter　it　down。　I　was　prepared　to　meet　them　with　las…fire；　but
Sergeant　Arkadin　threw　down　his　gun　and　tried　to　climb　through　the　window。”
“I　won’t　accept　that！”　The　lieutenant　drove　a　frustrated　fist　into　the　table　between　them。　“You
made　a　mistake；　Trooper　Blonsky。　Sergeant　Arkadin　is　—　was　—　an　excellent　tactician。　No　doubt
he　thought　that；　if　he　could　escape　from　the　depot；　he　could　circle　behind　your　attackers　and—”
“He　had　thrown　down　his　gun；　sir！”
“What　right　do　you　have　to　judge　one　of　us？”　the　Validian　hissed。
“May　I　ask　again；　sir；”　said　Blonsky；　“if　my　commanders　have　been　informed　of　my　detention。
By　rights；　one　of　them　ought　to　be　here。”　He　could　tell　from　the　lieutenant’s　stony　silence　that　the
answer　to　his　question　was　no。
He　sighed；　and　restated　for　what　seemed　like　the　hundredth　time；　“Sergeant　Arkadin　was　a
deserter。　I　shot　him；　in　accordance　with　standing　orders；　before　he　could—”
“No！”　the　lieutenant　bellowed。　Blonsky　stopped　talking。　No　one　was　listening　anyway。
A　long　silence　followed；　during　which　his　interrogator　stared　out　of　another　window　at　the
activity　in　the　spaceport　below。　Perhaps　he　was　worrying　about　his　own　place　on　one　of　those　ships；
wondering　how　much　longer　he　could　afford　to　wait　behind。
“You　were　lucky；”　said　the　lieutenant　at　last；　in　a　somewhat　quieter　voice；　“that　my　platoon　was
in　the　area；　that　those　mutants　died　before　they　could　break　down　the　door　and　reach　you。　I　only
wish　they　could　have　been　in　time　to　save　my　sergeant。”
“I　wish　that　too；　sir。”
“As　far　as　I　am　concerned；　Trooper　Blonsky；　you　killed　Sergeant　Arkadin　without　reason。　I
don’t　know　why。　Perhaps　you　were　the　would…be　deserter；　and　he　was　standing　in　your　way。　The
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only　way　to　be　sure　would　be　to　convene　a　formal　tribunal　with；　as　you　say；　your　commanders
present。　Under　the　circumstances；　that　would　take　some　time。　It　would　also　mean　blackening　a　good
man’s　name；　by　airing　these　scurrilous　accusations　against　him。”
“If　you　say　so；　sir。”　Blonsky　could　see　from　the　lieutenant’s　bearing；　the　way　he　could　no　longer
quite　meet　his　prisoner’s　eye；　that　he　wanted　to　believe　what　he　was　saying；　wanted　it　so　much；　but
that　he　couldn’t　be　entirely　sure。
The　lieutenant　let　out　a　heavy　sigh；　and　said；　“Go　on。　Get　out　of　here。　It　would　be　a　mercy　to
keep　you　off　the　front　line　anyway。　You　belong　to　the　Valhallan　319th；　yes？　The　regiment　that　is　to
stay　behind；　that　is　to　be　sacrificed。　Well；　then；　Trooper　Blonsky；　if　you　are　so　zealous；　so　damn
loyal　to　the　Emperor；　then　this　is　your　chance　to　prove　it；　isn’t　it？　This　is　your　chance　to　make　sure
you　die　for　Him！”
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CHAPTER　THREE
Time　to　Destruction　of　Cressida：　45。57。14
The　sight　of　the　Termite　stirred　something　in　Sergeant　Ivon　Gavotski’s　heart。
It　was　just　a　small　vehicle；　its　chassis　almost　outweighed　by　the　great　cylindrical　borer　it
supported　—　but　it　had　been　given　a　distinctively　Valhallan　make…over；　painted　with　white　and
green　snow　camouflage　patterns。　Six　flamer　emplacements　had　been　added　to　its　sides　and　four
more　flamers　mounted　on　the　borer　itself。
Gavotski　had　heard　the　story　many　times；　of　course　—　about　how；　after　his　home　world　had
been　hit　by　an　asteroid；　after　its　lush　fields　had　become　frozen　wastelands；　his　distant　ancestors　had
struggled　to　survive。　An　ork　invasion　must　have　seemed　like　one　misfortune　too　many；　back　then　—
but　it　had　given　the　Valhallans　a　reason　to　fight　back；　a　tangible　goal　to　achieve。
The　precise　schematics　of　the　ice…boring　vehicle　they　had　developed　had　been　lost　to　history。
But　this　Termite　was　the　nearest　thing；　in　the　modern　world；　to　the　vehicle　that　had　won　the
Valhallans　their　war　—　the　nearest　thing　to　the　vehicle　that　had　given　them　mastery　of　their　changed
environment；　allowing　them　to　tunnel　through　the　hearts　of　the　glaciers　and　to　strike　at　the　ork　mobs
where　they　least　expected。
A　single　Termite　wouldn’t　win　this　war　—　but　with　Cressida　becoming　more　and　more　like
Valhalla　each　day；　it　could　at　least　carry　one　squad　of　Ice　Warriors　to　where　they　needed　to　be。　That
was；　if　Gavotski　could　find　it　a　squad　to　carry。
He　had　sent　out　the　orders　over　two　hours　ago。　Trooper　Mikhaelev　had　been　the　first　to　report　in：
a　quiet；　lean；　thin…faced　man；　not　at　all　what　Gavotski　had　been　expecting　from　a　heavy　weapons
expert。　Anakora　had　arrived　next；　her　face　impassive；　her　eyes　dead　even　as　she　had　told　Gavotski
what　an　honour　it　was　to　be　assigned　to　him。　Then　Blonsky　had　come　in；　his　narrow；　black　eyes
forever　darting　about　him；　alert　like　a　hawk。
That；　so　far；　had　been　it；　apart　from　a　few　garbled　vox　messages。　Two　of　Gavotski’s　draftees
were　listed　as　dead；　three　as　missing　in　action；　although　efforts　were　ongoing　to　locate　them。　Of　the
remaining　four；　including　his　reserve　choices；　he　had　heard　and　seen　nothing。　It　was　with　some
relief；　then；　that　he　greeted　the　approach　of　a　Chimera；　although　even　the　jaded　sergeant　couldn’t
help　but　raise　an　eyebrouscular　trooper　hanging　from　its　side。
The　hitchhiker　didn’t　wait　for　the　vehicle　to　stop。　He　hopped　down　and　ambled　up　to　Gavotski；
his　broad；　toothy　grin　a　bright　white　behind　his　black　beard。
“Trooper　Borscz；　sergeant；”　he　introduced　himself。　“Apologies　for　my　late　arrival；　but　your　first
message　did　not　get　through。　Machines；　you　know。”
Gavotski　introduced　himself　in　turn；　held　up　a　hand　to　stem　Borscz’s　eager　questions；　and
indicated　that　he　should　wait　beside　the　Termite　with　the　others。　As　the　newcomer　moved　to　obey；
the　sergeant　noted　that　his　eyes　flickered；　as　all　their　eyes　had；　towards　the　brooding　figure　of
Colonel　Stanislev　Steele。
Steele　stood　a　few　metres　away；　his　power　sword　at　his　hip；　observing　all　with　a　cool　but　shrewd
gaze。　His　bionic　right　eye　glinted　in　the　light　of　a　flaring　explosion　in　the　sky；　but　there　were　no
other　outward　signs　of　his　internal　augmetics。
It　was　said　by　some　that　Steele’s　emotions　had　been　neutered　by　his　cybernetic　grafts；　that　he
had　become　cold；　unfeeling。　Gavotski　could　see　how　that　myth　had　been　born。　He　counted　himself
privileged；　however；　to　be　one　of　the　few　who　knew　the　truth。
16
The　Chimera　had　come　to　a　halt；　and　another　two　Ice　Warriors　emerged；　exchanging　amiable
banter。　They　introduced　themselves　as　Troopers　Barreski　and　Grayle。　That　made　six　—　eight；
including　the　sergeant　and　the　colonel。　It　was　enough　to　make　do；　but　two　short　of　the　full　squad　for
which　Gavotski　had　hoped。　He　glanced　at　Steele　for　instructions；　but　could　see　that；　as　always；　he
was　happy　to　trust　his　sergeant’s　judgement。
He　decided　to　wait　another　ten　minutes。　With　luck；　Palinev　might　still　make　it；　and　bring　the
count　up　to　nine。　Beyond　that…
Gavotski　had　had　high　hopes　for　one　more　Ice　Warrior。　He　had　added　Pozhar’s　name　to　his　list；
despite　his　chequered　service　record；　despite　Steele’s　concerns；　because　he　had　worked　with　the　lad
before　and　judged　him　to　have　potential。　Pozhar　was　one　of　the　three　MIAs　—　which　meant　that
Gavotski　was　now　praying　for　a　miracle。
Or；　to　put　it　another　way；　he　was　about　to　find　out　if　his　faith　had　been　justified。
Pozhar　had　lost　all　track　of　time。
He　was　so　close　to　his　goal；　so　close　to　getting　back　to　his　comrades；　the　returning　hero。　It
seemed　like　days　since　he　had　been　separated　from　them；　days　since　he　had　lain　on　the　battlefield；
almost　gagging　on　the　stench　of　the　fallen　Chaos　worshippers　whose　bodies　had　protected　him。
Now；　he　was　just　a　few　metres　away。
A　few　metres　—　but　it　may　as　well　have　been　a　few　thousand。
It　was　not　in　the　young　trooper’s　nature　to　lie　still　for　long。　Anyway；　the　grumbling　of
approaching　engines　had　alerted　him　to　a　new　danger。　The　Chaos　army　had　pressed　forward；　most　of
its　foot　soldiers　passing　him　by　without　seeing　him；　but　behind　them　had　come　the　heavy　artillery；
the　tanks　and　the　battle　cannons；　and　he　had　had　to　act　fast　to　avoid　being　crushed　beneath　their
wheels。
Pozhar　had　scrambled　to　his　feet；　feeling　the　sting　of　cold　air　on　his　face；　expecting　to　be　shot
down　as　soon　as　he　was　seen。　Instead；　surrounded　by　the　enemy；　he　went　unnoticed。　He　had　realised
that　his　uniform　was　dishevelled　and　torn；　coated　in　grime　and　blood；　and　thus　there　was　no　real
visible　difference　between　him　and　any　number　of　Traitor　Guardsmen　on　the　battlefield。　Thinking
quickly；　he　had　ripped　off　his　unit　badge　to　further　this　illusion；　and　had　considered　taking　a　coat
from　one　of　the　fallen　traitors；　one　daubed　in　Chaos　sigils；　but　the　thought　of　wearing　such　a　thing
had　made　his　stomach　turn　and　his　skin　crawl。
He　couldn’t　just　stand　there；　he　had　realised。　He　had　to　do　something；　make　it　look　like　he
belonged　here；　give　himself　time　to　think；　to　find　an　escape　route。
Casting　around；　he　had　seen　a　pair　of　cultists　bickering　over　an　upset　cart。　A　purloined　plasma
cannon；　too　heavy　to　carry；　had　spilled　from　the　rickety　contraption；　and　Pozhar　had　rushed　to　help
lift　it　back　into　place。　In　so　doing；　he　had　brushed　against　a　cultist’s　arm　and　felt　something　shifting
beneath　his　cloak。　He　had　caught　a　glimpse　of　a　slimy　black　tentacle；　and　had　almost　vomited　on　the
spot。
Pozhar　had　ached　—　truly；　physically　ached　—　with　the　driving　need　to　pull　out　his　lasgun；　to
blast　these　freaks　to　whatever　afterlife　they　believed　in；　and　he　would　have　done　it　too　had　it　not
been　for　the　vox…message…　had　it　not　been　for　the　fact　that　Colonel　Stanislev　Steele　needed　him。
He　wished　he　knew　how　long　it　had　been。
He　had　slipped　away　from　the　cultists　at　the　first　opportunity；　leaving　his　last　frag　grenade　in
their　cannon’s　barrel。　When　the　weapon　was　fired；　the　grenade　would　burst　and；　Pozhar　hoped；
trigger　a　devastating　plasma　explosion。　He　had　made　his　way　to　the　edge　of　the　battlefield；　trying　to
remain　innocuous；　finding　cover　where　he　could　in　deserted；　half…demolished　buildings。
He　had　not　counted　on　running　into　civilians。　Four　women　and　six　children　were　huddled　in　a
dark　corner　of　one　of　those　buildings；　somehow　overlooked　by　the　heretics　that　had　burnt　out　their
homes　and　slaughtered　their　men。
17
At　first　they　had　been　an　unwelcome　burden；　because　Pozhar　would　certainly　have　become　a
target　as　soon　as　he　had　stepped　out　into　the　open　with　them。　But；　emboldened　by　the　appearance　of
an　Imperial　Guardsmen；　their　saviour；　the　women　had　told　him　of　a　way　out：　a　hatchway　into　the
underhive。
And　so；　Pozhar　had　ended　up　here；　in　a　tunnel　mouth；　up　to　his　ankles　in　the　filth　of　a　billion
departed　slum…dwellers；　as　the　women　waited　some　way　behind　him　and　tried　to　keep　their　children
quiet。　And　the　ladder　that　would　take　them　all　back　up　to　the　surface；　back　to　Pozhar’s　comrades；
was　just　a　few　metres　away…　a　few　metres　away；　but　guarded。
It　had　been　a　shock　to　find　cultists　in　the　underhive。　Fortunately；　the　women　had　known　their
way　around；　and；　so　far；　they　had　been　able　to　keep　out　of　sight；　though　a　number　of　diversions　due
to　blocked　tunnels　had　left　Pozhar　fretting　with　impatience。　His　greatest　fear　was　that　Colonel　Steele
might　have　given　up　on　him　by　now　—　worse　still；　might　have　written　him　off　as　a　coward　or　a
traitor。
Four　cultists。　He　could　take　them；　he　thought；　especially　as　their　guns　were　trained　on　the
manhole　above　them。　They　were　expecting　trouble　from　above；　not　from　below。　They　weren’t
expecting　him。　He　could　take　them。
And　they　would　raise　the　alarm；　and　then　more　cultists　would　come　running。　Would　he　be　able
to　ferry　the　women　and　the　children　up　the　ladder　and　hold　their　attackers　off　long　enough　to　follow
them？
A　more　cautious　man　might　have　waited　a　while　longer；　might　have　looked　for　a　better　chance；
or　even　another　ladder。　Not　Pozhar。　He　had　lost　enough　time　already。
Even　though　he　knew　that　the　fight　ahead　of　him　would　be　difficult；　even　though　he　knew　that
his　chances　of　survival　were　slim；　he　drew　his　lasgun　and　he　ran　to　meet　it　firing。　And　he　did　so　not
just　because　he　felt　he　had　no　other　choice；　but　with　a　grin　on　his　face　and　a　mad　laugh　erupting
from　his　stomach。
A　step　gave　way　beneath　Trooper　Palinev’s　foot；　and　he　leapt　for　the　safety　rail　and　pulled　himself
up。　He　had　started　a　cascade　effect；　which　demolished　the　rest　of　the　staircase　beneath　him；　but　he
had　attained　the　balcony　level　of　the　refinery　as　planned。
He　grinned　at　the　memory　of　those　comrades　who　had　thought　him　mad　for　eschewing　the
standard　Valhallan　greatcoat。　His　basic　flak　jacket　might　not　have　provided　the　same　level　of
protection　against　the　cold；　but　it　was　much　lighter；　more　flexible；　and　Palinev’s　unencumbered
agility　had　just　saved　his　life。
He　reached　the　tall；　narrow　window　—　the　one　towards　which　his　sergeant　had　directed　him
from　outside；　below。　He　settled　behind　it　and　used　the　butt　of　his　long…las；　his　sniper　variant　lasgun；
to　knock　out　the　glass。　An　icy　gust　of　wind　blew　away　the　refinery’s　stuffy　gloom；　and　further
reddened　Palinev’s　already　ruddy　cheeks。
He　rested　the　long；　thin　barrel　of　his　weapon　against　the　sill；　and　waited。
The　battle　had　only　just　spread　to　this　part　of　the　hive；　and　many　of　the　buildings　were　still
standing。　Palinev’s　platoon　was　attempting　to　draw　the　enemy　into　a　narrow　street；　a　bottleneck　in
which　the　defenders　would　have　the　advantage；　and　the　strategy　was　working。　The　first　wave　of
Chaos　forces　came　crashing　against　the　Ice　Warriors’　front　lines；　and　were　held。　That　made　them
sitting　ducks　for　Palinev；　and　the　nine　other　snipers　stationed　behind　the　surrounding　windows。　He
squeezed　off　round　after　round；　claiming　kill　after　kill。
And　then；　in　a　second；　the　tide　turned。
Palinev　didn’t　know　what　had　happened　at　first；　only　that　there　had　been　a　shift　in　the　battle；　that
his　comrades　were　reacting　to　something　he　hadn’t　seen。　Something　behind　them。　Then　he　saw　lasbeams
ripping　into　them；　from　an　area　that　ought　to　have　been　secure；　taking　them　by　surprise。　It
was　a　massacre。
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His　heart　in　his　throat；　Palinev　abandoned　his　post　and　raced　along　the　circular　balcony；　his
footsteps　ringing　off　metal　mesh。　Three　windows　along；　he　found　a　better　view；　and　he　saw　to　his
horror　that　cultists　and　traitors　were　rising　from　the　manholes；　from　the　underhive；　outflanking　their
foes。　The　Ice　Warriors　on　the　ground　were　rallying；　but　they　didn’t　stand　a　chance。　Still；　Palinev　did
what　he　could　to　help　them；　sniping　down　all　the　heretics　he　could　in　the　time　he　had。
The　refinery　doors　crashed　open；　somewhere　beneath　him；　and　all　of　a　sudden　the　battle　seemed
a　great　deal　louder；　a　great　deal　closer　to　him。
The　intruders　knew　where　he　was。　A　frag　grenade　arced　over　the　balcony　rail　and　rolled　up　to
Palinev’s　feet。　He　was　already　running；　just　ahead　of　the　explosion；　which　blew　out　a　section　of　the
building’s　wall。　The　balcony　was　mangled；　left　partially　unsupported；　trembling　and　creaking　—
and；　as　Palinev　reached　the　one　remaining　set　of　steps；　he　found　four　Chaos　cultists　ascending
towards　him；　recognisable　by　their　cloaks　and　by　their　obscene　tattoos。
He　brought　up　his　gun；　but　the　cultists　were　too　fast　for　him；　and　he　had　to　throw　himself　onto
his　stomach　to　avoid　their　las…fire。　He　wasn’t　accustomed　to　close　combat；　wasn’t　built　for　it。
Palinev　had　spent　his　years　in　service　honing　his　sneaking　and　sniping　skills。　This；　then；　was　his
worst　nightmare：　an　enemy　that　could　see　him！
A　section　of　mesh　beneath　him　rattled　and　slid。　Feverishly；　he　pried　it　loose　and　clambered　down
through　a　web　of　scaffolding。　He　dropped　the　six　metres　to　the　ground　floor　level；　rolling　to　absorb
the　impact　of　his　landing。　The　cultists　were　up　on　the　teetering　balcony；　looking　for　him；　and　he
decided　to　give　them　a　taste　of　their　own　medicine。　They　saw　the　incoming　grenade；　and　one　of
them　tried　to　run；　while　the　other　three　saw　the　futility　of　that　course　and　jumped　for　it。
Palinev　managed　to　get　off　a　shot　while　they　were　in　mid　air；　wounding　one　of　the　cultists；　who
landed　awkwardly　with　a　snap　of　bone。　Then　the　grenade　went　off　and　the　balcony　gave　way；
bringing　two　walls　down　with　it。　All　Palinev　had　time　to　do　was　to　drop　to　his　knees　and　cover　his
head　with　his　hands　as　he　was　engulfed　by　a　tidal　wave　of　screeching；　rending　sound。
When　it　was　all　over；　as　the　echoes　died　down；　Palinev　raised　his　head；　and　saw　that　one　of　the
cultists　had　survived；　and　was　training　a　lasgun　on　him。　He　closed　his　eyes；　heard　the　familiar
cracking　retort；　and　expected　it　to　be　the　last　thing　he　would　ever　hear。
Then；　he　opened　his　eyes　again　to　find　the　cultist　dead　on　the　floor。
An　Ice　Warrior　stood　over　the　corpse；　one　whose　name　Palinev　did　not　know。　“You　the　scout；
Palinev？”　the　man　grunted；　and　he　nodded　blankly。
“Must　be　something　up　with　your　comms；”　said　the　Ice　Warrior。　“They’ve　been　trying　to　contact
you　for　the　past　half　hour。　Steele　wants　you。”
They　had　lined　up　beside　the　Termite；　Steele　and　his　handpicked　squad：　the　nine　troopers　to　whom
he　would　be　trusting　his　life；　and　more　importantly；　the　success　of　his　assignment。
They　stood　with　their　heads　bowed　in　silence；　their　hats　and　helmets　removed；　as　a　priest　laid　his
hands　upon　each　of　them　in　turn；　and　bestowed　the　blessing　of　the　God…Emperor　upon　them。　Steele
cursed　his　enhanced　sense　of　smell；　it　took　all　the　self…control　he　had　not　to　choke　on　the　pungent
cloud　that　billowed　from　the　holy　man’s　incense　burner。
The　priest’s　arrival　had　been　a　surprise　to　them　all。　Steele　had　known；　of　course；　that　the
Ecclesiarchy　had　a　special　interest　in　his　mission；　but　this…　For　an　entire　squad　to　be　sanctified　like
this　was　almost　unheard　of。　Still；　the　ritual　provided　a　rare　moment　of　calm；　of　inner　peace；　despite
the　background　sounds　of　gunfire　and　explosions；　and　engines　and　dying　from　the　none…too…distant
war。　Steele　had　welcomed　that　and　been　re…energised　by　it。
He　noted　that　Pozhar　was　not　quite　so　appreciative。　The　young　trooper　had　been　the　last　of　the
squad　to　arrive；　bounding　up　to　an　indulgent　Gavotski　full　of　energy；　and　bursting　with　stories　about
what　he　had　been　through　to　get　here。　His　body　was　like　a　coiled　spring；　his　hands　twitching　with
the　desire　to　get　the　ceremony　done　with　and　get　on　with　the　business　of　finding　someone　to　kill。
19
When　Blonsky’s　turn　came；　his　chest　swelled　with　pride　and　a　righteous　smile　pulled　at　his　thin
lips。　Mikhaelev；　in　contrast；　held　himself　rigid；　contained；　and　betrayed　no　reaction　to　his　blessing　at
all。　Beside　him