Gunheads(科幻战争)-第23部分

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Tharsis　to　haul　the　holy　machine　from　the　desert　sands　and　lift　it　back　into　space。　Safely　aboard　the
Reclamator　craft；　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　would　be　restored　to　its　former　glory　during　transit　to
the　Armageddon　system。　There；　it　would　be　presented　to　Commissar　Yarrick；　and　he　would　ride　it
out　onto　the　battlefields　of　Armageddon　Prime；　rousing　the　spirits　of　his　tired　soldiers；　inspiring　in
them　a　glorious　new　strength。　Thus　uplifted；　they　would　roll　out　to　crush　the　foe。
It　sounded　wonderful；　and　in　Bergen’s　heart　of　hearts；　he　hoped　it　would　be　so；　but　the　voice　in
his　head　still　held　to　the　certainty　that　it　was　nothing　but　a　pretty　dream。　Things　would　not　come　to
pass　that　way。
Thirty…eight　years；　he　thought。　To　imagine　that　she　would　still　be　there…
The　moment　General　deViers　closed　the　vox…link　from　the　other　end；　Bergen　sent　out　a　call　to
his　regimental　commanders。　When　he　gave　them　their　updated　orders；　all　three　sounded　genuinely
glad　to　hear　that　they　would　be　on　the　move　again　within　hours。　Colonel　Vinnemann　in　particular
expressed　his　relief　in　no　uncertain　terms。　Bergen　had　considered　ordering　the　man　to　remain　here；
convinced　that　it　would　be　the　best　thing　for　his　health。　But　he　knew　Vinnemann　would　only　have
railed　against　him；　seeing　it　as　the　ultimate　betrayal。　The　man　was　a　tanker　through　and　through；　just
as　Bergen　had　once　been；　and　Bergen　knew　that；　for　any　real　tanker；　nothing　beat　riding　out　in　your
crate；　treads　chewing　up　the　dirt；　the　hearty　roar　of　a　promethium　engine　vibrating　through　your
whole　body。　So　Vinnemann　would　stay　in　command　of　his　regiment　despite　his　suffering；　and
Captain　Immrich　would　be　there　to　step　in　if　needed。
The　regimental　commanders　broke　the　link　to　pass　the　new　orders　on　to　their　executive　officers
and　company　commanders。　From　these　men；　the　news　filtered　down　to　everyone　in　the　base。
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Soon；　Karavassa　was　buzzing　with　preparations　as　the　10th　Armoured　Division　prepared　to　roll
out　once　again。
In　all　the　scurrying　around；　the　loading；　the　refuelling；　the　last…minute　checks；　and　everything　else
that　went　on　prior　to　deployment；　few　men　spared　a　thought　for　the　fate　of　those　companies　that　had
mysteriously　disappeared　on　that　first　fateful　day。　Some　men　did。　Kochatkis　Vinnemann　was　one　of
them。　Despite　having　troubles　enough　of　his　own；　he　prayed　regularly　for　the　souls　of　Lieutenant
Gossefried　van　Droi　and　his　men；　convinced　that；　after　so　many　days　without　word　or　sign；　they　had
perished。
As　he　rolled　out　of　Karavassa　at　the　head　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment；　the　long…suffering
colonel　could　not　have　guessed　that；　just　ten　days’　journey　to　the　southeast　of　his　position；
Gossefried’s　Gunheads　were　doing　their　best　to　avoid　exactly　that。
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CHAPTER　TEN
Colonel　Stromm　was　a　man　of　his　word。　He　embraced　the　Gunheads　as　if　they　had　always　been　part
of　his　outfit；　and　it　pleased　Lieutenant　van　Droi　greatly；　because；　though　he　admitted　it　to　no　one；　he
had　harboured　grave　doubts　about　placing　his　men　and　machines　at　the　disposal　of　a　man　he　had
only　just　met。　There　were　those　in　the　upper　ranks　who　might　have　said　he　knew　all　he　needed　to
about　the　colonel。　He　had　seen　Stromm　turn　aside　certain　death；　after　all；　and　there　were　surely　few
better　measures　of　a　man　than　that；　but　an　officer’s　performance　in　combat　gave　few　clues；　if　any；　as
to　how　he　would　command　on　the　move。　Then　there　was　Golgotha　herself　to　consider。　She　was　an
enemy　that　couldn’t　be　fought。　Her　endless　sands　ground　away　at　the　Cadians’　morale；　and　the　more
time　they　spent　crossing　them；　the　more　they　seemed　to　stretch　forever。
Van　Droi　knew　his　tanks　were　slowing　the　whole　column　down。　The　Chimeras　were　much
faster；　and　the　Thirty…Sixers　were　faster　still　at　top　speed；　but　without　the　tanks；　the　column　would
have　made　an　easy　target　for　greenskin　marauders。　Colonel　Stromm　kept　everyone　moving　together；
with　the　exception　of　the　Chimeras　he　sent　to　scout　ahead　in　shifts。　Did　it　frustrate　him　that　the
Leman　Russ　could　barely　manage　thirty　kilometres　an　hour？　wondered　van　Droi。　If　so；　he　didn’t
show　it。
For　days；　the　tired；　dirty；　ragged　column　had　pressed　north…east　over　rolling　dunes　and；
gradually；　the　landscape　began　to　change；　becoming　rockier　and　more　uneven　in　stages。　Was　the
change　in　terrain　a　good　sign？　Van　Droi　wasn’t　sure。　If　it　meant　they　were　nearing　high　ground；　it
certainly　didn’t　show。　The　horizon　to　the　north…east　remained　choked　in　a　pink　haze。　He　saw　no
jutting　spurs　of　rock；　no　distant　hints　of　a　towering　mountain　range。
The　mood　of　the　men　was　as　dark　as　the　mud…coloured　sky　and　getting　darker　all　the　time。　Little
communication　passed　from　tank　to　tank。　Almost　a　dozen　of　van　Droi’s　men　had　taken　seriously　ill；
and　the　number　was　three　times　greater　among　Stromm’s　infantry。　There　were　two　medics　with　The
Fighting　98th；　two　who　had　survived　the　dreadful　onslaught　at　the　crash　site。　They　took　a　look　at
van　Droi’s　sick；　consulted　with　each　other；　and　told　him　that　at　least　three　of　the　twelve　would　be
dead　within　a　day。　Nothing　could　be　done　to　save　them。　The　dust　had　poisoned　them。　Liver；　kidneys；
lungs；　everything　was　shutting　down。　The　other　nine　would　almost　certainly　follow　soon　afterwards
if　they　didn’t　get　specialist　medical　care。　With　hopes　of　finding　Exolon　having　dwindled　to　almost
nothing；　that　didn’t　seem　probable。　Van　Droi’s　anger　and　frustration　got　the　better　of　him　a　few
times；　and　he　vented　inside　the　turret　of　his　tank；　where　his　shouts　and　curses　were　drowned　out　by
the　rumble　of　the　engine。
Colonel　Stromm　made　a　difficult　decision　regarding　the　seriously　ill；　he　withheld　their　water　and
provisions。　There　was　nothing　to　be　gained　by　spending　scarce　resources　on　men　who　simply
weren’t　going　to　last　much　longer。　This；　of　course；　did　not　sit　well　with　friends　of　the　dying　men。
There　were　sharp　protestations　that　came　near　to　violence；　but　the　platoon　leaders　cracked　down
hard。
Van　Droi　didn’t　judge　Stromm　for　the　extremity　of　the　measure。　Stromm　had　given　him　a
chance　to　object；　but；　to　a　practical　man　like　van　Droi；　it　made　perfect；　if　unpleasantly　harsh；　sense。
Ultimately；　the　two　medics　resolved　the　issue；　administering　large　doses　of　anaesthesium　to　the
worst　afflicted；　letting　them　die　peacefully　in　a　drug…induced　sleep。
With　the　column　stopping　only　briefly；　grim；　hollow…faced　troopers　buried　their　dead　comrades
in　the　sand。　There　was　no　Ministorum　man　to　pray　for　them；　but　one　of　Stromm’s　lieutenants；　a　man
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called　Boyd；　had　trained　briefly　as　a　confessor　before　abandoning　the　so…called　Righteous　Road　in
order　to　enlist　in　the　Guard。　He　said　a　few　words　for　the　souls　of　the　dead；　and　the　column　moved
on；　lighter　in　number；　heavier　in　spirit。
The　mood　got　even　worse　when　Stromm　had　his　lieutenants　issue　empty　jerry　cans　and
additional　water　purification　tablets　to　everyone。　If　they　wanted　to　survive　beyond　the　next　few
days；　he　told　them；　they　would　have　to　drink　the　undrinkable。　They　would　have　to　drink　their　own
urine。
As　if　the　lost　Cadians　didn’t　have　enough　problems；　the　dawn　of　the　sixteenth　day　brought　more　bad
news。　As　the　cloud…smothered　sun　rose　once　more；　casting　its　dull　red　glow　over　the　desert；　the　voxlink
began　to　erupt　with　anxious　chatter。　The　intercom　system　aboard　Foe…Breaker　did　likewise。
“There　must　be　millions　of　them！”　yelled　Bullseye　Dietz。　“There’s　no　beating　numbers　like　that；
sir。　They　won’t　be　on　foot；　not　moving　at　that　speed。”
Dietz　wasn’t　wrong。　Orks　were　closing　in　on　them。　Judging　by　the　dark　line　that　had　appeared　in
the　southeast　with　the　coming　of　day；　there　were　far　too　many　of　them　to　engage。　Raising　his　head
so　that　he　could　peer　through　his　tank’s　vision　blocks；　van　Droi　looked　again；　hoping　that　somehow
his　mind　had　played　a　trick　on　him；　that　it　had　exaggerated　the　size　of　the　enemy　force。
It　hadn’t。
The　horizon　was　seething　with　them。　How　close　were　they？　Between　the　heat　haze；　the　dust　and
the　mirage…line；　it　was　practically　impossible　to　tell。　That　they　were　visible　at　all；　van　Droi　decided；
meant　they　were　too　damned　close　by　far。
The　greenskin　host　had　moved　up　during　the　hours　of　darkness；　unnoticed　by　exhausted；
overheated；　dehydrated　men　more　intent　on　fighting　sleep　and　sickness　than　fighting　the　enemies　of
mankind。
The　Cadians　were　being　chased　down。　Perhaps　this　greenskin　war　party　had　stumbled　onto　their
tracks；　following　them　out　from　the　drop…ship　crashsite；　easily　tracing　them　by　the　deep　furrows　the
tanks　made　in　the　sand。　Now；　the　prey　was　in　sight。
“Nails；”　said　van　Droi；　“keep　her　bloody　speed　up。　And　I　want　to　know　the　moment　you　feel
anything　out　of　order；　the　slightest　jink　or　engine　stutter；　any　give　in　the　shocks　or　the　drive　train。
You　got　that？　Let’s　not　have　a　repeat　of　what　happened　to　Siemens。　We　won’t　have　time　to　frak
about　with　repairs。”
“Don’t　you　worry；　boss；”　replied　Nails。　“We’re　sympatico；　this　girl　and　me。　She　won’t　let　us
down。　Sympatico；　says　I。”
It　took　a　lot　to　faze　Karl　“Nails”　Nalzigg。　He　had　earned　his　nickname　the　hard　way　back　in　the
days　before　he　had　joined　van　Droi’s　crew。　He　had　earned　a　few　medals　to　go　with　it；　too。　Van　Droi
wished　he　shared　his　driver’s　easy　confidence；　but　Foe…Breaker　had　suffered　engine　trouble　twice
already　in　the　days　since　planetfall。　Not　her　fault；　of　course。
Van　Droi’s　old　girl　was　only　as　prone　to　stalling　as　any　of　the　other　machines。　With　every
passing　hour；　another　would　stop　dead；　refusing　to　start　again　until　the　contacts　on　its　engines　were
properly　cleared　of　the　red　dust。
To　van　Droi’s　knowledge；　there　was　only　a　single　exception。
Wulfe’s　old　crate　hadn’t　stalled　once　in　all　the　time　since　the　crash。　She　might　look　her　age；
thought　van　Droi；　but　Last　Rites　II　had　already　proved　that　she’d　got　what　it　takes　under　the　engine
covers。
He　hadn’t　mentioned　it　to　Wulfe；　but；　of　all　the　tanks　assigned　to　replace　the　losses　from
Palmeros；　van　Droi　had　hand…picked　the　Mars…Alpha　pattern　Leman　Russ　out　for　the　sergeant
personally。　Wulfe　had　taken　the　loss　of　his　old　machine　badly。　What　kind　of　tanker；　after　all；　could
ride　into　battle　time　after　time　in　the　same　tank；　come　out　alive　when　so　many　around　him　died；　and
not　feel　some　kind　of　special　bond　with　her？　It　was　exactly　the　way　van　Droi　felt　about　Foe…
Breaker。
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His　choice　of　replacement　tank　for　Wulfe　seemed　to　have　backfired；　though。　The　rugged
sergeant　hadn’t　taken　to　Last　Rites　II　at　all。　In　fact；　he　seemed　to　think　van　Droi　had　assigned　him
the　new　tank　out　of　spite。　Van　Droi　wanted　to　believe　it　was　simply　a　matter　of　time；　that　Wulfe
would　come　around　soon　enough；　but；　with　the　ork　host　tailing　them；　time　looked　like　it　might　be
up。　How　fast　were　the　ork　machines　chasing　them？　There　would　be　buggies　in　their　hundreds。
Assault　bikes；　too；　perhaps。　Might　they　even　have　air　support？　Bombers？　Greenskins　were　certainly
insane　enough　to　fly　in　such　dangerous　skies。
A　red　light　began　flickering　on　the　vox…board　by　van　Droi’s　left　shoulder。　He　turned　in　his
command　seat；　flipped　the　toggle　that　turned　the　light　green；　and　said；　“10th　Company　Command
here。　Go　ahead。”
“Tenth；　this　is　Regiment；”　said　Colonel　Stromm。　“It　loo