Gunheads(科幻战争)-第34部分

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When　Lenck　was　about　twenty…five　metres　away；　he　turned　back　towards　Wulfe　without
breaking　stride　and　called　out　to　him。　Just　five　words。　Five　little　words。　But　they　hit　Wulfe　like　a
flurry　of　bolter　shells　that　detonated　in　his　mind。
Wulfe　was　struck　motionless。　He　saw　Lenck　laugh；　then　turn　around　and　lead　his　men　off
between　two　rows　of　Chimeras。
A　hard；　sharp　voice　at　his　shoulder　woke　Wulfe　from　his　paralysis。　“What’s　going　on；　sergeant？”
Wulfe　turned　to　meet　the　icy　stare　of　Commissar　Slayte；　his　eyes　glittering　in　the　shadow　of　the
brim　of　his　black　cap。
“Not　sure　what　you　mean；　commissar；”　said　Wulfe　readying　to　move　off　towards　his　tank。　The
commissar　moved　faster。　Wulfe　felt　a　heavy　mechanical　hand　grasp　his　upper　arm。
Crusher　turned　his　eyes　in　the　direction　Lenck　and　his　men　had　taken；　but　they　were　gone　from
view。　After　a　pause；　he　leaned　in　towards　Wulfe　and　said；　“You’ve　been　away　from　your　vox…set；　so
maybe　you　haven’t　heard；　but　Colonel　Vinnemann　has　ordered　the　regiment　to　muster　at　the　east
gate。　We　leave　Balkar　in　fifteen　minutes。　Make　sure　your　people　are　ready；　Sergeant　Wulfe。　I’ll
make　a　very　memorable　example　of　anyone　that　isn’t。”
Wulfe　looked　down　at　the　perfectly…machined；　black　metal　hand。　“We’ll　be　ready；　commissar。”
“Make　sure　of　it；”　said　Crusher。　There　was　the　slightest　whirring　of　gears　as　he　released　the
sergeant。　Then　he　walked　off；　taking　his　threats　to　other　ears。
Wulfe’s　crew　was　looking　at　him　wordlessly　as　he　marched　past　them。
“Get　to　your　stations；　all　of　you；”　he　said　gruffly。　“We’re　moving　out　in　fifteen。”
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Siegler；　Beans　and　Metzger　leapt　to　comply；　warned　off　asking　questions　by　the　dark　look　on
Wulfe’s　face。　As　always；　Wulfe　was　the　last　one　in。
As　he　swung　his　legs　over　the　lip　of　his　hatch；　he　thought　about　Lenck’s　parting　words。　They
had　frozen　his　blood。　As　he　dropped　into　his　command　seat；　those　five　words　rang　in　his　ears。　Did
they　mean　what　he　thought　they　meant？
Five　little　words；　each　one　rocking　him　like　a　cannon　shell。
“Watch　out　for　ghosts；　sergeant！”
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CHAPTER　SEVENTEEN
Two　days　east　of　Balkar；　Wulfe　and　the　rest　of　the　expeditionary　force　entered　a　rocky　region　of　the
Hadar　desert　known　as　Vargas。　Led　by　General　deViers；　riding　comfortably　in　a　specially　outfitted
command　Chimera；　the　Cadians　moved　in　a　long　column　that　slowly　snaked　along　the　floor　of　a
deep　canyon　marked　on　Officio　Cartographica　charts　as　Red　Gorge。
The　gorge　ran　for　almost　three　hundred　kilometres　along　a　meandering　path　that　would
eventually　lead　the　men　of　the　18th　Army　Group　to　the　site　of　the　largest　and　bloodiest　battle　of　the
last　Golgothan　War。　It　was　there；　at　long　last；　that　General　deViers　expected　to　find　The　Fortress　of
Arrogance。　It　was　there；　also；　that　he　expected　to　face　the　greatest　ork　resistance　to　his　progress　so
far。　By　all　accounts；　the　foothills　and　low　valleys　of　the　Ishawar　Mountains　were　littered　with
wrecks　from　the　war。　What　better　place　for　the　scavenging　greenskins　to　build　a　major　settlement？
Despite　the　likelihood　of　violent　confrontation；　the　mood　among　the　men　was　mixed。　Some　were
upbeat；　seeing　the　final　phase　for　what　it　truly　represented；　an　end　to　their　tormented　time　on　a　world
unfit　for　human　habitation。　Others　were　less　optimistic。　Some；　like　Major　General　Bergen；
anticipated　great　disappointment　on　arrival　at　the　coordinates　the　Mechanicus　had　provided。　Even
so；　the　realists　in　the　army　group　were　as　keen　to　get　the　whole　thing　over　as　the　optimists　were。
On　the　other　hand；　few　were　happy　about　having　the　entire　expeditionary　force　negotiate　Red
Gorge。　There　was　simply　no　other　choice。　The　rocky　clifftops　and　surrounding　highlands　were
riddled　with　chasms　and　crevasses；　many　of　them　impossible　to　spot　from　the　ground　until　too　late。
Under　other　circumstances；　Commodore　Galbraithe’s　Vulcan　gunships　could　perhaps　have　guided
the　column　from　the　air；　but　flying　conditions　were　far　from　ideal　over　the　Hadar。　Frequent　dust
storms　threatened　to　clog　air　intakes；　something　that　would　have　sent　the　Vulcans　crashing　to　the
ground。　Electromagnetic　surges　from　the　thick　clouds　made　mid…and　high…altitude　flights　just　as
deadly。　So　the　Vulcan　pilots　were　forced　to　fly　low；　making　slow　passes　along　the　canyon　floor；　just
a　few　hundred　metres　above　the　heads　of　the　Cadian　troops；　visored　eyes　scanning　for　signs　of
ambush。
Wulfe　watched　the　Vulcans　from　his　cupola；　black　birds　roaring　as　they　crossed　the　strip　of　red
sky　overhead。　They　left　trails　of　grey　smoke　that　moved　like　ribbons　on　the　wind。
For　Wulfe；　this　phase　of　the　journey　was　particularly　harrowing。　The　sharp　crags　and　deep；
shadowed　gullies　along　which　the　column　moved　were　a　powerful　reminder　of　Lugo’s　Ditch。　As　the
rock　walls　rose　to　fantastic　heights　on　either　side；　a　cold　sweat　began　to　soak　Wulfe’s　tunic。
Watch　out　for　ghosts；　sergeant！
Even　now；　with　the　glow　of　the　second　day　fading；　Lenck’s　words　were　still　eating　away　at
Wulfe’s　insides。　What　had　the　bastard　corporal　meant？　The　most　obvious　answer　was　that　he　knew
about　Lugo’s　Ditch。　But　how？　Wulfe　was　sure　that　Confessor　Friedrich　wouldn’t　have　betrayed　him。
He　doubted　any　of　his　crew　would　have；　either。　Beans　didn’t　know　anything　about　it　so　that　ruled
him　out。
Had　Lenck　simply　meant　Victor　Dunst？　A　ghost　of　the　past　rather　than　of　the　dead？　That　was
almost　as　much　of　a　stretch。　All　Lenck　had　regarding　Dunst　was　a　name；　wasn’t　it？
Wulfe　wracked　his　brain；　desperate　to　remember　who　he　had　told　about　Dunst。　He　hadn’t
recounted　the　story　often　—　it　wasn’t　exactly　one　of　his　favourites　—　but　it　was　an　old　custom
among　Cadian　troopers　to　compare　scars　and　tell　the　tales　of　how　they　had　been　won。　Wulfe　had
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shared　the　Dunst　story　with　a　handful　of　men　in　his　early　years　with　the　regiment。　Had　someone　told
Lenck？　Did　the　rotten　corporal　know　just　how　much　his　appearance　troubled　Wulfe？
As　the　day　wore　on；　Wulfe　tried　to　put　the　matter　to　the　back　of　his　mind。　He　sat　in　his　cupola；
occupying　himself　with　a　study　of　his　surroundings　as　Last　Rites　II　rambled　through　the　dust　kicked
up　by　the　tanks　in　front。　There　was　vegetation　in　the　canyon；　the　first　that　he　had　seen　since　crashing
on　this　world。　Not　much　of　it；　of　course　—　mostly　dry　grasses　and　scrawny；　thorn…covered　tangles　of
brash　—　but　it　meant　moisture。　There　was　animal　life；　too；　and　far　larger　than　the　biting　ticks　the
Cadians　had　endured　so　far。　Wulfe　saw　great；　slothful；　flat…bodied　lizards　basking　on　the　rocks。
Their　skins　were　armoured　with　hundreds　of　small；　bony　plates；　and　they　were　coloured　like　the　land
around　them。　As　the　Imperial　column　rolled　past；　they　hissed　and　slid　quickly　into　the　mouths　of
inky　black　caves。
Observing　these　things　offered　Wulfe　only　temporary　respite　from　his　thoughts。　Again　and
again；　he　returned　to　the　matters　that　troubled　him　most。　As　the　strip　of　sky　above　Red　Gorge　grew
dark；　he　dropped　back　down　into　his　turret　basket；　leaving　the　hatch　open　above　him　so　that　a
cooling　wind　could　circulate。
Siegler　was　dozing　in　his　seat；　thick　arms　folded　on　top　of　the　shell　magazine；　head　resting　in　the
crook　of　his　elbow。　By　the　glow　of　the　turret’s　internal　lamps；　Beans　was　leafing　through　a　tattered
magazine　featuring　monochrome　picts　of　hard…faced　Cadian　women　stripping　out　of　military
uniform。　Judging　by　the　state　of　the　pages；　the　magazine　had　had　a　great　many　owners　over　the
years。
Wulfe　smiled　to　himself　and　tapped　Beans　on　the　shoulder。　Speaking　low　on　the　intercom　so　as
not　to　wake　Siegler；　he　said；　“That　stuff　will　rot　your　soul。”
“Damage　done；”　said　Beans　with　a　grin。　“I’ve　been　through　this　one　so　many　times　I　think　I’ve
desensitised　myself。　You　want　it？”
Wulfe　laughed；　but　his　tone　was　serious　when　he　said；　“Listen；　Beans。　You　and　I　need　to　have　a
talk。”
“What　about；　sarge？”
“I　think　you　know　what。”
Was　it　Wulfe’s　imagination；　or　did　the　new　gunner　flush　a　little？
“The　stand…off　in　the　staging　area；　right？”
Wulfe　nodded；　frowning。　“A　tanker　stands　with　his　crew；　no　matter　what。　You　know　the　rules。
You’re　lucky　Siegler　and　Metzger　overlooked　it；　but　if　I　ever　see　you　standing　on　the　sidelines　like
that　again；　you’ll　be　back　on　the　support　crews　before　you　can　say　‘the　Emperor　protects’。　What　the
hell　were　you　thinking？”
Beans　shrugged　guiltily。　“If　it　had　been　any　other　crew；　sarge…　But　it　was　Lenck’s　lot。”
“What　difference　does　that　make？”
“Plenty。”
There　was　a　pause；　a　moment　of　uncomfortable　mutual　silence；　before　Wulfe　said；　“Tell　me
what　you　know　about　Lenck。”
Beans　looked　up。　“I　know　not　to　mess　with　him。　The　officers　might　have　all　the　official　power　in
the　Guard；　but　it’s　guys　like　Lenck　that　control　the　shadows。　Every　regiment　has　them；　right？　The
guys　who　can　get　you　more　booze；　more　smokes；　more　meds。”　He　held　up　his　shabby；　pornographic
pictomag。　“More　stuff　like　this。　They　make　a　business　of　it；　and　the　officers　let　it　go　on　because　the
men　grumble　a　little　less。　Fewer　fights　break　out。　I　can’t　imagine　Guard　life　without　such　guys；　can
you？　Well；　that’s　Lenck。　If　the　price　is　right；　he　can　get　just　about　anything。　He’s　more　like　a　hivegang
boss　than　a　soldier。　And　he　thinks　you’re　out　to　shut　him　down。”
Wulfe　knew　all　this；　of　course。　Beans　was　still　a　relative　newcomer　to　the　regiment；　but　he
clearly　had　a　good　handle　on　things。　Everything　he　had　said　was　true。　Regiments　needed　their
hustlers　and　fixers。　Things　became　unbearable　all　too　fast　without　them。　It　explained　a　lot　about
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Lenck’s　mysterious　popularity　with　the　newer　guys。　Still；　the　idea　that　Lenck　should　be　allowed
some　slack　on　account　of　this　alleged　service　to　the　regiment　didn’t　sit　well。　Wulfe　huffed。　“This　is
the　Imperial　Guard；　not　the　blasted　underhives。　Voeder　Lenck　is　a　cocky；　jumped…up　little　arsehole
and；　sooner　or　later；　he’s　going　to　wish　he’d　never　met　me。”
Beans　looked　uncomfortable　as　he　said；　“Um…　Didn’t　he　save　your　life；　sarge？”
Wulfe　spat　a　curse。　“He　killed　an　ork　that　was　about　to　kill　me。　Duty　demanded　it。　Any　trooper
would　have　done　the　same。”　His　voice　had　taken　on　an　angry　edge；　all　the　harder　because；　in　truth；
he　was　grateful　and　it　bothered　him　immensely。
Beans　raised　a　placatory　hand。　“I’m　just　saying　what　I　heard。”
Wulfe　muttered　under　his　breath。　Glancing　up　through　his　open　hatch；　he　saw　that　the　sky　was
almost　pitch　black。　Would　old　deViers　have　them　pressing　on　throughout　the　night　again？
Wulfe　addressed　his　driver；　“You　need　me　to　take　a　shift　on　the　sticks；　Metzger？”
“I’ll　be　fine　for　another　few　hours；　sarge；”　replied　Metzger。　“How　about　you　take　a　shift　then？”
In　his　long　and　bloody　career；　Wulfe　had　manned　every　single　station　aboard　a　Leman　Russ
tank。　He　wasn’t　nearly　as　talented　a　driver　as　Lucky　Metzger；　but　he　was　more　than　capable　of
keeping　his　crate　in　place　while　Metzger　got　some　much…needed　sleep。
“Fine；”　said　Wulfe。　“Two　hours。　Let　me　know　if　you　get　tired　before　that。”
“Will　do；　sarge；”　said　Metzger。
Wulfe　sat　back　in　his　command　seat。　He　wasn’t　feeling　particularly　sleepy　right　now。　He　mind
was　running　laps。　He　kept　hearing　Lenck’s　words　in　his　head。　The　old　scar　on　his　throat　was
irritati