Gunheads(科幻战争)-第43部分

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　said　Sennesdiar。　
　said　Armadron。　
　said　Sennesdiar。　
Armadron　bowed。　

Wulfe　yawned。　He　was　lying　on　the　rear　decking　of　his　tank；　cap　pulled　down　across　his　eyes；　but
true　rest　seemed　out　of　reach。　Perhaps　it　was　the　dust。　Perhaps　he　was　sick　and　hadn’t　realised　it。
There　was　an　ache　in　his　muscles　that　would　not　go　away。　It　had　dulled　somewhat　since　he　lay
down；　but　it　was　still　there；　at　the　edge　of　his　awareness。
Beans　and　Siegler　were　preparing　rations　of　sliced　meal…brick　and　water　by　the　side　of　the　tank。
There　was　nothing　else　to　be　had；　but　at　least　they　weren’t　back　to　drinking　purified　piss。
Would　they　even　live　long　enough　for　that　to　happen　again？　Wulfe　wondered。　It　seemed　to　him
that　the　18th　Army　Group　was　practically　broken　already。　Lifting　his　cap　and　looking　around；　he
saw　crewmen　resting　on　rear　decking　or　track…guards　just　like　he　was；　but　there　had　been　significant
losses。　Van　Droi’s　10th　Company　was　down　to　just　five　tanks。　The　lieutenant’s　crate；　Foe…Breaker；
was　still　in　the　game；　though　the　man　himself　had　become　extremely　quiet　since　the　death　of　the
colonel。　Viess　and　his　Steelhearted　II　had　made　it　through。　The　man　was　a　solid　commander。　Van
Droi　had　made　a　good　move；　promoting　him　to　sergeant　on　the　voyage　to　Golgotha。　Viess　had
justified　that　choice　back　at　the　wall；　taking　out　his　share　of　the　ork　armour；　and　Holtz　seemed　to　be
doing　all　right　with　Old　Smashbones。　It　was　a　small　miracle　that　he　had　survived　when　so　many
others　had　not。　Perhaps　it　was　beginner’s　luck。　In　any　case；　Wulfe　was　damned　glad　van　Droi　hadn’t
promoted　Holtz　just　to　have　him　die　in　his　first　firefight　as　a　commander。
Then；　of　course；　there　was　Lenck。
Wulfe　hadn’t　given　the　bastard　much　thought　during　all　the　madness　that　had　erupted　since　their
passage　through　Red　Gorge。　Battle　was　good　that　way。　One　could　achieve　an　almost　peaceful　state
in　the　middle　of　all　that　mayhem。
Wulfe　glanced　over　at　Lenck’s　tank；　but　if　the　crew　was　outside；　they　must’ve　been　lying　low；
because　he　couldn’t　see　them。　Perhaps；　like　Metzger；　they　were　all　sleeping。
Wulfe　sat　up　and　swung　around　to　watch　the　tech…priests。　They　were　down　on　the　valley　floor
performing　some　kind　of　arcane　ritual　he　couldn’t　begin　to　fathom。　It　looked　different　to　the　rites　he
had　watched　them　perform　on　the　regiment’s　tanks　but　not　much。　Every　tech…priest　and　enginseer
attached　to　the　expedition　was　down　there；　all　dressed　in　the　red　robes　of　their　cult；　heads　bowed　in
prayer。　They　moved　in　a　clockwise　circle；　chanting　and　emitting　strange　mechanical　noises　that　no
human　throat　could　have　made。
Some　of　them　carried　censers　that　they　swung　back　and　forward；　lacing　the　air　with　blue　smoke
that　hung　above　them；　gently　shifting　in　slow　motion。　There　was　no　breeze。　The　air　was　thick　and
warm。　He　looked　up。　The　tall　red　peaks　of　the　Ishawar　rose　so　high　in　the　near　east　that　they　pierced
the　bellies　of　the　clouds　like　tusks。
Why　did　everything　have　to　remind　him　of　orks？　He　would　be　facing　them　again　soon　enough。
Van　Droi　had　voxed　him　just　twenty　minutes　ago　to　say　so。　The　orks　were　closing　in　on　them；　still
pursuing　from　the　west。　The　Sentinels　had　used　long…range　scopes　to　spot　them　well　out　from　the
valley；　but；　in　a　little　over　ninety　minutes；　the　orks　would　be　here；　and　the　fighting　would　start　all
over　again。　Would　deViers　lead　them　in　another　run？　Or　would　he　have　them　turn　and　fight？
Wulfe　would　have　preferred　to　fight。　It　had　become　increasingly　clear　to　him　that　no　one　was
going　to　make　it　out　of　this　alive。　The　officers　still　talked　of　finding　Yarrick’s　lost　tank；　and　they　put
a　lot　of　faith　on　the　tech…priests’　ability　to　signal　for　evacuation。　A　lifter　would　come　for　them　when
the　time　was　right。　At　least；　that　was　how　Wulfe　understood　it。　He　just　didn’t　think　it　was　going　to
be　that　easy。
The　thought　of　dying　here　didn’t　anger　him。　He　had　spent　his　whole　life　knowing　that　he　would
perish　in　the　service　of　the　Emperor。　What　better　way　was　there？
None；　he　told　himself；　but　Armageddon　would　have　been　preferable。　There；　at　least；　his　last
moments　could　have　been　spent　fighting　to　protect　Holy　Terra；　rather　than　to　retrieve　an　abandoned
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relic。　He　told　himself　that　any　fight　against　orks　was　a　good　fight。　If　he　and　his　crew　were　to　die
here　today；　so　be　it。　He　would　meet　his　fate　head…on。
He　turned　his　attention　back　to　the　tech…priests。　Their　ceremony　intrigued　him。　He　was　a　firm
believer　in　machine…spirits。　Nothing　strange　in　that；　of　course。　All　tankers　came　to　feel　that　way；　no
matter　their　original　outlook　on　the　matter。　Throughout　his　career；　he　had　seen　members　of　the
Adeptus　Mechanicus　achieve　things　he　couldn’t　hope　to　explain。　It　wasn’t　stretching　credence　to
imagine　that　the　senior　cogboys　down　there　might　actually　come　away　with　some　kind　of　answer。
The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　was　gone；　but　how　far　had　it　gone？　If　it　was　still　within　reach；　then
he　would　like　to　see　it　before　he　died。　It　was　a　rare　machine；　after　all；　almost　unique　in　the　galaxy　in
that；　since　its　loss　thirty…eight　years　ago；　it　had　been　sanctified　by　both　the　Ministorum　and　the　techpriests；
and　those　two　august　bodies　almost　never　saw　eye　to　optic　sensor。
“Grub’s　up；　sarge；”　called　Siegler　from　the　side　of　the　tank。　“You　want　to　wake　Metzger？”
Wulfe　slid　off　the　track…guard　and　landed　on　his　feet　by　Siegler　and　Beans。
“Let　him　rest　a　little　more；”　he　told　them。　“We’ll　keep　some　for　when　he　wakes　up。”
The　three　men　sat　and　enjoyed　their　small　repast　as　chanting　lifted　towards　them　from　the　valley
floor。
“I　still　don’t　get　it；”　said　Beans。　“They　think　they　can　find　out　where　it　went？”
Wulfe　nodded　and　spoke　around　a　mouthful　of　tough；　dry　meal…brick。　“You’d　better　hope　they
can。　The　orks　will　be　on　us　soon。　I　think　deViers　will　give　the　cogboys　enough　time　to　finish　their
little　communion　and　then　lead　us　off　somewhere。　He　won’t　give　up　looking。”
Siegler　shook　his　head。　“And　people　call　me　crazy；”　he　said。　Wulfe　grinned　and　clapped　his
friend　on　the　shoulder。　“Yes；　they　do。”　Beans　laughed。
A　burst　of　vox…chatter　from　the　bead　in　his　ear　made　the　smile　suddenly　drop　from　Wulfe’s　face。
He　spat　his　mouthful　of　meal…brick　onto　the　hard　ground　at　his　side。
“What’s　up；　sarge？”　asked　Siegler。
Wulfe　stood　bolt　upright。
“Get　your　arses　into　the　tank；”　he　told　them；　“and　wake　Metzger　at　once。”
All　around　them；　the　air　shook　with　the　rumble　of　engines　being　turned。　A　Chimera　just　ten
metres　away　rumbled　noisily　to　life；　coughing　blue…black　fumes　from　her　exhausts。　Siegler　and
Beans　jumped　to　their　feet。
“That　was　van　Droi；”　said　Wulfe；　picking　up　the　remains　of　his　meal　and　stuffing　them　into　a　tin
box。　“The　tech…priests　say　they　got　their　answer。　We’re　moving　out。”
“But　where　to；　sarge？”　asked　Beans。
Wulfe　had　turned　and　was　already　clambering　up　the　side　of　the　tank。　He　didn’t　stop　climbing；
but　called　over　his　shoulder；　“To　the　mountains；　trooper。　We’re　going　into　the　mountains。”
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CHAPTER　TWENTY…FOUR
The　path　the　18th　Army　Group　took　from　the　valley　up　into　the　Ishawar　Mountains　soon　became
treacherous；　especially　for　the　tanks；　most　of　which　weighed　over　sixty　tonnes；　but　there　was　no
time　to　be　careful。　The　orks　were　less　than　an　hour　behind　them。　They　had　spotted　the　Cadians　rising
up　into　the　hills　and　had　turned　on　a　burst　of　speed。　Bergen　didn’t　know　how　long　it　would　be　before
the　orks　caught　up　to　them；　but　he　knew　the　machines　at　the　rear　of　the　column　would　soon　face　the
threat　of　ork　bikes　and　buggies。　The　light；　speedy　greenskin　machines　were　far　more　adept　at
handling　rough　terrain　like　this。　The　steep　gradients　and　narrow　trails　that　Exolon　found　itself　forced
to　follow　were　really　challenging　the　heaviest　of　the　Cadian　machines。
For　now；　though；　there　was　little　choice　but　to　push　on　with　all　the　speed　they　could　muster。
General　deViers　was　taking　Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　extremely　seriously。　The　magos　claimed　that
the　almighty　Omnissiah；　tech…aspect　of　the　Divine　Emperor　of　Mankind；　had　been　roused　by　their
ceremony　and　had　spoken　to　them　directly　through　their　most　powerful　and　sophisticated　auspex
scanners。　The　data　was　irrefutable；　the　tech…priests　insisted。　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　had　indeed
lain　in　the　valley　for　many　years；　but　had　been　moved　in　the　recent　past。　Even　now；　Sennesdiar　told
them；　the　orks　that　had　taken　it　were　within　striking　distance；　if　only　the　general　would　lead　his
forces　up　into　the　mountains　exactly　as　the　magos　directed。
It　sounded　entirely　too　convenient　to　Gerard　Bergen。　He　was　sure　the　tech…priests　had　known
from　the　start　that　Yarrick’s　lost　tank　was　no　longer　in　the　valley。　DeViers　was　still　in　charge；
however；　and　the　old　general　had　become　so　frantic；　so　desperate；　that　he　might　believe　just　about
anything　he　was　told。　Whether　deViers　was　mad　or　not；　Bergen　and　the　other　divisional　leaders
weren’t　about　to　protest。　Not　now。　What　was　the　point？　Rennkamp　and　Killian　both　seemed　to　feel
as　he　did。　Cut　off　from　the　rest　of　the　Imperial　forces　with　little　hope　of　ever　returning；　there　was
little　choice　but　to　follow　the　path　they　were　on　and　see　where　it　led　them　in　the　end。
Bergen　rode　high　in　the　cupola　of　his　Chimera；　a　habit　he　had　developed　over　his　long　years　as　a
tank　commander。　He　remembered　those　times　fondly；　times　before　he　had　been　singled　out　for
greater　things。
Greater　things？　That　was　a　laugh。　Operation　Thunderstorm　had　gone　to　hell。　The　Munitorum
wouldn’t　want　to　lose　face。　They’d　expunge　it　from　the　Imperial　records　once　it　was　clear　how
spectacularly　it　had　failed。
It　hasn’t　failed　yet；　said　a　tiny　voice　in　the　back　of　his　mind；　but　another；　louder　voice　at　the
front　said；　hasn’t　it？
Bergen　tried　to　ignore　both　and　looked　up　at　the　sky。
The　cloaked　Golgothan　sun　was　close　to　its　zenith；　judging　by　the　bright　patch　in　the　thick　red
clouds　overhead。　At　this　altitude；　the　clouds　seemed　so　low　they　might　choke　him；　and　he
automatically　checked　that　his　rebreather　mask　and　goggles　were　firmly　in　place。
The　expedition　force　had　ascended　over　a　thousand　metres　already。
Where　in　the　blasted　warp　are　the　cogboys　taking　us；　he　wondered？
He　tried　to　look　back　down　the　mountainside　along　the　route　they　had　followed；　but　all　he　could
see　was　t