Gunheads(科幻战争)-第51部分

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probably　moved　her　there　already！
He　zoomed　in　on　a　pair　of　massive　cylindrical　structures　at　the　southern　edge　of　the　ork　base。
They　appeared　to　be　some　kind　of　greenskin　foundries。　They　were　covered　in　snaking　pipes　and
valves；　and　were　pouring　smoke　into　the　air；　some　of　it　black；　some　of　it　a　noxious　yellow…brown。
Now　and　then；　great　plumes　of　fire　erupted　from　a　series　of　thin；　teetering　chimneys。　He　saw
hundreds　of　beastly　figures　hefting　scrap　through　massive　doors。　There　were　workshops　attached
where　the　sharp　white　glare　of　promethium　blowtorches　could　be　seen。　Showers　of　orange　sparks
accompanied　the　harsh　metallic　banging　sounds　that　rolled　towards　him　across　the　floor　of　the
caldera。
In　the　centre　of　the　base；　surrounded　by　the　mountains　of　scrap；　there　were　hundreds　of　huts　and
hangars；　all　made　of　corrugated　steel　and　arranged　in　no　particular　order　that　Bergen　could　discern。
Unsurprisingly；　every　single　surface　was　painted　red　and　decorated　with　crude　glyphs；　the　vast
majority　of　which　seemed　to　be　skulls　or　faces。
There　were　towers　placed　all　around　the　perimeter；　too；　unsteady…looking　frameworks　of　iron
and　steel　that　rose　as　high　as　any　of　the　mountainous　junk　heaps。　Atop　each　of　these；　Bergen　saw
observation　posts　boasting　pintle…mounted　heavy　weapons。　They　were　manned　by　members　of　the
smaller；　skinnier　greenskin　slave　caste。　They　were　hideous；　chittering　things；　known　to　the　soldiers
of　the　Imperial　Guard　as　gretchin　—　relatively　ore　capable　of　aiming　a
gun　than　their　bigger　kin。
“What　in　the　name　of　Terra　is　that　for？”　asked　Colonel　Graves。　“There；　on　the　north　side。　Is　that
a　cage？”
Bergen　panned　left　and　saw　the　structure　Graves　was　talking　about。　It　certainly　looked　like　a
cage；　but　it　stood　well　over　fifty　metres　tall。　What　in　the　warp　had　it　been　built　to　contain？　The　bars
were　thicker　than　an　average　steel　girder。　There　was　no　sign　of　life　inside；　but　the　sight　of　great　piles
of　reddish…brown　dung　left　Bergen　with　a　distinct　sinking　feeling。　He　thought　he　knew　the　kind　of
creature　such　a　cage　might　have　been　built　for。　If　they　were　lucky；　the　empty　cage　meant　it　was
already　dead。　If　they　were　unlucky；　it　was　out　on　patrol　somewhere；　perhaps　on　the　far　rim　of　the
crater。
He　saw　dozens　of　smaller　pens　around　the　cage；　filled　with　the　vicious…looking　ovoid　creatures
that　orks　were　known　to　eat。　These　were　called　squigs。　Just　over　a　decade　ago　on　Phaegos　II；　Bergen
had　witnessed　them　being　fired　into　the　midst　of　a　Mordian　infantry　regiment　via　a　kind　of　crude　ork
catapult　device。　It　was　one　of　the　strangest　tactics　he　had　ever　seen　the　greenskins　use。　Strange；　but
effective。　The　result　of　such　voracious　and　aggressive　creatures　landing　smack　in　the　middle　of
tightly　packed　troops　was　absolute　panic　as　the　squigs　attacked　everything　they　could　get　their
razor…like　teeth　into。　His　tanks；　moving　up　in　support　of　the　Mordians；　had　destroyed　the　catapults；
but　not　before　a　good　many　men　had　died。
“That’s　a　lot　of　armour　they’ve　got　sitting　around；”　said　Captain　Immrich。　“And　they’ve　plenty
of　light　vehicles；　too。　They’ll　give　your　infantry　something　extra　to　worry　about；　colonel。”
Graves　grunted　something　by　way　of　reply。　Bergen　didn’t　catch　it。
Immrich　was　a　few　metres　away　on　Bergen’s　left。　He　seemed　to　be　managing　well　in　his　new
position　as　leader　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment；　but　Bergen　had　been　a　little　stunned　at　the
physical　change　in　him。　He　looked　a　lot　less　robust　than　Bergen　could　ever　remember　him　being。
Then　again；　they　all　did。　Bergen　had　studiously　avoided　looking　in　a　mirror　recently。　The　reddish
tinge　of　his　flesh　was　warning　enough　that　Golgotha　was　taking　its　dreadful　toll。
As　Immrich　had　pointed　out；　ork　vehicles　were　everywhere。　Bikes　and　buggies　roared　back　and
forth　as　if　their　drivers　were　engaged　in　some　kind　of　game。　They　hooted　and　hollered；　and　their
passengers　lashed　out　with　hammers　and　blades　every　time　they　came　within　a　few　metres　of　each
other。　Bergen　saw　one　ork　beheaded　in　such　a　pass。　The　others　howled　with　laughter　as　its　lifeless
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body　tumbled　from　the　back　of　the　buggy　it　had　been　riding。　Seconds　later；　a　trio　of　bikes　ran
straight　over　the　corpse。
Mad　savages；　thought　Bergen；　but　his　revulsion　was　nothing　to　the　apprehension　he　felt　as　he
panned　his　gaze　over　the　disorganised　ranks　of　the　greenskin　armour。　There　were　literally　hundreds
of　tanks；　halftracks；　APCs；　artillery　pieces；　dreadnought　walkers　and　more。　Each　looked　just　as
likely　to　fall　apart　as　to　put　up　any　kind　of　fight；　but　Bergen　wasn’t　fooled。　Ork　machinery　could　be
deceptively　effective。　Whichever　Eye…blasted　warboss　ruled　here；　he　was　certainly　well　equipped。
“I’ve　seen　enough；”　said　a　sharp；　clipped　voice。
Bergen　heard　shuffling　to　his　left　and　lowered　his　magnoculars。　General　deViers　was　moving
backwards　down　the　slope。　When　he　was　below　the　ridgeline；　he　rose　to　his　feet　and　dusted　himself
off。
“The　scouts　say　there　is　no　other　way　forward；”　he　said；　addressing　them　all　at　once。　“We’ll
have　to　wipe　them　out。　We’ll　need　time　to　search　all　those　mountains　of　scrap　for　The　Fortress　of
Arrogance。”
Other　officers　had　begun　shuffling　backwards　down　the　slope。　Many　of　them　stopped　at　his
words　and　turned　to　gape　at　him。　Judging　by　the　look　on　Colonel　von　Holden’s　face　the　man　was
just　about　ready　to　explode；　but　Pruscht；　who　had　always　seemed　such　a　pragmatic　and　level…headed
officer；　beat　him　to　it。
“You　can’t　be　serious；　sir；”　he　hissed。　“In　the　name　of　Terra；　think　of　the　numbers。　It’ll　be　a
massacre　and　we’ll　be　on　the　wrong　side　of　it；　mark　you。”
DeViers　looked　around；　eyes　suddenly　hard；　and　Bergen　had　the　distinct　impression　he　was
searching　for　a　commissar。　Fortunately；　they　had　been　left　to　watch　over　the　troopers　while　the
senior　officers　moved　up　to　observe。
“It　will　be　massacre；”　the　general　snapped。　“A　massacre　of　orks。　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　must
be　out　there。　Any　coward　who　turns　from　our　glorious　path　will　be　shot　dead。　There　will　be　no　trials。
Our　very　fingertips　brush　the　prize。　Today；　we　seize　it。”
Emboldened　by　the　dismayed　looks　of　the　others；　Colonel　Meyers　of　the　303rd　Skellas　Rifles
added　his　voice　to　the　protest。　“But　there’s　no　evidence　that—”
The　crack　of　a　bolt　pistol　cut　his　sentence　short。　His　skull　detonated；　spraying　Colonels
Brismund　and　von　Holden　with　a　fine　shower　of　gore。
“In　the　name　of　Terra！”　exclaimed　Colonel　Marrenburg；　turning　suddenly　pale。
“That　man　was　a　senior　officer！”　gasped　Major　General　Killian。
“Sir；”　hissed　Major　General　Rennkamp；　“are　you　trying　to　get　us　all　killed？　If　the　orks　heard　that
shot…”
DeViers’　voice　was　utterly　level。　He　eyed　each　of　the　men　before　him。　“Does　anyone　else　wish
to　meet　the　Emperor’s　judgement　as　a　coward　and　a　traitor？　If　so；　step　forward。”
No　one　moved。
“Our　mission　has　but　one　goal；”　he　continued。　“All　else　is　irrelevant。　Whether　we　live　or　die；
gentlemen；　we　will　ensure　that　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　is　taken　from　the　orks　and　turned　over　to
the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。　Yarrick　will　have　his　tank　back；　and　our　expedition　will　be　forever
remembered　in　the　proud　annals　of　the　Imperial　Guard。　As　you　have　just　witnessed；　I　will　kill　any
man　who　stands　in　the　way　of　that；　for　he　is　an　enemy　of　the　Emperor　and　no　true　son　of　Cadia。”
Those　last　words　struck　out　at　the　officers　like　a　lash。　Bergen　saw　von　Holden　physically
steadying　himself　against　their　impact。　They　affected　the　speaker；　however；　in　quite　a　different　way。
As　he　finished　his　pronouncement；　the　general　stood　noticeably　taller　and　prouder；　his　chest
expanding　until　Bergen　thought　the　buttons　of　his　tunic　might　actually　fly　off。
The　mad　old　bastard　had　really　lost　it；　now。
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The　other　officers　were　frozen。　No　one　else　dared　speak。　No　one；　that　is；　except　the　tall；　hooded
figure　who　approached　from　the　bottom　of　the　slope；　his　fluttering　robes　as　red　as　the　rocks　on
which　he　trod。
As　red　as　blood；　thought　Bergen；　eyes　narrowing。
Magos　Sennesdiar’s　toneless　voice　seemed　to　echo　from　the　near　hillsides　as　he　said；　“A　rousing
speech；　general。　And　I　believe　you　will　soon　fulfil　your　destiny。　My　adepts　have　just　completed
consultations　with　the　spirits　of　our　auspex　scanners。　We　have　every　reason　to　believe　that　the　tank
you　seek　is　indeed　located　in　the　ork　base　up　ahead。　It　is　time　for　you　to　earn　your　place　in　history；
and　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　stands　ready　to　offer　our　support。”
His　hopes　confirmed；　a　broad　grin　spread　across　the　general’s　face；　creasing　the　skin　around　his
eyes。　Bergen；　however；　saw　all　too　clearly　that　the　old　fool　was　being　manipulated。　His　desperation；
his　need　to　leave　some　mark　on　the　Imperium；　had　made　him　a　willing　pawn　of　greater　forces。
Perhaps　it　wasn’t　entirely　his　fault。　He　had　been　great　once；　before　the　disaster　on　Palmeros　had
unhinged　him。　Most　men；　men　of　the　aristocracy　in　particular；　sought　to　leave　something　behind；
though　in　the　main　this　was　achieved　by　the　continuation　of　their　bloodlines。　DeViers　had　been
denied　that　path　to　immortality；　so　he’d　found　another。
The　poet　Michelos　had　said　something　about　fools　writing　history　in　the　blood　of　better　men；　but
Bergen　couldn’t　remember　the　exact　words。
Suddenly；　Magos　Sennesdiar　turned　his　head　southwards。　Something　had　caught　his　attention。
“We　must　move　at　once；”　he　said。　“Quickly。　Back　to　the　vehicles。　We　have　to　hurry。”　Though
his　vocaliser　couldn’t　convey　a　sense　of　urgency　through　tone；　his　words　were　adequate　to　the　task。
Everyone　turned　to　face　the　same　direction。
“What　do　you　hear？”　demanded　Rennkamp；　but　the　magos　didn’t　need　to　answer。　The　officers
could　hear　it　for　themselves　now；　the　roar　of　an　engine　getting　louder　all　the　time　until　it　was　almost
deafening。
“Above　us；”　shouted　Colonel　von　Holden　over　the　noise。
Bergen　looked　up　just　in　time　to　see　a　chunky；　snub…nosed　jet　fighter　scream　past　them　only　a
few　dozen　metres　above　the　ridge　line。　It　was　painted　red　with　some　kind　of　shark’s　tooth　pattern
around　the　air　intake　at　the　front。　There　were　rocket…pods　and　bombs　fixed　to　the　pylons　under　its
wings。　For　the　very　briefest　instant；　Bergen　thought　he　saw　the　leering　face　of　the　pilot；　a　hideous
goggled　ork　with　slavering；　tusk…filled　jaws。
“Move！”　shouted　deViers；　and　everyone　broke　into　a　sliding　run　that　carried　them　to　the　bottom
of　the　slope　in　a　torrent　of　rolling　rocks　and　dust。
The　pilot　must　have　reported　their　presence　over　some　kind　of　greenskin　vox　device　because；
from　the　ork　settlement　at　the　centre　of　the　crater；　the　thunder　of　war　drums　began。
The　Cadians’　chance　to　properly　plan　an　assault　was　gone。　Any　advantage　was　lost。　The　beasts
were　already　spilling　out　to　meet　them。
It　was　time　to　kill　or　be　killed。
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CHAPTER　THIRTY
They　clashed　halfway　towards　the　ork　settlement　with　a　violence　that　shattered　iron　and　bone。
Things　descended　into　madness　almost　immediately。　There　was　no　cover。　It　was　open　ground　all　the
way　in。　The　Cadians　dropped　hundreds　of　the　foe　at　range；　their　Basilisk　artillery　pieces　taking　a
terrible　toll　from　about　five　kilometres　back；　but　the　orks　had　numbers　to　spare。　They　were　a
roaring；　seething　storm　front　of　blades　and　guns；