Gunheads(科幻战争)-第52部分

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roaring；　seething　storm　front　of　blades　and　guns；　tusks　and　muscle；　and　they　had　gone　a　long　time
without　a　fight。　At　last；　war　had　returned　to　Golgotha。　The　greenskins　roared　and　laughed　as　longrange
fighting　quickly　gave　way　to　mutual　slaughter　at　close…quarters；　and　the　bloodletting　began　in
earnest。
Sheet　lighting　began　to　flash　regularly　in　the　sky　above；　almost　as　if　the　excitement　of　the　orks
was　somehow　charging　the　atmosphere。
Leman　Russ　Exterminators　and　Conquerors；　Chimera　APCs　and　Heracles　halftracks　all　pushed
in　to　support　the　out…muscled　Cadian　infantry　with　sheets　of　blistering　fire；　opening　temporary　gaps
that　allowed　the　footsloggers　to　employ　their　lasguns　briefly　before　the　enemy　surged　forward　again；
trampling　the　bodies　of　the　dead。　Sentinels　stalked　the　far　left　and　right　flanks　charged　with
preventing　the　fast；　light　ork　bikes　and　buggies　from　circling　around　the　main　force　and　striking
from　the　rear。　Their　autocannon　blazed；　spewing　brass　casings　on　the　sand。　Those　sections　of　the
battlefield　soon　became　littered　with　smoking　machines　from　both　sides。
In　the　centre；　the　air　burned　and　throbbed；　filled　with　scorching　las…　and　plasma…fire。　Solid
rounds　whipped　and　whined　in　every　direction。　Streams　of　liquid　flame　turned　men　and　orks　alike
into　roasted　black　marionettes　that　fell　as　if　their　strings　had　been　cut。　Shelling　from　both　sides　made
the　floor　of　the　crater　shake　as　if　it　might　give　way　any　second　and　plunge　everyone　into　a　sea　of
orange　magma。
Outside　the　buttoned…up　turret　of　Last　Rites　II；　the　world　had　descended　into　deafening；　dustchoked
mayhem。
Lesser　men　might　have　lost　their　minds　in　the　face　of　such　ferocity；　for　nothing　could　match　the
savagery；　the　gleeful　brutality；　of　the　orks。　Cadians；　however；　were　not　lesser　men。　They　were　born
and　bred　for　war。　This　was　their　duty；　and　Wulfe　was　not　afraid。　His　years　of　training　and
experience　took　over　from　the　start；　moving　to　the　fore　of　his　consciousness。　His　senses　felt　sharper；
his　movements　faster　and　more　assured；　and　his　scar　was　itching；　a　reminder　of　all　the　hate　he
carried　within　him。
Whether　or　not　he　died　today；　he　intended　to　take　a　heavy　toll　on　the　race　that　had　killed　so
many　of　the　men　he’d　known。
He　heard　van　Droi　on　the　vox。　“Take　it　to　them；　Gunheads。　Show　those　bastards　what　it　means
to　unleash　the　Emperor’s　wrath！”
FOOM！
The　sound　of　cannon　fire　cut　across　everything　else　as　the　Cadian　tanks　loosed　round　after　round
into　the　melee。
Beans　stamped　his　foot　trigger　and　added　to　the　fusillade。
Major　General　Bergen　had　ordered　all　the　regiment’s　Vanquishers；　standard　Leman　Russ；
Executioners　and　Destroyers　to　race　straight　forward　through　the　xenos　lines；　guns　blazing；　with　the
objective　of　knocking　out　the　enemy　armour　and　artillery　pieces　lined　up　on　the　settlement’s　western
edge。　From　there；　they　could　wheel　around　and　strike　at　the　orks’　rear。
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It　wouldn’t　be　easy。　They　were　already　drawing　massive　amounts　of　fire。　Ploughing　straight
through　the　ork　horde　would　put　them　at　even　greater　risk；　but　the　long…guns　had　to　be　taken　out　if
the　infantry　were　to　push　forward。　There　was　simply　no　other　way。
Bergen　thumbed　the　trigger　of　his　autocannon；　strafing　the　orks　from　the　turret　of　Pride　of　Caedus；
sending　a　row　of　them　to　the　ground　as　lifeless　heaps。　All　around　him；　the　men　of　the　71st　Caedus
Infantry　fought　like　rabid　dogs。　They　were　inspiring；　even　as　their　numbers　dropped　lower　and
lower。　They　made　him　proud。　He　was　doing　his　best　to　support　them；　as　was　their　commander；
Colonel　Graves；　but　if　Immrich’s　tanks　couldn’t　gain　the　advantage　soon；　all　would　be　lost。　General
deViers’　holy　quest　would　end　here。
The　general　was　raging　over　the　vox　at　anyone　and　everyone　who　was　listening；　demanding　that
they　gain　ground　and　break　the　ork　charge。　Bergen　might　normally　have　cursed　him　or　ignored　him；
but　not　this　time。　This　time；　the　old　man　was　right　in　among　them；　in　the　eye　of　the　storm；　pouring
out　a　hailstorm　of　multi…laser　fire　from　the　turret　of　his　own　Chimera。　No　one；　he　had　insisted；　could
sit　this　one　out。　The　odds　were　too　great；　and　too　much　was　riding　on　victory。
That　suited　Bergen。　He　figured　it　was　about　time　the　mad　old　bastard　got　his　hands　dirty。
From　left　to　right；　the　battlefield　was　a　sea　of　monstrous　brown　bodies　clad　in　black　iron　plate。
Gaudily　painted　dreadnoughts　waddled　alongside　them；　almost　comical　in　their　clumsy　movements。
There　was　nothing　comical；　though；　in　the　torrents　of　death　they　spewed　from　hip…mounted　stubbers
and　flame…throwers。　Cadians　went　down　in　great　screaming　lines；　their　bodies　cooked　or　ripped　to
pieces　by　sprays　of　heavy　enfilading　fire。
The　8th　Mechanised　Division　and　12th　Heavy　Infantry　Divisions　were　pressing　the　enemy　from
the　north…　in　and　forcing　them　to　fight　on　three　fronts。
The　10th　Armoured　Division　had　the　middle　ground。　In　terms　of　strategy；　it　was　hardly　elegant；　but
there　hadn’t　been　time　for　much　else。
Van　Droi　heard　Captain　Immrich　cutting　across　the　10th　Company　command　channel　with　a
priority　message。　“Immrich　to　spearhead。　Drive　straight　over　their　infantry。　Crush　them　under　you。
Once　you’re　through；　I　want　you　to　light　up　that　damned　artillery。　Destroyers；　focus　on　their　tanks。
Everyone　else；　targets　of　opportunity。　We　can　make　all　the　difference　here。　Do　it　for　Vinnemann！”
For　Vinnemann；　thought　van　Droi　resolutely。　Throne；　yes！
Foe…Breaker　bounced　and　shook　as　she　rolled　over　scores　of　screaming　greenskins；　pulping　their
meaty　bodies　under　her　treads。　They　turned　on　each　other　to　get　out　of　her　way；　hacking　in　fevered
panic　at　the　backs　of　their　kin；　but　they　were　too　slow。　More　fell　with　every　metre　she　gained。　In　her
wake；　the　sand　became　a　blood…sodden　bog。
Something　slapped　the　turret　hard；　ringing　the　tank　like　a　bell。　The　loader；　Waller；　cried　out；
“We’re　hit。”
“Damage　report；”　van　Droi　called　back。
“No　breach；　no　breach；”　reported　Bullseye　Dietz。　“Anybody　hurt？　Any　spalling？”
They　had　been　lucky。　Looking　through　the　vision　blocks；　van　Droi　saw　a　spiral　trail　of　smoke
hanging　in　the　air　between　his　tank　and　a　rusty…looking　dreadnought　that　was　clanking　its　way
towards　him　kicking　ork　infantry　from　its　path。　A　rocket　had　struck　Foe…Breaker’s　gun　mantlet；
detonating　with　enough　power　to　give　the　crew　a　nasty　headache；　but　little　else。　Without　needing　to
be　told；　Dietz　traversed　the　turret　and　lined　her　up。
“Brace！”　he　shouted。
Foe…Breaker　rocked。　Her　turret　basket　filled　with　stinking　smoke。　The　dreadnought　seemed
frozen　in　time　for　a　split　second。　A　melon…sized　black　hole　had　appeared　in　its　armour；　transfixing　it。
Then　it　exploded　outwards　in　a　burst　of　white　fire；　raining　debris　on　the　howling　orks　around　its　feet。
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“Keep　pushing　her；　Nails；”　said　van　Droi　to　his　driver。　“If　we　let　them　slow　us　down；　we’re　done
for。”
Orks　were　clamouring　at　her　hull　as　she　rolled　on；　hacking　futilely　at　her　armoured　sides　with
their　big　chipped　blades。　Another　rocket　arced　in　and　smacked　the　hull。　Van　Droi　saw　a　different
dreadnought；　this　one　almost　twice　as　big　as　the　last。
“Damn　it；　Bullseye；”　he　called　to　his　gunner。　“Take　that　bastard　out。”
“I　can　only　shoot　one　at　a　time；　sir；”　snapped　Dietz；　but　he　stamped　on　the　floor　trigger　a　second
later。　The　breech　slid　back；　dumping　an　empty　brass　shell　casing。　The　dreadnought　had　its　right　leg
blown　off。　It　fell　forward　and　landed　on　its　face；　bladed　arms　wheeling　frantically；　dicing　ork　foot
soldiers　on　either　side。
“Nice　shot；”　said　van　Droi。　He　scanned　the　battlefield　for　the　rest　of　his　company。　It　was　hard　to
see　anything。　Dark；　billowing　smoke　rose　everywhere　and　the　horde　was　still　pressing　towards　him
on　every　side。　Blades　clanged　relentlessly　on　the　hull。
“Foe…Breaker　to　all　Gunheads；”　voxed　van　Droi。　“Call　in。”　Three　of　his　tank　commanders
responded。　One　did　not。
“Van　Droi　to　Holtz；　respond。”　Still　nothing。
“Old　Smashbones；　respond。”
Van　Droi　knew　Wulfe　would　be　listening。　They　all　knew　what　that　silence　would　mean：　another
veteran　dead。　If　van　Droi　had　just　let　him　stay　on　Wulfe’s　crew…
No；　there　was　no　use　in　thinking　like　that。　A　man　could　go　mad　on　what　ifs。
Go　with　the　Emperor；　corporal；　van　Droi　thought。　From　the　looks　of　it；　the　rest　of　us　will　be
following　you　soon。　I　don’t　think　anyone　will　be　left　to　grieve；　but　we’ll　hurt　the　bastards　on　the
way　out。　I　promise　you　that。
“Nails；”　he　yelled　over　the　intercom。　“We　need　more　speed；　damn　it。　Give　her　all　she’s　got。
Let’s　get　our　treads　bloody！”
Pressing　in　on　the　orks　from　the　south；　the　infantrymen　of　the　303rd　Skellas　Rifles　fought　valiantly
without　Colonel　Meyers。　The　word　was　that　he　had　been　shot　for　cowardice。　The　remains　of　his
regiment　—　some　four　hundred　and　sixty　men　—　set　out　to　prove　that　they　were　made　of　sterner
stuff。　They　achieved　exactly　that；　though　there　was　little　opportunity　for　anyone　near　them　to　truly
notice　in　the　dust…choked　maelstrom　of　battle。
Under　their　newly　appointed　commander；　Major　Gehrer；　who　led　from　the　very　front；　waving
the　regimental　banner　in　one　hand　and　brandishing　a　bloodstained　chainsword　in　the　other；　the　303rd
railed　hard　against　the　ork　infantry　and　momentarily　managed　to　drive　them　back。　It　didn’t　last　long。
At　such　close　quarters　and　our　support；　the　Cadian　troopers　were　simply　outmuscled；
and；　all　too　soon；　the　orks　closed　around　them　and　butchered　them　with　heavy；　rusting
blades。
Gehrer　was　the　last　to　fall；　protected　to　the　bitter　end　by　a　swiftly　shrinking　circle　of　his
strongest　men。　Even　as　the　orks　hacked　him　down　and　chopped　at　his　fallen　body；　he　fought　to　keep
the　banner　upright；　to　stop　its　sacred　cloth　from　touching　the　ground。
Seconds　later；　greenskin　feet　trampled　it　into　the　dust。
“Shore　up　the　southern　flank；”　screamed　General　deViers。　“Where　the　devil　are　the　303rd？　And
what’s　wrong　with　our　artillery？　Gruber！　Tell　them　to　increase　their　rate　of　fire。　That’s　the　worst
excuse　for　a　sustained　barrage　I’ve　ever　seen。　Our　men　are　getting　slaughtered　out　there！”
He　sat　high　in　the　turret　of　his　Chimera；　hatch　locked　above　his　head；　firing　rapid　multi…laser
bursts　at　anything　and　everything　that　came　into　range。　It　had　been　too　long；　decades　in　fact；　since
he　had　led　from　the　front。　The　sight　of　hideous　greenskins　being　cut　into　smoking　chunks　by　his
own　hand　brought　a　murderous　satisfaction　that　he　had　forgotten　was　possible。　He　revelled　in　it。
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There　was　no　leading　from　the　rear　this　time。　He　had　known　it　the　moment　he　had　first　laid　eyes
on　the　ork　base。　Every　man；　every　machine；　every　bead　of　sweat　and　drop　of　blood　would　be　needed
to　win　this　day。　The　only　individuals　not　engaging　in　combat　were　those　damned　Martian　priests。
“We　are　not　a　combat　unit；”　Sennesdiar　had　said；　as　if　it　weren’t　already　obvious。　“And　we　are
not　under　the　command　of　the　Departmento　Munitorum。　We　shall　stay　back　with　the　artillery　and
offer　technical　assistance。　Our　servitor　bodyguards　will　help　to　protect　the　Basilisks　in　the　event　that
orks　outflank　your　forces；　general。”
Outflank　my　forces；　thought　deViers？　That　Eye…blasted　cogboy！
The　orks　would　not　get　through。　To　hell　with　the　odds。　Only　in　a　crucible　such　as　t