Gunheads(科幻战争)-第53部分

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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　this　could　true
legends　be　forged。　The　blessing　of　the　Emperor　had　given　him　this　chance；　this　shot　at　genuine
glory。　Every　last　one　of　his　senior　officers　felt　it；　too；　he　was　sure。　They　were　out　there　now；　Bergen；
Killian　and　Rennkamp；　leading　their　divisions　from　the　front；　turret　guns　blazing　as　their　Chimeras
pressed　forward　inch　by　inch。
It　was　hard　to　see　much；　what　with　the　clouds　of　dust　and　smoke　that　cloaked　everything；　but　up
ahead；　just　a　little　to　his　left；　he　glimpsed　the　tanks　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment　roaring　straight
across　the　thick　press　of　enemy　infantry。　Big　alien　bodies　were　being　mashed　into　the　sand；　pulped
by　the　rolling；　grinding　iron　treads。
Stubber…fire　danced　and　sparked　across　hulls。　Huge　handheld　blades　clattered　uselessly　against
armour　plates。　As　he　watched；　two　were　struck　with　anti…tank　rockets　or　perhaps　some　kind　of
limpet　charge。　DeViers　couldn’t　tell　which。　They　stopped　dead　in　their　tracks；　turned　into　blazing
cauldrons；　the　men　inside　cooking　to　death。
DeViers　thanked　the　Throne　that　he　couldn’t　hear　their　screams。
The　other　Cadian　tanks　were　almost　through。　Their　guns　coughed。　He　could　just　make　out　the
first　of　the　enemy　armour　starting　to　burn　up。
“Gruber；”　deViers　yelled　again；　“what　about　my　artillery　fire？”
“I’ve　told　them；　sir；”　replied　the　adjutant　from　the　troop　compartment　at　the　back　of　the　vehicle。
“They　say　they’re　firing　at　full　capacity。　And　they’re　worried　about　hitting　our　own　troops　now。”
“Damn　it；”　deViers　called　back。　“Get　in　touch　with　their　commissar。　Tell　him　to　make　an
example　of　someone。　Then　we’ll　see　what　full　capacity　is！”
He　saw　a　massive　black　ork　kick　two　others　from　its　path　and　race　towards　the　troopers　in　front
of　his　Chimera　with　a　chilling　war　cry。　It　was　wielding　a　massive；　whirring　chainsword　with　both
hands。
“No　you　don’t；”　said　deViers。
With　a　grin；　he　thumbed　his　butterfly…trigger　and　gunned　the　monster　down。
Holtz；　thought　Wulfe；　by　the　blasted　Eye！
He　kept　repeating　the　name　in　his　head；　like　a　mantra　against　the　truth　of　what　he　had　just　heard。
He　couldn’t　believe　he　was　gone。　It　hurt　like　a　hot　knife　in　his　chest。　He　kept　seeing　Holtz’s　face
behind　his　eyelids　when　he　blinked　—　not　the　disfigured　face　he　had　worn　in　recent　years；　but　Holtz
as　he　had　been　in　the　years　before　Modessa　Prime。　The　man　had　changed　a　lot　after　that；　everything
but　those　ice…blue　eyes。
He　had　been　a　good　friend。　Wulfe　promised　to　let　the　real　pain　in；　to　stop　holding　it　at　bay；　if　he
lived　through　this。　For　now；　though；　he　had　to　fight　it　off。　There　was　no　time　to　miss　anyone　out
here　in　all　this　madness。
“Incoming；”　shouted　Metzger　over　the　intercom。
Something　hit　the　tank’s　glacis　plate　with　so　much　force　that　the　back　end　lifted　clear　of　the
sand。　Half　a　second　later；　it　crashed　down　again。　The　treads　bit　into　the　dirt；　and　Last　Rites　II　leapt
forward；　pulling　more　orks　underneath　her。
Through　his　vision　blocks；　Wulfe　saw　a　black　shadow　peel　away　in　the　sky　above。
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“Damn　and　blast！　Don’t　we　have　anything　that　can　take　out　their　air　support？　How　are　we
supposed　to　clear　their　artillery　out　if　we　keep　getting　bombed　from　the　air？”
Just　as　he　finished　his　sentence；　something　small　and　bright　screamed　towards　the　jet　and
clipped　its　tail　section。　There　was　a　burst　of　red　flame　and　a　puff　of　black　smoke　that　quickly
became　an　elegant　curving　trail。　The　ork　fighter　rolled　slowly　onto　its　back；　and　then　slammed　down
into　the　horde。　There　was　a　mighty　boom　and　a　mushroom　of　dirt　and　fire。　Wulfe　judged　that
hundreds　of　orks　must　have　been　maimed　or　killed。
“By　Terra；　yes！”　he　shouted。　He　couldn’t　see　the　heavy　weapons　team　that　had　fired　the　missile；
but　he　saluted　them　anyway。
He　had　enough　to　worry　about　without　the　damned　greenskin　fliers　trying　to　blow　up　his　crate。
In　trying　to　crush　their　way　through　the　thickest　press　of　orks；　the　Cadian　tanks　had　been　forced　to
slow　down。　That　made　them　easier　targets　for　the　ork　tanks　that　spluttered　and　rumbled　at　the　rear　of
the　horde。　They　were　massive；　lumbering　junk　heaps　with　far　too　much　armour　bolted　on　at　all
angles。　They　crawled　forward　on　rusting　treads；　traversing　their　turrets　almost　in　slow　motion；　trying
to　draw　a　bead　on　their　faster　Imperial　counterparts。　Every　few　seconds；　they　would　fire　a　volley。
Some　of　them　had　already　exploded　due　to　misfires；　while　others　had　killed　scores　of　their　own
infantry；　but　the　closer　Wulfe　got；　the　more　he　knew　that；　sooner　or　later；　they　would　make　a　lucky
shot。
Captain　Immrich　must　have　thought　so　too；　because；　in　addition　to　6th　Company’s　Destroyers；
he　ordered　his　first　and　second　companies　to　break　off　and　attack　the　tanks　while　the　others　dealt
with　artillery　and　static　defences。　As　soon　as　the　1st　and　2nd　Companies　broke　through；　they　roared
straight　past　the　enemy　armour；　turned　their　turrets　one　hundred　and　eighty　degrees；　and　began
blasting　them　to　pieces　from　the　rear。
The　Destroyers　joined　the　attack　from　the　front；　the　raw　destructive　power　of　their　lethal　beams
cutting　straight　through　hulls　and　turrets　irrespective　of　armour　thickness　or　density。　They　were　a
fearsome　sight。　Soon；　most　of　the　ork　tanks　were　reduced　to　blazing　metal　heaps。
With　the　exception　of　Lenck；　who　had　been　ordered　to　support　Marrenburg’s　mechanised
infantry；　Wulfe　and　the　remaining　Gunheads　broke　through　the　rear　ork　ranks　just　seconds　later。　The
artillery　pieces　were　only　a　few　hundred　metres　away：　rows　of　massive；　thundering　howitzers
crewed　by　skinny　gretchin。　They　struggled　to　lift　shells　the　size　of　fuel　drums　into　the　breech　of
each　monstrous　weapon。
From　his　left；　there　was　a　flash　and　a　boom；　and　Wulfe　saw　that　van　Droi　had　opened　up　with
Foe…Breaker’s　main　gun。　Steelhearted　II’s　battle　cannon　coughed　half　a　second　later。　Two　of　the　ork
artillery　pieces　came　apart　in　great　balls　of　orange　flame。
“Beans；”　Wulfe　called　over　the　intercom；　“light　those　bastards　up。　Don’t　stop　until　there　are
none　left。”
“You’ve　got　it；　sarge；”　replied　the　gunner。
Traverse　motors　hummed；　and　then　stopped。　The　gun　kicked　hard。　Extractors　whined　and　sucked
out　all　the　smoke　from　the　turret　basket。　Last　Rites　II　had　notched　up　another　kill。
Colonel　von　Holden’s　259th　Mechanised　Infantry　Regiment　held　its　section　of　the　line　with　a　mix　of
Chimeras；　halftracks　and　troopers　on　foot。　The　vehicle　gunners　were　charged　with　supporting　the
footsloggers　by　knocking　out　any　ork　vehicle　that　pushed　in　their　direction。　This　they　did　with　great
success；　pouring　las　and　autocannon　fire　on　them；　turning　a　number　of　light；　fast　enemy　buggies　into
spinning　metal　junk　that　scattered　burning　debris　and　dead　bodies　in　all　directions。
Their　weapons　were　far　less　effective；　however；　on　the　heavily　armed　and　armoured　trucks　that
the　orks　were　using　as　frontline　APCs　and　light　tanks。　Some　of　these　machines　mounted　fearsome
customised　weapons　that　really　belonged　on　a　more　stable　firing　platform。　The　orks　didn’t　care。
Each　time　the　trucks　fired；　they　came　dangerously　close　to　toppling　over；　but　the　effect　on　the
Cadians　was　devastating。　The　shots　that　missed　the　Chimeras　hit　the　men　behind　them；　killing
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dozens　outright　and　fatally　maiming　scores　nearby。　The　shots　that　struck　managed　to　shred　tracks
and　cause　spalling；　killing　many　of　the　men　inside。
Von　Holden　saw　it　all。　It　happened　to　a　Chimera　just　ten　metres　away　from　him；　and　he　ordered
his　driver　to　pull　back　immediately。
“But　we’ll　crush　the　men　behind　us！”　protested　his　driver。
“Do　it　at　once！”　von　Holden　snapped。　“Or　I’ll　have　you　shot　for　insubordination。”
With　a　prayer　for　the　Emperor’s　forgiveness；　the　reluctant　driver　shifted　the　Chimera　into
reverse　and　began　accelerating　away　from　the　oncoming　ork　trucks。　Shots　landed　to　the　left　and
right；　and　the　men　that　didn’t　die　instantly　went　down　screaming　for　the　Emperor　and　their　home
world。
“Faster！”　shouted　von　Holden；　ignoring　voxed　demands；　from　Major　General　Rennkamp　that　he
explain　his　impromptu　retreat。
One　of　the　ork　trucks　spat　a　great　gout　of　flame；　and　von　Holden’s　Chimera　was　knocked
sideways；　slewing　to　a　halt。　The　high…explosive　round　had　shredded　her　right　tread。
Von　Holden　checked　himself　for　injuries。
“I’m　all　right；”　he　gasped。　“By　the　Throne；　I’m　all　right！”
He　didn’t　see　the　dark　shadow　in　the　sky　above　him。　It　dropped　something　small　and　oval。
Seconds　later；　the　burning　debris　of　his　Chimera　rained　back　to　the　ground。
Janz　von　Holden　was　dead。
Without　Katz；　Bergen　was　having　a　hard　time　monitoring　all　the　vox　traffic　from　his　regimental
commanders。　He　had　taken　on　a　temporary　aide　by　the　name　of　Simms；　a　youngster　from　one　of
Captain　Immrich’s　support　crews。　All　things　considered；　Simms　wasn’t　doing　a　bad　job。
Over　the　noise　of　stubber　fire　rattling　off　his　Chimera’s　armour；　Bergen　heard　Captain
Immrich’s　voice　in　his　right　ear。　Simms　had　patched　him　straight　through。　At　least　the　boy　was　a
quick　learner。
“We’ve　practically　wiped　out　their　tanks；　sir；”　said　Immrich。　“They　looked　tough；　but　they　were
a　bunch　of　junkers。　Half　of　them　blew　themselves　up。　Just　a　few　left　now。　Companies　one　through
four　are　tackling　the　static　defences。　I’ve　ordered　them　to　ram　the　gun…towers　rather　than　waste
ammunition。　Those　things　look　ready　to　fall　over　in　the　next　breeze　anyway。　There　are　other
garrisoned　structures　here；　so　I’m　hitting　them　with　high…ex　shells。　Companies　five　to　ten　are
already　mopping　up　the　last　of　the　artillery　pieces。　However；　six　and　seven　took　heavy　losses　on　the
way　through　the　horde。　The　orks　are　employing　short…range　RPGs　and　magnetic　mines。　Warn　the
Armoured　Fist　units　not　to　get　as　close　as　we　did。　I’m　ordering　my　Exterminators　and　Executioners
to　push　through　and　join　us。　With　my　armour　on　this　side　and　the　infantry　on　the　other；　we　can　really
start　to　punish　them。”
Bergen　was　about　to　respond　when　a　terrifying　sound；　halfway　between　a　scream　and　a　roar；　cut
across　the　noise　of　the　battle。
Captain　Immrich　had　heard　it；　too。　Then；　apparently；　he　saw　it。
“Holy　frak！”　he　voxed。　“That’s　big。”
By　the　Golden　Throne；　thought　Bergen。　Don’t　let　it　be　what　I　think　it　is。
“What　can　you　see；　captain？”　he　demanded。　“What　the　hell　is　it？”
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CHAPTER　THIRTY…ONE
Immrich　was　absolutely　frozen　in　his　seat。
An　armoured　behemoth　lumbered　into　view　around　a　towering　mountain　of　rusting　scrap　metal。
It　was　easily　twenty　metres　tall　at　the　shoulder；　almost　thirty　with　its　heavily　armed　howdah。
This　was　no　rickety　ork　contraption。　It　was　a　living　thing；　a　member　of　the　ork　race；　but　so
gigantic；　so　utterly　different　in　physical　form　from　its　smaller　kin　that　it　seemed　a　different　species
altogether；　unrelated　in　anything　other　than　skin　colour　and　temperament。
“Squiggoth！”　Immrich　gasped。
“Damn；”　voxed　Bergen。　“Did　you　just　say　squiggoth？”
“I　did；　sir。　But　I’ve　never…　It’s　gargantuan；　sir！　And　it’s　not　happy　to　see　us。”
With　a　calmness　Immrich　did　not　feel；　he　added；　“You’ll　have　to　excuse　me；　sir。　I　think　my
tankers　and　I　are　about　to　be