Gunheads(科幻战争)-第9部分

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“Epinephrine；”　said　Tech…Adept　Armadron。
“I’m　sorry；　adept？”　said　Bergen。
“And　norepinephrine；”　said　Tech…Adept　Xephous。　“Armadron　is　correct。　Troopers　under　study
showed　greatly　increased　levels　of　both　hormones　prior　to　engagement　with　the　enemy。　Sections　of
the　brain　may　be　excised　to　inhibit　this；　major　general。　Our　skitarii　legions　do　not　experience　the
problem。”
Bishop　Augustus　was　hovering　nearby。　Overhearing　them；　he　interjected　acidly；　“That　must　be　a
great　comfort　to　them。”
Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　turned　his　cowled　head　to　face　the　Ministorum　man。　“Their　comfort　is
irrelevant；　priest。　Their　efficiency　is　not。”
General　deViers　saw　the　bishop’s　face　flush　and　moved　quickly　to　intervene。　Before　the　bishop
could　respond　and　escalate　matters；　he　gripped　the　bishop’s　hand　in　his。　“I　was　greatly　honoured　by
your　attendance　tonight；　your　grace。　I　hope　you　enjoyed　it　as　much　as　I　did。　Remember；　if　there’s
anything　you　need　from　me；　you　may　contact　my　adjutant；　Gruber；　directly。　He’ll　alert　me　to
anything　that　requires　my　attention。”
Bishop　Augustus　gaped　for　a　moment；　and　then；　his　tone　still　edged　with　displeasure；　said；
“Most　kind；　general。　I　won’t　forget。　And　congratulations　once　again　on　such　a　fine　banquet。　I　shall
look　forward　to　your　next；　providing　the　guest　list　is　a　little　more…　exclusive。”
Throwing　a　last　contemptuous　look　at　the　tech…priests；　the　bishop　lifted　the　hem　of　his　robe　from
the　floor　and　stalked　out　of　the　room。　A　string　of　officers　moved　up　to　salute　the　general　and　thank
him。　Without　further　discourse；　the　tech…priests　took　this　opportunity　to　leave。
As　the　other　officers　moved　off；　deViers　decided　to　pull　Bergen　aside　just　as　he　was　about　to
depart。
Standing　together；　he　found　his　eyes　level　with　the　younger　man’s。　Like　the　general；　Bergen　was
taller　than　most　Cadians。　He　was　of　a　heavier；　more　muscular　build　than　the　general；　too；　but　then；
he　was　forty　years　younger。　Rejuvenat　treatments　could　only　do　so　much。　Face　to　face　like　this；
deViers　noted　how　much　smoother　and　tighter　Bergen’s　skin　was。　Sometimes；　when　the　general　was
awoken　in　the　early　hours　of　the　morning　by　the　need　to　relieve　himself；　he　would　catch　his
reflection　in　a　mirror　and　gasp；　shocked　that　his　face　could　look　so　skull…like　in　a　certain　light。　He
knew　that　all　the　rejuvenat　in　the　galaxy　wouldn’t　hold　aging　off　forever。　How　long　did　he　have　left
to　achieve　his　dream？
“A　quick　word　before　you　go；　Gerard；”　said　deViers。　“Just　wanted　to　wish　you　the　very　best　out
there。”
Bergen　gazed　straight　back　at　him　and；　for　a　second；　deViers　felt　like　he　had　entered　some　kind
of　staring　contest。　It　was　a　strange　moment；　but　then　Bergen　spoke；　and　the　feeling；　whatever　its
cause；　vanished　into　nothing。
“I　appreciate　that；　sir；”　said　Bergen；　“but　luck　is　overrated　is　it　not？　I’ve　never　much　liked
relying　on　it。”
DeViers　nodded。　“Don’t　you　worry。　We’ll　all　come　out　of　this　as　heroes。”　He　hesitated；　trying　to
gain　control　over　all　the　thoughts　swimming　around　in　his　head。　The　commodore’s　amasec　was
stronger　than　he　had　expected。　It　was　difficult　to　put　into　order　the　things　he　wanted　to　say。　In　a　rare
moment　of　alcohol…induced　frankness；　he　settled　on　saying；　“You　know；　Gerard；　my　line　—　my
bloodline；　that　is　—　ends　with　me。　Perhaps　I’ve　mentioned　that　to　you　before。”
Bergen’s　mouth　was　a　tight　line。　“You　have；　sir。”
“Couldn’t　father　any　of　my　own；　you　know。　Not　for　lack　of　trying；　by　Throne；　but　my　seed’s　as
thin　as　water；　so　the　experts　tell　me。”
“I’m　sure　that　it’s　none　of　my　business；　sir；”　said　Bergen。
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It　was　the　cold；　flat　tone　in　which　they　were　spoken；　rather　than　the　words　themselves；　that
surprised　deViers。　He　recovered　quickly；　however；　clapping　Bergen　on　the　arm；　and　saying；　“I
suppose　not；　Gerard。　I　just　wanted　you　to　understand。　A　man　must　leave　his　mark　on　the　Imperium。
History　must　remember　me。　I’ve　given　my　entire　life　to　the　Emperor’s　service。”
Bergen　stared　back　quietly　for　second。　“We　all　have；　sir。”
DeViers　nodded；　“Yes；　of　course。　A　fighting　man’s　outfit；　my　18th　Army　Group。　I’ve　said　it
before。　Good　men　we　lead。”
“Good　men；　sir；”　said　Bergen。　“I’m　not　sure　we　deserve　them　sometimes。”
DeViers　couldn’t　explain　why；　but　those　words　hit　him　like　a　smack　in　the　face。　He　gaped　for　a
moment；　unsure　of　how　to　respond。　Bergen　didn’t　give　him　the　chance。
“With　your　permission；　sir；”　he　said。　“I　should　get　some　rest　before　I　lead　my　division　out。　I
want　to　be　ready　when　we　meet　the　foe。”
“Permission　granted；”　replied　deViers。
Bergen　snapped　his　boot　heels　together　and　gave　a　fine；　crisp　salute　which　deViers　returned。
Then　Bergen　turned　sharply；　and　marched　out　of　the　room。
DeViers　watched　him　go。　For　a　few　minutes；　he　stood　alone　in　silence；　thinking　how　remarkable
it　was　that　the　word　we　could　be　made　to　sound　so　much　like　you。
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CHAPTER　FOUR
After　the　general’s　dinner；　Bergen　emerged　into　the　hot　night　air　to　find　his　adjutant；　Katz；　awaiting
him　in　the　driver’s　seat　of　an　idling　staff　car；　ready　to　take　him　back　to　his　quarters。　Despite　the　hour
and　the　fact　that　he　was　due　to　lead　his　entire　division　out　before　dawn；　Bergen　wasn’t　in　the　mood
to　retire　quite　yet；　and　waved　Katz　on；　telling　him　he　would　return　on　foot　after　a　short　walk。
Though　he　had　limited　his　consumption　to　a　polite　minimum；　Commodore　Galbraithe’s　rich　amasec
had　numbed　his　fingertips；　and　he　felt　the　need　to　walk　it　off。　His　stomach　felt　uncomfortably　full
and　his　mind　was　restless；　awash　with　conflicting　thoughts。　He　knew　that　sleep　would　not　come
easily。　Perhaps　a　little　time　in　the　open　air；　even　air　tainted　with　the　smell　of　sulphur；　would　do　him
some　good。
He　walked　without　a　specific　destination　in　mind；　keeping　to　areas　where　the　ground　was　less
heavily　trodden　and　less　brightly　lit；　bringing　him　in　short　order　to　the　southernmost　section　of　the
base。　This　was　not　the　first　time　Bergen　had　been　posted　to　a　desert　region；　and　he　had　expected　the
temperature　to　plummet　at　night；　as　it　so　often　did　in　the　deserts　he　had　visited　on　other　worlds。　But
the　constant　cloud　cover　on　Golgotha　trapped　a　layer　of　heat　in　the　lower　atmosphere　that　would
take　many　hours　to　dissipate；　and　he　unbuttoned　his　jacket　and　shirt　collar　as　he　walked。
Rounding　the　corner　of　a　prefabricated　barracks；　he　almost　bumped　into　a　squad　of　infantrymen
on　their　way　to　the　mess　tents。　They　stopped　to　salute　him　smartly；　though　the　colour　of　their　berets
said　they　weren’t　from　his　division。　He　returned　the　salute　without　breaking　stride；　noting　absently
that　he　hadn’t　recognised　anyone　he　had　passed　so　far。　Nothing　strange　in　that；　of　course。　There
were　close　to　thirty　thousand　men　in　Hadron　Base：　two　whole　infantry　divisions　plus　his　own
armoured；　each　at　roughly　ten　thousand　men　apiece；　not　counting　the　drop…ship　losses；　and　that　was
excluding　the　non…combat　personnel　so　essential　to　basic　operations。
Thirty　thousand；　he　decided；　was　a　conservative　estimate。　Crowded　into　the　space　between　the
towering　curtain　walls；　it　seemed　like　a　vast　number；　an　unstoppable　military　force；　but　Bergen
knew　it　was　nothing　of　the　kind。　Despite　the　difficulties　inherent　in　scanning　the　shrouded　surface　of
the　planet；　what　little　data　they　had　suggested　that　Golgotha　still　seethed　with　the　foe。　Those　few
probe…servitors　that　had　returned　safely　had　shown　that　the　more　temperate　regions　north　and　south
of　the　desert　were　dotted　with　vast　settlements　wherever　the　terrain　allowed。　Even　now；　thought
Bergen；　legions　of　orks　might　be　racing　through　the　darkness；　crossing　the　open　sands　towards　the
plateau；　following　grunted　reports　of　lights　in　the　sky　on　the　promise　of　a　good　blood…soaked　battle。
Vermin；　he　thought。　They’re　a　plague　on　the　galaxy；　the　damned　greenskins。
He　reached　the　foot　of　the　south　wall　and　began　to　climb　a　zigzagging　staircase　that　led　up　to　the
battlements。
There　was　a　powered　elevator　inside　the　nearest　tower；　but　he　opted　to　ascend　under　his　own
strength；　conscious　of　the　excess　of　calories　that　General　deViers　had　forced　on　him。　As　he　moved
from　step　to　step；　enjoying　the　steady　rhythm　of　the　exercise；　his　thoughts　dwelled　on　the　Golgothan
orks。
They’d　had　thirty…eight　years　of　freedom　to　spread　across　the　land；　turning　every　scrap　of
captured　or　abandoned　Imperial　technology　to　their　needs。　Even　taking　into　account　the
unprecedented　hordes　that　had　left　this　world　and　the　surrounding　systems　to　join　Thraka’s
onslaught　of　Imperial　space；　there　had　to　be　literally　millions　of　orks　still　present；　perhaps　billions。
Who　could　say　for　sure　how　many？
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Army　Group　Exolon　was　nothing　in　the　face　of　such　numbers　and　anyone　who　said　otherwise
was　either　a　propaganda　man；　a　fool；　or　both；　as　they　so　often　were。　Despite　the　general’s　grand
speech　about　the　importance　of　their　quest；　Bergen　still　shared　the　most　fervent　hopes　of　his　men
that　this　would　all　be　over　quickly　so　they　could　join　the　fight　on　Armageddon。　That　was　a　fight
worthy　of　his　beloved　armoured　division；　for　if　Armageddon　fell；　Holy　Terra；　the　sacred　Cradle　of
mankind；　would　be　under　direct　threat　for　the　first　time　since　the　divine　Emperor　had　walked　the
stars。
There　could　scarcely　be　a　greater　danger　to　the　preservation　of　the　Imperium　in　these　dark　times。
As　Bergen　reached　the　top　of　the　stairs；　breathing　heavily；　his　forehead　damp　with　sweat　and　his
quadriceps　burning；　he　stopped　and　turned　to　look　down　on　Hadron　Base。　It　ething；　he
admitted。　It　sat　shimmering　like　an　island　of　light　in　a　sea　of　absolute　darkness。　His　gaze　crossed　the
small　airfield　in　the　north…east　quarter；　its　hangars　nearing　completion　and　awaiting　the　arrival　of　the
Vulcan　gunships　that　the　commodore　had　promised。　To　the　south　of　it；　scores　of　water　towers　and
storage　silos　stood　in　tight；　ordered　rows　like　men　under　close　inspection。　On　the　east　side；　next　to
one　of　the　base’s　massive　reinforced　gates；　were　the　motor　pool　and　mustering　field。　Both　were
large　and　well　lit；　and　filled　with　red…robed　enginseers　busily　tending　to　row　upon　row　of　transports
and　war　machines。　There　were　hundreds　of　men　in　rust…coloured　fatigues　down　there；　too：　troopers
from　the　support　echelons　hefting　ammunition　and　supplies　back　and　forward；　working　hard　against
the　clock。　Large　Guard…issue　trucks　—　the　ever…reliable　Thirty…Sixers　—　were　being　driven　into
position　so　that　fuel　drums　and　supplies　could　be　hoisted　onto　them。　Scores　of　Sentinel　walkers
squatted　in　groups　like　flightless　birds　at　rest；　legs　folded　beneath　them　to　allow　for　oiling　and　final
weapons　checks。
To　Bergen；　all　this　was　a　beautiful　sight；　something　he　appreciated　every　time　he　saw　it；　and　he
stood　watching；　motionless；　for　long　minutes。　He　felt　lucky；　in　many　ways；　to　be　the　man　he　was。
From　the　age　of　six；　from　the　moment　that　his　mother　had　explained　his　destiny　to　him；　that　he　was
already　marked　for　military　service；　the　Imperial　Guard　was　the　only　thing　that　had　given　real
meaning　to　his　life。　It　was　the　Guard　that　had　shaped　and　defined　him。
He　turned　from　his　view　of　the　base　below　and　moved　to　the　parapet　wall；　looking　out　into　the
black　of　the　night。　To　his　left；　rows　of　Earthshake