Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第17部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

plasma　annihilator　towards　the　fortress　in　mocking　salute。
Honsou　knew　the　commanding　officers　in　Tor　Christo　would　be　watching　the　arrival　of　these　magnificent　war　machines；　and　the
message　they　delivered　was　sure　to　be　clear。
Your　time　has　come。
SEVEN
MAGOS　FERIAN　CORSIL　adjusted　the　dials　on　the　communications　panel　again；　tweaking　the　broadcast　bandwidth　in　an　attempt　to
increase　the　capacity　of　the　long　range　vox…casters。　Beside　him；　the　row　of　servitors　plugged　into　the　long　vox…console　sat　in
lobotomised　silence；　each　attuned　to　one　of　the　various　Imperial　Guard　frequencies。　Their　shaven　heads　and　cable…plugged　eye
sockets　nodded　monotonously　in　time　with　the　cycling　bands　of　static　that　filled　their　skulls。
Since　the　unexplained　quarantining　of　the　Star　Chamber　by　Magos　Naicin；　they　had　been　forced　to　try　and　adapt　the　vox…casters　to
provide　them　with　some　sort　of　link　to　the　outside　world。　Much　as　it　went　against　everything　Corsil　had　learned　on　Mars；　he　had
spent　the　last　day　and　a　half　working　on　a　dozen　disassembled　vox…panels　attempting　to　alter　the　divinely　decreed　circuitry　within
each　blessed　device。
A　burst　of　static　spat　from　the　speakers　indicating　the　machine　spirit's　displeasure　and　Corsil　hastily　made　his　obeisance　to　it。
'Blessed　machine；　a　thousand　pardons　for　my　unworthy　hands。　Deus　in　Machina。'
Mechadendrites　waved　from　his　spine　plugs　like　dreaming　snakes；　each　ribbed；　copper　prosthetic　terminating　in　mechanised　digits
or　some　form　of　power…driven　tool。　Two　mechadendrites　worked　deep　inside　an　open　access　panel　on　the　side　of　the　console；
adjusting　the　power　couplings　in　attempt　to　reroute　some　of　the　power　to　the　broadcast　amplifier。
If　he　could　isolate　some　of　the　more　redundant　systems　…　perish　the　thought　that　such　a　term　could　exist　in　relation　to　a　machine　…
then　he　might　be　able　to　increase　the　range　of　the　vox…casters　by　up　to　four　per　cent。　His　mechadendrites　continued　working　away
inside　the　panel　as　he　cycled　through　the　various　vox…nets。
As　he　hit　upon　the　squad…level　net；　a　servitor　suddenly　stopped　its　repetitive　bobbing　and　sat　upright；　its　mouth　jerking　into　life。
'—dy　hear　me？　What　the　hell's　the　point　of　a　vox　if　no　fragger　ever　answers？'
Corsil　jumped　at　the　sound　of　the　voice；　knocking　the　dial　on　the　panel　and　glancing　in　puzzlement　at　the　servitor　as　it　returned　to
its　previous　static…filled　life。　The　squad…level　vox…net？　That　was　normally　reserved　for　small　unit　actions；　for　platoon　and　squad
leaders　to　issue　tactical　orders。　It　was　not　supposed　to　be　in　use　now。
Hurriedly　he　returned　the　dial　to　its　previous　setting　and　disengaged　his　mechadendrites　from　beneath　the　console。
Once　again；　the　servitor　sat　upright；　its　expressionless　face　relaying　the　message　from　this　unknown　source。
'…come　in。　This　is　Guardsman　Julius　Hawke；　serial　number　25031971；　lately　of　listening　post　Sigma　IV；　I　repeat　this　is
Guardsman　Julius　Hawke　attempting　to　raise　Imperial　forces　in　either　Tor　Christo　or　the　citadel。　Enemy　Titans　are　inbound　on
your　position　together　with　brigade　strength　armour　and　infantry　support。'
Corsil　stared；　open　mouthed；　at　the　console　and　the　servitor　relaying　Hawke's　message　for　long　seconds　before　bolting　from　the
room。
WORD　OF　HAWKE'S　survival　spread　quickly　through　the　upper　command　echelons　of　the　citadel　with　mixed　reactions。　Many
believed　it　was　a　trick　of　the　invaders　to　feed　them　disinformation；　while　others　felt　that　the　Emperor　had　spared　this　man　for　some
divine　purpose。　The　irony　of　the　idea　that　a　man　like　Hawke　could　be　an　instrument　of　divine　purpose　was　not　lost　on　the　officers
that　knew　him。
Castellan　Vauban　paced　his　chambers；　sipping　a　glass　of　amasec　and　pondering　the　Hawke　dilemma。　Lieutenant　Colonel　Leonid
sat　behind　a　desk　reviewing　Major　Tedeski's　file　on　the　Guardsman；　preparing　a　selection　of　questions　they　could　use　to　verify　that
they　were　indeed　talking　to　Hawke；　and　that　he　was　not　speaking　under　duress。　Men　from　Hawke's　platoon　were　even　now　being
questioned　for　additional　information　that　could　verify　his　identity。
Should　the　voice　on　the　end　of　the　vox　genuinely　prove　to　be　Hawke；　then　they　would　have　a　first…rate　source　of　intelligence
regarding　the　enemy's　disposition；　strength　and　movements；　but　Vauban　wanted　to　be　absolutely　certain　before　he　made　any　kind
of　decision。　Magos　Naicin　was　at　this　very　moment　researching　the　logic　stacks　within　Arch　Magos　Amaethon's　Machine　Temple
for　some　way　of　detecting　whether　the　words　spoken　over　the　vox…caster　were　genuine；　though　he　hadn't　sounded　hopeful。　Naicin
had　balked　at　Vauban's　idea　of　employing　an　empathic　server　to　gauge　the　truth；　citing　the　unreliability　of　such　a　procedure
without　the　subject　actually　being　present。
For　now；　at　least；　it　looked　as　though　they　were　going　to　have　to　do　this　on　their　own。
Vauban　knew　of　Hawke；　having　seen　his　name　appear　on　more　disciplinary　reviews　than　he　cared　to　remember；　but　had　never　met
the　man。　Drunkenness；　disorderly　conduct；　brawling　and　theft　were　but　a　taster　of　the　trouble　Hawke　had　been　involved　in　and
Vauban　was　reminded　of　the　story　of　the　Hero　of　Chiros；　Jan　van　Yastobaal。　Lionised　by　the　people　of　the　Segmentum　Pacificus
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
as　a　true　hero　of　the　people；　Yastobaal　had　fought　in　the　wars　against　the　Apostate　Cardinal　Bucharis　during　the　Plague　of
Unbelief。　History　told　that　he　had　been　a　noble；　selfless　man　who　had　sacrificed　all　he　had　to　free　his　people。
Vauban　had　been　inspired　by　Yastobaal　as　a　youth　and　had　made　a　study　of　the　man　while　a　captain　in　the　Jouran　Planetary
Defence　Force。　The　deeper　he　researched　and　the　more　he　had　become　acquainted　with　the　real　Yastobaal；　the　more　he　had　found
him　to　be　a　reckless；　unorthodox　man；　prone　to　taking　unnecessary　gambles　with　his　mens'　lives。　Everything　he　read　of　the　man
spoke　of　a　rampant　ego　and　colossal　vanity　that　bordered　on　psychosis；　and　yet　there　was　still　much　to　admire　about　him。
But　read　any　Imperially　approved　historical　text　and　the　story　of　Yastobaal　would　be　told　as　a　noble　battle　of　courage　over
tyranny。
In　years　to　come；　what　would　the　history　books　say　of　Guardsman　Julius　Hawke？
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
TOR　CHRISTO
ONE
THE　VAST；　SOUTHERN　gate　of　the　citadel　measured　exactly　forty…four　metres　high；　thirty　metres　wide　and　was　known　as　the
Destiny　Gate。　Each　layered　half　of　the　bronze　gate　was　four　metres　thick　and　weighed　hundreds　of　tonnes。　No　one　knew　exactly
how　they　had　been　constructed；　when　they　had　been　brought　to　Hydra　Cordatus；　or　even　how　such　massive　portals　could　be
opened　with　such　ease。
Both　gates　were　covered　with　battle　scenes　etched　into　their　surfaces；　the　detail　obscured　by　the　ravages　of　time　and　green　trails　of
oxidation；　but　they　were　impressive　nonetheless。　Flanked　by　the　threatening　forms　of　Mori　and　Vincare　bastions；　they　were　set
within　the　sixty…metre　high　curtain　wall　of　the　citadel；　surrounded　by　carven　statuary。
Morning　sunlight　gleamed　gold　on　the　surface　as　the　gates　smoothly　swung　outwards；　the　battles　immortalised　on　their　faces
seeming　to　twist　with　life　as　the　light　caught　them。　At　last　they　were　opened　fully　and　massive　shapes　began　to　move　through　the
gateway　with　thunderous　footsteps。
Like　giants　from　legend；　the　Battle　Titans　of　the　Legio　Ignatum　marched　to　war；　their　armoured　hides　painted　in　vivid　reds　and
yellows；　the　power　in　their　mighty　steps　shaking　the　ground。　Huge　honour　banners　hung　between　their　massive　legs　and　enormous
kill　banners　fluttered　from　their　weapon　mounts；　a　litany　of　battle　and　victory　stretching　back　to　the　days　of　the　Great　Crusade；
unmatched　by　any　other　Titan　Legion。
Princeps　Fierach　commanded　the　Warlord　Titan　Imperator　Bellum；　marching　at　the　head　of　eleven　more　god…machines。　Another
two　Warlords　flanked　Fierach；　the　Honoris　Causa　and　the　Clavis　Regni；　their　princeps　similarly　eager　to　take　the　fight　to　the
enemy。　Fierach　brought　the　Imperator　Bellum　to　a　halt　at　the　open　rear　of　the　Primus　Ravelin；　the　soldiers　inside　cheering　as　his
thirty…metre　high　war　machine　raised　its　weapons　high　in　salute。
Yet　more　Titans　of　the　Legio　Ignatum　joined　their　Warlords。　Five　Reaver　Titans；　smaller　cousins　to　their　leader's　war　machine；
took　up　rear　positions　and　four　Warhound　Scout　Titans　loped　alongside　the　Battle　Titans。　The　Warhounds　split　into　pairs；　each
taking　position　on　the　flanks　of　the　larger　machines。　The　Titans　waited　in　the　shadow　of　the　counterguard　wall　as　the　armoured
units　of　the　Jouran　Dragoons　rumbled　from　the　citadel　and　swarmed　around　the　massive　feet　of　the　Battle　Titans。
From　his　elevated　position　in　the　head　of　the　Imperator　Bellum；　Princeps　Fierach　watched　the　mustering　of　the　tanks　and　infantry
carriers　with　mixed　emotions。　He　was　glad　of　their　support；　but　knew　that；　with　enemy　Titans　in　the　field；　they　could　be　unreliable
allies。　Fierach　knew　how　easy　it　could　be　to　break　the　courage　of　an　enemy　with　the　unstoppable　power　of　a　Titan。　Like　many
princeps　who　had　commanded　a　Titan　for　a　considerable　time；　Fierach　had　a　scornful　disregard　for　those　not　able　to　take　to　the
field　of　battle　as　he　did。　To　have　such　destructive　power　at　his　fingertips　bred　arrogance　and　a　withering　contempt　for　the
insignificant　weapons　and　machines　employed　by　those　armed　forces　without　the　heritage　of　the　Titan　Legions。
Fierach　sat　within　the　head　of　the　Imperator　Bellum；　wired　into　its　every　system　via　the　ancient　technologies　of　a　mind　impulse
unit。　Only　by　becoming　part　of　the　god…machine's　consciousness　was　it　possible　to　take　command　of　these　awesome　machines；　to
feel　each　motion　of　its　limbs　and　surge　of　power　along　its　fibre　bundle　muscles　as　though　they　were　his　own。
To　have　such　power　to　command　was　an　intoxicating　sensation　and；　when　not　joined　with　the　god…machine；　Fierach　felt　weak；
shackled　to　the　limitations　of　his　mortal　body。
Fierach　shifted　in　his　seat　and　meshed　his　senses　with　those　of　the　Titan；　allowing　the　barrage　of　information　the　sensorium　of　the
Imperator　Bellum　was　receiving　to　wash　over　him。　He　closed　his　eyes；　feeling　the　sudden　vertigo　as　his　mind's　eye　shifted　into　a
top…down　view；　depicting　the　battlefield　as　a　series　of　bright　contours　and　pulsing　blips。　Icons　representing　his　own　forces　and
those　of　the　Jourans　continued　to　mass　in　the　ditch　before　the　counterscarp　that　protected　the　base　of　the　walls　and　bastions。
Concealed　tunnels　sloped　upwards　through　the　ground；　emerging　on　the　plains　before　the　citadel；　allowing　the　armoured　units　of
the　Guard　to　rapidly　deploy　and　support　the　Titans。　Five　hundred　vehicles；　a　mix　of　battle　tanks　and　armoured　fighting　vehicles；
formed　up　in　lines　along　the　length　of　the　ditch；　smoke　belching　in　blue　clouds　from　their　throbbing　exhausts。
Fierach　was　unhappy　with　this　attack　and　had　voiced　his　concerns　to　Castellan　Vauban　in　the　strongest　terms；　but　he　was　a　senior
princeps　of　the　Legio　Ignatum　and　pledges　of　servitude　had　been　sworn　many　millennia　ago　between　the　Legio　and　the
commanders　of　this　citadel；　and　Fierach　would　not　be　known　as　an　oath　breaker。
It　reeked　of　desperation　to　Fierach　to　gamble　so　much　on　the　word　of　a　poor　soldier；　but　if　this　Hawke　was　correct；　then　they　had
an　opportunity　to　take　the　fight　to　the