Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第26部分

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'Very　good。　It　is　imperative　that　we　summon　aid；　Naicin。　The　magnitude　of　the　consequences　should　we　be　defeated　here　is
beyond　imagination。'
'We　shall　not　be　defeated；'　assured　Magos　Naicin　with　another　bow。
ON　THE　MORNING　of　the　eleventh　day　of　the　siege；　Forrix's　batteries　were　complete　and　the　giant　guns　of　the　Iron　Warriors　were
either　dragged　forwards　by　gangs　of　sweating　slaves　or　rumbled　along　under　their　own　diabolical　power。　Within　minutes　of　the
observers　on　the　walls　of　Tor　Christo　spotting　the　movement　of　the　giant　artillery　pieces；　the　Imperial　Basilisks　began　firing；　the
endless　barrage　of　shells　turning　the　ground　before　the　fortress　into　a　hell　of　fire　and　shrapnel。
But　the　deepened　and　widened　trenches　were　proof　against　all　but　direct　hits；　and　only　two　machines　were　destroyed；　their　crews
and　those　manhandling　them　shredded　by　lethal　steel　splinters。　One　massive　gun；　an　ornate　long…barrelled　howitzer；　was　struck　a
glancing　impact　by　a　shell　bursting　directly　overhead。　Imbued　with　the　bound　energy　of　a　daemon　from　the　warp；　the　war　machine
screamed　in　lunatic　fury；　breaking　free　of　its　sorcerous　bindings　and　running　amok　in　the　communication　trench；　crushing　the　four
score　slaves　who　pulled　it　and　the　guards　who　watched　over　it。
It　took　the　combined　efforts　of　Jharek　Kelmaur；　seven　of　his　cabal　sorcerers　and　the　souls　of　a　hundred　slaves　to　placate　the
daemon；　but　soon；　the　gun　was　in　its　prepared　position　before　the　walls　of　Tor　Christo。
The　gunners　on　the　walls　attempted　to　shift　their　fire　to　the　two　batteries；　realising　that　the　chances　of　damaging　the　war　machines
traversing　the　trenches　were　slim；　but　Forrix　had　placed　his　batteries　well　and　the　Basilisks　could　not　land　their　shells　so　close　to
the　promontory。
It　took　another　three　deafening　hours　before　Forrix　was　happy　with　the　placement　of　his　guns　and　the　slaves　shackled　the
daemonic　war　machines　to　the　steel　plates　laid　on　the　floor　of　the　batteries。
At　last；　several　hours　after　the　sun　had　passed　its　zenith；　Forrix　gave　the　order　to　fire。
THE　FIRST　SHELLS　smashed　into　the　south…eastern　face　of　Kane　bastion；　throwing　the　men　stationed　on　its　walls　to　the　ground。　The
rockcrete　cracked　under　the　impact；　fist…sized　chunks　of　grey　rubble　blasted　skyward　in　a　cloud　of　choking　dust。　It　was　followed
seconds　later　by　a　volley　from　the　second　battery；　smashing　into　the　opposite　face　of　the　bastion。
This　second　volley　was　aimed　high；　blasting　the　top　of　the　firing　step　clear　in　a　storm　of　stone　fragments　that　scythed　men　down
by　the　dozen。
Blood　and　screams　filled　the　air。　Medics　rushed　to　the　aid　of　the　wounded　as　their　comrades　dragged　screaming　soldiers　from　the
walls　to　the　courtyard　below。　Barely　a　minute　had　passed　when　yet　more　shells　slammed　into　the　walls　of　the　Kane　bastion；
shaking　it　to　its　very　foundations。
The　noise　was　unbelievable。　Major　Tedeski　knew　that　he　would　never　forget　the　sheer；　skull…pounding　volume　of　the　enemy
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
bombardment。　Each　battery　took　it　in　turns　to　fire；　the　massive　guns　hurling　explosive　projectiles　at　his　walls　with　incredible
force。　The　stocky　major　had　changed　from　his　normal　dress　uniform　and　simply　wore　the　standard　issue　sky　blue　jacket　of　the
regiment；　the　one　empty　sleeve　tucked　inside。　A　flinching　Captain　Poulsen　stood　behind　Tedeski；　his　face　twitching　with　every
crack　of　shell　on　stone。
Tedeski　watched　the　corner　gun　tower　crumble　from　the　walls；　carrying　a　dozen　men　screaming　to　their　deaths　on　the　rocks
below。
'Upon　my　soul；　it's　bad；'　he　muttered。
'Sir？'　enquired　Poulsen。
'Nothing；'　said　Tedeski；　scanning　the　walls。　'I　want　those　men　off　the　walls。　Leave　platoons　one　and　five　on　the　parapet　and　order
all　the　others　to　withdraw。'
Poulsen　relayed　his　commanding　officer's　order；　grateful　to　have　something　to　distract　him　from　the　thunderous　shelling。　Tedeski
watched　as　the　command　filtered　through　to　the　walls；　seeing　the　relief　on　the　faces　of　the　men　ordered　to　withdraw　and　the　fear　of
those　who　remained。　The　ground　shook　again　as　more　shells　impacted　and　Tedeski　swore　as　an　entire　section　of　the　southern　wall
cracked　and　crumbled　to　the　base。　Though　the　firing　step　was　taking　a　punishing　barrage；　it　would　be　some　time　before　the　enemy
guns　had　pounded　enough　of　the　walls　to　form　a　practicable　breach　and　brought　down　enough　rubble　for　attacking　troops　to　climb。
Stone　splinters　ripped　through　the　bodies　of　the　men　who　remained　on　the　walls；　tearing　them　to　bloody　rags；　but　Tedeski　knew
that　he　couldn't　leave　the　walls　totally　unmanned　for　fear　that　an　escalade　was　underway。　There　was　every　chance　he　was
consigning　these　men　to　die；　and　the　guilt　of　their　deaths　tasted　like　ashes　in　his　mouth。
Suddenly；　he　set　off　towards　the　walls；　climbing　the　dusty；　fragment…strewn　steps　that　led　from　the　courtyard　to　the　parapet。
'Sir？'　shouted　Poulsen；　'Where　are　you　going？'
'To　stand　on　the　walls　with　my　men；'　snapped　the　irascible　major。
Years　of　ingrained　obedience　kicked　in　and；　without　thinking；　Poulsen　trotted　up　the　steps　after　Tedeski　before　his　conscious　brain
truly　understood　what　he　was　doing。
A　ragged　cheer　greeted　Tedeski's　arrival　as　he　marched　to　the　head　of　the　bastion；　defiantly　facing　the　enemy　guns。　The　parapet
here　was　cracked　and　sagging；　several　metres　of　rockcrete　missing　from　its　length；　and　Tedeski　had　a　clear　view　of　the　scene
below。
The　two　batteries　were　wreathed　in　clouds　of　thick　grey　smoke；　which　was　periodically　pierced　by　flashes　of　fire。　Screaming
projectiles　slashed　through　the　air　as　a　soldier　unnecessarily　shouted；　'Incoming！'
The　shells　slammed　into　the　base　of　the　wall　below　Tedeski；　blasting　chunks　of　rock　high　into　the　air　and　enveloping　him　in　a
drifting　bank　of　smoke。　Tedeski　didn't　flinch　and　when　the　cloud　cleared；　merely　dusted　off　his　uniform　jacket　with　his　one　hand。
As　the　noise　of　the　explosion　faded；　Tedeski　shouted；　'The　enemy　must　have　bad　fevers。　Do　you　hear　them　cough？　Perhaps　we
should　offer　them　some　sweet　wine！'
Laughter　and　cheering　swelled　from　the　throats　of　Battalion　A　of　the　Jouran　Dragoons；　their　courage　bolstered　by　their
commander's　words　and　bravery。
Another　nerve…stretching　hour　of　shelling　followed　which　Major　Gunnar　Tedeski　endured　with　his　men　in　determined　silence。
As　dusk　turned　the　sky　the　colour　of　congealed　blood；　Tedeski　turned　to　Poulsen；　and　took　his　aide…de…camp's　data…slate　with　a
shaking　hand。
With　an　effort　of　will　to　keep　his　voice　from　breaking；　he　said；　'Order　the　guns　below　to　deploy　and　shell　those　batteries　out　of
existence。'
FORRIX　PICKED　HIS　way　across　the　cratered　plain　as　quickly　as　his　bulky　suit　of　Terminator　armour　would　allow　him；　followed　by
thirty　of　his　hand…picked　warriors。　Like　him；　they　had　dulled　the　lustre　of　their　Terminator　armour　with　red　dust　from　the　plains；
and　under　the　fury　of　the　bombardment　would　hopefully　escape　detection　by　the　soldiers　above　them。
He　knew　they　did　not　have　much　time。　The　commander　of　the　garrison　above　would　know　by　now　how　devastating　die　artillery　of
the　Iron　Warriors　was；　and　that　unless　he　destroyed　it　quickly；　his　fortress　was　lost。　It　followed　that　he　would　now　deploy　his
hidden　guns　and　this　was　just　what　Forrix　wanted。　Honsou　waited　in　the　forward　parallel　with　forty　of　his　warriors　and　nearly　six
thousand　human　soldiers　spread　along　the　extent　of　the　trench。
The　timing　would　need　to　be　precise。　Too　early　and　the　Imperials　would　seal　the　tunnels　leading　to　the　guns；　too　late　and　his
artillery　would　be　bombed　out　of　existence。
Forrix　stalked　through　the　cratered　wasteland　and　secreted　himself　less　than　fifty　metres　from　the　entrance　to　the　concealed
artillery　pits。　His　veteran　warriors　filed　into　position　alongside　him　and　waited；　the　noise　of　the　shelling　swallowing　the　thump　of
their　heavy　footfalls。
They　did　not　have　long　to　wait。　A　sliver　of　light　and　rumbling　of　heavy　rolling　stock　grinding　along　rails　announced　that　the　guns
were　indeed　moving　into　position。
'Honsou；'　hissed　Forrix；　rising　to　his　feet　and　charging　towards　the　guns；　'go　now！'
HONSOU　SNARLED　IN　anticipation　as　he　heard　Forrix's　words　echo　within　his　helm　and　kicked　down　the　sandbagged　barricade　that
led　from　the　forward　parallel　onto　the　plain。　He　sprinted　forward；　the　Iron　Warriors　fanning　out　behind　him　as　they　raced　across
the　uneven　ground　towards　the　base　of　the　steep；　rocky　slope。　Behind　him　thousands　of　red…clad　soldiers　climbed　from　the　trench
and　the　guns　continued　to　fire；　pounding　the　walls　to　breach　the　central　bastion。
The　augmented　fibre　bundle　muscles　of　their　armour　powered　the　Iron　Warriors　upwards；　leaving　the　human　soldiers　floundering
in　their　wake；　stumbling　around　in　the　strobing；　shell…lit　twilight。
He　and　his　warriors　would　be　first　to　reach　the　fortress。　This　type　of　action　had　once　been　known　as　a　Forlorn　Hope；　because　the
first　men　into　the　breach　would　invariably　be　the　first　men　to　die。　It　was　the　duty　of　the　Hope　to　draw　the　enemy　fire　as　the
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
remainder　of　the　force　closed　with　the　fortress。　The　men　of　the　Hope　would　storm　the　breach　and　buy　time　with　their　lives　for　the
following　troops　to　push　through。　Hundreds　of　men　might　be　sacrificed　in　this　way　simply　to　get　a　handful　through　the　breach。
Storming　a　breach　was　always　a　bloody　affair；　because　the　enemy　knew　exactly　where　the　attack　would　be　coming　from；　though
Honsou　hoped　the　constant　bombardment　from　the　batteries　would　keep　the　Imperial　defenders'　heads　down。
He　clambered　swiftly　up　the　jagged　rocks；　each　powerful　thrust　of　his　thighs　pushing　him　closer　to　the　top。　As　the　noise　of　shell
impacts　intensified；　he　looked　up　into　the　darkening　sky；　seeing　the　broken　top　of　the　ramparts　and　a　huge　tear　ripped　in　the　side
of　the　bastion。　Tonnes　of　rabble　spilled　down　its　flanks　and　provided　a　ready…made　ramp　to　the　defenders　above。
'Battery　guns；　cease　fire；'　ordered　Honsou　as　he　cleared　the　top　of　the　slope。
Shouts　of　alarm　echoed　from　the　top　of　the　walls　and　a　handful　of　las…blasts　stabbed　towards　him；　but　they　were　poorly　aimed　and
flew　high。
Honsou　muttered　the　Iron　Warriors'　catechism　of　battle：　''Iron　within；　iron　without''　as　his　men　pulled　themselves　onto　the　ground
before　Tor　Christo　and　charged　with　him　towards　the　breach。
FORRIX　SWEPT　HIS　power　glove　through　the　chest　of　a　man　wearing　a　gunner's　reinforced　flak　vest；　his　upper　body　exploding　in
blood　and　bone。　Roaring　reaper　cannon　fire　ripped　through　the　Imperial　gunners　and　soldiers；　spraying　the　flanks　of　their　artillery
with　blood。
'Protect　the　guns！'　screamed　a　junior　officer　before　Forrix　tore　his　head　off。
Fools。　Did　they　really　think　the　guns　were　their　target；　that　the　Iron　Warriors　did　not　already　have　a　surfeit　of　guns？
Their　attack　had　hit　without　warning　and　the　first　Imperial　troops　had　died　without　knowing　what　had　killed　them。　Their　guards
tried　to　fight　back；　but　within　seconds　had　realised　the　fight　was　hopeless　and　fled　before　Forrix　and　his　Terminators。　But　the　old
veteran　was　not　about　to　let　his　prey　escape　him　so　easily。　Three　of　his　warriors　levelled　their　reaper　cannons；　the　barrels　studded
with　spikes；　and　unleashed　a　deadly　hail　of　shots　that　felled　men　by　the　dozen。
Forrix　lumbered　forward；