Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第35部分

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have　been　allowed　to　come　into　existence。
The　Imperial　Fists　swept　efficiently　through　the　battery；　securing　its　perimeters　and　killing　the　war　machines'　gunners。　They
established　themselves　in　strong　positions　around　the　approach　trenches　and　parallel；　ready　to　hold　off　the　inevitable
counterattack。
Vauban　dropped　from　the　firing　step　and　shouted；　'Alpha　demo　team；　with　me！　Bravo　team　with　Colonel　Leonid！'
Two　dozen　men　followed　him　towards　the　machines　and；　even　over　the　crack　of　small…arms　fire；　Vauban　shivered　as　he　felt　the
pulse　of　monstrous；　daemonic　breath　grating　along　his　spine　just　below　the　threshold　of　hearing。　He　stepped　across　scores　of
corpses；　making　his　way　quickly　towards　the　daemon　engines。　As　he　and　his　men　drew　near；　the　sense　of　wrongness　grew　stronger
and　stronger。　As　he　set　foot　on　the　metal　decking　where　the　machines　were　chained；　agonising　pain　ripped　into　him　and　he　felt　his
guts　cramp　and　his　knees　buckle。　Terror　seized　him　as　his　mind　was　filled　with　the　unshakable　belief　that　to　touch　these　unholy
monsters　was　to　die。
He　could　see　he　was　not　alone　in　this　hideous　sensation。　Soldiers　were　dropping　to　their　knees；　some　vomiting　blood　as　the
daemonic　aura　of　the　nightmare　machines　washed　over　them。　Chains　rattled　and　metal　groaned　beneath　them　as　the　war　machines
supped　on　the　red　liquid；　a　bass　thrumming　building　from　the　line　of　daemon　engines。
The　sounds　of　bolter　fire　intensified　from　the　edges　of　the　battery；　and　Vauban　knew　the　Iron　Warriors　must　be　counterattacking；
fearful　of　losing　their　hellish　artillery。
They　couldn't　fail！　Not　now　they　had　come　so　close。
Vauban　pushed　himself　to　his　feet；　gritting　his　teeth　against　the　waves　of　sickness　that　wracked　him　and　dragged　the　soldier
nearest　to　him　to　his　feet。
'Come　on；　damn　you！'　he　yelled。　'On　your　feet；　soldier！'
The　man　grabbed　his　satchel　charges　and　stumbled　after　Vauban；　his　face　contorted　in　terror　and　agony。　The　two　men　lurched
towards　the　nearest　machine；　its　chains　jangling　furiously　and　geysers　of　steam　venting　from　corroded　grilles。　A　furious　static
descended　upon　his　vision；　like　looking　through　a　faulty　holo。　A　bitter；　metallic　taste　flooded　Vauban's　mouth　as　he　bit　the　flesh　of
his　lip　to　keep　from　screaming。
Then；　as　suddenly　as　it　had　begun；　the　pain　and　terror　vanished　like　the　light　from　a　snuffed　candle。　Vauban　felt　a　huge；　pressing
weight　lift　from　his　mind。　His　lungs　heaved　and　he　spat　blood；　spinning　as　he　heard　a　booming　chant　from　behind　him。
One　of　the　Imperial　Fists；　his　yellow　armour　decorated　with　numerous　purity　seals　and　one　shoulder　guard　painted　blue；　strode
towards　the　daemon　engines；　his　proud　voice　clear　and　true。　He　carried　a　carved　staff　of　ebony；　coils　of　blue　light　coruscating
along　its　length。
Vauban　did　not　know　the　warrior's　name；　but　knew　by　his　words　that　their　saviour　was　a　psyker；　one　of　the　Chapter's　Librarians。
Somehow；　he　was　fighting　against　the　corrupting　power　of　the　daemon　engines　and　protecting　them　from　its　malign　influence。
Ghostly　streamers　of　insubstantial　energy　flared　from　the　icons　and　markings　on　the　armoured　flanks　of　the　war　machines。
Vauban　could　see　by　the　sweat　pouring　in　runnels　from　the　Librarian's　face　and　the　pulsing　vein　in　his　temple　that　the　effort　of
holding　their　daemonic　essence　at　bay　was　stretching　him　to　the　limit。
The　Librarian　had　bought　them　a　chance；　but　they　would　need　to　be　quick。
'Quickly！'　he　bellowed　over　the　bark　of　gunfire　and　explosions。　'Demo　teams；　plant　your　charges　and　let's　get　the　hell　out　of　here！'
The　men　with　demolition　charges　picked　themselves　up　from　the　steel　decking　of　the　battery　and；　under　the　direction　of　Vauban's
best　ordnance　officers；　began　placing　the　explosive　charges　at　vital　points　on　each　daemon　engine。　The　vast　machines　strained　at
their　bindings；　thrashing　in　fury　at　these　mortals　who　dared　to　defile　them。
As　the　men　moved　on　to　the　next　machine　the　vox…bead　in　Vauban's　ear　clicked　and　Captain　Eshara's　voice　filled　his　skull。
'Castellan　Vauban；　we　must　leave！　The　enemy　are　coming　in　overwhelming　numbers　with　heavy　support　and　I　do　not　believe　we
can　hold　them。'
'Not　yet！'　yelled　Vauban。　'Give　us　enough　time　to　set　the　explosives　then　fall　back！　We　need　you　alive！'
'How　long　do　you　need？'　asked　Eshara；　his　voice　muffled　by　nearby　shots　and　detonations。
Vauban　looked　along　the　line　of　bucking　war　machines　and　said；　'Give　us　four　minutes！'
'We'll　try！　But　be　ready　to　move　when　you　see　us　falling　back！'
'HOLD　ON　A　minute！'　snapped　Hawke。　'Attach　the　bronze　cable　with　the　sacred　halo　symbol　to　the　two　pins　with　the　what？'
Even　over　the　vox…link；　Hawke　detected　more　than　a　trace　of　impatience　in　the　magos's　voice　as　he　answered。
'The　bronze　cable　attaches　to　the　pins　with　the　demi…cog　symbol。　Just　like　I　said　before。　Once　you　have—'
'Hold　on；　hold　on…'　grumbled　Hawke；　fiddling　with　the　cable　clips　as　he　fought　to　find　the　correct　pins　and　hold　the　wire　steady
over　the　exposed　circuitry。　The　illuminator　on　his　respirator　was　growing　dim　and　he　had　to　squint　to　see　the　symbols　Beauvais
was　talking　about。　There！　He　reached　in　and　snapped　the　clips　over　the　pins；　flinching　and　almost　losing　his　balance　when　they
sparked　violently　and　burnt　his　fingertips。
He　grabbed　onto　the　steel　gantry　he　was　lying　on　and　tried　not　to　think　of　how　high　above　the　floor　he　was。　The　gantry　was　solidly
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
constructed；　one　of　several　bolted　to　the　wall　at　various　points　around　the　room；　presumably　for　technicians　to　carry　out　routine
maintenance　to　the　torpedo。　He　seriously　doubted　it　was　used　for　people　trying　to　hotwire　the　device。　Behind　him；　a　mesh　grille　in
the　wall　led　off　into　darkness。　It　had　taken　him　a　frustrating　twenty　minutes　to　climb　the　ladder；　find　the　correct　access　panel　in　the
side　of　the　giant　torpedo　and　use　Hitch's　knife　to　undo　the　sacred　bolts　that　held　it　in　place。
And　over　the　past　hour；　he'd　been　mildly　electrocuted　twice；　burnt　his　fingers　three　times　and　almost　fallen　thirty　metres　to　the
solid　rockcrete　floor。　Hawke　was　not　a　happy　man。　He　steadied　his　breathing　and　spoke　into　the　vox。
'You　might　have　bloody　warned　me！'　he　complained。
'Is　it　done？'
'Yes；　it's　done。'
'Very　good；　you　have　now　armed　the　torpedo。'
Hawke　pushed　himself　back　along　the　gantry；　suddenly　very　alarmed　at　the　prospect　of　this　armed　behemoth　being　less　than　a
metre　from　his　head。　'It's　armed。　What　next？'
'Now　we　have　to　inform　the　war…spirit　within　the　torpedo　the　whereabouts　of　its　victim。'
'Uh…huh…'　shrugged　Hawke。　'And　how　exactly　do　I　do　that？'
'You　don't。　I　will　perform　that　sacred　task。　Now；　I　need　you　to　remove　a　red　and　gold　cable　embossed　with　the　rune　of　telemetry；
then—'
'The　what？　Just　tell　me　what　the　damn　thing　looks　like。'
Beauvais　sighed。　'It　resembles　a　winged　triangle　with　a　cog　at　its　centre。　It　is　connected　to　the　war…spirit's　seeker　chamber。　That's
the　gold　box　at　the　top　of　the　panel。　Once　you　have　the　cable；　plug　it　into　the　vox…unit's　remote　triangulation　output　socket　and
wait。　Once　the　lights　on　the　vox　stop　flashing；　reattach　the　cable　to　the　war…spirit's　seeker　chamber。'
Hawke　found　the　plug　and　pulled　it　from　the　panel。　He　swore　as　he　saw　it　would　only　extend　some　fifteen　centimetres　from　the
torpedo。　He　lifted　the　vox　unit　to　the　edge　of　the　gantry；　propping　it　against　one　of　the　uprights。　He　slotted　the　cable　home；
watching　as　the　front　panel　of　the　vox　unit　faded　and　the　lights　arranged　around　the　dial　flickered　in　strange　patterns。　As　the
sequence　continued　he　propped　himself　up　on　one　elbow；　looking　up　at　the　top　of　the　giant　torpedo。
The　top　of　the　giant　missile　was　rounded　and　strangely　irregular。　There　was　a　serrated；　spiral　groove　cut　in　the　warhead　and
Hawke　guessed　that　this　was　to　help　it　burrow　through　the　thick　hull　of　a　starship　before　detonating　deep　inside。
He　waited　for　several　minutes　before　the　clicking　sequence　of　lights　finally　stopped；　then　unplugged　the　cable　and　reconnected　it
to　the　torpedo。　He　thought　he　heard　a　noise　below　and　glanced　over　the　gantry。　Dismissing　it；　he　returned　his　attention　to　the
torpedo　as　Beauvais　came　back　on　the　vox。
'The　war…spirit　now　knows　its　prey；　Hawke。　Now　you　must　speak　the　Chant　of　Awakening　to　set　it　on　the　hunt。'
'Ok；　Chant　of　Awakening…　right。　And　after　that；　then　what？'
'Simply　strike　the　rune　of　firing　upon　the—'
Beauvais　never　finished　his　sentence　as　a　hail　of　bolter　fire　ripped　through　the　vox　and　blasted　it　to　fragments。　Hawke　jumped　in
shock；　grabbing　onto　the　upright；　very　nearly　going　over　the　edge　of　the　gantry。
'Emperor's　holy　blood！'　he　swore；　grabbing　his　rifle　and　pressing　his　back　against　the　cold　metal　grille　in　the　wall　behind　him。　His
breath　pounded　in　his　throat　and　his　heart　beat　wildly　against　his　chest。　What　the　hell　was　going　on？
He　risked　a　glance　over　the　gantry　and　saw　a　giant　in　iron…grey　power　armour　with　a　smoking　gun　and　a　mechanised　claw　snaking
over　his　shoulder。　Men　in　red　uniforms　clustered　around　the　warrior；　all　carrying　rifles　aimed　upwards。
A　deep　voice；　rich　and　full　of　threat　drifted　up　to　him。
'You　are　going　to　die；　little　man。　You　have　led　us　a　merry　dance；　but　now　it　is　over。'
Hawke　shut　his　eyes　tight　and　whispered；　'Oh　damn；　oh　damn；　oh　damn…'
INCANDESCENT　FIRE　ERUPTED　from　the　first　demolition　charges；　vaporising　the　chains　and　bindings　holding　the　first　daemon
engine　in　place。　Painstakingly　wrought　symbols　of　arcane　protection　were　incinerated　and　the　mechanical　components　of　the　war
machine　ran　molten　under　the　volcanic　heat　of　the　explosion。　The　scream　of　the　daemon　engine's　death　whiplashed　around　the
battery　as　the　terrifying　creature　bound　within　its　infernal　mechanisms　was　freed　by　the　blast。
Those　closest；　even　though　well　clear　of　the　explosives'　blast　radius；　were　swatted　to　the　floor　of　the　battery　by　its　shriek　of
release。　A　swirling　hurricane　of　etheric　energy；　insane　geometries　warping　through　its　daemonic　form；　tore　through　the　Jourans
with　the　power　of　the　immaterium；　turning　men　inside　out　and　exploding　others　from　within　as　it　shrieked　in　the　throes　of　its
dissolution。
HONSOU　HEARD　THE　screech　of　one　of　the　creatures　of　the　damned　and　cursed　Kroeger　again。　Where　were　the　men　from　his
company　tasked　with　guarding　these　precious　beasts？　Creatures　that　had　required　countless　thousands　of　lives　and　diabolical　pacts
to　conjure　into　being。　The　answer　came　easily　enough：　drunk　on　slaughter　somewhere；　slaking　their　thirst　for　blood　in　an　orgy　of
butchery。
He　ducked　as　a　hail　of　bullets　stitched　the　trench　wall　before　him　and　a　clutch　of　human　soldiers　fell；　their　bodies　blown　apart　by
the　burst。　He　racked　the　slide　on　his　own　weapon；　then　paused　as　he　realised　the　shots　he'd　heard　were　fired　from　a　bolter。　Honsou
stepped　over　their　bleeding　corpses　and　jerked　his　head　around　the　bend　in　the　trench。　He　was　stunned　to　see　a　Space　Marine　in
yellow　power　armour　firing　down　the　trench。　The　length　of　the　narrow　earthen　corridor　was　choked　with　bodies　and　there　was　no
way　through。
Hundreds　of　human　soldiers　gathered　behind　him；　fearfully　clutching　their　primitive　rifles　as　they　crouched　in　the　shelter　of　this
trench。　They　looked　to　him　for　guidance　and　Honsou　snarled　as　he　reached　ba