Death World(科幻战争)-第4章

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followed。　Not　to　be　outdone；　another　squad　struck　up　a　cadence　call。
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A　scream　of　engines　drew　his　attention　to　the　sky；　and　he　caught　a　glint　of　red　as　the　rays　of　the
sinking　sun　struck　metal。　Two　drop　ships；　ascending；　from　a　point　no　more　than　a　couple　of
kilometres　ahead。　He　wondered　what　had　happened　to　the　third；　and　suppressed　a　shudder　at　the
thought　that　one　platoon　may　not　have　been　as　fortunate　as　his　own。
Not　long　after　that；　they　came　to　the　end　of　their　own　ship’s　trail—the　point　at　which　it　had　hit
ground。　Lorenzo　had　looked　forward　to　entering　the　jungle　proper；　but　instead　he　found　himself　at
the　edge　of　an　expansive　clearing。　It　was　man…made；　about　two　kilometres　in　diameter；　doubtless　the
product　of　many　hours　of　toil　by　Imperium　troops　with　flamers—and　yet　the　vegetation　at　the
clearing’s　edge　was　already　showing　signs　of　re…growth。
Without　breaking　step；　the　Jungle　Fighters　made　for　a　huddle　of　prefabricated　buildings　in　the
clearing’s　centre；　now　little　more　than　shadows　in　the　twilight。　As　they　reached　it；　the　sergeants
shouted　more　orders；　and　the　Catachans　formed　up　in　their　squads　again　and　fell　silent。　Lorenzo　was
aware　that　their　noisy　arrival　had　turned　the　heads　of　several　Guardsmen　who’d　been　standing
sentry。　It　had　also　given　fair　warning　of　their　approach　to　the　commissar　who　now　came　to　meet
them。
He　was　a　young；　fair…haired　man　with　pale　skin　and　ears　that　protruded　very　noticeably。　The
Imperial　eagle　spread　its　wings　proudly　on　his　peaked　cap；　and　his　slight　form　was　almost
swallowed　by　a　long；　black　overcoat。　Fresh　out　of　training；　Lorenzo　thought。　Even　Lieutenant
Vines；　not　a　tall　man；　seemed　to　tower　over　the　senior　officer　through　presence　alone。　Lorenzo
thought　he　could　see　a　sneer　pulling　at　Vines’　lips　as　he　folded　his　arm　into　a　lazy　salute　and
announced；　“C　Platoon；　Third　Company；　Catachan　XIV　reporting　for　duty；　sir。”
“Not　before　time；　lieutenant；”　said　the　commissar　tersely。　“I　assume　it　was　your　drop　ship　that
screamed　over　our　heads　an　hour　ago；　and　almost　demolished　the　very　camp　we’ve　been　fighting　to
defend？”　He　made　it　sound　like　an　accusation；　as　if　Vines　had　been　piloting　the　ship　himself。　Before
Vines　could　speak；　however；　the　commissar　raised　his　voice　to　address　the　assembled　platoon。　“My
name　is　Mackenzie。　I　am　in　command　here—and　as　long　as　you　are　on　Rogar　III；　my　word　is　the
Emperor’s　word；　is　that　clear？”
A　few　of　the　Catachans　mumbled　a　derisory；　“Yes；　sir。”　Most　of　them　said　nothing。
Mackenzie　scowled。　“Let　me　make　this　clear　from　the　outset；”　he　snapped。　“I　don’t　like
deathworlders。　In　my　experience；　they　are　sloppy　and　undisciplined；　with　an　arrogance　that　far
outstrips　their　ability。　The　Emperor　has　seen　fit　to　send　you　here；　and　I　concede　you　may　have
certain　expertise　that　will　hasten　a　conclusion　to　this　war。　But　had　the　decision　been　mine；　let　me　tell
you；　I　would　rather　have　fought　on　　the　blessed　birth　world　than　ten　from　Canak
or　Luther　McIntyre　or　whatever　hellhole　it　was　you　lot　crawled　out　from。”
“Catachan；　sir！”　hollered　Vines；　and　a　proud　roar　swelled　from　the　ranks　of　his　men。　If
Mackenzie　had　expected　to　get　a　rise　out　of　the　Jungle　Fighters；　he　was　disappointed。　Most　of　them
ignored　him；　not　quite　looking　at　him；　undermining　him　with　a　wave　of　indifference。　Woods　said
something　under　his　breath；　a　few　men　laughed；　and　the　commissar’s　eyes　narrowed—but　he　hadn’t
quite　caught　the　words　and　couldn’t　pinpoint　their　source。
“As　you　are　here；”　he　continued；　“I　intend　to　make　the　best　of　it。　I’m　making　it　my　mission　to
whip　you　rabble　into　shape。　By　the　time　I’m　finished　with　you；　you’ll　be　the　smartest　Guardsmen　in
the　Imperium。”
Mackenzie　turned　on　his　heel；　then；　and　snarled　in　Vines’　direction；　“Your　platoon　is　late　for　my
briefing；　lieutenant。　Ten　laps　round　the　camp　perimeter；　double　time。　Last　squad　back　does　another
ten。”
“With　respect；　sir…”　began　Vines；　the　look　of　contempt　in　his　eyes　suggesting　that　respect　was
the　last　thing　he　wanted　to　show。
“That　includes　you；　lieutenant。”　Mackenzie　barked—and　he　marched　away　stiffly；　into　the
largest　of　the　buildings。
Vines　took　a　deep　breath。　“All　right；”　he　said；　“you　heard　the　man。”
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The　Catachans　took　their　circuits　at　a　leisurely　pace；　and　with　a　cadence　call　that　contained　a　few
choice　lyrics　about　senior　officers。
By　the　time　they　got　to　the　lower　ranks’　mess　hall；　there　was　only　enough　slop　left　for　half　rations；
and　it　was　cold。
About　fifty　Catachans　and　a　handful　of　ogryns　from　A　and　D　Platoons　had　taken　over　a　generous
area；　perching　on　tables　with　their　feet　up　on　chairs；　swigging　from　flasks　and　punching　each　other
boisterously。　They　had　broken　out　the　hooch　to　celebrate　their　arrival；　it　had　been　brewed　on　the
troop　ship；　and　put　aside　for　a　special　occasion。　They　filled　the　large　space　with　their　raucous
laughter。
There　were　other　Guardsmen　here—they　outnumbered　the　Catachans　two　to　one—but　they　were
finishing　their　meals　in　silence；　along　one　side　of　the　hall；　looking　very　much　like　they’d　been　edged
out　by　the　newcomers。　They　wore　red　and　gold；　and　were　identified　by　their　flashes　as　members　of
the　32nd　Royal　Validian　Regiment。　To　Lorenzo’s　eyes；　most　of　them　looked　tall　and　gaunt—but
then；　he　was　aware　that　Catachan　had　a　higher　than　average　gravity；　which　made　its　people　more
squat　and　muscular　than　most。
It　didn’t　surprise　him　that　the　two　groups　had　self…segregated。　The　Catachans　were　Jungle
Fighters—elite　deathworld　veterans。　The　best　the　Imperium　had　to　offer；　they　believed。　The　rankand…
file　Guardsmen　regarded　them　with　a　mixture　of　curiosity；　admiration　and；　here　more　than　in
many　places；　outright　resentment。
Lorenzo’s　squad　picked　up　their　meals　and　took　over　a　table。　Greiss　joined　them　presently；　he’d
had　the　rookie；　Landon；　fetch　his　food　for　him　while　he’d　pumped　the　other　platoons　for　what　they’d
learned　so　far。
He　threw　a　folded　sheet　of　paper　onto　the　table。　Lorenzo　saw　the　crudely　printed　header　Eagle　&
Bolter；　and　needed　to　look　no　closer。　Another　propaganda　broadsheet；　doubtless　full　of　consoling
“news”　about　how　the　war　here　was　being　won。　“Looks　like　we　hit　the　jack　pot　this　time；”　said　the
sergeant　happily。　“We　got　killer　plants；　man…eating　slugs；　poison　insects；　acid　swamps；　all　the　usual。
On　top　of　that；　there’s　talk　of　invisible　monsters—and　ghosts；　would　you　believe！”　He　saw　that　a
couple　of　Validians　were　eavesdropping　from　the　next　table　but　one；　and　he　added　slyly；　“Course　we
only　got　the　word　of　a　few　rookie　Guardsmen　for　that。　Probably　jumping　at　their　own　shadows。”
“Ghosts？”　echoed　Donovits；　interested。
“Yes：　ghosts；　lights；　whatever。　Supposed　to　appear　at　night；　lure　men　into　the　jungle—and　those
crazy　enough　to　follow　them　don’t　come　back。”
“Speaking　of　which；　sergeant；”　said　Armstrong；　“any　news　on　B　Platoon？”　The　one…eyed　trooper
made　the　question　sound　nonchalant；　but　Lorenzo　knew　Armstrong　had　belonged　to　the　missing
platoon　before　his　recent　transfer。
“Not　yet；”　said　Greiss。　“They　had　the　same　trouble　we　did　on　the　way　in；　but　it　looks　like　they
set　down　further　away。　They’re　out　there　somewhere。”
“Lucky　for　them；”　said　Woods。　“They　don’t　have　to　put　up　with　Commissar　Jug…Handles
throwing　his　not　considerable　weight　around。”
“It　must’ve　been　some　storm；”　remarked　Donovits。
“Blew　up　out　of　nowhere；”　said　Greiss；　“by　all　accounts。　One　second；　the　sky　was　clear；　the
next；　our　drop　ships　were　drawing　strikes　like　lightning　rods。　Then　clear　blue　again。”
“Still　think　Naval　Command　were　exaggerating；　sergeant；”　asked　Woods　with　his　characteristic
cheeky　grin；　“about　this　place　turning　into　a　deathworld？”
“Can’t　see　this　place　ever　having　been　anything　but；”　commented　Bullseye　Myers。　“I　don’t
know　why　it　took　’em　so　long　to　admit　it。”
“Maybe　it　was　Mackenzie；”　considered　Dougan。　“You　heard　what　the　man　said。　He　doesn’t
want　us　here。”
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“Yeah；”　said　Woods—and　in　a　passable　impression　of　the　commissar’s　nasal　whine；　he
continued；　“‘I　don’t　like　deathworlders。　I’m　making　it　my　mission　to　whip　you　lot　into　shape。　You
hear　me；　Greiss？　On　your　knees　and　lick　my　shiny　black　boots。　And　when　you’re　done　with　that；
you　can　kiss　my—’”
“If　I　were　you；”　snarled　a　voice　from　behind　him；　“I’d　be　careful　what　you　say　about　an　officer
of　the　Imperium。”
Woods　didn’t　even　glance　back　to　see　who　was　talking；　though　Lorenzo　could　see　that　it　was　a
broad…shouldered；　square…headed　Validian　sergeant。
“Don’t　care　what　his　rank　is；”　said　Woods　offhandedly；　“he’s　still　a　damn　idiot。”
“You　want　to　repeat　that　to　my　face？”
Greiss’　eyes　narrowed。　“Stand　down；　sergeant；”　he　growled。　“I’m　in　command　of　these　men。
You　have　a　problem　with　them；　you　bring　it　to　me。”
“Mackenzie　was　right　about　you　deathworlders；”　the　Validian　sneered。　“You’ve　no　discipline；
no　respect。”
“Where　we　come　from；”　murmured　Muldoon；　idly　sharpening　his　night　reaper　blade　on　a　piece
of　flint；　“respect　is　earned；　not　given。”
“You　come　charging　in　here；　all　gung…ho；　bad…mouthing　our　people；　thinking　you　can　just　take
over。”
“And　here　I　thought　you　begged　us　to　come；”　said　Woods；　“because　your　lot　couldn’t　do　your
jobs　properly。　What’s　the　problem—sun　too　hot　for　you？”
“We’ve　been　here　eighteen　months；”　snapped　the　Validian；　“and　we’re　winning　this　war。　We’ve
driven　the　orks　right　back；　there　hasn’t　been　an　attack　on　this　encampment　or　any　other　in　three
weeks。　If　you　wanted　to　help；　you　should　have　been　here　when　we　were　cleansing　areas；　holding　the
line；　facing　ambushes　day　and　night。　But　no；　true　to　form；　you　glory　hounds　show　up　in　time　for　the
mopping　up　and　claim　all　me　credit。”
Greiss　was　on　his　feet；　his　lip　curling　into　a　dangerous　snarl。　“Have　you　quite　finished；
sergeant？”
Woods　stood　now；　too；　on　the　pretext　of　clearing　away　his　half…empty　bowl。　“It’s　okay；
sergeant；”　he　said；　“just　a　bitter　old　man　letting　off　some　steam—and　can　you　blame　him？　Can’t　be
many　Imperial　Guard　regiments　have　had　to　go　crying　for　reinforcements　against　a　few　trees　and
flowers。”
The　Validian’s　eyes　bulged　and　his　face　reddened。