Gunheads(科幻战争)-第15章

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“Honour　and　glory！”　shouted　a　sergeant　off　to　the　right。
“Honour　and　glory！”　bellowed　his　squad。
Something　changed　in　the　air；　building　up　like　a　massive　electrical　charge。　Even　the　wounded
seemed　suddenly　whole　again；　though　their　bodies　still　bled。　They　turned　from　the　sight　of　their
colonel　and　his　banner；　raised　lasgun　stocks　to　armoured　shoulders；　and　met　the　orks　with　renewed
ferocity；　determined　to　dispatch　as　many　of　the　slavering　beasts　as　possible　before　they　were
overcome　for　good。
Push　through　your　pain；　Stromm　willed　them。　Just　a　bit　further；　a　bit　longer　so　we　know　the
Emperor’s　eyes　are　on　us。
Only　a　few　hundred　metres；　now；　until　the　orks　were　in　among　them。　Mere　moments　until　the
fighting　became　hand…to…hand。　At　that　range；　the　greenskins’　massive　physiologies　would　allow
them　to　rip　through　the　Cadians　like　wet　paper。　Only　the　mighty　Kasrkin　storm　troopers；　of　which
Stromm　had　started　with　a　single　company　and　now　had　less　than　three　full　platoons；　had　any
chance　in　close　quarters；　and；　even　then；　not　much　of　one。
“Fix　bayonets；”　ordered　Stromm。　Kassel　repeated　the　order　over　the　vox。　He　might　as　well　have
said　“get　ready　to　die”。　Against　orks；　it　was　essentially　the　same　thing。
The　call　was　taken　up　by　officers　and　sergeants　all　along　the　line　as　the　gap　shrank　to　forty
metres；　then　thirty。　Las…fire　blazed　out　in　a　last；　desperate　bid　to　make　a　difference　before　the　clash
of　blade　on　blade。　Plenty　of　orks　went　down；　struck　in　the　face　with　lethal；　short…range　blasts。　But；　if
this　bought　the　Cadians　any　time　at　all；　it　was　mere　seconds。
The　ork　artillery　was　rolling　forward；　too；　unable　to　fire　on　the　Cadians　now　that　their　own
infantry　had　closed　the　gap。　The　greenskin　gunnery　crews；　in　the　manner　of　all　their　race；　were
desperate　to　get　closer　to　the　centre　of　the　murder；　to　stain　their　hands　with　the　blood　of　dying　men。
For　this；　they　kept　their　machines　rolling　in。
Twenty　metres　from　Stromm；　a　massive　ork　with　a　broken　tusk　hacked　one　trooper　to　the　ground
with　its　cleaver；　shoved　roughly　past　another；　and　raced　directly　forwards。　It　was　coming　straight　for
the　colonel；　attracted　by　the　bright；　snapping　banner　above　his　head。　As　it　closed；　it　raised　its
massive　stubber　with　a　single　hand　and　fired　a　burst　that　caught　the　colonel　on　the　right　shoulder。
His　tough　armaplas　body…armour　was　enough　to　deflect　the　shot；　but　the　impact　threw　him　from　his
feet。　He　landed　on　the　red　sand　with　a　grunt。　The　force　of　the　bullet’s　impact　had　broken　his　arm；
and　the　banner　fell　from　his　hands。
Lieutenant　Kassel　moved　in　a　blur；　catching　the　banner　as　it　fell；　hoisting　it　high；　desperate　not
to　dishonour　the　regiment　by　allowing　its　sanctified　cloth　to　touch　the　ground。　He　stabbed　the　base
of　the　haft　into　the　sand；　braced　it　with　one　hand；　and　crouched　by　his　colonel；　yelling　his　name。
“Are　you　alive；　sir？　Speak　to　me；　colonel！　Please！”
Groaning　in　agony　and　clutching　his　shattered　arm；　Stromm　rolled；　and；　with　Kassel’s　eager　aid；
struggled　to　his　feet。　He　looked　around　to　see　men　forming　a　defensive　line　around　him；　fighting
back　desperately　with　bayonets；　pistols；　sharpened　entrenching　tools　—　anything　they　had　to　hand
—　against　the　massive　chipped　axes　and　cleavers　of　the　orks。
“For　Cadia！”　Stromm　roared；　leaving　Kassel　with　the　banner　and　drawing　his　hellpistol　again；
this　time　with　his　left　hand。
“For　Cadia！”　his　men　roared　back。
They　fought　with　everything　they　had；　but　the　air　suddenly　filled　once　again　with　the　deafening
boom　of　big　guns。　Stromm　tensed；　guessing　the　ork　artillery　crews　had　decided　to　fire　after　all；
whether　they　killed　their　foul　kin　or　not。　He　girded　himself　for　the　explosive　blast　that　would　bring
an　end　to　his　life　any　second　now。
Any　second…
But　it　never　came。　There　was　no　ear…splitting　whistle　overhead。
“Armour！”　cried　one　of　his　platoon　leaders　over　the　vox…net。　“In　Terra’s　Holy　Name！”
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“They’re　fielding　tanks；　too？”　asked　another。
“No；”　snapped　the　first。　“Not　the　blasted　orks；　man！　Imperial　tanks！　Leman　Russ　battle　tanks
inbound　from　the　west！”
Stromm　heard　a　second　stutter　of　booming　fire　and　this　time；　to　his　utter　astonishment；　a　mob　of
orks　pressing　in　on　the　left　flank　vanished；　consumed　by　a　great　fountain　of　dirt　and　flame。
“Their　artillery！”　voxed　another　platoon　leader。　“The　ork　SPGs　are　burning。　All　of　them。
Junked！”
Another　sharp　stutter　sounded　from　the　west；　announcing　death　for　more　of　the　foe。　The　horde
was　being　blasted　apart；　knots　of　them　disappearing　in　fountains　of　dust；　raining　back　to　earth　as
burnt　and　bloody　pieces。　Those　that　weren’t　killed　outright　by　the　high…explosive　shells　were
horribly　maimed　by　flying　shrapnel。　They　went　down　screaming　and　roaring　as　tank　fire　continued
to　scythe　into　their　ranks。
Even　those　orks　engaged　in　close…quarters　combat　couldn’t　help　themselves。　The　sounds　of
cannon　fire　reached　them　through　their　battle…lust。　For　just　a　second；　they　turned　their　heads　towards
the　source；　and　Stromm’s　fighters　pressed　their　momentary　advantage；　downing　scores　of　them；
forging　a　gap　across　which　they　could　once　more　employ　their　lasrifles　and　surviving　heavy
weapons。　The　Kasrkin　platoons　took　this　opportunity　to　press　in　from　the　right；　shifting　closer　to
Colonel　Stromm；　the　better　to　protect　him　and　react　faster　to　his　needs。
Through　the　space　that　had　opened；　Stromm　could　see　the　cause　of　his　company’s　unexpected
respite。　There；　on　the　western　flank；　a　great　dust　cloud　rose；　churning　up　from　the　desert　floor。　At　its
head；　ten　Cadian　tanks　charged　forward　in　an　assault　wedge。　Behind　them；　barely　visible　in　their
dusty　wake；　came　a　line　of　Heracles　halftracks　filled　to　the　brim　with　men　and　supply　crates。　It
looked　like　an　entire　armoured　company。　For　a　moment；　Stromm　thought　he　was　dreaming。
“Colonel；”　yelled　Kassel　excitedly；　“there’s　an　urgent　message　coming　through　from…　say
again…　roger　that…　from　a　Lieutenant　van　Droi；　sir。”
“Van　Droi？”　said　Stromm。　He　didn’t　recognise　the　name。　Most　of　Exolon’s　armour　was　with
10th　Division。　He　and　his　men　were　with　the　8th。　“Well；　don’t　keep　it　to　yourself；　Hans。　What’s　the
message？”
Kassel　beamed。
“To　dig　in；　sir。　Van　Droi　says　the　Gunheads　are　here。”
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CHAPTER　SIX
Gossefried’s　Gunheads　roared　forward；　guns　booming　like　thunder；　far　more　than　simple
promethium　fuelling　their　charge。　Disgust；　hatred；　the　desire　for　revenge；　all　of　these　things　and
more　filled　the　hearts　of　the　men　inside　the　massive；　rumbling　war　machines　as　they　surged　on；
desperate　to　cut　the　foe　down　before　it　was　too　late　for　their　fellow　Guardsmen。
For　Gossefried　van　Droi；　the　survival　of　the　embattled　Cadian　infantrymen　was　paramount。　Here
at　last；　after　days　travelling　through　the　desert　without　any　sign　whatsoever　that　others　had　survived
planetfall；　he　had　found　welcome　confirmation　that　his　Gunheads　were　not　alone。　Someone　else　had
survived　and；　right　now；　that　meant　everything　in　the　world　to　him。　But　they　wouldn’t　survive　much
longer　if　they　didn’t　get　the　aid　they　so　desperately　needed。
It　would　be　a　close　thing。　He　could　see　that　from　his　cupola。　Colonel　Stromm’s　footsloggers
were　on　their　last　legs。　That　much　was　all　too　clear；　despite　the　dust　and　black　smoke　that　shrouded
the　chaos　of　the　battlefield。
“Spread　out；”　van　Droi　ordered　his　tank　commanders　over　the　vox。　“Keep　your　main　guns
blazing。　I　want　secondary　weapons　on　those　hostiles　as　soon　as　you　make　range。　Don’t　spare　the
treads！　Our　brother　Cadians　are　dying　out　there！”
A　stutter　of　cannon　fire　from　the　tanks　on　either　side　was　answer　enough　for　him。　Up　ahead；　still
more　than　a　kilometre　away；　but　closer　with　every　passing　second；　pillars　of　sand　and　gore　burst　into
the　air。　Firing　on　the　move　meant　a　big　trade…off　in　accuracy　for　the　gunners；　but；　given　the　sheer
number　of　gargantuan　brown…bodies　in　front　of　them；　they　could　afford　to　be　sloppy。　What　they
couldn’t　afford　to　be　was　slow。
No　fear　of　that。　Their　engines　roared；　spewing　thick　black　fumes　out　behind　them；　powering　the
sixty…tonne　war　machines　forward　over　the　sand　with　surprising　speed。　Between　the　noise　of　his
engine　and　the　booming　of　his　powerful　main　gun；　van　Droi　could　hear　nothing　at　all　of　the　fighting
around　the　crashed　drop…ship。　He　didn’t　need　to　hear　it　to　know　how　badly　it　was　going。　As　his
tanks　crossed　the　one　kilometre　line；　he　gripped　the　pintle…mounted　heavy　bolter　in　front　of　him　and
made　ready　to　open　fire。　Much　of　the　mad　alien　horde　had　turned　its　aggression　towards　the　tanks；
knowing　they　posed　a　far　greater；　more　immediate　threat　than　the　infantry；　and　a　better　fight。　His
eyes　picked　out　the　biggest　orks；　long…tusked；　black…skinned　abominations　wearing　huge　suits　of
armour　and　carrying　ludicrously　oversized　blades。　He　saw　them　throw　back　their　heads　to　bellow
battle　cries　as　they　readied　the　rest　of　the　horde　to　charge。
Bring　it　on；　you　godless　freaks；　thought　van　Droi。　You　don’t　stand　a　frakker’s　chance　in　hell
against　my　10th　Company。
“Break　them　wide　open；　Gunheads；”　he　called　over　the　company　command　channel。　“Sword；
Hammer；　move　into　line　formation。　Rhaimes；　take　your　squadron　out　on　the　left　flank。　Angle　in　on
their　rear。　Wulfe；　Richter；　move　your　squadrons　straight　up。　Keep　the　pressure　on。　Not　one　of　those
alien　bastards　survives。　No　runners。”
“Spear　Leader　to　company　command；”　replied　Sergeant　Rhaimes。　“Read　you　loud　and　clear；　sir。
We’ll　make　them　wish　they’d　never　crawled　out　of　the　dirt。”
“Sword　Leader　to　command；”　voxed　Sergeant　Wulfe。　“Moving　into　formation。”
Sergeant　Richter　was　the　last　to　vox　in。　“Hammer　Squadron　confirming；　sir。　Moving　up　now。”
Van　Droi　looked　to　either　side　and　saw　his　tanks　fan　out　to　form　a　broad　fighting　line　abreast　of
his　machine。　Old　Smashbones；　The　Rage　Imperius　and　The　Adamantine　pressed　left；　bearing　north45
east　so　that　they　could　swing　in　on　the　greenskin　flanks　and　funnel　them　into　the　killing　zone。　As
van　Droi　watched；　flame　and　smoke　licked　out　from　their　barrels　and　the　air　shook　with　the　sound　of
exploding　propellant。
On　the　right；　the　tanks　of　Spear　and　Hammer　squadrons　were　also　keeping　the　pressure　on。　Not
all　of　them　were