Gunheads(科幻战争)-第16章

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exploding　propellant。
On　the　right；　the　tanks　of　Spear　and　Hammer　squadrons　were　also　keeping　the　pressure　on。　Not
all　of　them　were　fitted　with　standard　battle　cannon；　of　course。　Van　Droi’s　company　was　a　mixed
force；　glad　to　make　do　with　whatever　machines　it　could　get　its　hands　on。　As　he　always　impressed　on
the　new　meat；　what　the　Gunheads　lacked　in　uniformity；　they　made　up　in　versatility。　Who　gave　a
flying　damn　if　some　of　the　other　company　commanders　sneered？　Czurloch　and　Brismund　were　the
worst　for　it；　those　stuck…up　pricks。　Let　them　have　their　nice；　ordered　companies　of　identical
machines。　Specialise　too　much　in　one　thing；　van　Droi　knew；　and　you’d　be　properly　stuffed　when
some　bastard　suddenly　changed　the　rules。
That　didn’t　happen　to　his　Gunheads。
His　machine；　Foe…Breaker；　was　a　rare　and　highly　prized　Leman　Russ　Vanquisher　from　the
forges　of　Ryza。　She　was　hundreds　of　years　old　—　the　saints　alone　knew　how　many　kills　she’d　made
since　her　inception　—　but　she　still　excelled　at　taking　out　enemy　machines　with　her　120mm　smoothbore
cannon　and　its　highly　specialised；　armour…piercing　sabot　rounds。　No　other　Leman　Russ　could
fire　as　far　and　as　accurately；　and　van　Droi　conscientiously　prayed　to　her　machine…spirit　every　single
day；　making　obeisance　in　the　form　of　litanies　approved　by　the　regimental　enginseers。
All　this　love　and　attention　was　repaid　tenfold　in　her　performance。　She　had　added　another
armour…kill　to　her　tally　today　when　van　Droi’s　gunner；　“Bullseye”　Dietz；　had　lit　up　one　of　the　ugly
ork　artillery　pieces　like　a　bonfire。　It　was　still　gushing　red　flame　and　thick　black　smoke　into　the　sky。
Dietz　hadn’t　let　up；　either。　Van　Droi’s　loader　—　a　grumpy　little　short…arse　by　the　name　of　Waller　—
was　still　slamming　high…explosive　shells　into　the　main　gun’s　breech　with　all　the　speed　he　could
manage；　and　Dietz　wasn’t　wasting　them。　Every　time　the　gun　belched；　scores　of　orks　disintegrated；
turned　into　a　downpour　of　red　rain　that　muddied　the　desert　sand。
Seconds　now；　thought　van　Droi；　his　finger　beginning　to　squeeze　gently　on　the　heavy　bolter’s
trigger。　Just　a　few　more　seconds。
He　revelled　in　the　rush　of　hot　desert　air　as　it　whipped　at　his　collar。　Adrenaline　surged　through
him；　familiar　and　welcome。　Two　and　a　half　decades　of　this；　with　combat　experience　spanning　a
dozen　contested　worlds；　and　still　it　thrilled　him　like　nothing　else　ever　could。　He　would　never　tire　of
it；　never。
In　lethal　range；　he　pulled　the　heavy　bolter’s　trigger　back　and　loosed　a　flood　of　explosive　shells。
The　noise　was　deafening；　even　with　his　ear…protectors　firmly　in　place。　The　recoil　was　wicked；　too；
despite　much　of　it　being　absorbed　by　the　pintle…mount。　The　gun　kicked　hard　in　his　hands；　pouring
spent　cartridges　from　its　ejector　like　brass　rain。
He　strafed　the　orks　in　front　of　him　as　their　return　fire　danced　and　sparked　on　the　thick　front
armour　of　his　tank。　Dozens　were　struck；　bolts　punching　deep　into　meaty　bodies　before　detonating　a
fraction　of　a　second　later　with　sickening；　yet　satisfying　effect。
All　along　the　line；　his　tank　commanders　were　doing　the　same；　manning　the　heavy　stubbers　and
bolters　that　graced　the　lip　of　each　cupola。　Those　few　tanks　with　sponson…mounted　weapons
chattered　and　blazed　even　louder　than　the　others。　Hull…mounted　weapons；　too；　spat　deadly　torrents
into　the　enemy　force；　leaving　the　orks　nowhere　to　run　to　escape　the　slaughter。
Van　Droi　didn’t　shout　or　growl　or　laugh　madly　like　some　men　did　while　they　fired　on　the　foe。
That　was　for　youngsters　and　fools；　in　his　opinion。　Instead；　he　let　go　of　everything；　losing　his　sense
of　self；　becoming　part　of　a　kind　of　gestalt　entity　that　encompassed　the　tank　and　her　entire　crew。　The
fighting　always　seemed　to　go　so　smoothly　when　this　happened；　as　if　each　man　instinctively　knew
what　needed　to　be　done　without　having　to　ask。　The　mark　of　a　good　crew；　he　thought。　No。　An
exceptional　one。
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A　sudden　crackle　of　static　on　his　intercom　yanked　van　Droi　from　his　almost　trance…like　state。
The　gruff　voice　of　his　loader　sounded　in　his　ear。　“Vox…panel’s　flashing　down　here；　sir。　Looks　like
you’ve　got　a　call　coming　in　from　one　of　the　footsloggers。”
Van　Droi　picked　off　a　few　more　of　the　orks　nearest　Foe…Breaker　and　dropped　down　into　the
turret。　As　he　checked　the　board；　he　told　Dietz；　“Hostiles　closing　on　our　two。　Get　the　co…ax　on　them。”
Then；　he　switched　from　intercom　to　vox；　and　said；　“This　is　Lieutenant　Gossefried　van　Droi；　81st
Armoured　Regiment；　10th　Company。　Go　ahead。”
The　voice　that　came　back　had　the　sharp　ring　of　the　Cadian　upper　ranks；　but　it　sounded　tired　and
more　than　a　little　desperate；　too。　“This　is　Colonel　Stromm　of　the　98th　Mechanised　Infantry
Regiment。　Can　you　hear　me；　van　Droi？”
“I　can；　sir。”
“Emperor　bless　your　armoured　arse；　man！　You　and　your　men　got　here　just　in　the　nick　of　time。
Bought　us　a　bit　of　space　to　fight　back；　but　not　much。　I’ve　lost　a　lot　of　troopers；　and　it’s　far　from—”
He　cut　off　mid…sentence　to　issue　orders　to　his　men。　Van　Droi　could　hear　the　sounds　of　intense
fighting　from　the　other　end。　It　sounded　all　too　close　to　the　colonel’s　position。
“Van　Droi；　are　you　still　there？”　asked　the　gasping　colonel　a　moment　later。
“Yes；　sir。　What’s　your　status？　I　have　a　squadron　flanking　the　orks　from　the　rear　and　two
engaging　from　your　left；　but　you’ll　need　to　hold　out　a　bit　longer。　I　can’t　risk　firing　any　closer　to　your
position。　It　looked　like　one　of　our　earlier　salvoes　was　close　enough　to　shave　you。”
“I　needed　a　shave　anyway；”　said　Stromm。　“But　listen；　it’s　touch…and…go　here。　The　loss　of　their
artillery　turned　their　heads；　as　did　your　arrival；　and　we　made　them　pay。　They’re　fighting　on　two
fronts；　and　that　has　split　their　forces；　but　there　are　still　plenty　of　them　hell…bent　on　bloodying　us　up
in　a　bit　of　hand…to…hand。　I　don’t　need　to　tell　you　how　long　we’re　likely　to　last　at　that　range。　They
grow　the　bastards　tough　on　Golgotha；　and　our　backs　are　to　the　wall；　literally。　Short　of　moving　inside
what’s　left　of　the　drop…ship　hull；　there’s　nowhere　else　for　us　to　go；　and　I’ve　no　intention　of　getting
trapped　in　there。　It’s　suicide。　If　there’s　any　chance　you　can　create　a　corridor　for　us；　I　have　a　few
platoons　of　Kasrkin　that　might　be　able　to　hold　it　open　long　enough　to　facilitate　our　escape。”
Van　Droi　nodded　as　he　listened。　“You’ll　have　your　corridor；　sir。　I’ll　send　one　of　my　squadrons
up　flush　with　the　drop…ship。　They’ll　cut　a　path　in　towards　you。　Keep　your　men　back　until　the　last
moment。　There’ll　be　plenty　of　lead　in　the　air；　you　understand。”
“The　more　the　better；”　replied　Stromm。　Grunting　and　shouting　almost　drowned　out　his　words。
Chilling　ork　battle　cries　could　be　heard　clearly　in　the　background　and；　despite　the　security　of　his
tank；　van　Droi　felt　his　blood　run　cold。　He　knew　he　had　to　order　Wulfe’s　tanks　forward　at　once。
Sword　Squadron　fielded　the　company’s　only　Leman　Russ　Exterminator；　New　Champion　of　Cerbera。
She　would　be　best　suited　for　the　job。
“As　soon　as　you　can；　van　Droi；”　Stromm　added。　“The　Emperor　protects。　Stromm；　out。”
Van　Droi　immediately　switched　back　over　to　the　company　command　channel　and　said；
“Command　to　Sword　Leader。　Respond；　Wulfe。”
“Sword　Leader　to　Command；”　Sergeant　Wulfe　voxed　back。　“Go　ahead；　sir。”
Van　Droi　could　hear　the　drumming　of　a　heavy　stubber　between　the　sergeant’s　words。
“Listen　up；　Wulfe；”　he　said。　“I　have　friendlies　in　urgent　need　of　an　escape　corridor。　I　want　the
New　Champion　on　it。　Understood？　Move　your　squad　up　and　cut　a　path　flush　with　the　ship’s　hull。　Let
the　wreck　cover　the　footsloggers’　backs。　Carve　them　a　path　to　safety。　Colonel　Stromm　has　the　vox；
F…channel；　band　six。”
There　was　only　the　briefest　pause　before　Wulfe　responded　—　“Wulfe　to　Company　Command。
Sove。”　—　but　van　Droi　could　read　into　it　easily　enough。
Wulfe　was　probably　cursing。　New　Champion　of　Cerbera　was　Corporal　Lenck’s　machine。
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“Let’s　take　it　to　them；”　Wulfe　told　his　crew　over　the　intercom。　“Metzger；　get　her　in　close；　three
hundred　metres；　a　hull…down　position　if　you　can　find　one。　Expect　plenty　of　fire。”　Last　Rites　II
gunned　forward；　churning　up　the　desert　under　her　treads；　throwing　waves　of　sand　up　behind　her。
Wulfe　dropped　down　into　the　turret　to　switch　vox　channels。　Once　he　had　opened　the　link　to　his
squadron；　he　said；　“Sword　Leader　to　One　and　Two。　Orders　from　van　Droi。　We’re　going　in。　New
Champion；　move　up　on　my　right　and　open　a　corridor　for　the　infantry。　Cut　a　path　in　line　with　the
wreckage　so　their　backs　are　covered。　And　try　not　to　hit　the　friendlies；　Lenck。　Last　Rites　II　and
Frontline　Crusader　will　give　supporting　fire　centre　and　left。　Frontline　Crusader；　stop　parallel　with
me；　fifty　metre　spacing。　Hammer　Squadron　will　be　supporting　us　from　the　rear。　Confirm。”
Corporal　Siemens　came　back　first。　“Frontline　Crusader　confirms；　sergeant。　Moving　up　to　cover
your　left。　The　Emperor　protects。”
“The　Emperor　protects；”　Wulfe　replied　automatically。
“New　Champion　confirms；”　reported　Lenck　a　moment　later。　“Watch　and　learn；　sergeant。”
“Stow　the　backchat；　corporal；”　Wulfe　spat　back。　“Just　do　your　job。”　He　had　seen　enough　of
Lenck　during　training　exercises　in　the　massive　holds　of　the　Hand　of　Radiance　to　know　that　he　was
good　—　far　better；　in　fact；　than　could　be　expected　given　his　level　of　combat　experience　—　but　Wulfe
wasn’t　about　to　let　Lenck　know　that。　The　man　was　already　infuriatingly　cocky。
With　Last　Rites　II　just　edging　in　front；　the　three　tanks　of　Sword　Squadron　closed　with　the
charging　orks。　Wulfe　scrambled　back　up　into　his　cupola　and　grasped　the　twin　grips　of　his　heavy
stubber。　Looking　out　at　the　wall　of　roaring　brown　bodies　that　surged　towards　him；　he　realised　that　he
barely　needed　to　aim。　Anywhere　he　fired；　he　was　sure　hit　something。　Hardly　pausing　to　line　up
along　the　weapon’s　iron　sights；　he　pressed　his　thumbs　down　hard　on　the　gun’s　butterfly　trigger。
There　was　a　deafening　rattle　as　the　stubber　unloaded　on　the　alien　horde；　cutting　dozens　of　them　to
pieces。　It　was　a　strange；　darkly　comical　sight；　one　that　Wulfe　had　witnessed　before。　The　bulky　alien
savages　appeared　to　dance　a　deathly　jig　as　they　were　literally　chewed　apart　by　the　hail　of　lead。
Corporal　Metzger　stopped　Last　Rites　II　just　behind　a　shallow