Gunheads(科幻战争)-第30章

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all　tired；　but　we’re　almost　home。　See　it　through。”
When　each　of　the　tanks　had　confirmed　and　rumbled　into　position；　he　gave　the　order　and　they　all
moved　out。
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CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
Balkar；　like　all　of　the　old　Imperial　ruins　out　in　the　equatorial　desert；　was　a　fortified　base　built　on　a
rocky　upthrust　that　had　endured　the　onslaught　of　the　wind…borne　sands。　The　orks　had　moved　in　as
soon　as　the　Imperial　forces　had　retreated　but；　in　all　those　years；　they　had　done　little　to　change　the
base　other　than　to　fill　its　streets　with　rusting　junk。　Several　of　the　structures；　mostly　barracks
buildings　and　concrete　garages；　had　collapsed　in　on　themselves　under　the　weight　of　the　sand　that
had　accumulated　on　their　broad　roofs。　Other　structures　had　once　been　decorated　with　proud　Imperial
iconography；　but　the　winds　had　eaten　it　away　to　almost　nothing；　sandblasting　the　exposed　surfaces
smooth。　The　orks　had　subsequently　covered　them　in　childishly　rendered　glyphs　and　impenetrable
scrawls　of　alien　gibberish。
Much　of　the　metal　used　in　the　construction　of　the　base　was　flaking　away。　The　rest；　anything　that
the　orks　had　thought　to　utilise　for　the　modification　of　their　strange　war　machines；　had　been　stripped
out；　leaving　bunkers　without　doors　and　barracks　buildings　without　shutters。
To　anyone　looking　down　from　the　air；　the　base　would　have　appeared　hexagonal　in　plan；　though
not　symmetrical；　designed　with　uneven　sides　to　take　full　advantage　of　all　the　space　afforded　by　the
broad；　flat　rock　underneath。　There　were　a　number　of　wells；　cut　straight　down；　very　deep　into　the
ground。　Unfortunately　for　the　18th　Army　Group；　they　contained　no　water。　They　must　have　dried　up
long　ago。　The　base’s　former　occupants　—　the　great　greenskin　horde　that　Major　General　Killian’s
men　had　fought　so　hard　to　eliminate　—　had　been　using　them　as　latrines。　Killian　had　ordered　them
sealed。
It　was　the　topic　of　water　discipline　that　Colonel　Vinnemann　was　discussing　with　his　staff　when　a
runner　from　Major　General　Bergen’s　office　interrupted；　bringing　him　some　rare　good　news。
Vinnemann’s　expression　said　it　all　as　he　sat　listening；　a　mixture　of　disbelief　and　joy　lighting　his
battle…scarred　features。　The　look　was　mirrored　on　the　faces　of　his　staff　officers。
“Say　that　again；　son；”　he　told　the　runner。　The　words　had　gushed　out　of　the　gasping　lad’s　mouth。
Vinnemann　wasn’t　sure　he　had　heard　them　correctly。
“Lieutenant　van　Droi　calling　for　you　on　the　vox；　sir。　He　and　his　10th　Company　are　heading
towards　our　position　with　the　remnants　of　Colonel　Stromm’s　98th　Mechanised　Infantry　Regiment。
The　major　general　thought　you　would　want　to　know；　sir。”
Vinnemann　clapped　his　hands　together。
“Did　you　hear　that；　Alex？”　he　asked　his　adjutant。　The　young　man　nodded；　smiling。　Vinnemann
barked　out　a　laugh。　“Fine　officer；　that　van　Droi。　Fine　officer！　I　knew　he’d　get　his　boys　through。
Come　on；　you　lot。　We　must　welcome　them！”　He　turned　to　the　runner。　“Which　direction　are　they
approaching　from；　son？”
“From　the　south…east；　sir；”　replied　the　young　man。　He；　too；　was　smiling；　infected　by　the
colonel’s　open　joy。
“They’re　about　two　hours　out。　They’ll　enter　through　the　south　gates。　The　Sentinel　pilots　who
picked　up　their　transmissions　are　guiding　them　in。”
“Outstanding；”　said　Vinnemann。　He　grasped　the　head　of　his　cane　and　struggled　to　his　feet；
wincing　for　a　moment　with　the　pain　that　shot　through　his　back。　It　would　soon　be　time　for　more
blasted　injections；　but　he　wouldn’t　let　the　thought　of　that　spoil　this　wonderful　moment。　His　10th
Company　had　survived。　Gossefried’s　Gunheads　were　returning　to　the　fold。　Say　what　you　liked　about
them　—　and　certain　officers　had　plenty　to　say　—　they　were　a　bloody　resilient　lot。
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When　General　deViers　ordered　Vinnemann’s　regiment　east　to　secure　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance
at　last；　every　single　one　of　his　companies　would　be　accounted　for。　Rolling　Thunder　would　be
deploying　in　full　strength。　It　would　do　wonders　for　the　regiment’s　morale。
From　his　cupola；　Wulfe　saw　the　walls　of　the　base　appear　through　the　dusty　pink　haze　in　the　distance。
They　rose　from　atop　a　rocky　mound　with　a　gentle；　easy　gradient　on　one　side；　and　they　were　topped
with　watchtowers　and　weapons　batteries。　He　could　see　long　barrels　protruding　from　the　oldfashioned
crenellations；　even　at　this　distance。　Home　at　last；　he　thought；　for　home；　to　him；　was　with
the　rest　of　the　regiment。　Sure；　there　was　competition；　even　the　odd　bitter　rivalry；　between　the
companies　of　the　81st。　What　regiment　didn’t　endure　such　things？　But　they　were　all　tankers　together
in　the　end；　and　all　of　them　were　Cadians；　and　therefore　brothers　when　it　came　to　the　fight　for
mankind’s　survival。　It　would　be　good　to　see　old　Vinnemann　again；　to　know　that　the　man　was　still　up
front；　leading　as　few　other　officers　of　his　rank　dared　to　do。　Wulfe　was　surprised　at　how　much　that
thought　suddenly　meant　to　him。　Lieutenant　van　Droi　was　a　great　man　and　company　commander　in
own　right　—　he　was　direct；　honest　and　approachable；　though　he　could　be　bastard　hard　at　times　—
but　Vinnemann　was　practically　a　legend　among　his　men。　His　refusal　to　lie　down　and　die　when　other
men　would　certainly　have　done　so　epitomised　the　unrelenting　spirit　that　Rolling　Thunder　was
famous　for。
“Can’t　believe　we　made　it　back　to　the　rest　of　the　pack；”　muttered　Holtz　over　the　intercom。
“Never　thought　we’d　live　to　see　this。”
“Can’t　wait　to　sleep　in　a　proper　bunk　again；”　said　Siegler。
Metzger　was　typically　silent；　concentrating　on　keeping　Last　Rites　II　in　formation　behind　the　tank
in　front　as　the　walls　of　Balkar　loomed　ever　larger　in　his　vision　slit。
“Do　you　think　they’ll　have　water　and　food　waiting　for　us；　sarge？”　Siegler　asked。
“They　had　bloody　well　better；”　griped　Holtz。　“I’ve　been　running　on　fumes　for　the　last　three　days。
I’ll　die　if　I　have　to　drink　recycled　piss　again。　Fit　to　collapse；　I　am。　Someone’ll　have　to　help　me　out　of
the　hatch。”
“I’m　sure　the　Officio　Logistica　has　taken　our　supply　needs　into　consideration；”　said　Wulfe。
“Balkar　is　the　launching　point　for　the　general’s　big　gambit；　right？　He　won’t　have　left　anything　to
chance。　First　thing　I’ll　do　after　we　dismount　is　find　the　mess　hall。　I’ll　bloody　well　faint　if　they　try　to
debrief　me　first。”
The　others　laughed　at　that。　Even　Metzger。　No　one　would　be　trying　to　debrief　him。　Only　the　tank
commanders　would　have　to　deal　with　that；　and；　as　far　as　fainting　was　concerned；　they　all　knew　that
their　sergeant　had　only　collapsed　once　in　his　life　—　that　day　so　many　years　ago　when　an　ork　had　cut
his　throat。　Blood　loss　had　knocked　him　unconscious；　but　the　medic　that　had　leapt　onto　the　tank’s
turret　to　save　him　had　got　there　just　in　time。　That　very　medic；　Wulfe　later　found　out；　had　died　a　few
days　later；　captured　in　a　raid　and　tortured　to　death　in　a　greenskin　camp。　A　mop…up　detail　had　found
his　body　hanging　from　a　makeshift　gibbet；　hands；　feet　and　other　parts　lopped　off。　He　had　been　taken
while　trying　to　save　a　wounded　trooper　on　open　ground。
Wulfe　was　still　about　the　business　of　avenging　him；　and　only　death　would　ever　make　him　stop。
In　that　sense；　he　felt　a　great　closeness　with　Colonel　Vinnemann；　though　he　had　only　ever　spoken　to
the　man　twice　in　person。　Vinnemann’s　never…ending　quest　to　avenge　his　wife　was　well　known。
Look　at　what　he　endures　to　pursue　it；　thought　Wulfe；　having　heard　stories　of　the　endless　pain　the
colonel　suffered。
As　the　tanks　and　halftracks　got　closer　and　closer　to　Balkar；　a　strange　noise　began　to　cut　into
Wulfe’s　uplifted　mood。　It　came　from　the　rear　of　his　tank；　and　Wulfe　knew　at　once　that　something
had　gone　wrong。　Metzger　reported　over　the　intercom　a　moment　later　that　the　engine’s　temperature
was　increasing　rapidly。　Wulfe　checked　the　rear　vision　blocks　and　saw　thick　black　smoke　pouring　out
of　the　back　of　his　tank　from　beneath　the　metal　engine　covers。
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“The　blasted　radiator　has　packed　in；”　he　told　his　crew。　“Metzger；　warp　damn　it；　can　we　at　least
make　it　inside　the　gates？　Tell　me　we　can！”
Before　the　driver　could　answer；　Last　Rites　II　gave　a　great　shudder　and　stopped　dead　in　her
tracks。　Wulfe　cursed　so　long　and　loud　that　he　almost　went　hoarse。　He　watched　the　other　vehicles
move　up　from　behind；　come　abreast　of　him；　and　then　overtake。　New　Champion　of　Cerbera　passed
within　a　metre　on　the　right。　The　vox　board　started　blinking。　Wulfe；　thinking　it　must　be　van　Droi；
immediately　opened　the　link。
“Oh　dear；　oh　dear；　sergeant；”　said　a　smug　voice。　“Looks　like　you’ve　pushed　the　old　girl　too　hard
at　last。　Time　she　was　put　out　to　pasture；　don’t　you　think？”
“What　the　frak　do　you　want；　Lenck？”　Wulfe　growled　back。　“Just　calling　to　gloat？　Frivolous　use
of　vox…communications　during　an　operation…　that’s　a　punishable　offence。　Old　Crusher　would　love
to　hear　about　that。”
“Get　over　yourself；　sergeant。　I　was　just　voxing　to　see　if　you　and　your　men　would　like　a　lift　into
base。　There’s　room　on　the　track…guards。　Can’t　have　you　sitting　out　here　like　idiots；　embarrassing　the
lieutenant　and　the　rest　of　the　company　like　that。”
Wulfe　gritted　his　teeth。　He　would　rather　dance　naked　at　the　general’s　next　banquet　than　let　that
weasel…faced　son…of…a…bitch　gloat　over　this　for　the　rest　of　his　hopefully　short　life。　Last　Rites　II　had
been　running　smooth　ever　since　they　had　left　the　crashed　drop…ship。　All　the　other　tanks　—　all　of
them　—　had　needed　to　stop　sooner　or　later　for　field　repairs；　but　not　her。
So　why　in　the　warp　had　she　chosen　now　to　break　down？
Wulfe　smacked　a　fist　against　the　inside　of　her　turret　and　said；　“Damn　it；　girl。　Couldn’t　you　have
waited　a　few　more　kilometres？”　Then　he　hit　the　transmit　stud　and　said　to　Lenck；　“Move　on；
corporal；　before　my　gunner　blows　you　into　the　hereafter。”
“Such　hostility；　sergeant。　Save　it　for　the　greenskins；　why　don’t　you？　New　Champion　is　moving
on。　Maybe　we’ll　see　you　in　the　mess　hall。　We’ll　try　to　leave　some　food　for　you；　but　no　promises。
Lenck；　out。”
Wulfe　cut　the　link　and　roared　with　frustration　in　his　turret。　“This　stupid　old　bucket！　She　couldn’t
have　picked　a　worse　time！　We’ll　be　the　laughing　stock　of　the　whole　damned　base。”
“Yes　she　could；”　said　Metzger。　His　voice　was　almost　a　growl。
“What？”　said　Wulfe。　It　was　rare　for　Metzger　to　speak　up；