Gunheads(科幻战争)-第32章

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the　grunts’　mess。　He　wondered　idly　if　the　food　and　drink　was　any　better。
Even　here；　inside　this　building；　the　orks　had　painted　typically　crude　images　of　the　things　that
generally　occupied　their　tiny　minds：　guns；　blades；　skulls；　strange　gods；　and　much　more　besides。
Many　of　the　scrawls　were　so　obscure；　so　badly　rendered　that　Wulfe　couldn’t　begin　to　guess　what
they　might　represent。　Some　effort　had　been　made　to　cover　them　up；　of　course；　but　there　were　so
many。　They　were　literally　everywhere。　As　he　had　walked　here；　Wulfe　had　seen　miserable　troopers
plastering　the　walls　with　propaganda　material　from　the　Departmento　Munitorum。　It　was　a　minor
punishment　detail。　The　commissars　had　ordered　it。　One　of　the　posters　near　Wulfe’s　assigned
barracks　building　had　caught　his　eye。　Check　your　kills！　it　ordered。　There　was　a　well　painted　image
of　a　big；　strong　Cadian　trooper　blowing　an　ork’s　brains　out　as　it　lay　limp　on　the　ground。　The　bottom
of　the　poster　read：
Destroying　the　brain　will　put　most　targets　down　for　good！
The　ork　in　the　poster　was　a　damned　sight　smaller　than　any　of　the　ones　Wulfe　had　met；　but　there
was　no　denying　the　artist’s　talent。　His　or　her　work　graced　a　number　of　other　posters；　too。　Most　were
concerned　with　showing　proper　reverence　to　the　Emperor　and　the　authority　of　his　agents；　from　the
political　to　the　theological。　Others　yet　bore　the　seal　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　and　offered　concise
reminders　on　the　proper　care　and　operation　of　standard…issue　field　equipment。
It　wasn’t　that　the　troops　needed　reminding　—　their　drill　sergeants　back　on　Cadia　had　seen　to　that
with　an　abundance　of　cruel　enthusiasm　—　but　leaving　the　walls　of　an　Imperial　base　covered　in　ork
iconography；　no　matter　how　short　the　intended　stay；　was　tantamount　to　heresy　under　Imperial　Law。
The　mess　hall　was　busy。　The　air　was　filled　with　the　constant　hum　of　conversation；　and　no　one
paid　him　much　attention。　Wulfe　soon　spotted　van　Droi　at　a　table　on　the　far　left。　The　lieutenant　was
sitting　with　a　number　of　officers　from　the　other　companies　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment。　As
Wulfe　walked　over　to　present　himself；　he　noted　how　damned　tired　his　company　commander　was
looking。　The　others　didn’t　look　much　better。　Golgotha　hadn’t　been　particularly　kind　to　any　of　them。
“Sergeant　Wulfe　reporting　as　ordered；　sir；”　he　said；　saluting　stiffly。　The　men　seated　around　the
table　looked　up。
“At　ease；　Wulfe；”　said　van　Droi　around　a　mouthful　of　food。　Wulfe　glanced　at　the　lieutenant’s
plate　automatically　and　saw　a　dark；　thick　slice　of　meal…brick。　It　looked　hard　and　cold。　So；　he
thought；　the　food　isn’t　any　better。　They’re　on　the　same　rations　as　us　grunts。
He　took　no　satisfaction　in　the　knowledge。　He　wouldn’t　have　grudged　the　lieutenant　a　better
standard　of　fare。
“Take　a　seat；　Oskar；”　said　van　Droi；　indicating　an　empty　chair　at　the　corner　of　the　table。
Wulfe　hesitated；　looking　at　the　other　officers。　Most　were　busy　chewing　or　chatting　to　their
neighbours。　A　few　smiled　at　him　or　nodded。　Wulfe　recognised　Captain　Immrich　among　them；
Colonel　Vinnemann’s　right…hand　man；　tipped　to　replace　him　if　the　old　tiger　ever　got　bored　of　his
quest　for　vengeance。
“I　wouldn’t　want　to　impose　on　the　captain　and　his　companions；　sir。”
“None　of　that；　sergeant；”　laughed　Captain　Immrich。　“Sit　down　at　once。　Let’s　not　make　it　an
order。　You’ll　find　none　of　that　classist　crap　at　my　table。　Isn’t　that　right；　gentlemen？”
The　other　officers　agreed；　though　some　less　readily　than　others。　Wulfe　bowed　a　little　to　the
captain；　and　then　sat　down；　stiff　as　a　board。　Immrich　noted　it；　grinned　and　shook　his　head。　“We’ve
met　before；　sergeant；”　he　said；　“aboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance。　You　remember？”
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“I　do；　sir。”
“Just　after　that　blasted　mercy　run　we　sent　you　on。”　He　turned　to　the　other　officers　and　added；
“The　Kurdheim　affair；”　before　turning　back　to　Wulfe。　“Bad　business　that。　You　should　never　have
been　sent　back　out　there　with　so　little　time　left。”
Damned　right　we　shouldn’t；　thought　Wulfe　angrily；　remembering　the　men　who　had　given　their
lives　that　day。　Not　that　it　was　Immrich’s　fault。
The　captain　seemed　to　read　Wulfe’s　mind。　Tremendous　pressure　from　up　top　on　that　one。　The
damned　Officio　Strategos　were　adamant　about　it。　Colonel　Vinnemann　objected　from　the　start；　but　it
was　never　going　to　count　for　much。　Did　those　posthumous　decorations　ever　come　through　for　the
other　two？　Medallion　Crimson；　second　class；　wasn’t　it？”
This　question　was　directed；　not　at　Wulfe；　but　at　van　Droi；　who　forced　down　a　dry　mouthful　of
meal…brick　before　answering。
“Sergeants　Kohl　and　Strieber；”　he　said；　sorrow　stealing　across　his　face。　“No　medals。　I　must’ve
pushed　for　them　half　a　dozen　times。　Damned　OS　classified　the　whole　operation　Zenith　Eyes　Only。
Officially　speaking；　it　never　even　happened。　All　the　normal　channels　are　closed。”
Immrich’s　smile　had　vanished。
“Damned　Strategos　have　a　lot　to　answer　for；”　he　hissed。　“How　many　Imperial　heroes　have　died
unsung　on　account　of　those　pen…pushing　bastards；　I　wonder。　I’m　sure　Sergeant　Wulfe　here　deserves
a　medal　for　what　he　went　through。”
“The　captain　is　too　kind；”　Wulfe　said　absently。　He　was　thinking；　not　of　medals；　but　of　the
ghostly　vision　he　had　seen　that　day。
What　I　went　through；　he　thought？　You　don’t　know　the　half　of　it。
Another　officer　piped　up；　eager　to　guide　the　conversation　in　a　slightly　different　direction。
“Decorations　aplenty；”　he　said；　“when　our　General　deViers　gets　his　name　in　the　history　books；
though；　what？”
It　was　Hal　Keissler；　a　sturdy；　heavy…browed　lieutenant　with　deep…set　eyes。　He　was　commander
of　the　regiment’s　2nd　Company；　Colonel　Vinnemann’s　number　three　man；　and　something　of　an
occasional　rival　to　Immrich。　Wulfe　wasn’t　overly　fond　of　him　—　the　man’s　love　of　extreme　physical
discipline　bordered　on　sadism　—　but　he　knew　him　for　a　solid　battlefield　commander。　The　ribbons
and　tin　on　his　chest　had　been　earned　fair　and　square；　just　like　van　Droi’s。
Immrich　laughed；　changing　his　mood　in　short　order。　“We　all　know　how　much　you　and　your　boys
love　a　bit　of　decoration；　Hal。　Tell　you　what；　if　you　leave　now；　you　could　have　The　Fortress　of
Arrogance　back　here　before　breakfast。　They　might　even　give　you　a　damned　governorship　for　that。”
The　others　laughed；　and　Wulfe　joined　in　politely；　though　not　loud　enough　to　draw　attention　to
himself。　In　his　head；　he　was　thinking；　frak　your　bits　of　tin。　If　Strieber　and　Kohl　couldn’t　get　theirs；
why　in　the　blasted　Eye　should　anyone　else？　They　served　the　Golden　Throne　with　honour　and
courage。　They　gave　their　lives。
As　the　officers　embarked　on　a　round　of　good…natured　jibes；　Wulfe　leaned　across　to　van　Droi　and
said　pointedly；　“If　you　don’t　mind；　sir…　What　was　it　you　wanted　to　see　me　about？”
Van　Droi　had　been　chuckling　at　the　banter　of　the　other　men。　When　he　looked　across　at　Wulfe；
ho　his　face。
“Markus　is　sick；　Oskar。”
“Rhaimes？”　asked　Wulfe；　taken　aback。　His　fellow　sergeant　had　been　goggled　and　masked　last
time　they　had　talked；　but　he　had　seemed　healthy　enough。
“He’s　in　a　medicae　bed　right　now。　Held　out　as　long　as　he　could。　He　wanted　to　see　his　crew　to
safety；　at　the　very　least。　It　all　caught　up　with　him　just　as　we　came　in。”
“What’s　wrong　with　him？”
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“It’s　the　fines；　mostly；”　said　van　Droi。　He　sipped　from　his　glass　of　water；　and　then　placed　it
heavily　on　the　table。　“He’s　having　a　bad　reaction　to　the　build…up　in　his　body。　Allergic；　apparently。
He　can’t　command　anymore；　not　in　his　current　state。”
“How　long　will　he　be　out？　Days？　Weeks？”
Van　Droi　locked　eyes　with　Wulfe。　“I　won’t　sugar…coat　it；　Oskar。　We’re　not　talking　about
recovery。　We’re　talking　about　death。　You　saw　what　happened　to　those　lads　who　got　sick　on　our　way
across　the　desert。　You　heard　Colonel　Stromm’s　medics。　Even　with　the　facilities　here　at　Balkar；
Markus　will　die　unless　he　gets　off　this　planet　soon。　And　he’s　not　alone。　The　beds　are　full　of　sick
troopers。”　He　pointed　at　the　back　of　Wulfe’s　hand。　“More　to　come；　too。　Don’t　pretend　you　haven’t
noticed　the　colour　change。”
Wulfe　looked　down　at　his　fingers。　The　reddish　tinge　was　undeniable。
“I　don’t　get　it；　sir；”　he　said。　“Golgotha　was　a　Mechanicus　world　once。　They　must’ve　had
millions　of　workers　here。　How　did　they　manage？”
“If　I　get　the　chance　to　ask　them；　I’ll　let　you　know；　sergeant。　Maybe　the　planet　has　changed　since
then。　Perhaps　the　factory…settlements　were　sealed　somehow。　I　think　most　of　them　were　in　the　polar
zones；　anyway。　It　hardly　matters　now；　does　it？”
Wulfe　couldn’t　miss　the　bitterness　in　van　Droi’s　voice。　Rhaimes　and　the　lieutenant　had　been
good　friends　for　longer　than　Wulfe　had　known　either　man。
“I’m　sorry　to　hear　about　Rhaimes；　sir；”　said　Wulfe。　“I’ll　offer　prayers　to　the　Emperor　that　he
pulls　through。　With　luck　and　a　blessing；　we’ll　find　Yarrick’s　tank　quickly；　and　the　sick　will　be　lifted
out　in　time。　I　should　visit　him。”
“No；　Oskar；”　said　van　Droi。　“He　doesn’t　want　that。　Respect　his　wishes。”
Wulfe　couldn’t　find　anything　to　say　to　that。
“General　deViers　is　expected　tomorrow；”　continued　van　Droi。　“He’s　flying　in。　According　to
Major　General　Bergen；　he’s　keen　not　to　waste　any　time。　The　major　general　has　been　in　regular
contact　with　him　via　a　cable…based　communications　system　that　the　tech…priests　set　up。　Didn’t　quite
get　the　gist　of　it　myself；　but　at　least　it　seems　to　be　more　reliable　than　the　bloody　vox。　Anyway；　the
general　wants　all　forward　elements　to　be　ready　for　deployment　on　his　arrival。　Gives　you　about
fourteen　hours；　Wulfe。　How　serious　are　the　repairs　you　need？”
“She　just　needs　a　new　radiator；　new　fuel　lines；　new　filters；　and　a　bit　of　love　from　the　cogboys；
sir。　She’ll　be　good　to　go　after　that。　I’d　say　eight　or　nine　hours；　give　or　take。”
“Good；”　said　van　Droi；　“but　it’s　not　just　the　condition　of　your　tank　that　concerns　me　right　now。”
He　stared　at　Wulfe　without　blinking。　“Listen；　I’m　sorry　to　do　this　to　you；　but　I　have　to　pull　Corporal
Holtz　off　your　crew。”
Wulfe　felt　like　he　had　been　slapped　in　the　face。　“Holtz？　You　must　be　bloody　joking；　sir！　He’s
only　just　mastered　the　main　gun。　You　already　stripped　Viess　out。　Now　you’re　reassigning　his
replacement？　What’s　it　about？”
“War　is　what　it’s　about；