Gunheads(科幻战争)-第37章

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place　for　him　to　prove　his　boxing　skills；　though。　Brawling　would　mean　the　lash　if　Crusher　found　out。
“Lenck；”　said　Wulfe　in　a　growl；　“get　your　mongrels　away　from　here　before　something　happens
that　you’ll　regret。”
The　big　one；　Varnuss；　stepped　to　Lenck’s　side；　rolling　his　shoulders　and　stretching　his　neck。
Wulfe　glimpsed　ganger　tattoos　under　the　collar　of　his　tunic。　Was　he　just　posturing；　wondered　Wulfe；
or　was　he　really　stupid　enough　to　make　trouble　with　a　senior　man？　Both　possibilities　seemed　equally
credible　at　that　moment。
Posturing　or　not；　it　was　only　when　Lenck　put　out　a　hand　and　stopped　Varnuss　from　advancing
that　the　big　man　seemed　to　reconsider。
“Come　on；　you　lot；”　Lenck　told　his　crew　in　mock　exasperation。　“Looks　like　we’d　better　go　back
to　the　depot　and　get　some　more　coolant。”
Muttering　and　cursing；　the　crew　of　the　New　Champion　turned　and　fell　in　behind　Lenck　as　he
stalked　off。　After　a　few　paces；　however；　Lenck　stopped　and　turned。　He　pointed　at　Siegler；　though　his
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eyes　were　locked　on　Wulfe’s　as　he　said；　“With　respect；　sergeant；　you　might　want　to　keep　your　pet
moron　on　a　leash　in　future。”
Wulfe　felt　something　snap　inside　him。　He　bolted　straight　at　Lenck　and　grabbed　him　roughly　by
the　collar；　hauling　him　up　on　his　tiptoes。　Other　hands　immediately　tried　to　free　Lenck；　tugging　at
Wulfe’s　wrists　in　vain；　trying　to　break　a　grip　that　was　like　solid　steel。
“What’re　you　going　to　do？”　Lenck　sneered；　looking　down　his　nose　at　Wulfe　without　a　hint　of
worry。　“You　know　the　regs。”
Wulfe　growled。　“I　ought　to　rip　your　bloody　tongue　out；　you　piece　of　garbage。”
“But　you　know　you’d　pay　for　it；”　said　Lenck。
“That’s　where　you’re　wrong；　Lenck。　It　doesn’t　go　both　ways。　I　could　beat　you　to　within　an　inch
of　your　life；　and　no　commissar　could　touch　me　for　it。”
Lenck’s　eyes　narrowed。　His　voice　became　a　hiss。　“I　wasn’t　talking　about　commissars。”
There　was　a　sudden　shout　from　atop　Last　Rites　II。　It　was　Beans。
“Good　morning；　commissar！　How　are　you？”
Wulfe　turned　and　saw　a　dark　figure　emerge　from　between　two　tanks　about　a　hundred　metres
away。　His　grip　automatically　loosened　on　Lenck’s　collar　and　the　younger　man　wrenched　himself
away。
When　Wulfe　turned　around　to　face　Lenck　again；　the　corporal　was　smiling　sardonically。
“I’m　sure　we’ll　have　a　chance　to　pick　this　up　again　sometime；　sergeant；”　he　said。　“In　the
meantime；　my　crew　has　work　to　do。　Excuse　us。”
Wulfe　watched　them　go；　fists　clenched　white　at　his　sides。　How　far　would　I　have　gone？　he　asked
himself。　Would　I　have　killed　him？　Could　I　have　stopped　myself？　He　remembered　the　panic　he　had
felt　as　Victor　Dunst’s　gang　had　restrained　him　all　those　years　ago　on　Cadia。　He　winced　as　he
recalled　the　pain　of　Dunst’s　knife　being　pushed　into　his　torso。　He　heard　the　laughter　of　the　gangers；
laughter　that　turned　to　curses　when　they　heard　the　siren　of　the　Civitas　patrol　car。
Lenck’s　crew　cast　filthy　looks　back　at　him　over　their　shoulders　as　they　went；　all　of　them　but
Lenck。
He’s　not　Dunst；　Wulfe　told　himself。　For　Throne’s　sake；　he’s　not　Dunst。
When　Lenck　was　about　twenty…five　metres　away；　he　turned　back　towards　Wulfe　without
breaking　stride　and　called　out　to　him。　Just　five　words。　Five　little　words。　But　they　hit　Wulfe　like　a
flurry　of　bolter　shells　that　detonated　in　his　mind。
Wulfe　was　struck　motionless。　He　saw　Lenck　laugh；　then　turn　around　and　lead　his　men　off
between　two　rows　of　Chimeras。
A　hard；　sharp　voice　at　his　shoulder　woke　Wulfe　from　his　paralysis。　“What’s　going　on；　sergeant？”
Wulfe　turned　to　meet　the　icy　stare　of　Commissar　Slayte；　his　eyes　glittering　in　the　shadow　of　the
brim　of　his　black　cap。
“Not　sure　what　you　mean；　commissar；”　said　Wulfe　readying　to　move　off　towards　his　tank。　The
commissar　moved　faster。　Wulfe　felt　a　heavy　mechanical　hand　grasp　his　upper　arm。
Crusher　turned　his　eyes　in　the　direction　Lenck　and　his　men　had　taken；　but　they　were　gone　from
view。　After　a　pause；　he　leaned　in　towards　Wulfe　and　said；　“You’ve　been　away　from　your　vox…set；　so
maybe　you　haven’t　heard；　but　Colonel　Vinnemann　has　ordered　the　regiment　to　muster　at　the　east
gate。　We　leave　Balkar　in　fifteen　minutes。　Make　sure　your　people　are　ready；　Sergeant　Wulfe。　I’ll
make　a　very　memorable　example　of　anyone　that　isn’t。”
Wulfe　looked　down　at　the　perfectly…machined；　black　metal　hand。　“We’ll　be　ready；　commissar。”
“Make　sure　of　it；”　said　Crusher。　There　was　the　slightest　whirring　of　gears　as　he　released　the
sergeant。　Then　he　walked　off；　taking　his　threats　to　other　ears。
Wulfe’s　crew　was　looking　at　him　wordlessly　as　he　marched　past　them。
“Get　to　your　stations；　all　of　you；”　he　said　gruffly。　“We’re　moving　out　in　fifteen。”
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Siegler；　Beans　and　Metzger　leapt　to　comply；　warned　off　asking　questions　by　the　dark　look　on
Wulfe’s　face。　As　always；　Wulfe　was　the　last　one　in。
As　he　swung　his　legs　over　the　lip　of　his　hatch；　he　thought　about　Lenck’s　parting　words。　They
had　frozen　his　blood。　As　he　dropped　into　his　command　seat；　those　five　words　rang　in　his　ears。　Did
they　mean　what　he　thought　they　meant？
Five　little　words；　each　one　rocking　him　like　a　cannon　shell。
“Watch　out　for　ghosts；　sergeant！”
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CHAPTER　SEVENTEEN
Two　days　east　of　Balkar；　Wulfe　and　the　rest　of　the　expeditionary　force　entered　a　rocky　region　of　the
Hadar　desert　known　as　Vargas。　Led　by　General　deViers；　riding　comfortably　in　a　specially　outfitted
command　Chimera；　the　Cadians　moved　in　a　long　column　that　slowly　snaked　along　the　floor　of　a
deep　canyon　marked　on　Officio　Cartographica　charts　as　Red　Gorge。
The　gorge　ran　for　almost　three　hundred　kilometres　along　a　meandering　path　that　would
eventually　lead　the　men　of　the　18th　Army　Group　to　the　site　of　the　largest　and　bloodiest　battle　of　the
last　Golgothan　War。　It　was　there；　at　long　last；　that　General　deViers　expected　to　find　The　Fortress　of
Arrogance。　It　was　there；　also；　that　he　expected　to　face　the　greatest　ork　resistance　to　his　progress　so
far。　By　all　accounts；　the　foothills　and　low　valleys　of　the　Ishawar　Mountains　were　littered　with
wrecks　from　the　war。　What　better　place　for　the　scavenging　greenskins　to　build　a　major　settlement？
Despite　the　likelihood　of　violent　confrontation；　the　mood　among　the　men　was　mixed。　Some　were
upbeat；　seeing　the　final　phase　for　what　it　truly　represented；　an　end　to　their　tormented　time　on　a　world
unfit　for　human　habitation。　Others　were　less　optimistic。　Some；　like　Major　General　Bergen；
anticipated　great　disappointment　on　arrival　at　the　coordinates　the　Mechanicus　had　provided。　Even
so；　the　realists　in　the　army　group　were　as　keen　to　get　the　whole　thing　over　as　the　optimists　were。
On　the　other　hand；　few　were　happy　about　having　the　entire　expeditionary　force　negotiate　Red
Gorge。　There　was　simply　no　other　choice。　The　rocky　clifftops　and　surrounding　highlands　were
riddled　with　chasms　and　crevasses；　many　of　them　impossible　to　spot　from　the　ground　until　too　late。
Under　other　circumstances；　Commodore　Galbraithe’s　Vulcan　gunships　could　perhaps　have　guided
the　column　from　the　air；　but　flying　conditions　were　far　from　ideal　over　the　Hadar。　Frequent　dust
storms　threatened　to　clog　air　intakes；　something　that　would　have　sent　the　Vulcans　crashing　to　the
ground。　Electromagnetic　surges　from　the　thick　clouds　made　mid…and　high…altitude　flights　just　as
deadly。　So　the　Vulcan　pilots　were　forced　to　fly　low；　making　slow　passes　along　the　canyon　floor；　just
a　few　hundred　metres　above　the　heads　of　the　Cadian　troops；　visored　eyes　scanning　for　signs　of
ambush。
Wulfe　watched　the　Vulcans　from　his　cupola；　black　birds　roaring　as　they　crossed　the　strip　of　red
sky　overhead。　They　left　trails　of　grey　smoke　that　moved　like　ribbons　on　the　wind。
For　Wulfe；　this　phase　of　the　journey　was　particularly　harrowing。　The　sharp　crags　and　deep；
shadowed　gullies　along　which　the　column　moved　were　a　powerful　reminder　of　Lugo’s　Ditch。　As　the
rock　walls　rose　to　fantastic　heights　on　either　side；　a　cold　sweat　began　to　soak　Wulfe’s　tunic。
Watch　out　for　ghosts；　sergeant！
Even　now；　with　the　glow　of　the　second　day　fading；　Lenck’s　words　were　still　eating　away　at
Wulfe’s　insides。　What　had　the　bastard　corporal　meant？　The　most　obvious　answer　was　that　he　knew
about　Lugo’s　Ditch。　But　how？　Wulfe　was　sure　that　Confessor　Friedrich　wouldn’t　have　betrayed　him。
He　doubted　any　of　his　crew　would　have；　either。　Beans　didn’t　know　anything　about　it　so　that　ruled
him　out。
Had　Lenck　simply　meant　Victor　Dunst？　A　ghost　of　the　past　rather　than　of　the　dead？　That　was
almost　as　much　of　a　stretch。　All　Lenck　had　regarding　Dunst　was　a　name；　wasn’t　it？
Wulfe　wracked　his　brain；　desperate　to　remember　who　he　had　told　about　Dunst。　He　hadn’t
recounted　the　story　often　—　it　wasn’t　exactly　one　of　his　favourites　—　but　it　was　an　old　custom
among　Cadian　troopers　to　compare　scars　and　tell　the　tales　of　how　they　had　been　won。　Wulfe　had
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shared　the　Dunst　story　with　a　handful　of　men　in　his　early　years　with　the　regiment。　Had　someone　told
Lenck？　Did　the　rotten　corporal　know　just　how　much　his　appearance　troubled　Wulfe？
As　the　day　wore　on；　Wulfe　tried　to　put　the　matter　to　the　back　of　his　mind。　He　sat　in　his　cupola；
occupying　himself　with　a　study　of　his　surroundings　as　Last　Rites　II　rambled　through　the　dust　kicked
up　by　the　tanks　in　front。　There　was　vegetation　in　the　canyon；　the　first　that　he　had　seen　since　crashing
on　this　world。　Not　much　of　it；　of　course　—　mostly　dry　grasses　and　scrawny；　thorn…covered　tangles　of
brash　—　but　it　meant　moisture。　There　was　animal　life；　too；　and　far　larger　than　the　biting　ticks　the
Cadians　had　endured　so　far。　Wulfe　saw　great；　slothful；　flat…bodied　lizards　basking　on　the　rocks。
Their　skins　were　armoured　with　hundreds　of　small；　bony　plates；　and　they　were　coloured　like　the　land
around　them。　As　the　Imperial　column　rolled　past；　they　hissed　and　slid　quickly　into　the　mouths　of
inky　black　caves。
Observing　these　things　offered　Wulfe　only　temporary　respite　from　his　thoughts。　Again　and
again；　he　returned　to　the　matters　that　troubled　him　most。　As　the　strip　of　sky　above　Red　Gorge　grew
dark；　he　dropped　back　down　into　his　turret　basket；　leaving　the　hatch　open　above　him　so　that　a
cooling　wind　could　circulate。
Siegler　was　dozing　in　his　seat；　thick　arms　folded　on　top　of　the　shell　magazine；　head　resting　in　the
crook