Gunheads(科幻战争)-第4章

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would　fall　to　Wulfe　to　cover　the　tank’s　blind　spots　from　his　cupola　high　atop　the　turret。　There　was　a
box…fed　heavy　stubber　there；　pintle…mounted　with　a　nice；　wide　arc　of　fire；　for　exactly　that　purpose。
He　knew　it　was　a　good　weapon；　but　he　still　lamented　the　absence　of　side　sponsons。
A　crackling　voice　sounded　from　speakers　set　in　the　ceiling。　“Bay　doors　open。　Locks　released。
Engines　engaged。　Activating　onboard　gravitational　systems　in　three；　two；　one…”
Wulfe　felt　his　stomach　lurch；　a　brief　moment　in　which　his　body　weight　doubled　as　the　grav…field
of　the　Hand　of　Radiance　and　the　drop…ship’s　field　overlapped。　Just　as　quickly；　the　feeling　was　gone；
and　the　drop…ship’s　onboard　gravity　became　the　only　force　pulling　him　into　his　seat。
“Bay　doors　cleared；”　reported　the　mechanical　voice　a　minute　later。　“Firing　thrusters。　Beginning
descent。　Breaching　thermosphere　in　ten；　nine…”
Wulfe　tuned　out　the　rest　of　the　count。
“What’s　a　thermosphere；　sarge？”　piped　a　nervous…sounding　trooper　a　dozen　seats　to　the　right。
“Stifle　it；　drop…virgin；”　barked　his　sergeant。　“How　would　I　know？　Do　I　look　like　a　cogboy　to
you？”
Wulfe　grinned。　New　meat；　he　thought。　This　was　the　first　drop　for　a　good　number　of　the　men。
The　18th　Army　Group’s　catastrophic　losses　on　Palmeros　had　left　it　at　less　than　half　strength。　Senior
cadets　from　the　Whiteshields　—　the　tough；　teenaged　Cadian　training　regiments　—　had　been　drafted
in　to　replenish　the　ranks；　but　most　of　those　had　been　posted　to　regiments　in　the　8th　and　12th
divisions。　After　promoting　suitable　men　from　the　tech…crews　and　support　squads；　the　Cadian　81st
had　to　make　up　the　rest　of　their　numbers　with　men　drafted　in　from　the　616th　Reserve　Regiment　—
men　who；　in　most　cases；　had　never　crewed　a　tank　in　their　lives。　Lieutenant　van　Droi　had　expressed
his　grave　concerns　about　this　in　private。　He　felt　that　most　of　the　new　men　didn’t　make　the　grade；　not
by　a　long　shot。　The　reserves　were　rarely　employed　at　the　front　lines；　tending　instead　to　be　used　for
garrisoning　duties　and　the　like。　Wulfe　knew　that　their　first　taste　of　front　line　action　would　sort　the
men　from　the　boys。
Thinking　about　who　made　the　grade　and　who　didn’t；　he　cast　an　involuntary　glance　along　the
opposite　row　of　seats　towards　a　man　on　his　far　left。
I’ve　got　my　eye　on　you；　squigshit；　he　thought。
The　speakers　crackled　to　life　again。　“Mesospheric　penetration　in　ten；　nine…”
“Sounds　dirty；　don’t　it？”　quipped　a　ruddy…faced　trooper　on　the　opposite　row。
“You’re　so　full　of　crap；　Garrel；”　said　the　young　man　next　to　him　with　a　mirthless　laugh。　He　tried
to　punch　his　comrade　playfully　on　the　arm；　but　the　bars　of　his　impact　frame　restricted　his　movement。
The　anxious　trooper　who’d　spoken　up　earlier　opened　his　mouth　to　speak　again；　but　he　didn’t　get
a　word　out　before　the　same　gruff　sergeant　cut　him　off。
“Go　on；　Vintners；”　he　barked；　“ask　me　what　a　mesosphere　is。　I　dare　you。”　Despite　his　manner；
there　was　an　unmistakable　tone　of　humour　in　the　sergeant’s　voice。　“You’ll　be　on　latrines　for　the
whole　frakking　op！”
Nervous　laughter　rippled　along　the　rows。　Vintners　turned　pale　and　clamped　his　mouth　shut。
All　this　was　mere　background　noise　to　Wulfe。　He　was　too　busy　watching　the　man　on　the　far　left；
studying　the　lines　and　angles　of　his　hawkish　face；　watching　the　way　he　moved　his　lips　as　he　talked
in　an　undertone　with　the　crewmen　seated　around　him。
His　name　was　Corporal　Voeder　Lenck；　twenty…eight　years　old　and　commander　of　the　Leman
Russ　Exterminator　New　Champion　of　Cerbera。　He　was　a　tall；　slim；　darkly　handsome　man；　all　poster14
boy　good　looks；　easy　smiles　and　warm　handshakes。　But　Wulfe　wasn’t　fooled；　not　for　a　second；　not
like　the　gang　of　doe…eyed　sycophants　that　had　surrounded　Lenck　since　the　moment　he　had
transferred　in。　Why　the　rookies　all　flocked　to　him；　Wulfe　hadn’t　figured　out　yet。　The　man　had　been　a
bloody　reserve；　for　Throne’s　sake。　What　was　there　to　admire？　Admittedly；　he　wasn’t　typical　of　the
newcomers。　He　had　some　prior　tank　experience；　for　a　start。　Perhaps　that　was　it：　a　combination　of
being　fresh　to　the　regiment；　like　the　rest　of　the　new　meat；　but　being　an　experienced　tanker　at　the
same　time。　It　was　as　good　a　guess　as　Wulfe　could　make。
The　records　showed　that　Lenck　had　been　a　sergeant　earlier　in　his　career；　but　something　had　gone
wrong。　There　had　been　a　trial；　a　court…martial。　He　had　been　locked　up　for　thirty　days　and　demoted　to
the　rank　of　corporal。　Only　the　commissioned　officers　knew　why　and；　so　far；　they　weren’t　telling；　but
Wulfe　planned　to　find　out　sooner　or　later。
The　day　he　and　Lenck　had　first　met　aboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance；　Wulfe　had　recognised　an　icy
cruelty　behind　the　man’s　purple…irised　eyes。　Lenck　hadn’t　done　anything　overt　to　induce　Wulfe’s
dislike；　not　so　far　anyway；　but　Wulfe　knew　it　would　come　sooner　or　later。　It　didn’t　help　that　he　was
the　spitting　image　of　someone　else；　a　convicted　Cadian　criminal　by　the　name　of　Victor　Dunst。　Dunst
and　his　gang　of　tattooed　cronies　had　once　tried　to　rob　Wulfe　in　the　under…streets　of　Kasr　Gehr。
Wulfe　had　been　a　Whiteshield　at　the　time；　just　a　teenage　cadet　on　leave　before　graduating　from
basic。　He　had　been　heavily　outnumbered　but；　like　so　many　Whiteshields；　his　belief　in　his
invincibility　was　so　complete　that　he　hadn’t　even　thought　to　run。　Instead；　he　had　told　the　gang　to
piss　off；　and　Dunst　had　decided　to　kill　him。　Only　the　chance　intervention　of　a　patrolling　Civitas
enforcer　squad　had　saved　Wulfe’s　life　that　day。　Dunst’s　knife　didn’t　get　more　than　two　centimetres
into　Wulfe’s　chest。　Wulfe　had　been　very　lucky。
As　Wulfe　looked　along　the　row；　Lenck　seemed　to　realise　that　he　was　being　watched。　He　didn’t
turn　his　head　or　shift　his　eyes；　he　just　seemed　to　sense　it。　Wulfe　saw　a　grin　creep　over　the　younger
man’s　face　and　felt　a　tremendous　desire　to　punch　him。　The　feeling　of　Lenck’s　bones　cracking　under
his　fist　would　be　supremely　satisfying；　he　imagined。　Wulfe　was　no　brawler；　not　like　some　of　the
men　he　knew；　but　he　was　no　slouch；　either。　He　was　pretty　sure　he　could　take　Lenck　if　it　ever　came
down　to　a　fair　fight；　though　Lenck　didn’t　seem　the　type　to　fight　fair。　Such　an　event　was　unlikely　to
occur；　of　course。　For　Lenck；　striking　Wulfe　would　constitute　a　capital　offence　due　to　the　difference
in　rank。　Still；　thought　Wulfe；　if　we　were　to　put　rank　aside…
The　ceiling　speakers　crackled　again。　“Particle　shields　holding　at　eighty　per　cent。　Entering
stratosphere　in　ten；　nine；　eight…”
Any　jokes　or　remarks　that　this　announcement　might　have　drawn　died　in　the　throats　of　the
troopers　as　the　drop…ship　began　shaking　and　juddering。　Most　of　the　drop…virgins　grimaced。　A　few
started　to　look　peaky；　as　if　they　might　begin　to　puke。
“Time　to　put　them　in；　gentlemen；”　said　Wulfe　to　his　crew。　He　reached　into　the　right　pocket　of
his　field　trousers　and　withdrew　a　small；　transparent　curve　of　hard　rubber。　It　was　a　gumshield；　the
kind　worn　by　troopers　during　hand…to…hand　combat　training。　With　a　nod；　Metzger；　Siegler　and　Holtz
drew　identical　items　from　their　pockets　and　fitted　them　securely　between　their　teeth。　All　along　the
facing　rows；　veteran　tankers　did　the　same　thing。　The　new　meat　looked　on　with　expressions　of　abject
horror。
“By　the　bloody　Eye！　Why　didn’t　anyone　tell　the　rest　of　us　to　bring　gumshields？”　demanded　a
round…faced　trooper　ten　seats　to　Wulfe’s　right。　He　was　the　newest　man　on　Sergeant　Rhaimes’　crew；
and　it　was　Rhaimes　—　seasoned　commander　of　the　Leman　Russ　Old　Smashbones　—　who　answered；
removing　his　gumshield　for　a　moment　to　do　so。
“Company　tradition；　bugfood；”　he　said。　He　grinned；　creasing　the　skin　around　the　deep　scar　that
ran　from　his　left　eye　to　his　left　ear。　Bugfood　was　his　personal　term　of　affection　for　the　new　guys　and；
whenever　he　said　it；　he　managed　to　make　it　sound　like　idiot　or　arsehole。　Recently；　a　lot　of　the
veterans　had　started　using　it；　and　not　just　in　10th　Company。　“You’re　still　a　drop…virgin　till　you　break
a　tooth　on　the　way　down。”
15
The　trooper　gaped　in　disbelief　for　a　moment　and　then　fished　in　his　pocket　for　something。　He
pulled　out　a　wadded　piece　of　rag；　the　type　of　cloth　used　to　shine　boots　or　buttons　before　inspection；
and　stuffed　it　into　his　mouth。　With　a　miserable　expression；　he　bit　down　on　it。　Wulfe　guessed　it　must
taste　strongly　of　polish。
From　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　saw　Rhaimes　nodding　at　the　young　trooper。　“Good　thinking；　son。
Good　thinking。　We’ll　make　something　of　you　yet。”
“…three；　two；　one；”　buzzed　the　voice　from　the　ceiling。　“Tropospheric　entry　achieved。　Height；
nine　thousand　metres。　All　personnel　brace　for　increased　atmospheric　buffeting。　Touchdown　in
approximately　nineteen　minutes。　Disengaging　onboard　gravitational　systems。　Switching　to　local
gravity　in　three；　two；　one…”
For　the　second　time　since　he　had　come　aboard；　there　was　an　instant　of　gravitational　overlap　that
made　Wulfe　feel　twice　as　heavy　as　he　normally　did。　Some　of　the　men　grunted　as　their　bodies
protested　against　the　sudden　strain　but；　once　the　grav…plates　below　their　feet　went　dead；　they　hardly
noticed　the　difference。
According　to　the　thick　wad　of　briefing　papers　that　everyone　had　been　issued　—　though　few　but
the　guys　in　recon；　as　usual；　had　bothered　to　read　—　Golgotha’s　surface　gravity　was　a　fairly
manageable　1。12Gs。　Wulfe；　who　typically　weighed　around　eighty…five　kilograms；　now　weighed
twelve　per　cent　more；　a　little　over　ninety…five；　but　the　increase　didn’t　bother　him。　The　tech…crews
onboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance　had　taken　care　of　that。　Since　leaving　Palmeros；　they　had
incrementally　increased　the　shipboard　gravity　each　day；　subtly　preparing　the　troops　for　their
eventual　ground　deployment。　Men　like　Siegler　and　Sergeant　Rhaimes；　usually　a　little　soft　around　the
middle；　had　hardened　up　a　lot　over　the　last　few　months。　Wulfe　had　felt　his　appetite　increasing　little
by　little；　and　had　noticed　his　clothes　tightening　around　his　arms；　legs　and　chest。　His　body　had
adapted。　Now；　with　the　planet’s　local　gravity　acting　on　him　directly；　he　didn’t　feel　any　heavier　than
normal。　It　would　make　a　big　difference　to　the　tanks；　though；　fuel　efficiency；　firing　distance；
trajectory；　speed；　wear　and　tear。　All　of　these　were　matters　of　serious　concern。　The　enginseers　in
charge　of　t