Gunheads(科幻战争)-第47章

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the　situation。》
　said　Xephous。　
　added　Armadron。
　Sennesdiar　told　them。　
　asked　Armadron。

　said　Xephous。　
　said　Sennesdiar。　
Armadron　prefixed　his　sonic　burst　with　a　single　tone　that　signified　his　lack　of　absolute　certainty。

　said　Sennesdiar。　

　said　Sennesdiar。　
　said　Armadron。　
　said　Sennesdiar。　
Armadron　bowed。　

Wulfe　yawned。　He　was　lying　on　the　rear　decking　of　his　tank；　cap　pulled　down　across　his　eyes；　but
true　rest　seemed　out　of　reach。　Perhaps　it　was　the　dust。　Perhaps　he　was　sick　and　hadn’t　realised　it。
There　was　an　ache　in　his　muscles　that　would　not　go　away。　It　had　dulled　somewhat　since　he　lay
down；　but　it　was　still　there；　at　the　edge　of　his　awareness。
Beans　and　Siegler　were　preparing　rations　of　sliced　meal…brick　and　water　by　the　side　of　the　tank。
There　was　nothing　else　to　be　had；　but　at　least　they　weren’t　back　to　drinking　purified　piss。
Would　they　even　live　long　enough　for　that　to　happen　again？　Wulfe　wondered。　It　seemed　to　him
that　the　18th　Army　Group　was　practically　broken　already。　Lifting　his　cap　and　looking　around；　he
saw　crewmen　resting　on　rear　decking　or　track…guards　just　like　he　was；　but　there　had　been　significant
losses。　Van　Droi’s　10th　Company　was　down　to　just　five　tanks。　The　lieutenant’s　crate；　Foe…Breaker；
was　still　in　the　game；　though　the　man　himself　had　become　extremely　quiet　since　the　death　of　the
colonel。　Viess　and　his　Steelhearted　II　had　made　it　through。　The　man　was　a　solid　commander。　Van
Droi　had　made　a　good　move；　promoting　him　to　sergeant　on　the　voyage　to　Golgotha。　Viess　had
justified　that　choice　back　at　the　wall；　taking　out　his　share　of　the　ork　armour；　and　Holtz　seemed　to　be
doing　all　right　with　Old　Smashbones。　It　was　a　small　miracle　that　he　had　survived　when　so　many
others　had　not。　Perhaps　it　was　beginner’s　luck。　In　any　case；　Wulfe　was　damned　glad　van　Droi　hadn’t
promoted　Holtz　just　to　have　him　die　in　his　first　firefight　as　a　commander。
Then；　of　course；　there　was　Lenck。
Wulfe　hadn’t　given　the　bastard　much　thought　during　all　the　madness　that　had　erupted　since　their
passage　through　Red　Gorge。　Battle　was　good　that　way。　One　could　achieve　an　almost　peaceful　state
in　the　middle　of　all　that　mayhem。
Wulfe　glanced　over　at　Lenck’s　tank；　but　if　the　crew　was　outside；　they　must’ve　been　lying　low；
because　he　couldn’t　see　them。　Perhaps；　like　Metzger；　they　were　all　sleeping。
Wulfe　sat　up　and　swung　around　to　watch　the　tech…priests。　They　were　down　on　the　valley　floor
performing　some　kind　of　arcane　ritual　he　couldn’t　begin　to　fathom。　It　looked　different　to　the　rites　he
had　watched　them　perform　on　the　regiment’s　tanks　but　not　much。　Every　tech…priest　and　enginseer
attached　to　the　expedition　was　down　there；　all　dressed　in　the　red　robes　of　their　cult；　heads　bowed　in
prayer。　They　moved　in　a　clockwise　circle；　chanting　and　emitting　strange　mechanical　noises　that　no
human　throat　could　have　made。
Some　of　them　carried　censers　that　they　swung　back　and　forward；　lacing　the　air　with　blue　smoke
that　hung　above　them；　gently　shifting　in　slow　motion。　There　was　no　breeze。　The　air　was　thick　and
warm。　He　looked　up。　The　tall　red　peaks　of　the　Ishawar　rose　so　high　in　the　near　east　that　they　pierced
the　bellies　of　the　clouds　like　tusks。
Why　did　everything　have　to　remind　him　of　orks？　He　would　be　facing　them　again　soon　enough。
Van　Droi　had　voxed　him　just　twenty　minutes　ago　to　say　so。　The　orks　were　closing　in　on　them；　still
pursuing　from　the　west。　The　Sentinels　had　used　long…range　scopes　to　spot　them　well　out　from　the
valley；　but；　in　a　little　over　ninety　minutes；　the　orks　would　be　here；　and　the　fighting　would　start　all
over　again。　Would　deViers　lead　them　in　another　run？　Or　would　he　have　them　turn　and　fight？
Wulfe　would　have　preferred　to　fight。　It　had　become　increasingly　clear　to　him　that　no　one　was
going　to　make　it　out　of　this　alive。　The　officers　still　talked　of　finding　Yarrick’s　lost　tank；　and　they　put
a　lot　of　faith　on　the　tech…priests’　ability　to　signal　for　evacuation。　A　lifter　would　come　for　them　when
the　time　was　right。　At　least；　that　was　how　Wulfe　understood　it。　He　just　didn’t　think　it　was　going　to
be　that　easy。
The　thought　of　dying　here　didn’t　anger　him。　He　had　spent　his　whole　life　knowing　that　he　would
perish　in　the　service　of　the　Emperor。　What　better　way　was　there？
None；　he　told　himself；　but　Armageddon　would　have　been　preferable。　There；　at　least；　his　last
moments　could　have　been　spent　fighting　to　protect　Holy　Terra；　rather　than　to　retrieve　an　abandoned
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relic。　He　told　himself　that　any　fight　against　orks　was　a　good　fight。　If　he　and　his　crew　were　to　die
here　today；　so　be　it。　He　would　meet　his　fate　head…on。
He　turned　his　attention　back　to　the　tech…priests。　Their　ceremony　intrigued　him。　He　was　a　firm
believer　in　machine…spirits。　Nothing　strange　in　that；　of　course。　All　tankers　came　to　feel　that　way；　no
matter　their　original　outlook　on　the　matter。　Throughout　his　career；　he　had　seen　members　of　the
Adeptus　Mechanicus　achieve　things　he　couldn’t　hope　to　explain。　It　wasn’t　stretching　credence　to
imagine　that　the　senior　cogboys　down　there　might　actually　come　away　with　some　kind　of　answer。
The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　was　gone；　but　how　far　had　it　gone？　If　it　was　still　within　reach；　then
he　would　like　to　see　it　before　he　died。　It　was　a　rare　machine；　after　all；　almost　unique　in　the　galaxy　in
that；　since　its　loss　thirty…eight　years　ago；　it　had　been　sanctified　by　both　the　Ministorum　and　the　techpriests；
and　those　two　august　bodies　almost　never　saw　eye　to　optic　sensor。
“Grub’s　up；　sarge；”　called　Siegler　from　the　side　of　the　tank。　“You　want　to　wake　Metzger？”
Wulfe　slid　off　the　track…guard　and　landed　on　his　feet　by　Siegler　and　Beans。
“Let　him　rest　a　little　more；”　he　told　them。　“We’ll　keep　some　for　when　he　wakes　up。”
The　three　men　sat　and　enjoyed　their　small　repast　as　chanting　lifted　towards　them　from　the　valley
floor。
“I　still　don’t　get　it；”　said　Beans。　“They　think　they　can　find　out　where　it　went？”
Wulfe　nodded　and　spoke　around　a　mouthful　of　tough；　dry　meal…brick。　“You’d　better　hope　they
can。　The　orks　will　be　on　us　soon。　I　think　deViers　will　give　the　cogboys　enough　time　to　finish　their
little　communion　and　then　lead　us　off　somewhere。　He　won’t　give　up　looking。”
Siegler　shook　his　head。　“And　people　call　me　crazy；”　he　said。　Wulfe　grinned　and　clapped　his
friend　on　the　shoulder。　“Yes；　they　do。”　Beans　laughed。
A　burst　of　vox…chatter　from　the　bead　in　his　ear　made　the　smile　suddenly　drop　from　Wulfe’s　face。
He　spat　his　mouthful　of　meal…brick　onto　the　hard　ground　at　his　side。
“What’s　up；　sarge？”　asked　Siegler。
Wulfe　stood　bolt　upright。
“Get　your　arses　into　the　tank；”　he　told　them；　“and　wake　Metzger　at　once。”
All　around　them；　the　air　shook　with　the　rumble　of　engines　being　turned。　A　Chimera　just　ten
metres　away　rumbled　noisily　to　life；　coughing　blue…black　fumes　from　her　exhausts。　Siegler　and
Beans　jumped　to　their　feet。
“That　was　van　Droi；”　said　Wulfe；　picking　up　the　remains　of　his　meal　and　stuffing　them　into　a　tin
box。　“The　tech…priests　say　they　got　their　answer。　We’re　moving　out。”
“But　where　to；　sarge？”　asked　Beans。
Wulfe　had　turned　and　was　already　clambering　up　the　side　of　the　tank。　He　didn’t　stop　climbing；
but　called　over　his　shoulder；　“To　the　mountains；　trooper。　We’re　going　into　the　mountains。”
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CHAPTER　TWENTY…FOUR
The　path　the　18th　Army　Group　took　from　the　valley　up　into　the　Ishawar　Mountains　soon　became
treacherous；　especially　for　the　tanks；　most　of　which　weighed　over　sixty　tonnes；　but　there　was　no
time　to　be　careful。　The　orks　were　less　than　an　hour　behind　them。　They　had　spotted　the　Cadians　ri