Gunheads(科幻战争)-第6章

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emergency　doors　at　the　ship’s　rear　so　that　10th　Company’s　vehicles　could　be　extracted。　They　were
having　a　hard　time　of　it；　but　there　was　little　choice。　There　was　no　way　to　get　the　tanks　out　via　the
loading　ramp。　The　ship’s　belly　was　pressed　flat　to　the　ground。
Another　smaller　group　of　men　handled　the　grimmest　task　of　all。　They　knelt　in　the　sand；　leaning
over　lifeless　bodies　to　pull　dog　tags　from　their　necks。
Wulfe’s　eyes　lingered　on　the　motionless　form　of　a　trooper　not　twenty　metres　away。　The　lad
looked　barely　out　of　his　teens。　The　pale　skin　of　his　face　was　bright　against　the　dark　red　sand　on
which　he　lay。
Bugfood；　thought　Wulfe。　He　touched　the　silver　aquila　badge　on　the　left　breast　pocket　of　his
tanker’s　fatigues　and　whispered　a　quick　prayer　for　the　young　trooper’s　soul。　Such　pitiful　sights　were
something　he　had　gotten　used　to　after　so　long　in　the　field。　Life　in　the　Guard：　you　either　dealt　with　it
or　you　didn’t；　and　if　you　didn’t；　the　commissars　would　sort　you　out；　permanently。
A　million　ways　to　die　here；　he　thought；　and　we’ve　already　had　the　first。　Welcome　to　Golgotha；
troopers。
“Right；”　he　said；　facing　Holtz。　“I’ll　see　a　medic　later。　For　now；　though；　I’d　better　find　van　Droi。
Get　Siegler　and　Metzger　together　and　see　about　getting　our　old　junk…heap　out　of　the　ship。　Come　find
me　when　it’s　done。”
“Right；　sarge；”　said　Holtz；　“but　do　me　one　favour；　will　you？　Go　easy　on　the　tank…bashing。　You’ll
turn　her　against　us　if　you　keep　that　up。　Besides；　you　can’t　judge　a　tank　on　shipboard　exercises；　can
you？”
“Maybe　not；”　said　Wulfe　grudgingly。　“Maybe　not；　but　you　and　I　both　know　she’s　got　a　heck　of　a
lot　to　live　up　to。”　He　turned　and　limped　off　to　find　Lieutenant　van　Droi；　determined　to　ignore　the　fire
in　his　joints　and　muscles　as　he　went。
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CHAPTER　THREE
Far　to　the　north　of　Wulfe’s　position；　things　were　very　different　for　those　elements　of　the　18th　Army
Group　that　had　landed　safely。　Their　fourth　evening　on　Golgotha　saw　General　Mohamar　deViers
descend　from　orbit　in　his　private　aquila　lander　to　personally　oversee　operations　at　the　Imperial
beachhead；　located；　as　the　ork　slavers’　base　had　so　recently　been；　on　the　Hadron　Plateau。
The　preparatory　stages　of　Operation　Thunderstorm　were　already　drawing　to　a　close。
Construction　of　the　neplete；　well　ahead　of　schedule　thanks　to
the　contributions　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。　Their　abundant　technologies；　the　impressive
prefabricated　structures　they　had　provided；　the　unceasing　toil　of　their　legions　of　brain…wiped
biomechanical　slaves；　these　things　and　more　had　seen　the　laser…blasted　surface　of　the　plateau
converted　and　fortified　in　record　time。　The　10th　Armoured　Division　was　preparing　to　roll　out　on　the
morning　of　the　following　day；　having　been　charged　with　securing　the　first　of　a　series　of　outposts
critical　to　establishing　key　supply　lines　in　the　east。　So；　with　his　private　rooms　already　constructed
and　awaiting　occupation；　it　was　high　time；　in　the　opinion　of　General　deViers；　that　the　men　on　the
ground　felt　the　presence　of　their　leader　among　them。　Time；　he　thought；　to　remind　them　just　whose
show　this　was。
The　sleek　aquila　touched　down　in　the　early　evening；　alighting　on　the　base’s　small　rockcrete
runway　without　incident。　The　last　of　the　day’s　light　was　just　visible　as　a　ruddy　glow　in　the　far　west；
and　the　base’s　floodlights　were　buzzing　to　life　one　by　one。　The　lander’s　boarding　ramp　had　barely
touched　rock　when　the　general　strode　down　it　and　began　barking　orders。　He　was　a　thin　man；　taller
than　average　for　a　Cadian；　clean…shaven　with　pomaded　silver　hair　and　sunken　cheeks。　At　ninety…one
years　of　age；　seventy…six　of　those　spent　in　military　service；　he　looked　surprisingly　young；　no　older；
in　fact；　than　sixty。　The　treatments　and　surgeries　he　had　undergone　to　achieve　this　were　both
expensive　and　painful；　but　never　unacceptably　so。
He　was　a　man　who　placed　a　great　deal　of　value　on　appearances；　an　attitude　reflected　in　the
tailoring　of　his　immaculate　uniform　and　in　the　polished　sheen　of　the　medals　that　glinted　over　his　left
breast　pocket。　His　voice；　when　he　spoke；　was　sharp　and　clear；　and　he　had　a　tendency　to　emphasise
certain　words　with　little　thrusts　of　his　chin。　The　first　order　of　business；　he　told　his　men；　was　a　swift
round　of　interviews　and　inspections；　and　no；　they　could　not　wait　until　the　following　morning。
He　initiated　the　inspections；　beginning；　significantly；　with　the　massive　tank…crowded　motor　pool
and　progressing　anti…clockwise　through　each　area　in　turn。　After　two　hours　spent　marching　around
the　base　snapping　out　questions　and　comments；　trying　in　vain　to　acclimatise　to　the　thick；　unpleasant
air；　deViers　confided　to　his　long…suffering　adjutant；　Major　Gruber；　that　he　was　deeply　impressed。
Things　had　apparently　been　proceeding　very　well　without　him。　With　its　high　curtain　walls；　towers
topped　with　Manticore　and　Hydra　anti…air　defences；　and　the　broad；　extended　parapets　boasting　row
after　row　of　Earthshaker　artillery　platforms；　Exolon’s　new　Army　Group　HQ　represented　a　vital
bastion　of　security　on　an　otherwise　hostile　world。　DeViers　was　quietly　convinced　that　it　would　hold
against　even　the　most　overwhelming　ork　siege。　It　would　have　to。　In　all　likelihood；　such　an　attack
was　mere　days　away。　The　Golgothan　orks　would　have　seen　lights　in　the　sky　as　the　drop…ships　had
descended。　Sooner　or　later；　they　would　come　to　investigate。　No　matter　how　many　came；　the　base
could　not　be　allowed　to　fall。　It　was　the　lynchpin　of　deViers’　whole　operation。
The　plateau　on　which　Hadron　Base　was　being　constructed　measured　over　four　kilometres　in
diameter　and　lay　almost　directly　on　the　line　of　the　equator。　It　had　been　selected　on　the　basis　of　two
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critical　factors。　Firstly；　with　its　sheer　sides　and　few　sloping　access　routes；　it　was；　even　without
fortification；　eminently　defensible。　Secondly；　and　more　significantly；　at　a　distance　of　some　six
hundred　kilometres　from　the　general’s　ultimate　objective；　it　was　the　closest　suitable　geological
feature　to　the　last　known　position　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。
His　base　inspection　over；　deViers　ordered　a　briefing　session　with　his　three　divisional
commanders；　Major　Generals　Rennkamp；　Killian　and　Bergen。　It　was　deViers’　intention　to　keep　the
session　short；　for　he　had　also　arranged　a　rather　splendid　banquet　to　celebrate　the　auspicious
beginning　of　his　ground　operation。　This　beginning；　he　felt；　was　marked；　not　by　the　descent　of　the
first　drop…ships；　but　by　his　own　arrival　planet…side；　and　he　would　not　let　the　moment　pass　without
some　kind　of　commemorative　function。　After　all；　Operation　Thunderstorm；　as　he　so　regularly
reminded　his　officers；　was　a　righteous　quest　the　likes　of　which　had　rarely　been　seen　in　the　recent
annals　of　the　Imperial　Guard。　Why　should　the　end　of　its　opening　phase　not　be　celebrated　in　good
spirits？
That　was　the　plan；　at　least；　but　deViers　soon　found　his　good　spirits　dampened。
“How　many？”　he　hissed。　His　face　was　red　with　rage；　and　his　fists　were　clenched　on　the　surface
of　his　desk。　“Tell　me　again！”
“Six；　sir；”　answered　Major　General　Bergen。　“Six　missing；　with　a　seventh　discovered　fifty
kilometres　to　the　northeast；　spread　across　two…and…a…half　kilometres　of　desert。　All　hands　lost。　Do
you　wish　to　hear　a　list　of　the　individual　elements？”
“Of　course　I　do；”　snapped　deViers。　“Seven　drop…ships　on　the　first　day。　By　the　Eye　of　Terror！”
Major　General　Bergen’s　voice　didn’t　waver　as　he　read　off　the　list；　but　his　tone　was　heavy　and　his
face　betrayed　a　grim　mood。　“Drop…ship　E44…a；　the　116th　Cadian　Lasgunners；　companies　one　and
two；　killed　on　descent。　Drop…ship　G22…a；　the　122nd　Tyrok　Fusiliers；　companies　one　to　four；　missing。
Drop…ship　G41…b；　the　88th　Mobile　Infantry；　companies　three　and　four；　missing。　Drop…ship　H17…C；
the　303rd　Skellas　Rifles；　companies　eight　to　ten；　missing。　Drop…ship　H19…a；　the　98th　Mechanised
Infantry；　companies　one　to　six；　missing。　Drop…ship　K22…C；　the　71st　Caedus　Infantry；　companies
eight　to　ten；　missing。”　Bergen　paused　for　a　split　second　before　reading　the　final　listing。　The　missing
ship　had　been　carrying　some　of　his　own　tankers。　“Drop…ship　M13…J；　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment；
10th　Company；　missing。　No　contact　whatsoever　from　any　of　those　listed。”
General　deViers　listened　quietly　to　all　this；　staggered　by　the　blow　his　forces　had　taken　just　from
landing　on　this　damned　rock。　Thousands　of　men　gone。　It　was　outrageous。　The　last　listing　was　a　tank
company？　By　the　bloody　Golden　Throne！　An　entire　tank　company；　lost　somewhere　out　there　in　the
desert；　most　probably　killed　in　the　crash。　Filthy　orks　were　probably　looting　the　site　even　now。　Men
were　one　thing；　and　their　loss　was　to　be　lamented；　of　course；　but　life　was　cheap　in　the　Imperium　of
Man。　There　were　always　more　soldiers　to　be　had。　That’s　what　the　reserves　were　for。　But　tanks？
Tanks　were　another　matter　entirely。　There　were　no　replacements　waiting　in　the　wings　for　the　war
machines　that　had　been　lost。　Each　tank　put　out　of　action　left　a　gap　that　nothing　else　could　fill。　The
strength　of　his　armoured　regiment　was　absolutely　critical　given　the　itinerant　nature　of　the　operation。
With　his　mind　firmly　fixated　on　the　negative；　the　general’s　anger　got　the　better　of　him。　He　leapt　to
his　feet；　throwing　his　chair　backwards　and　banging　his　fists　down　on　his　desk。
“It’s　a　damned　fiasco！　How　could　we　lose　seven　drop…ships　on　the　first　day？　Was　it　orks？
Storms？　What　the　heck　are　our　naval　liaisons　saying　about　this？　What　about　the　Mechanicus？　I　want
answers；　damn　it！”　Veins　bulged　in　his　neck　and　his　eyes　looked　ready　to　pop　out　of　his　head。
The　three　officers　seated　before　him　remained　as　still　as　statues　while　their　general　raged。　They
had　seen　it　all　before；　and　with　increasing　regularity　of　late。　They　knew　better　than　to　interrupt　him
before　his　tirade　had　ended。　Attempting　to　soothe　him　was　just　asking　for　trouble。　When　deViers
finally　did　stop　spewing　fire　and　sank　slowly　back　into　his　chair；　it　was　Killian；　the　shortest；
stockiest　and；　in　the　general’s　eyes；　least　likeable　of　the　three；　who　spoke　up。
“The　tech…priests　have　a　team　out　in　the　desert；　sir。　They’re　studying　the　drop…ship　in　the　northeast
for　the　cause　of　the　crash。　No　word　yet；　of　course；　since　they’re　out　of　vox　r