Gunheads(科幻战争)-第62章

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The　report　of　van　Droi’s　death　had　hit　him　with　all　the　force　of　an　Earthshaker　round；　harder；　if
he　was　honest；　than　the　death　of　Holtz　or　Viess。　He　had　known　van　Droi　longer。　The　man　had
seemed　immortal　to　a　young　Wulfe　when　he　had　first　joined　the　regiment。　He　had　been　somewhat
like　Colonel　Vinnemann　in　that　regard。　For　Wulfe；　Gossefried　van　Droi　had　embodied　everything
that　was　strong　and　true　and　noble　about　the　Imperial　Guard。　He　was　a　symbol。　Gossefried’s
Gunheads　had　been　named　for　him。　Symbols　weren’t　supposed　to　die。　Only　people　died。　People　and
orks。
Hungry　for　revenge；　he　loosed　a　battle　cry　and　thumbed　the　trigger　of　his　heavy　stubber；　sending
another　lethal　torrent　straight　into　a　pack　of　orks　that　were　hacking　the　arms　and　legs　from　an
infantryman　on　the　left。　Wulfe　couldn’t　save　him　—　it　was　too　late　for　that　—　but　he　punished　the
soldier’s　killers。　Their　grotesquely　muscled　bodies　crumpled　to　the　ground；　torsos　almost　cut　in　half
by　the　stubber’s　high　rate　of　fire。　Their　thick　red　blood　mixed　with　that　of　the　man　they　had　just
killed。
Wulfe　heard　Beans　calling　“Brace！”　on　the　intercom　just…before　a　tongue　of　fire　flickered　at　the
end　of　Last　Rites　II’s　battle　cannon。　The　sharp　boom　it　made　set　his　ears　ringing。
The　round　went　curving　in　towards　the　massive　ork　machine；　striking　a　plate　of　red…painted　iron
bolted　to　the　front。　White　sparks　showered　out　as　the　round　ricocheted　and　punched　a　hole　in　the
corrugated　surface　of　the　hangar　wall。　After　a　second；　the　plate　fell　off　and　was　pulled　under　a　set　of
massive　iron　treads。
“Damn　it！”　cursed　Beans　over　the　intercom；　but　Wulfe　wasn’t　listening　to　him。　He　was　listening
to　the　divisional　vox　channel。　The　chatter　there　had　suddenly　intensified；　for　Beans’　shot　had
uncovered　the　forward　edge　of　a　massive　black　track…guard；　on　top　of　which　sat　an　icon　cast　in
bright；　shining　gold。
Every　man　on　the　battlefield　recognised　it。　It　hung　from　their　necks；　imprinted　on　one　side　of　the
dog…tags　they　all　wore。　Many　had　paid　to　have　it　tattooed　on　their　bodies。
It　was　the　holy　aquila；　two…headed　eagle；　icon　of　the　Imperium　of　Man。
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CHAPTER　THIRTY…FOUR
General　deViers　felt　his　heart　hammering　in　his　chest　as　his　Chimera　raced　in　towards　the　battle。　He
ordered　his　driver　to　crash　straight　through　the　orks　that　filled　the　street　up　ahead。　Beyond　them；　he
could　already　see　the　ground　where　his　forces　were　fighting　for　their　lives。　There　was　the　massive
hangar　he　had　heard　about　on　the　vox；　and；　there　she　was：　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance。
There　was　no　doubt　it　was　her。　Some　tanker　in　the　10th　Armoured　Division　had　knocked　off　a
piece　of　her　disguise；　and　now　everyone　knew。　They　had　found　her。　They　had　tracked　her　down　at
last；　but　what　in　blazes　had　the　greenskins　done　to　her？　In　all　the　general’s　dreams　of　how　this
moment　would　unfold；　he　had　never　imagined　this。　In　the　ultimate　act　of　sacrilege；　the　orks　were
using　her　to　slaughter　Imperial　forces。　His　forces。
Even　so；　he　had　no　choice　but　to　give　the　order。
Through　gritted　teeth；　he　voxed；　“This　is　Army　Group　Command　to　all　units。　Cease　fire　on　the
enemy　superheavy　at　once。　I　repeat；　do　not　fire　on　the　ork　super…heavy　under　any　circumstances。
Concentrate　on　the　enemy　infantry。”
Gerard　Bergen　wasn’t　slow　to　respond。　He　didn’t　bother　with　propriety；　either。
“You’re　out　of　your　frakking　mind；　general；”　he　hissed。　“Whether　that　abomination　is　Yarrick’s
Baneblade　or　not；　it’s　devastating　my　armour。　We　have　to　take　it　out　right　now。　Reverse　that　order！”
“Mind　your　damned　tone；　major　general；”　deViers　barked　back。　“I　will　do　no　such　thing。　Ask
Magos　Sennesdiar；　if　a　round　pierces　the　onboard　fuel　or　ammunition　supplies；　she’ll　be　beyond　all
hope　of　repair。”
“And　if　we　don’t　put　her　out　of　commission；　there　won’t　be　anyone　left　to　claim　her。　Have　you
lost　your　mind；　you　old　fool？　You’re　acting　like　a　damned　Mechanicus　puppet。　You　know　that？”
DeViers　felt　his　face　grow　hot。
“I　hope　you　live　through　this；　Gerard；”　he　growled；　“I　really　do；　because　if　you　ever　speak　like
that　to　me　again；　I’ll　see　you　swing　from　the　gallows。　Is　that　clear？　The　order　stands。　Anyone　who
fires　on　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　will　answer　to　me。”
“Fine；”　said　Bergen　bitterly；　“and　may　you　answer　to　the　souls　of　the　men　you’ve　just
condemned。　Bergen　out。”
“You　have　got　to　be　bloody　joking！”　exclaimed　Beans。
“I　wish　I　was；”　answered　Wulfe。　He　turned　to　his　left　and　fired　on　an　ork　wielding　a　bulky　heavy
flamer　as　if　it　were　little　more　than　a　pistol。　It　had　just　finished　roasting　three　Guardsmen　to　death　at
close　range。　When　Wulfe’s　stubber…rounds　punched　into　its　body；　the　ork　threw　up　its　hands。　One　of
the　rounds　punctured　the　fuel　tanks　on　its　back；　and　it　exploded　in　a　fountain　of　bright　fire　and
burning　meat。
The　bastardised　Baneblade　was　almost　fully　out　of　the　hangar。　Wulfe　could　see　an　absolutely
massive　ork　standing　on　top　of　it。　It　had　to　be　the　warboss。　It　wasn’t　just　the　size　of　the　creature；
though　it　certainly　made　even　the　biggest　of　the　black…skinned　veterans　look　almost　small。　It　was　the
massive　suit　of　power　armour　that　it　wore。　Energy　crackled　in　blue　arcs　along　its　arms。　It　flexed
huge　blade…like　claws　and　bellowed　its　war　cry　through　some　kind　of　amplifier　attached　to　its
shoulder。
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The　bestial　roar　swept　over　the　battlefield；　and　the　orks　all　around　began　fighting　with　fresh
reserves　of　energy　and　zeal。
“Look；”　said　Beans；　“I　might　just　be　a　gunner；　but　I　know　that　order　is　utter　bloody　ball…rot；
sarge。　If　we　can’t　fire　on　it；　we’re　dead　men。”
As　if　to　prove　his　point；　the　Baneblade’s　main　gun　fired　again。　The　last　surviving　Leman　Russ
Executioner　detonated　in　a　spectacular　burst　of　orange　fire　and　glowing　blue　plasma。
“Throne　damn　it；”　cursed　Wulfe。　“Listen；　Beans；　do　you　think　you　can　hit　the　warboss　without
hitting　the　tank？”
About　twenty　metres　behind　Last　Rites　II；　a　Chimera　exploded。　Wulfe　felt　the　intense　heat　of　the
blast　on　the　back　of　his　neck　and　turned。
A　slavering　black　ork　was　hauling　its　way　up　the　back　of　his　tank　with　an　axe　in　one　hand　and　a
rusty　metal　hook　in　the　other。　A　suing　of　desiccated　human　heads　bobbed　around　its　waist。
Wulfe　dropped　down　into　the　turret　basket　just　in　time。　The　beast’s　axe　clanged　on　the　rim　just
as　his　head　disappeared　inside。
“By　the　Throne！”　shouted　Siegler。　He　began　scrambling　to　unhook　one　of　the　lasguns　from　the
fixings　by　his　station。　In　the　meantime；　the　ork　had　thrust　its　metal　hook　into　the　turret　basket　and
was　slashing　backwards　and　forwards；　trying　to　snag　the　crewmen　it　knew　were　inside。
Wulfe　threw　both　his　arms　around　the　ork’s　massive　wrist；　but　the　damned　thing　was　so
powerful　it　began　battering　him　off　the　turret　walls。　In　desperation；　Wulfe　let　go　with　one　hand　and
scrambled　for　his　knife。　He　grasped　the　handle；　drew　it　from　its　sheath；　and　stabbed　it　hard　into　the
ork’s　forearm。
With　a　roar　of　pain；　the　ork　withdrew　its　arm；　taking　the　knife　with　it；　but　the　reprieve　was　only
temporary。　Seconds　later；　it　thrust　its　massive　head　down　into　the　turret　and　began　snapping　at
Wulfe　with　its　razor…toothed　jaws。　The　stink　of　its　foul　breath　filled　the　compartment。
“Down；”　shouted　Siegler；　and　Wulfe　dropped　his　weight　to　the　floor　just　in　time。　Tusks　clashed
an　inch　above　his　head。　Then　the　ork　turned　to　face　the　loader；　drawn　by　his　shout。
Siegler　rammed　the　barrel　of　a　lasgun　into　the　creature’s　mouth　and　yanked　back　hard　on　the
trigger。　The　blast　blew　out　the　back　of　the　ork’s　head；　spattering　the　wall　of　the　turret　basket　and　two
of　its　occupants　with　blood　and　brain　matter。
“By　the　bloody　Eye　of　Terror；”　shouted　Beans。　The　back　of　his　head　was　drenched　in　foulsmelling
gore。
“Good　work；　Sig；”　said　Wulfe。　He　immediately　set　about　trying　to　clear　the　cupola；　but　it　wasn’t
easy。　Shifting　the　heavy　corpse　took　all　his　strength。
When　the　hatch　was　free；　he　poked　his　head　out　to　check　for　any　other　orks　waiting　to　lop　his
head　off。　There　were　none。　He　stood　and　gripped　the　handles　of　his　heavy　stubber　again。　In　the　few
seconds　it　had　taken　to　deal　with　the　hook…wielding　ork；　yet　another　Cadian　tank　had　been　reduced
to　a　flaming　black　skeleton。
Something　else　had　changed；　too。　There　were　more　Cadians　than　before。　The　reinforcements
from　the　rear　had　arrived。　Chimeras　were　pouring　laser　and　autocannon　fire　in　every　direction　but
that　of　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance；　and　the　foot　soldiers　were　tapping　in　to　some　kind　of　hidden
reserves。　They　fought　back　with　a　renewed　sense　of　purpose。　Wulfe　decided　it　must　be　the　sight；　or
perhaps　the　proximity；　of　the　holy　tank　that　had　inspired　them。　If　they　could　only　stop　it　knocking
out　their　damned　armour…
Just　as　he　was　thinking　this；　the　disfigured　Baneblade　fired　again。
This　time；　the　victim　was　Hal　Keissler　and　The　Damascine。　The　2nd　Company　leader　died
instantly；　blown　apart　with　the　rest　of　his　crew。　Wulfe　swore；　realising　that　he　could　count　the
number　of　surviving　tanks　on　the　fingers　of　two　hands。　To　the　right　he　saw　New　Champion　of
Cerbera　and　was　amazed　that　she　had　stayed　in　the　fight　for　this　long。
Perhaps　he　had　underestimated　Lenck’s　skill　as　a　commander。
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It　hardly　mattered。　If　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　kept　picking　them　off　like　this；　none　of　it　would
mean　a　damned　thing。
“Beans；　you　never　answered　my　question。”
Having　been　denied　the　only　armoured　target　on　the　field；　Beans　was　strafing　ork　infantry　with
the　co…ax。　“What　question？”
“Do　you　think　you　can　hit　the　damned　warboss？”
“I　can　try；”　said　Beans；　“but　if　I　hit　his　ride　instead；　the　general　will　have　me　shot！”
“Do　it　anyway；”　barked　Wulfe。　“I’ll　answer　for　it；　but　you　have　to　take　the　shot。　That　damned
thing　is　getting　ready　to　fire　again；　and　we　might　just　be　the　next　target。　Siegler？　Load　her　up。　Highexplosive。
Let’s　blow　that　greenskin　bastard　into　the　next　life。”
“We’re　out　of　high…ex；　sarge；”　replied　Siegler。　“Only　armour…piercing　left；　and　not　many　of
’em。”
“Damn　it；”　spat　Wulfe。　“AP　it　is。　Load　her　up。　Aim　well；　Beans。”
“Locked　and　lit；”　shouted　Siegler。
“Do　it；”　said　Wulfe；　“and　may　the　Emperor　guide　your　shot！”
Beans　stamped　on　the　floor　trig