Death World(科幻战争)-第11部分

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Mackenzie　shook　his　head。　“There　was　nothing　here　a　few　weeks　ago。　I　sent　a　squad　to
reconnoitre　this　area；　and　they　reported　nothing　like　this。”
Greiss　raised　an　eyebrow。　“This　area？　You　sure　about　that；　commissar？”
“Of　course　I’m　sure；　sergeant。　What　are　you　suggesting？”
“Well；　I　know　the　jungle　can　be　good　at　covering　tracks—but　I’d　swear　that；　till　we　turned　up；
there　hadn’t　been　anyone　come　this　way　in　a　long　time。”
That　sent　the　commissar　scrambling　for　his　sketch　map。　In　the　meantime；　his　adjutant　had
recovered　his　breath；　though　he　still　looked　pale。　“I　guess　that　could　have　been　worse；　right？”　said
Braxton—and　Lorenzo　looked　at　him；　and　tried　to　work　out　what　he　really　wanted。　Some
reassurance　that　the　Catachans　had　everything　under　control？　Or　that　things　couldn’t　have　been
worse；　that　he’d　just　survived　the　best　this　jungle　had　to　throw　at　him？　He　couldn’t　give　the　Validian
either。
“I　mean；　most　of　us　escaped　with　superficial　cuts。　Unless—”
“Unless？”
Braxton’s　eyes　flickered　towards　Muldoon；　and　now　Lorenzo　understood。
“Relax；　city　boy；”　drawled　Woods。　“If　the　birds　had　poisoned　us；　we’d　know　about　it　by　now。
You　feeling　ill？　Because　I’ve　never　felt　healthier　in　my　whole　life。　Raring　to　go！”
“Muldoon　didn’t　know；”　said　Braxton　quietly。
Lorenzo　and　Woods　glanced　at　each　other；　and　Lorenzo　knew　they　were　both　thinking　the　same
thought：　that　Muldoon　had　known；　that　he’d　felt　the　sickness　creeping　up　on　him；　even　fought　off
the　first　of　the　hallucinations。　He　had　known；　but　he　had　been　too　proud　to　speak　up。
“You　want　to　worry　about　something；”　said　Woods；　“you　worry　about　those　‘superficial　cuts’—
because　out　here；　there’s　no　such　thing。　Any　cut　can　be　deadly。　Jungle　worlds　breed　diseases—and
not　all　of　them　are　carried　by　insects　and　vermin。　Most；　you　can’t　see—but　they’re　around　us　all　the
same；　in　the　air。　And　they’re　just　looking　for　a　way　into　your　bloodstream！”
Woods　wiggled　his　fingers；　miming　the　action　of　a　bacteria　creeping　its　way　under　Braxton’s
flesh。　Then　he　closed　his　fist　with　a　clap；　and　Braxton　jumped。
He　laughed；　but　Lorenzo　didn’t　join　in。　Woods　had　seemed　to　enjoy　tormenting　Braxton—but
the　threat　he　described　was　real；　to　all　of　them。　Maybe；　he　thought　numbly；　that　had　been　the　point
of　the　birds’　attack　all　along。
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CHAPTER　SIX
Mackenzie　was　all　for　setting　up　camp　there　and　then；　the　fight　knocked　out　of　him；　but　Greiss
insisted　on　moving　on。　“This　place　stinks　of　death；”　he　growled；　kicking　out　at　a　fresh　bird　corpse
that；　despite　having　lost　its　wings　and　its　head；　had　crawled　out　from　a　bush　to　make　a　feeble　attack
on　his　ankle。　“God…Emperor　knows　what　that　might　attract　here　tonight。　Bigger　birds；　maybe。”
Lorenzo　knew　there　was　one　other　reason。　The　Jungle　Fighters’　mood　had　darkened　since　the
attack。　They　ore　apprehensive。　They　spoke　few　words　as　they　treated　their
wounds　with　sterilising　fluid　and　synth…skin。　Even　Woods；　now　he’d　had　time　to　reflect　upon　what
had　happened；　seemed　subdued。　They　had　faced　greater　threats—Braxton　had　been　right　about
that—but　none　like　this。　The　way　their　attackers　had　fought　on　beyond　death—that　was　different。
The　men　of　Catachan　lived　by　the　laws　of　Nature；　and　tonight　those　laws　had　been　violated。　Greiss
wanted　to　get　them　away　from　the　scene　of　that　violation；　from　the　broken　bones；　to　give　them
something　else　to　think　about。
“Five　minutes；　troopers；”　he　growled。　“Finish　up　what　you’re　doing；　then　we’re　getting　out　of
here！”
Landon’s　left　eye　was　bleeding。　One　of　the　birds　must　have　found　it　with　its　hooked　beak。　Myers
and　Storm　had　sat　the　rookie　against　a　tree；　cleaned　his　face　with　swabs　from　their　first　aid　kits；　and
now　they　were　applying　a　field　dressing　to　the　injured　area。　“Look　at　you。”　Storm　tutted　goodnaturedly；
“this　is；　what；　your　first；　second；　time　out　in　the　field；　and　you’re　trying　to　get　yourself
scarred　permanent…like。　What；　you　bucking　for　your　earned　name　already？”
“Can’t　be　that；　Wildman；”　said　Myers。　“Even　a　rookie　wouldn’t　be　stupid　enough　to　let　those
birds　go　for　his　eye；　knowing　we　got　a　‘Patch’　already。”
“Yes；”　said　Storm；　nodding　with　mock　gravity；　“can’t　have　two　of　those。”
Landon　smiled；　but　the　smile　turned　into　a　wince。　Lorenzo　felt　ice　in　his　stomach。　He　knew
Myers　and　Storm　were　only　joking；　trying　to　keep　up　the　youngster’s　spirits—but　just　for　a　second
there　he’d　feared　Landon　would　get　his　earned　name　before　he　did。　He　chided　himself　for　that
thought。　A　comrade　was　hurt。　Would　he　rather　it　was　him　sprawled　in　the　dirt；　wondering　if　he
would　see　out　of　both　eyes　again？
Armstrong　sported　a　nasty　gash　on　his　arm；　where　it　glistened　amid　the　knotted　tissue　of　old
scars。　He　was　sewing　it　up　with　a　needle；　biting　on　a　stick　to　control　the　pain。　When　Greiss　gave　the
word；　however；　he—like　all　the　others—clambered　to　his　feet　and　hoisted　his　pack；　fresh　and　ready
to　go。
Mackenzie　didn’t　question　the　sergeant’s　decision。　He　knew　he　was　right。　But　Lorenzo　could
read　the　commissar’s　eyes。　He　resented　the　way　the　Catachans　deferred　so　readily　to　their　sergeant
over　him。　That　was　going　to　mean　trouble。
Ninety　minutes　later；　in　a　less　dense　part　of　the　jungle；　Greiss　came　to　a　halt　and　called　for　silence。
He　listened　for　a　moment；　then　declared　this　as　good　a　spot　as　any。　Braxton　shucked　off　his　pack
and　sank　to　the　ground　with　a　sigh—but　he　scrambled　guiltily　to　his　feet　and　joined　in　as　the
Catachans　got　straight　to　work。　They　identified　any　flora　that　could　be　classed　as　dangerous　and　cut
it　down。　Donovits　found　an　acid　spitter　behind　a　tree；　almost　as　if　it　had　been　deliberately　hiding
there。　They　thinned　out　the　undergrowth；　and　Myers　unearthed　a　jungle　lizard。　It　sprang　at　his
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crotch；　its　legs　propelling　it　higher　than　Lorenzo　would　have　thought　possible。　Myers　flashed　his
knife；　and　bisected　it　in　midair。
“I　think　we　should　light　a　fire；”　said　Donovits；　addressing　his　sergeant　rather　than　the
commissar。
Greiss　nodded　his　approval；　and　Mackenzie　opened　his　mouth　to　object。　“Worth　the　risk；　I’d
say。”　Greiss　interrupted　sharply。　“The　men　fight　better　with　a　hot　meal　inside　’em。　And　it’s　going　to
get　dark　around　these　parts　pretty　damn　soon。　Don’t　know　about　you；　but　I　like　to　be　able　to　see
what’s　creeping　up　on　me—and　in　the　jungle；　there’s　a　whole　new　menagerie　of　critters　come　out　at
night。”
“Apart　from　anything　else；　sir；”　said　Dougan　in　his　usual　polite　manner；　“it’s　always　good　to
know　which　of　those　creatures　are　afraid　of　fire。”
“And　which　ones　aren’t；”　added　Greiss　under　his　breath。
“Where’s　Sly　Marbo？”　asked　Braxton。　“Is　he　joining　us？”
Nobody　answered　him。　The　truth；　Lorenzo　knew；　was　that　none　of　them　had　a　clue　where　Marbo
was　now。　They　hadn’t　glimpsed　or　heard　him　in　hours。　He　might　have　been　present　for　the　bird
attack；　perhaps　firing　in　from　the　sidelines；　in　the　chaos；　Lorenzo　could　have　missed　him。　Or　he
might　have　gone　scouting　ahead；　maybe　encountered　orks　and　found　a　good　sniping　position　in
which　he　would　wait　for　hours　or　days—as　long　as　necessary。　One　thing；　Lorenzo　did　not　doubt：
wherever　Marbo　was；　he　could　look　after　himself。　He　would　be　back。
The　Jungle　Fighters　broke　into　their　standard　rations；　because　they　were　tired　and　because　none
of　them　had　the　spirit　to　go　hunting　or　gathering　anything　better。　Anyway；　their　trust　in　what　they
knew　about　this　jungle　had　been　shaken；　and　no　one　was　especially　keen　to　sample　its　wares　right
now。
The　night　brought　with　it　the　fluttering　of　leathern　bat…wings；　the　soft　chittering　of　a　new　type　of
ground…based　insect；　and—at　one　point—the　footfall　of　something　bigger　and　heavier；　which
nevertheless　slipped　away　before　it　could　be　seen。　The　fire　drew　curious　moth…like　creatures—and；
although　they　seemed　non…aggressive；　Armstrong　pointed　out　their　barbed　fangs　and　the　Jungle
Fighters　took　to　swatting　them　when　they　could；　just　in　case。
There　were　snakes；　too。　Storm　found　one；　about　a　metre　long；　slender　and　black；　coiled　around　a
tree　trunk；　slithering　its　way　down　towards　the　roots。　He　glared　into　its　slit　eyes；　challenging　it；　and
the　snake　glared　back。　It　hissed　and　struck；　and—having　ascertained　that　it　was　hostile；　as　if　there
had　been　much　doubt—Storm　caught　it　by　its　head；　squeezing　its　mouth　shut　with　his　fingers。　He
yanked　it　from　its　perch；　swung　it　over…arm　and　smacked　its　body　hard　into　the　ground　like　a　whip。
Lorenzo　glimpsed　a　distinctive　silver　triangular　pattern　on　the　snake’s　back。　Then　Storm　casually
tossed　its　lifeless　body　to　Donovits；　who　would　probably　spend　his　watch　teasing　venom　out　of　its
glands　for　analysis。
Lorenzo　was　loath　to　lie　down；　to　close　his　eyes　on　an　environment　about　which　he　still　knew　so
little。　But　he　had　no　choice；　and　he　trusted　his　comrades　to　protect　him。　So；　he　lay　down　on　the
damp　earth　and　slept。
He　was　woken　by　Trooper　Storm。
He　reached　for　his　fang；　and　started　to　push　himself　to　his　feet。　Storm　clapped　a　steadying　hand
on　his　shoulder；　and　a　bright　grin　broke　through　his　now　ragged…looking　black　beard。　“Easy
trooper；”　he　laughed。　“There’s　no　fire。　It’s　time　for　your　watch；　that’s　all。”
Lorenzo　nodded　and　relaxed。　He　glanced　at　the　small　patch　of　sky　immediately　above　him。　It
had　been　pitch　black　when　he’d　gone　to　sleep；　but　now　it　was　showing　just　the　earliest　signs　of
lightening。　If　Rogar　III　had　a　moon；　Lorenzo　hadn’t　seen　it　yet。　He　threw　on　his　jacket　and　his
bandolier；　and　checked　that　his　lasgun　was　locked　and　loaded。
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The　only　other　light　source　in　the　Catachan…made　clearing　was　the　embers　of　the　fire。　They
popped　and　cracked　as　Myers　poked　them　with　a　stick；　keeping　them　alive　but　torpid。　There　was　a
slight　chill　in　the　air；　and　Lorenzo　drew　closer　to　the　glowing　coals；　to　soak　up　their　scant　warmth。
“Steel　Toe　was　right；　by　the　way；”　said　Storm。　“The　lizards　really　don’t　like　fire。　Even　this　is
enough　to　keep　them　away；　though　we’ve　heard　them　hissing　out　there。　You　want　steak　for　breakfast
this　morning；　you’re　going　to　have　to　go　get　one。”
Dougan　greeted　Lorenzo　with　a　nod。　They　were　to　share　the　last　two…hour　watch。　Typical　of
Greiss；　thought　Lorenzo；　to　pair　him　up　with　a　veteran；　as　if　he　still　needed　watching　over。　The　rest
of　his　squad　were　shadowy　mounds　in　the　darkness—though　he　could　identify　the　sergeant　by　his
quiet　but　distinctive　snore；　like　a　grox　breaking　wind。　Presumably；　it　was　Braxton　who　was
twitching　in　his　sleep　and　sometimes　letting　out　a　quiet　whimper—while　Muldoon；　of　course；　was
the　one　tied　to　the　tree。　“Keep　an　eye　on　him；”　advised　Storm；　nodding　toward　their　unconscious
comrade。　“Woods　says　he　woke　during　his　watch；　muttered　all　kinds　of　gibberish　about　daemons
and　monsters。　Hotshot　had　to　slug　him　one　to　put　him　back　under。”
Lorenzo　was　disappointed　to　hear　it。　He’d　hoped　that　time；　or　maybe　one　of　the　herbal　remedies
Donovits　had　forced　down　Muldoon’s　throat；　may　have　dispelled　his　hallucinations。　For　all　that
Greiss　and　Woods　had　said　to　Mackenzie；　the　Catachans　knew　they　couldn’t　lug　Muldoon　around
with　them　indefinitely。　There　would　come　a　time　when　they’d　have　to　accept　that　he　was　lost。
Myers　and