Death World(科幻战争)-第2部分

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they’d　dropped　out　of　the　warp　into　real　space；　for　the　final　approach　to　their　destination；　but　still　he
longed　to　escape　this　prison。　It　was　almost　worse；　knowing　that　release　was　so　close。　Time　seemed
to　have　slowed　down　for　him。　Lorenzo　knew　the　others　were　restless；　too；　chafing　for　action。　He
didn’t　know　if　they　shared　his　sense　of　unease；　if　the　warp　had　affected　them　as　it　had　him；　and　he
wouldn’t　ask。　There　were　some　things　you　didn’t　talk　about。
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“I　don’t　know；　sergeant；”　said　Woods。　“There　were　times　on　that　last　world　I　wished　I　had
stayed　curled　up　on　a　bedroll　with　a　good　book。　Might　have　made　for　more　thrills；　if　you　know　what
I　mean。”
“Got　a　point　there；　Hotshot；”　laughed　Greiss。　“I　could　almost　have　felt　sorry　for　them…　what
were　they　called？”
“Rhinoceraptors；”　prompted　Donovits。
“Yeah；　right。　Few　frag　grenades　under　their　hide　plates；　and　boom！　Didn’t　know　what’d　hit
them。　A　couple　o”　squads　could’ve　taken　out　the　lot　of　’em。　Hell；　Marbo　could　probably　have　done
it　on　his　own。”
“He　wouldn’t　have　thanked　us　for　wasting　his　time；　though。”
“You’re　right　there；　Hotshot。”
“Of　course；”　said　Dougan；　quietly；　“they　did　get　Bryznowski。”
Greiss　sighed。　“Yes。　They　did　get　Bryznowski。　Heard　we　lost　a　few　of　the　ogryns；　too。”
“And　that　rookie　from　Bulldog’s　squad；”　said　Dougan；　easing　himself　back　in　his　chair　so　he
could　stretch　out　his　bionic　leg。　It　had　taken　a　hit　a　couple　of　worlds　ago；　and　now　it　had　a　tendency
to　seize　up　if　he　didn’t　keep　it　exercised。
There　was　a　short　silence　as　the　five　soldiers　remembered　fallen　comrades；　then　Greiss’　craggy
features　folded　into　a　scowl。
“Way　things　are　going；”　he　grumbled；　“I’m　going　to　end　up　dying　in　my　damn　bed！”　He　waved
aside　Woods　and　Donovits’　well…intentioned　protests。　“Come　off　it；　you　lot。　I’m　thirty…six　years　old
next　birthday。　Leaving　it　a　bit　late　for　that　blaze　of　glory。　But　that’s　okay。　I　made　my　mark。　I　just
want　to　go　out　the　right　way；　that’s　all。　Been　too　long　since　I　had　a　scrap　I　couldn’t　sleepwalk
through。　Long　time　since　I　faced　a　deathworld　worthy　of　the　name。”
“Maybe　you　should　put　in　for　a　posting　back　home；”　said　Dougan；　sympathetically。　“Back　to
Catachan。　Stone　Face　will　understand。　He’s　coming　up　to　the　big　three…oh　himself。”
Lorenzo　was　aware　that；　by　Imperial　standards；　Colonel　Graves　was　a　young　man；　and　Greiss
and　Dougan　only　middle…aged。　But　then；　most　Imperial　citizens　didn’t　grow　up　on　Catachan。　Life
there　was　shorter。
“Ah；　I　couldn’t　leave　you　jokers。　But　it’s　the　youngsters　I　feel　sorry　for。　Like　Lorenzo　here。
How’s　he　going　to　make　a　name　for　himself　if　he　never　sets　foot　on　a　world　worth　taming？”
Lorenzo　looked　up　from　his　meal；　to　grunt　an　acknowledgement　of　the　name　check。　He　didn’t
reveal　how　much　it　smarted。　Greiss　would　never　have　called　Hotshot　Woods　a　“youngster”；　and
Lorenzo　was　two　years　older　than　he　was。
“I　got　a　name　for　Lorenzo；”　quipped　Woods。　“Why　don’t　we　call　him　‘Chatterbox’　Lorenzo？　Or
‘Never　Shuts　His　Yap’　Lorenzo？”
Lorenzo　glared　at　him。
Greiss　pushed　his　bowl　aside；　and　hauled　himself　to　his　feet。　“All　right；　men；”　he　said；　his　voice
suddenly　full　of　confidence　and　authority。　“You　heard　what　Colonel　Graves　said。　Drop　positions　by
17。30　hours。”
“The　colonel　said　18。30；　sergeant。”
“That’s　for　the　rest　of　those　slackers；　Donovits。　My　squad　forms　up　at　17。30　sharp。　Fifty　deck
reps；　a　few　circuits　of　the　deck—that　should　loosen　up　the　muscles；　get　the　adrenaline　pumping。
Then；　when　we　get　down　to　this　‘deathworld’；　we’re　going　to　tear　through　it　like　it　was　nothing；
show　those　Guardsmen　down　there　a　thing　or　two。　This　time　tomorrow；　we’ll　be　back　in　warp　space；
headed　for　somewhere　worth　the　sweat！”
Lorenzo　greeted　the　prospect　with　mixed　feelings。
The　whole　of　Third　Company　could　have　fitted　into　one　drop　ship　with　room　to　spare。　Instead；
Colonel　Graves　had　ordered　them　to　split　up；　one　platoon　to　a　ship。　That　meant　only　one　thing。　He
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was　expecting　trouble　on　the　way　down。　Better　to　lose　a　few　squads　and　have　the　rest　arrive　intact
than　to　risk　losing　all　twenty…two　to　a　lucky　shot。
The　five　squads　in　Lorenzo’s　ship　had　separated　to　the　edges　of　the　troop　deck；　sitting　in　their
own　small　clusters　in　the　rows　of　narrow　seats。　It　wasn’t　that　they　didn’t　get　on；　just　that
Deathworlders　found　it　best　to　make　no　more　attachments　than　they　had　to。　They　were　too　easily
broken。　Lorenzo　had　no　friends；　but　he　had　something　better。　He　had　nine　comrades；　who　would　die
for　him　in　a　heartbeat　and　he　for　them。
The　shadowy　spaces　around　the　cramped　seating　area　were　empty；　apart　from　a　dusty　Sentinel
scout　walker　tucked　into　one。　The　Catachans　carried　little　more　equipment　than　would　fit　into　their
kit　bags—and　those　bags　stayed　with　them；　nestled　in　their　laps　or　deposited　on　an　adjacent　seat。
Lorenzo　pictured　the　four　ships　streaking　towards　the　surface　of　Rogar　III；　blazing　with　the　heat　of
re…entry；　like　meteors　from　the　heavens。　He　wondered　how　many　Guardsmen　on　the　ground　would
turn　their　heads　upwards　and　thank　the　Emperor　for　sending　them　such　an　omen。　The　thought　made
him　feel　good。　It　almost　made　him　forget　that　he　hadn’t　touched　ground　himself　yet。
There　had　been　a　reallocation　of　troops　a　few　days　earlier。　The　commander　of　C　Platoon；
Lieutenant　Vines；　had　disbanded　one　squad　and　reassigned　its　members　to　bring　the　rest　up　to
strength。　Greiss’　squad　had　two　new　arrivals　to　complete　its　complement　often—and　old　hands
Myers　and　Storm　were　currently　passing　the　time　by　quizzing　one　of　them；　a　nervy　youngster　by　the
name　of　Landon。
Landon　was　eager　to　please；　bragging　about　a　time　back　on　Catachan　when　he’d　wrestled　a
blackback　viper　single…handed。　Myers　and　Storm　were　pretending　to　be　impressed；　but　Lorenzo
knew　they　were　poking　fun　at　the　rookie。
The　other　newcomer；　Patch　Armstrong；　had　an　easier　ride。　It　had　taken　an　ambush　by　four　ice
apes　on　the　frozen　world　of　Tundrar　to　deprive　Armstrong　of　his　left　eye—and　even　then　he　had
snapped　the　spine　of　one　beast；　gutted　two　more　and　gunned　down　the　fourth　as　it　had　fled。　The
patch　he　wore；　and　the　crooked　ends　of　the　scar　that　protruded　above　and　below　it；　were　his　badges
of　honour。　Like　Dougan’s　leg；　and　the　plate　in　Sergeant　Greiss’　head。
The　drop　ship　was　being　shaken。
It　had　only　been　a　little　at　first；　but　now　it　was　growing　stronger。　Sharkbait　Muldoon　had　rolled
up　the　left　sleeve　of　his　jacket　to　paint　his　own；　better；　camouflage　pattern　directly　onto　his　skin；
layering　on　natural　dyes　with　his　knife；　he　let　out　a　curse　as　the　blade　slipped　and　nicked　his　arm。
Lorenzo　said　nothing；　but　his　fingers　tightened　around　the　armrests　of　his　seat。
“Must　be　one　hell　of　a　storm；”　commented　Woods。　But　Lorenzo　observed　that　Greiss’　jaw　was
set；　his　teeth　clenched；　his　nostrils　flaring；　and　he　knew　this　was　no　mere　storm。
Then；　just　like　that；　they　were　falling。
The　drop　ship　plummeted　like　a　brick；　like　it　had　when　it　had　first　been　launched　from　its
mother。　Lorenzo’s　stomach　was　in　his　mouth　again；　had　he　not　been　strapped　in；　he　would　have
been　slammed　into　the　ceiling。　Woods；　cocky　as　ever；　had　loosened　his　own　restraints；　and　now　he
was　fighting　to　hold　himself　down　as　g…forces　rippled　the　skin　of　his　cheeks。
For　eight　long　seconds；　Lorenzo　was　facing　his　worst　nightmare。　Then　the　engines　caught　them
and　they　were　flying　level　again；　but　still　buffeted；　the　deck　lurching　unpredictably　beneath　their
feet。　Behind　the　din　of　the　protesting　hull；　the　soft；　artificial　voice　of　the　navigation　servitor　sounded
over　the　vox…caster：
“Warning：　extreme　atmospheric　turbulence　encountered。　Destination　coordinates　no　longer
attainable。　Prepare　for　emergency　landing。　Repeat；　prepare　for　emergency　landing！”
The　first　impact　came　almost　as　soon　as　the　warning　was　issued。
Lorenzo　had　barely　had　time　to　get　into　the　brace　position；　his　chin　on　his　chest；　his　hands
clasped　over　his　head。　It　felt　like　someone　had　taken　a　sledgehammer　to　every　bone　in　his　body　at
once。　And　then　it　happened　again；　with　only　marginally　less　force　this　second　time。
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The　drop　ship　was　skipping　along　the　ground；　its　engines　shrieking。　Lorenzo　was　rattled　in　his
seat；　his　straps　biting　into　his　chest。　He　concentrated　on　keeping　his　muscles　relaxed；　despite　the
situation；　knowing　that　to　resist　the　repeated　shocks　would　do　him　more　harm　than　good。
Then　they　hit　the　ground　for　the　final　time；　but　they　were　still　barrelling　forwards；　and　the　scrape
of　earth　and　branches　against　the　outer　hull　was　almost　deafening。　Rogar　III；　as　Donovits　had　taken
pleasure　in　informing　everyone；　was　blanketed　in　jungle。　There　were　no　open　spaces　in　which　to
land；　but　for　those　cleared　with　axe　and　flame。　Lorenzo　pictured　the　scene　outside　the　drop　ship’s
hull　now；　as　it　ploughed　through　tangled　vegetation；　the　servitors　straining　to　rein　in　its　speed　before
it　hit　something　that　wouldn’t　yield　to　its　considerable　mass。　Before　it　crumpled　in　on　itself　like　a
ball　of　paper。
And　then；　at　last；　they　were　still；　the　engines　letting　out　a　last　dying　whine　as　the　drop　ship’s
superstructure　creaked　and　settled。　The　lighting　flickered　and　cut　out；　and　Lorenzo　could　see　nothing
in　the　sudden　total　darkness。　But　he　knew　his　way　to　the　hatchway；　and　his　squad　was　the　closest　to
it。
The　drop　ship　had　come　to　rest　at　an　angle。　The　deck　was　tilted　some　forty…five　degrees　to　the
horizontal；　so　Lorenzo　had　to　climb　to　reach　his　goal。　He　swung　himself　from　one　empty　seat　to　the
next；　using　their　backs　to　keep　his　balance　and　his　bearings。　From　all　around；　he　could　hear　the
sounds　of　buckles　popping　and　men　leaping　to　their　feet。
He　was　almost　there　when　he　realised　he　had　been　beaten　to　it。　The　hatch　had　buckled　a　little
and　was　sticking　in　its　frame；　but　Woods　managed　to　shoulder　it　open　even　as　Lorenzo　was　about　to
lend　him　a　hand。　First　a　crack；　then　a　rectangle　of　brilliant　light　blazed　in　Lorenzo’s　eyes；　and　he
blinked　to　clear　the　patterns　it　burnt　into　his　retinas。
In　the　meantime；　Woods　had　clambered　out　onto　the　angled　side　of　the　ship。　“Hey；”　he　called
down　to　the　others　enthusiastically。　“You’ve　got　to　see　this。　It’s　a　beautiful　evening！”
Lorenzo　frowned。　The　upturned　hatchway　offered　him　the　familiar　sight　of　a　jungle　canopy—but
behind　the　greens　and　browns；　the　leaves　and　the　branches；　the　sky　appeared　to　be　a　perfect；　deep
blue；　free　from　cloud。　Woods　was　right。　If　there　had　been　a　storm；　it　had　passed；　impossibly；
without　trace。　But　then；　what　else　could　have　tossed　the　drop　ship　about　like　that？
It　was　there　again：　that　sense　of　wrongness　he　had　felt　in　the　warp。　He　needed　to　get　out　into　the
open。　The　rest　of　the　platoon　were　crowding　up　behind　him　anyway；　so　Lorenzo　followed　the　sweet
scent　of　fresh　air；　mingled　though　it　was　with　the　stench　of　burning。　He　gripped　the　sides　of　the
hatchway　and　pulled　himself　up　and　out　through　it。
He　had　barely　raised　his　head　above　the　parapet　and　started　to　take　in　his　new　surroundings；
when　Trooper　Woods　pushed　him　down　again；　with　a　warning　yell：　“Incoming！”
Three　plants　were　shuffling　towards　the　drop　ship。　They　looked　like　the　mantraps　of　Catachan；
but　taller。　Three