Death World(科幻战争)-第22部分

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all　night；　waiting　for　his　moment。　Whatever　the　reason；　Lorenzo　was　determined　to　return　the
favour；　or　to　pass　it　on。
Marbo；　he　decided；　had　the　right　idea。　Find　high　ground。
He　pulled　himself　up　onto　the　roof　of　the　nearest　hut；　finding　plenty　of　handholds　in　the　old；
pitted　metal　but　almost　falling　as　his　muscles　protested　at　being　put　to　so　much　effort　so　soon。　He’d
half…expected　to　find　Marbo　up　there；　but　he　had　moved　on；　of　course。　Lorenzo　lowered　himself
onto　his　stomach；　and　craned　his　neck　to　see　over　the　edge　of　the　building　without　being　seen　in
return。
Much　of　the　fighting　had　now　moved　out　of　the　encampment。　The　Catachans　had　drawn　their
more　numerous　foes　into　the　jungle　environment　they　knew　best；　though　with　the　acid　swamp　at
their　backs　they　had　precious　little　room　to　manoeuvre。　From　here；　Lorenzo　couldn’t　see　any　of　his
camouflaged　comrades—but　he　guessed；　by　the　positions　of　the　orks；　that　they’d　separated　along　the
perimeter　line；　making　themselves　harder　to　find。　The　orks；　in　turn；　seemed　to　be　everywhere；
shaking　trees；　firing　into　bushes；　doing　everything　they　could　to　beat　their　foes　out　of　hiding。
There　were　more　of　them；　of　course；　among　the　buildings；　searching　for　the　long…gone　Marbo；
liable　to　find　Lorenzo　instead。
His　eyes　alighted　upon　one　building　in　particular：　a　small　metal　structure；　built　with　a　little　more
care　than　most；　no　windows　cut　into　its　walls；　its　door　secured　by　thick　chains。　Ammo　store；　he
guessed。　He　strained　to　reach　his　backpack；　unfastened　it；　and　rummaged　out　the　two　demolition
charges　with　which　he’d　been　equipped。　They　weren’t　really　for　combat　use—the　Catachans
employed　them　to　clear　hard…going　areas　of　the　jungle　when　they　were　in　a　hurry　and　stealth　wasn’t
such　an　issue—but　they　were　just　what　he　needed　now。
The　first　charge　landed　with　a　plop　beside　the　chained　door；　when　no　orks　were　looking　that
way。　Lorenzo　set　the　second　to　detonate　only　two　seconds　after；　and　he　felt　his　palm　sweating　as　he
held　the　cold　sphere　in　his　hand；　counting　down。
He　let　the　second　charge　go　even　as　the　first　explosion　shook　the　buildings　around　him。　By　the
time　its　vibrations　overtook　him；　he　was　running；　but　they　made　him　mistime　his　leap　to　the　next　hut
across。　Lorenzo　pedalled　empty　air；　desperate　to　propel　himself　that　vital　centimetre　further；　and
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somehow　he　caught　the　protruding　edge　of　the　roof　as　it　passed　him；　and　almost　yanked　his　fingers
out　of　their　sockets　as　they　caught　his　falling　weight。
There　were　two　orks　below　him；　and　they　turned　their　guns　upwards。　Before　they　could　squeeze
their　triggers；　they　were　knocked　off　their　feet—and　Lorenzo　felt　it　simultaneously：　a　furious
Shockwave　of　heat　and　sound；　like　a　hurricane　raging　around　him；　in　which　it　was　all　he　could　do　to
grit　his　teeth　and　maintain　his　hold　on　the　parapet　while　his　back　was　peppered　with　debris。
The　hurricane　lessened；　and　he　strained　and　pulled　himself　up；　attaining　his　new　perch　at　last。　He
rolled　onto　his　back；　breathless；　but　raised　himself　on　his　elbows　because　he　couldn’t　resist　the
chance　to　inspect　his　handiwork。
It　looked　like　the　sky　was　on　fire。　The　building　he　had　just　leapt　from　had　collapsed；　along　with
several　others；　and　Lorenzo　could　see　the　burning；　smoking　hole　where　the　ammo　store　had　been。
Evidently；　he’d　guessed　right　about　its　contents。　His　first　charge　had　blown　off　the　door；　the　second
must　have　bounced　neatly　through　the　resulting　aperture。　Its　detonation　had　sparked　a　chain
reaction；　just　as　he　had　planned。　The　sturdy　walls　had　absorbed　much　of　it　before　they　had　given；
else　he　would　have　been　dead。　To　his　satisfaction；　several　orks—presumably　reacting　to　the　first
explosion；　too　late　to　stop　the　second—had　perished；　their　burnt　corpses　twitching　and　steaming　in
the　midst　of　the　devastation。
Dozens　more　orks　were　turning　from　the　jungle；　streaming　back　into　the　camp；　looking　for　the
enemy　that　had　penetrated　their　home。　Lorenzo　couldn’t　have　hoped　for　a　bigger　distraction—and　it
had　certainly　been　well　timed　for　at　least　one　Jungle　Fighter。　He　saw　a　blur　of　activity；　heard　the
howls　of　stricken　orks；　and　then　Muldoon　came　streaking　out　of　the　foliage；　his　lasgun　firing。　From
this　distance；　Lorenzo　couldn’t　see　what　had　happened；　but　he　could　guess。　One　of　Muldoon’s
favourite　tricks：　he　would　gather　up　a　cluster　of　deadly　creepers；　secrete　himself　in　a　tree　and；　when
the　enemy　got　too　close；　let　the　creepers　go。　Lorenzo　could　see　orks　dancing　and　twisting　as　they
fought　to　disentangle　themselves；　as　the　creepers　stung　them　and　burst　their　poisonous　pustules　in
their　grotesque　faces。
But　he　was　exposed　now；　left　with　nowhere　to　run　but　out　into　the　open　where　his　painted　skin
couldn’t　camouflage　him。　Like　Lorenzo　before　him；　he　raced　for　the　shelter　of　the　ork　huts；
miraculously　untouched　by　a　hail　of　bullets—but　one　great　brute　of　an　ork　had　avoided　his　trap；　and
it　came　charging　after　him；　and　cannoned　into　him　from　behind。
Lorenzo　was　on　his　way　before　Muldoon　hit　the　ground。　He　leapt　onto　the　sloping　roof　of　the
next　hut；　almost　lost　his　footing　on　its　slick　surface；　righted　himself　and　jumped　again。　His　fingers
hovered　over　his　bandolier；　over　the　pockets　that　held　his　frag　grenades—but　unless　more　orks
moved　in；　unless　they　formed　a　living　shield　between　Lorenzo　and　Muldoon　as　they　had　between
him　and　Marbo；　a　grenade　could　do　more　harm　than　good。　His　lasgun　was　gone。　That　left　him　with
his　knife。
He　launched　himself　from　the　last　roof；　at　the　ork’s　broad　back；　and　he　let　out　a　cry—enough　for
it　to　hear　him　coming　and　half…turn　its　head；　not　soon　enough　for　it　to　bring　around　its　gun　and　pick
him　off　in　midair。　Enough　for　it　to　take　its　eyes　off　Muldoon　for　a　moment。　The　ork　jerked
backwards；　easing　its　weight　off　its　fallen　prey；　as　Lorenzo’s　fang　sliced　down　between　its　shoulder
blades—and　in　that　same　moment；　Muldoon　drove　his　night　reaper　up　into　the　ork’s　throat。
The　ork　took　a　long；　long　second　to　die—but　at　last　it　toppled　like　a　felled　tree；　and　Lorenzo
fancied　he　could　feel　the　ground　shaking　with　the　impact　of　its　heavy　corpse。　Or　with　something
else…
Something　was　coming。　Something　big。　Lorenzo　didn’t　have　to　look；　didn’t　have　to　waste　the
half…second　it　would　take　him；　to　know　it　was　bad；　that　they　had　to　take　cover。　But　Muldoon　was
slowed；　having　trouble　standing；　and　Lorenzo　saw　that　his　head　was　cut；　his　eyes　glazed　over。
Concussion。
He　reached　out　a　hand；　and　Muldoon　laughed　giddily　as　he　took　it；　as　Lorenzo　hauled　him　to　his
feet。　“Looks　like…　like　I　owe　you　my　life；”　he　giggled。　Then；　suddenly　earnest；　he　gripped　Lorenzo
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by　the　arms　and　stared　into　his　eyes　as　if　he　had　the　most　important　information　in　the　Imperium　to
impart。　“Hey；　Lorenzo；　you　noticed？　There　isn’t…　isn’t　half　as　many　of　the　greenskins　as　Greiss
said　there’d　be。　Thirty…　thirty　to　one；　my　eye！　More　like　ten　to　one。　And　we　can　take　down　ten　orks
apiece；　right？　Hell；　I　must’ve　killed　five　already。”
That　noise　was　getting　closer…　The　rumbling　of　an　engine。　Lorenzo　looked　now；　and　he　saw
it—saw　its　piercing　light　first；　through　the　drifting　smoke　of　the　battlefield；　and　then　the　shape　of　the
behemoth　behind　it。
It　was　black；　daubed　with　crude　paintings　of　human　skulls　and　bones—ramshackle　in
appearance；　but　bristling　with　armour　plating　and　weapons。　Lorenzo　had　seen　vehicles　like　this
before。　It　was　the　ork　equivalent　of　a　tank—a　battlewagon；　they　called　it—manned　by　a　greenskin
mob。　They　howled　and　strained　forward　on　the　back　of　this　unnatural　beast　as　they　saw　their　two
exposed　foes。　The　pilot　trained　the　vehicle’s　searchlight　upon　the　Catachans；　and　wrestled　its　great
wheels　around。
Muldoon’s　mood　had　changed　again；　and　suddenly　he　looked　distant　and　extremely　pale；　apart
from　the　livid　red　gash　across　his　head。　“Trouble　is；”　he　said　to　himself　in　a　hollow　voice；　“they　got
Brains。　I　saw　him　go　down。　So；　we　have　to　take　out　a　few　more　orks　each　to　make　up　his　share。”
Lorenzo　couldn’t　allow　himself　to　react　to　this　news。　There　would　be　time　for　mourning　the
dead　later；　when　the　act　of　so　doing　wouldn’t　add　to　their　numbers。
The　battlewagon　had　two　guns；　like　eyes　on　stalks　protruding　before　it。　The　one　on　the　right
flared；　and　Lorenzo　pushed　Muldoon　aside　as　a　shell　whistled　by　and　thumped　into　the　dirt；　and
filled　the　world　with　light　and　sound　again。　His　comrade　sagged　in　his　arms　like　a　dead　weight；　and
Lorenzo　slapped　him　across　the　face；　hoping　to　shock　him　back　to　alertness。　More　gunfire—the
right…hand　gun　again—but　the　searchlight　had　lost　its　targets　and　the　smoke　from　the　first　impact
was　swirling　around　them　and　ork　weapons；　mostly　lashed　together　from　spare　parts；　were
notoriously　unreliable　anyway。　Still；　the　impact　almost　knocked　Lorenzo　off　his　feet。
Muldoon　blinked　as　blood　seeped　into　his　eye；　and　coughed　as　smoke　crept　into　his　throat。
Lorenzo　tried　to　drag　him　toward　the　huts；　but　there　came　another　explosion　from　that　direction　and
they　were　thrown　back；　back　into　the　open；　and　the　searchlight　had　rediscovered　them　and　there
were　more　orks　coming；　silhouettes　through　the　haze；　from　the　encampment；　from　the　jungle。
Muldoon　was　pressing　his　lasgun　into　Lorenzo’s　hands；　saying；　“Here—you　can　make　better　use
of　this　than　I　can。”
“What…　what　are　you—？”
He　wouldn’t　have　had　to　finish　the　question；　even　had　the　smoke　not　robbed　him　of　speech。　He
could　see　the　answer。　Muldoon　was　rummaging　in　his　bandolier；　finding　a　demolition　charge　with
each　hand—and　although　Lorenzo’s　first　instinct　was　to　stop　him；　to　save　him；　he　held　himself　back
because　his　comrade　was　grinning　at　him　now。　“You　saved　my　life。　That　makes　it　my　turn。　And
besides；　I　count　nine　greenskins　on　that　tank。　Add　them　to　the　other　five；　and　that’s　my　share　and　a
few　for　Brains　to　boot。”　Looking　into　his　comrade’s　ashen　face；　Lorenzo　saw　the　pain　he　was
holding　at　arm’s　length；　the　darkness　lurking　at　the　edges　of　his　eyes；　and　he　knew　then　as　Muldoon
surely　did　that　this　was　how　it　had　to　be。
Then　he　was　gone；　tearing　himself　from　Lorenzo’s　grip　before　he　could　think　of　a　word　to　say。
He　was　racing　into　the　light—and　before　the　orks　knew　what　was　happening；　he　was　too　close　for
them　to　train　their　gun　upon　him；　but　not　too　close　for　them　to　bring　their　other　weapon—the　one　on
the　left—to　bear…
It　was　a　flamethrower。　That　explained　what　this　single　wagon　was　doing　out　here；　thought
Lorenzo；　why　the　orks　had　assembled　it　in　the　depths　of　a　jungle　that　would　only　impede　it：　they’d
been　using　it　for　clearance　operations。　A　fierce　jet　of　flame　licked　around　Muldoon　now；　and
although　he　seemed　to　avoid　the　worst　of　it；　and　though　Lorenzo’s　vision　was　obscured　by　smoke
and　by　the　battlewagon’s　glaring　light；　he　was　certain　that　Muldoon　had　been　winged；　that　he’d　been
burnt；　and　yet　like　the　relentless　orks　themselves　he　kept　going。
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He　vaulted　over　the　guns　onto　the　front　of　the　tank；　planting　his　feet　and　his　fists　into　the　faces
of　the　orks　at　the　triggers。　Those　behind　saw　the　threat　to　them　and；　snarling；　drew　their　own　guns；
and　one　of　them　leapt　at　him　but　he　turned　its　momentum　and　its　weight　against　it；　and　threw　it　ov