Death World(科幻战争)-第25部分

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“Don’t　give　me　that；”　Greiss　growled。　“If　any　of　us　had　to　end　his　days　a　cripple；　better　it　be　an
old　warhorse　with　no　fight　left　in　him。　Better　it　be　someone　who’s　had　his　day；　whose　story’s　been
told。”
Lorenzo　was　still　digesting　the　full　import　of　what　Greiss　was　saying。　“…end　his　days　a
cripple…”　They　were　on　a　stealth　mission；　without　backup；　unable　to　vox　for　an　airlift—and　even　if
they　could　get　Woods　back　to　an　Imperium　facility；　it　would　certainly　have　been　the　last　thing　he
wanted。　It　was　unlikely　a　medic　could　do　much　for　him。　The　only　person　who　could　save　him　now
from　a　fate　worse　than　death　was　Greiss。　Lorenzo’s　gaze　strayed　to　the　spare　lasgun　on　the
sergeant’s　knee。
“He’ll　be　remembered；”　was　all　he　could　think　of　to　say。　It　seemed　to　cheer　Greiss　up　a　little。
Then　there　was　an　awkward　silence　as　Lorenzo　realised　there　was　nothing　more　he　could　say；
and　eventually　turned　to　the　door　again。
The　last　thing　he　saw　as　he　left　that　hut；　as　he　left　another　comrade　behind　forever；　was　Greiss
leaning　over　Woods；　shaking　him　gently　awake；　telling　him　it　was　time　and　pressing　the　lasgun　into
his　hands。　And　Woods’　smile—not　afraid；　but　relieved。　Grateful；　even。
Just　one　of　those　things。　Lorenzo　had　learned　to　accept　it。　He　walked　away　from　the　hut；　and
ignored　the　part　of　him　that　wanted　to　break　into　a　run；　to　get　away　from　there　before　he　had　to
hear…
He　thought　about　his　promise：　“He’ll　be　remembered。”　He　walked；　and　waited。　And　thought
about　his　comrade；　relating　his　last　story；　and　he　wished　he’d　known；　wished　he’d　been　more
attentive。　He　thought　about　the　dangers　that　still　lay　ahead；　all　his　depleted　squad　still　had　to　do；　and
he　told　himself　they’d　come　through　somehow。
Lorenzo　pretended　not　to　hear　the　dark　voice　in　the　back　of　his　head。　The　voice　that　said：　Yes；
Hotshot　Woods　will　he　remembered。　Sharkbait　Muldoon　will　be　remembered。　They　will　all　be
remembered。
But　for　how　long？
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CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
The　rain　came　early　in　the　evening。
The　Jungle　Fighters　had　seen　the　clouds；　felt　the　cool；　fresh　breeze　that　presaged　the　outburst—
but　the　speed　and　ferocity　with　which　it　broke　defied　their　expectations。
The　rain　was　acidic。　Guardsman　Braxton　winced　as　the　first　drop　splashed　off　his　cheek；　and
Lorenzo　threw　a　hand　to　his　neck　as　the　skin　there　began　to　smart。　The　acid；　fortunately；　wasn’t
strong；　not　like　that　from　the　spitter　plants—but　with　prolonged　exposure；　it　could　do　as　much
damage。
They　found　some　shelter　beneath　the　spreading　branches　of　a　huge　tree。　Lorenzo　listened　as　the
rain　beat　down　on　its　roof　of　leaves；　and　he　looked　gloomily　at　the　cascade　of　redirected　liquid　like　a
waterfall　around　him。　He　wondered　how　long　it　would　be　before　the　leaves　were　burnt　through；　and
he　couldn’t　help　but　feel　that　even　this　downpour　was　deliberate。　It　was　as　if　the　planet　was　so
determined　to　destroy　them　that　it　would　sacrifice　a　part　of　itself。
They　debated　the　wisdom　of　turning　back；　of　scavenging　sheets　of　metal　from　the　ork　camp；　but
Greiss　in　particular　was　reluctant　to　lose　ground。　“Aside　from　which；”　he　growled；　casting　a　wary
glance　back　over　his　shoulder；　“we　don’t　know　what　might　be　behind　us。”　They　all　knew　what　he
meant。　Ever　since　they　had　set　off；　they　had　all　been　aware　of　ghosts　dogging　their　footsteps　again。
It　had　been　inevitable；　of　course。　Still；　Lorenzo　had　hoped　for　at　least　some　respite。　He　wasn’t
the　only　one　of　the　six　remaining　men　in　his　squad—half　their　original　complement—to　have　been
injured　in　the　previous　night’s　battle；　nor　to　feel　profoundly　tired。　Armstrong’s　left　arm　was　useless；
the　nerve　tendons　in　his　shoulder　severed　by　an　ork　axe；　and　Braxton　hadn’t　said　a　word　all
afternoon　and　looked　like　he　could　drop　at　any　moment。　Their　lasguns　were　low　on　energy；　too；
Myers　wore　a　belt　of　strung…together　power　packs；　letting　the　dwindling　sunlight　do　what　it　could　to
recharge　them　until　they　could　build　a　fire　to　do　the　job　properly。　But　the　nature　of　their　mission—
and　Greiss；　now　firmly　back　in　command—had　required　they　press　on；　and　not　one　of　those　six　men
was　prepared　to　admit　defeat。
Their　map　had　been　incinerated　along　with　Mackenzie；　but　Armstrong　knew　where　they　were
and　was　sure　he　could　remember　the　location　of　the　warboss’　lair　from　the　briefing。　He　could　get
them　close；　at　least。
They　broke　out　the　alkaline　powders　from　their　backpacks；　rubbed　them　into　their　exposed　skin
and　hair。　As　they　worked；　the　ghosts　began　to　gather；　in　the　corners　of　their　vision。　This　time；　they
had　attracted　more　than　one　stalker。　Many　more。　And　these　creatures；　it　seemed；　were　trying　less
hard　to　conceal　their　presence。
Or　maybe　it　was　just　that　they　were　bigger　and　clumsier　than　Dougan；　less　able　to　hide。　Ork
corpses；　as　the　Jungle　Fighters　had　anticipated。　This　close；　there　was　no　denying　the　stink　of　death
that　rose　from　them；　it　had　been　wafting　past　Lorenzo’s　nostrils　for　the　past　few　hours；　whenever　the
breeze　was　right。　Some　of　these　orks　had　been　dead　weeks　or　months；　but　now　they　were　a　part　of
the　planet　itself；　cocooned　in　its　substance　and　animated　by　its　mysterious　energy。
It　had　taken　six　Jungle　Fighters　to　send　one　monster　into　retreat。　A　smaller　monster。　Six　Jungle
Fighters；　relatively　refreshed　and　ready　for　battle。
For　now；　the　zombies　seemed　content　to　keep　their　distance；　to　watch。　Greiss　moved　his　squad
on　quickly　anyway；　worried　that　if　they　stayed　put　too　long　they　might　be　surrounded。　They　moved
through　the　rain　at　a　faster…than…normal　pace；　with　their　packs　over　their　heads；　hugging　the　trees。
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Fortunately；　they　knew　enough　about　Rogar　now　to　avoid　its　more　obvious　traps—though　Lorenzo
remembered　what　Donovits　had　said　about　this　world’s　rapid　evolution；　and　he　eyed　even　the　safestlooking
flowers　with　suspicion。
He　twitched　at　another　rustle　from　the　foliage。　It　was　closer　than　usual；　to　the　left　of　the　squad
rather　than　behind　them。　He　brought　his　lasgun　around　but　didn’t　dare　fire　lest　he　start　something
they　couldn’t　finish。　Another　ork　shape　was　clearly　outlined；　watching　him　with　unblinking　eyes；
one　of　which　had　slid　half　out　of　its　socket　on　a　slagheap　of　dried　blood。　As　Lorenzo　watched；　it
withdrew　and　sank　silently　into　the　ground。
“They’re　watching　us；”　he　announced。　“We’ve　survived　everything　else　Rogar　has　to　throw　at
us；　so　it’s　got　its　zombies　watching　us；　looking　for　a　weakness。”
“I’d　almost　rather　they　made　their　move；”　murmured　Braxton；　“and　got　it　over　with。”
“Careful　what　you　wish　for。”　Storm　cautioned　him　grimly。
“When　you　people　first　arrived；”　said　Braxton；　“and　you　were　talking　about　Rogar　like　it　was
a—I　don’t　know　–　a　living　thing；　an　enemy；　like　an　ork　or　something；　I　didn’t　know…　I　mean；　I’m
starting　to　see　it　now。　I’m　starting　to　feel　like　this　planet　is　alive；　like　it’s　intelligent；　like　it　really
wants　us　dead。”　He　sounded　as　if　he　wanted　somebody　to　contradict　him。　No　one　did。
The　jungle　had　started　to　close　in　again。　Greiss　had　sent　Myers　and　Storm　ahead　to　clear　the　way；
and　the　squad’s　pace　had　dropped　to　a　crawl。
And　the　ghosts　were　gathering　at　their　backs。
“Maybe　we　should　send　a　few　las…shots　their　way；”　suggested　Armstrong；　worriedly；　hefting　his
gun　in　his　good　hand　as　if　to　reassure　himself　he　could　still　operate　it。　“Discourage　them　a　little。”
“Don’t　know　if　it’d　work；”　murmured　Greiss。
“Hotshot　fired　at…”　Lorenzo　began；　then　was　unable　to　say　Dougan’s　name；　“…the　first　one。　It
didn’t　seem　to　react　at　all。”
“They　don’t　feel　pain；”　said　Greiss。　“You　remember　what　Brains　said。　We’ve　got　to　stop
thinking　of　these　things　as　living　creatures。　They’re　less　than　that—less　than　orks；　even。　They　don’t
have　hearts—or　if　they　do；　they　sure　aren’t　beating　anymore。　No　internal　organs；　no　nerves；　no
pressure　points；　and　I　doubt　their　brains　are　getting　much　use。　They’re　plants；　no　more　than　that。
Part　of　the　jungle—the　planet　itself—just　wrapped　around　the　remains　of　the　dead。”
Lorenzo　stole　a　quick　look　at　the　collecting　shadows；　searching　for　one　that　was　shorter　and
thinner　than　the　others；　hoping　he　wouldn’t　find　it。　If　the　God…Emperor　had　any　influence　at　all　here；
so　far　from　his　Golden　Throne；　he　would　see　to　it　that　Dougan　could　rest　in　peace。
“Then　we　deal　with　them　like　we　would　any　hostile　plant；”　reasoned　Armstrong。
“Can’t　tear　’em　up　by　the　roots；”　growled　Greiss。　“They’re　up　and　walking　about　already。”
“Shred　’em？”　suggested　Storm；　his　fingers　twitching　over　his　knife　hilt。
“Take　too　long　with　the　knives；”　said　Greiss。　“Way　I’m　thinking；　those　things　will　keep　going
till　you　get　to　the　skeleton　and　can　take　it　apart。”
“We’ve　got　to　do　something；”　said　Braxton；　“before　they　attack！”
“Boy’s　right；”　said　Armstrong。　“We　need　a　show　of　strength；　give　them　something　to　think
about。　If　they　can　think；　that　is。”
“If　they　can’t；”　muttered　Myers；　“looks　like　something　does　it　for　them。”
“How　much　ordnance　do　we　have　left　between　us？”　asked　Lorenzo。
“Couple　of　shredder　mines；”　offered　Storm。
“Still　got　my　demolition　charges；”　said　Myers。
“Save　’em；”　said　Greiss；　with　a　gleam　in　his　eye；　“for　a　special　occasion。　I　got　a　better　idea。”　He
and　Armstrong　spoke　as　one：　“Burn　“em！”
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Lorenzo　and　Braxton　took　over　clearance　duty　as　Myers　and　Storm　assembled　the　flamer　again。
Greiss　wielded　it　himself；　straining　under　the　weight　of　the　device　as　he　lugged　it　a　few　steps　closer
to　the　watching　zombies。　Then　he　pulled　the　trigger；　and　simultaneously　swept　the　flamer　around　in
a　wide　arc。
It　was　like　a　dozen　explosions　had　gone　off　at　once；　plants　and　trees　erupting　as　if　they’d　just
combusted　from　within。　The　zombies—those　Lorenzo　could　see—they　were　burning　too；　starting
with　the　parts　of　them　that　were　the　most　flammable：　the　clumps　of　weeds　and　grass　embedded　in
their　bodies。　They　reeled　in　apparent　confusion；　their　arms　pumping　in　futile　slow…motion；　patting
themselves　down；　trying　to　extinguish　themselves；　succeeding　only　in　setting　fire　to　their　hands　or
bumping　into　each　other　and　spreading　the　flames　to　their　comrades。
Lorenzo　was　amazed　at　the　severity　of　the　reaction；　until　he　remembered　that　Rogar　III　had　felt
fire　before—from　the　Jungle　Fighters’　small　campfire　of　two　nights　ago　to　the　all…out　attempts　by
humans　and　orks　alike　at　deforestation。　It　knew　what　fire　could　do　to　it；　and—Lorenzo　knew　this
didn’t　make　sense；　but　he　was　suddenly　sure　of　it；　more　sure　than　he’d　been　of　anything　his　instincts
had　told　him　of　late—it　was　afraid　of　it。　The　deathworld　itself　was　afraid；　and　in　its　fear；　it　chose　to
attack　the　creatures　that　had　hurt　it　so　much；　while　it　still　had　the　means　to　do　so。　And　it　sent　its
soldiers　forward…
The　Jungle　Fighters　drew　their　lasguns　as　six　flaming　zombies—those　that　could　still　walk—
came　stumbling　towards　them；　trailing　smoke；　like　a　small　army　of　infernal　daemons。　They　let　off　a
fusillade　of　shots；　to　no　effect；　and　Greiss　sent　another　blast　of　fire　the　zombies’　way　in　the　hope　of
hastening　their　demise；　before　abandoning　the　flamer　and　leaping　aside；　not　an　instant　too　soon。　A
zombie　hurled　itself　at　him；　and　hit　the　ground　wher