Gunheads(科幻战争)-第30部分

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Major　General　Bergen；　he’s　keen　not　to　waste　any　time。　The　major　general　has　been　in　regular
contact　with　him　via　a　cable…based　communications　system　that　the　tech…priests　set　up。　Didn’t　quite
get　the　gist　of　it　myself；　but　at　least　it　seems　to　be　more　reliable　than　the　bloody　vox。　Anyway；　the
general　wants　all　forward　elements　to　be　ready　for　deployment　on　his　arrival。　Gives　you　about
fourteen　hours；　Wulfe。　How　serious　are　the　repairs　you　need？”
“She　just　needs　a　new　radiator；　new　fuel　lines；　new　filters；　and　a　bit　of　love　from　the　cogboys；
sir。　She’ll　be　good　to　go　after　that。　I’d　say　eight　or　nine　hours；　give　or　take。”
“Good；”　said　van　Droi；　“but　it’s　not　just　the　condition　of　your　tank　that　concerns　me　right　now。”
He　stared　at　Wulfe　without　blinking。　“Listen；　I’m　sorry　to　do　this　to　you；　but　I　have　to　pull　Corporal
Holtz　off　your　crew。”
Wulfe　felt　like　he　had　been　slapped　in　the　face。　“Holtz？　You　must　be　bloody　joking；　sir！　He’s
only　just　mastered　the　main　gun。　You　already　stripped　Viess　out。　Now　you’re　reassigning　his
replacement？　What’s　it　about？”
“War　is　what　it’s　about；　sergeant；”　replied　van　Droi；　suddenly　brisk。　“With　Markus　out　of　the
game；　you’re　my　senior　man。　You　had　better　understand　what　that　means。　The　crew　of　Old
Smashbones　came　in　as　new　meat　before　the　drop。　Holtz　has　plenty　of　combat　experience　and　he’s
worked　his　way　up　from　sponson…man。　Plus　he’s　a　hard　bastard。　They’ll　need　someone　like　that　to
get　them　through。”
Damn　it；　thought　Wulfe；　if　I　thought　he　was　ready　for　command…
“Put　me　in　charge　of　Rhaimes’　crate；”　he　told　van　Droi。　“I’ve　got　more　experience。　I　can　deal
with　a　rookie　crew。　Put　Holtz　in　charge　of　mine。　He’ll　be　much　better　off　with　men　he　already
knows。”
Van　Droi　shook　his　head。　“I’ve　thought　about　that；”　he　said；　“but；　to　be　frank；　Wulfe；　your　crew
is　unorthodox；　and　I’m　being　kind　with　my　wording　here。　With　you　at　the　helm；　they’re　working　out
all　right；　but　with　anyone　else…”
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“Unorthodox？”
“For　starters；　you’ve　got　a　driver　most　troopers　still　believe　is　cursed。　They　still　call　him　Lucky
Metzger。　It’s　damned　hard　to　erase　a　reputation　for　being　the　only　survivor　on　crew　after　crew。”
“That’s　all　behind　him；”　said　Wulfe。　“His　luck　hasn’t　killed　me　yet；　has　it？”
“I　hope　it　stays　that　way。　But　then　there’s　Siegler。”
“What　about　him？”
“Come　on；　Oskar。　He’s　damaged　goods。　You　know　what　he’s　like。　As　hard　as　it’ll　be　for　a　new
commander　to　get　used　to　him；　it’ll　be　twice　as　hard　for　him　if　you　leave　that　crew。　The　only　reason
he　still　functions　as　a　frontline　loader　is　the　strength　he　draws　from　your　presence。　I　honestly　think
he’d　lose　it　under　someone　else。”
Wulfe　was　quiet　while　he　thought　about　that。　Since　the　accident　that　had　damaged　his　brain；
Siegler　had　clung　to　Wulfe　like　a　lifeline；　a　rock　in　a　turbulent　ocean；　one　of　the　few　things　that
remained　familiar　to　the　man　after　so　much　about　his　universe　had　changed。　What　would　he　be　like
without　his　sarge　to　watch　out　for　him？　Van　Droi　was　right。
“I　promise　you；”　said　the　lieutenant；　“you’re　getting　the　best　gunner　we　could　find　from　the
reserve　squads；　a　lad　from　Muntz’s　platoon　that　I’ve　had　marked　out　for　a　while。　Good　scores　on　the
ranges　and　I　reckon　he’s　got　the　right　stuff。　He　only　missed　out　on　a　frontline　posting　earlier　because
of　misconduct。　Nothing　serious；　you　understand。　Commissar　Slayte　has　given　him　the　lash　a　few
times　for　brawling；　but　you　weren’t　exactly　an　angel　yourself　at　his　age。　You’ll　like　him。”
Wulfe　was　still　angry　over　Holtz　being　swapped　out；　but　he　was　in　no　position　to　argue。
“This　trooper　got　a　name；　then；　sir？”　he　asked。
Van　Droi　sat　back。　“Most　of　the　troopers　call　him　Beans。　Heard　of　him？”
“Beans？”　repeated　Wulfe　suspiciously。　“Why　the　hell　do　they　call　him　that？”
“I　think　I’ll　leave　you　to　discover　the　specifics　yourself；”　said　van　Droi　with　a　grin。　“It’ll　give
you　something　to　talk　about。　You’ll　find　him　waiting　for　you　at　C…barracks。　He’s　expecting　you。
You’ll　need　to　break　the　news　to　Holtz；　of　course。”
“That　won’t　be　pleasant；”　said　Wulfe　darkly。
“For　you？　Or　for　him？”　asked　van　Droi。　“Trust　me；　Oskar。　Holtz　will　light　up　like　Skellas　Plaza
on　Emperor’s　Day。　Think　about　it。　If　he　does　well；　he　could　make　sergeant　by　the　end　of　this　bloody
fiasco。”
Wulfe　had　never　considered　Holtz　particularly　ambitious；　but　most　troopers　aspired　to　having
sergeant’s　stripes　sewn　onto　their　sleeves。　It　was　more　to　do　with　the　perks　than　anything　else。　Holtz
would　certainly　enjoy　the　increased　alcohol　and　tabac　rations…　if　he　made　the　grade。
Having　finished　with　Wulfe　for　now；　Lieutenant　van　Droi　was　on　the　verge　of　dismissing　him
when　a　commotion　erupted　at　a　table　across　the　room。　A　short；　silver…haired；　red…faced　man　in　a
colonel’s　uniform　stood　and　slammed　his　palms　down　on　the　table’s　surface。　His　chair　crashed　to
the　floor　behind　him。　“I　will　not　hold　my　damned　tongue；　Pruscht。　You’re　not　my　senior　officer。　It’s
about　time　someone　spoke　his　damned　mind　around　here。”
There　were　five　other　men　seated　at　the　table。　Four　of　them　looked　desperate　to　be　somewhere
else。　The　fifth　was　Colonel　Pruscht；　commander　of　the　118th　Cadian　Lasgunners。　He　was　a　heavyset；
dark…eyed　man　with　a　neatly　trimmed　beard。　Calmly　and　quietly；　he　stood　and　addressed　his
angry　peer。
“Calm　down；　von　Holden；”　he　said；　hands　raised　in　placation。　“You　don’t　want　trouble。　Think　of
your　men。　You　don’t　want　them　to　see　you　like　this；　do　you？　Let’s　put　this　one　down　to　strong　drink
and　forget　about　it。　We　can’t　have　you　talking　like—”
“Like　what？”　exploded　von　Holden。　“Like　someone　with　a　bloody　brain？”　He　spun　and　cast　his
bleary　gaze　over　men　at　the　other　tables。　“Who　among　you　has　the　gall　to　deny　it？”　he　yelled。
“Where’s　your　damned　integrity？　You　all　feel　the　same。　I　know　you　do。　Armageddon　is　where　we
should　be；　fighting　where　it　counts；　where　we　can　do　some　bloody　good。　Not　out　here　on　this
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backwater。　Men　dying　of　dust　and　bug…bites　and　Throne　knows　what　else。　And　all　for　a　bit　of　scrap
metal　no　one　gave　a　flying　damn　about　until　now。　It’s　been　forty　blasted　years。　DeViers　should—”
“Should　what？”　demanded　a　sharp；　clear　voice　from　the　door　of　the　mess。
Wulfe　turned　his　head　and　saw　Major　General　Bergen　standing　in　the　doorway　flanked　by　two
commissars。　His　heart　skipped　a　beat　when　he　recognised　one　of　them：　Commissar　Slayte。
Crusher！
Some　men　in　the　regiment　boasted　that　they　were　afraid　of　nothing；　but　they　stopped　boasting；
all　of　them；　when　they　met　the　man　known　informally　as　Crusher。　He　was　the　commissar　attached　to
Wulfe’s　regiment；　and　to　say　he　was　unpopular　was　an　understatement　of　titanic　proportions。
By　the　Eye；　thought　Wulfe；　that　colonel　has　dropped　himself　right　in　it。　Open　dissent　in　front　of
commissars？　I　don’t　want　to　be　around　for　this。
“Please　continue；　colonel；”　said　Major　General　Bergen；　striding　into　the　room；　removing　his　cap
and　overcoat。　The　electric　lamplight　glinted　from　the　medals　on　his　chest　and　the　golden　boards　on
his　shoulders。　The　commissars　stalked　silently　forward　at　his　flanks；　like　a　pair　of　sleek　attack　dogs
just　barely　held　in　check。　“I’ll　be　happy　to　pass　on　any　recommendations　you　or　anyone　else　has
directly　to　the　general　for　his　consideration。”
Von　Holden；　his　face　turning　redder　by　the　second；　stuttered　and　looked　desperately　at　Pruscht
for　support。　Pruscht；　though；　seemed　to　know　better。　He　sat　back　down　in　his　chair　and　sipped　from
his　glass。
With　Major　General　Bergen　in　the　room；　Wulfe　felt　extremely　self…conscious。　This　was　no　place
for　a　noncommissioned　man；　despite　Captain　Immrich’s　earlier　welcome。　It　certainly　wasn’t　right
for　a　sergeant　to　see　a　decorated　colonel　like　von　Holden　being　dressed　down。
But　the　dressing　down　never　actually　came。　To　everyone’s　surprise；　Major　General　Bergen
walked　calmly　over　to　von　Holden；　picked　his　chair　up　from　the　floor；　and　politely　invited　the
colonel　to　sit　back　down。　Speechless；　perhaps　taking　this　for　the　calm　before　the　storm；　von　Holden
did　so；　all　the　while　gaping　at　the　higher…ranking　man。
Wulfe　glanced　discreetly　at　Commissar　Slayte　while　this　was　going　on；　but　the　man’s　face　was
emotionless　and　his　gaze　was　fixed　straight　ahead。　If　he　had　noticed　Wulfe　and　van　Droi；　he　didn’t
let　on。　Perhaps　he　was　waiting　for　a　cue　from　the　major　general；　some　sign　at　which　he　would
pounce　on　Colonel　von　Holden　and　drag　him　away。　The　sign　didn’t　come；　and　the　only　movement
Crusher　made　was　the　flexing　of　his　metal　fingers　back　and　forth　into　fists。　Wulfe　knew　that　the
action　was　habitual。　The　man　probably　did　it　in　his　sleep。
Van　Droi　turned　his　attention　back　to　Wulfe　and　said；　“Best　get　yourself　away　now；　Oskar。　Go
about　the　business　we　discussed。”
“Right；　sir；”　said　Wulfe。　“Be　glad　to。”　As　he　rose；　he　offered　a　quiet　farewell　to　the　other　men　at
the　table；　“Have　a　good　evening；　sirs。”
A　few；　Captain　Immrich　among　them；　smiled　and　nodded　back。　Wulfe　saluted；　turned；　and
walked　out　of　the　door；　relieved　to　be　away　from　the　officers’　mess　and　the　tension　inside　it。　He
knew　there　were　some　good　men　in　the　upper　ranks；　but　they　made　everything　so　bloody
complicated　sometimes；　not　like　the　grunts。　You　could　speak　your　mind　among　the　rank…and…file。
There　might　be　the　odd　punch…up　afterwards；　but　you　didn’t　have　to　worry　about　bloodlines；　family
honour　and　all　that　career　lark；　and　the　bond　of　brotherhood　shared　between　the　men　of　the　lower
ranks　was　one　of　those　things　that　made　life　in　the　Guard　more　bearable。　Wulfe　had　always　thought
so；　until　Lenck　had　shown　up。
Wulfe　was　torn　over　that　one。　The　bastard　had　saved　his　life；　but　he　was　the　antithesis　of
everything　Wulfe　valued　and　respected。　He　was　a　boaster　and　a　manipulator。　Wulfe　could　almost
smell　the　cruelty　within　him。　Sooner　or　later；　there　would　be　a　reckoning　between　them。　It　was
inevitable。
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Wulfe　turned　his　mind　to　the　new　gunner；　Beans。　Was　he　as　good　a　shot　as　van　Droi　said？
Would　he　fit　in　with　Metzger　and　Siegler？　The　lieutenant　had　a　point；　they　weren’t　the　most　typical
of　tank　crews。
He　walked　towards　C…barracks；　muttering　to　himself。
“Beans。　I　hope　it　doesn’t　mean　what　I　think　it　does。”
Wulfe　found　Beans　waiting　for　him　outside　C…barracks　with　his　belongings　already　packed　into　a
canvas　bag。　He　was　sitting　on　a　concrete　step；　smoking　a　lho…stick；　and　examining　the　red　dust　that
had　gathered　under　his　fingernails。　Wulfe　automatically　assessed　him　as　he　drew　closer。　Judging　by
his　smooth；　open　facial　features；　Beans　was　young；　no　older　than　twenty　standard　most　probably。
His　fatigues　hung　loose　on　a　skinny　frame。　He　had　rolled　the　sleeves　of　his　red　field…tunic　up　to
reveal　heavily　tattooed　forearms　but；　if　any　of　the　tats　were　hive…ganger　symbols　from　his　life　back
on　Cadia；　Wulfe　didn’t　recognise　them。　That　didn’t　mean　much；　of　course。　There　were　literally　tens
of　thousands　of　gangs　in　the　vast；　crowded　fortress…hives　where　the　men　of　Exolon　had　been　raised。
“You’ll　be　Beans；”　said　Wulfe　as　he　stopped　in　front　of　the　trooper。
“Are　you　Wulfe？”　Beans’　voice　was　high　and　he　spoke　with　the　soft；　drawling　vowel