Gunheads(科幻战争)-第4部分

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whole　frakking　op！”
Nervous　laughter　rippled　along　the　rows。　Vintners　turned　pale　and　clamped　his　mouth　shut。
All　this　was　mere　background　noise　to　Wulfe。　He　was　too　busy　watching　the　man　on　the　far　left；
studying　the　lines　and　angles　of　his　hawkish　face；　watching　the　way　he　moved　his　lips　as　he　talked
in　an　undertone　with　the　crewmen　seated　around　him。
His　name　was　Corporal　Voeder　Lenck；　twenty…eight　years　old　and　commander　of　the　Leman
Russ　Exterminator　New　Champion　of　Cerbera。　He　was　a　tall；　slim；　darkly　handsome　man；　all　poster14
boy　good　looks；　easy　smiles　and　warm　handshakes。　But　Wulfe　wasn’t　fooled；　not　for　a　second；　not
like　the　gang　of　doe…eyed　sycophants　that　had　surrounded　Lenck　since　the　moment　he　had
transferred　in。　Why　the　rookies　all　flocked　to　him；　Wulfe　hadn’t　figured　out　yet。　The　man　had　been　a
bloody　reserve；　for　Throne’s　sake。　What　was　there　to　admire？　Admittedly；　he　wasn’t　typical　of　the
newcomers。　He　had　some　prior　tank　experience；　for　a　start。　Perhaps　that　was　it：　a　combination　of
being　fresh　to　the　regiment；　like　the　rest　of　the　new　meat；　but　being　an　experienced　tanker　at　the
same　time。　It　was　as　good　a　guess　as　Wulfe　could　make。
The　records　showed　that　Lenck　had　been　a　sergeant　earlier　in　his　career；　but　something　had　gone
wrong。　There　had　been　a　trial；　a　court…martial。　He　had　been　locked　up　for　thirty　days　and　demoted　to
the　rank　of　corporal。　Only　the　commissioned　officers　knew　why　and；　so　far；　they　weren’t　telling；　but
Wulfe　planned　to　find　out　sooner　or　later。
The　day　he　and　Lenck　had　first　met　aboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance；　Wulfe　had　recognised　an　icy
cruelty　behind　the　man’s　purple…irised　eyes。　Lenck　hadn’t　done　anything　overt　to　induce　Wulfe’s
dislike；　not　so　far　anyway；　but　Wulfe　knew　it　would　come　sooner　or　later。　It　didn’t　help　that　he　was
the　spitting　image　of　someone　else；　a　convicted　Cadian　criminal　by　the　name　of　Victor　Dunst。　Dunst
and　his　gang　of　tattooed　cronies　had　once　tried　to　rob　Wulfe　in　the　under…streets　of　Kasr　Gehr。
Wulfe　had　been　a　Whiteshield　at　the　time；　just　a　teenage　cadet　on　leave　before　graduating　from
basic。　He　had　been　heavily　outnumbered　but；　like　so　many　Whiteshields；　his　belief　in　his
invincibility　was　so　complete　that　he　hadn’t　even　thought　to　run。　Instead；　he　had　told　the　gang　to
piss　off；　and　Dunst　had　decided　to　kill　him。　Only　the　chance　intervention　of　a　patrolling　Civitas
enforcer　squad　had　saved　Wulfe’s　life　that　day。　Dunst’s　knife　didn’t　get　more　than　two　centimetres
into　Wulfe’s　chest。　Wulfe　had　been　very　lucky。
As　Wulfe　looked　along　the　row；　Lenck　seemed　to　realise　that　he　was　being　watched。　He　didn’t
turn　his　head　or　shift　his　eyes；　he　just　seemed　to　sense　it。　Wulfe　saw　a　grin　creep　over　the　younger
man’s　face　and　felt　a　tremendous　desire　to　punch　him。　The　feeling　of　Lenck’s　bones　cracking　under
his　fist　would　be　supremely　satisfying；　he　imagined。　Wulfe　was　no　brawler；　not　like　some　of　the
men　he　knew；　but　he　was　no　slouch；　either。　He　was　pretty　sure　he　could　take　Lenck　if　it　ever　came
down　to　a　fair　fight；　though　Lenck　didn’t　seem　the　type　to　fight　fair。　Such　an　event　was　unlikely　to
occur；　of　course。　For　Lenck；　striking　Wulfe　would　constitute　a　capital　offence　due　to　the　difference
in　rank。　Still；　thought　Wulfe；　if　we　were　to　put　rank　aside…
The　ceiling　speakers　crackled　again。　“Particle　shields　holding　at　eighty　per　cent。　Entering
stratosphere　in　ten；　nine；　eight…”
Any　jokes　or　remarks　that　this　announcement　might　have　drawn　died　in　the　throats　of　the
troopers　as　the　drop…ship　began　shaking　and　juddering。　Most　of　the　drop…virgins　grimaced。　A　few
started　to　look　peaky；　as　if　they　might　begin　to　puke。
“Time　to　put　them　in；　gentlemen；”　said　Wulfe　to　his　crew。　He　reached　into　the　right　pocket　of
his　field　trousers　and　withdrew　a　small；　transparent　curve　of　hard　rubber。　It　was　a　gumshield；　the
kind　worn　by　troopers　during　hand…to…hand　combat　training。　With　a　nod；　Metzger；　Siegler　and　Holtz
drew　identical　items　from　their　pockets　and　fitted　them　securely　between　their　teeth。　All　along　the
facing　rows；　veteran　tankers　did　the　same　thing。　The　new　meat　looked　on　with　expressions　of　abject
horror。
“By　the　bloody　Eye！　Why　didn’t　anyone　tell　the　rest　of　us　to　bring　gumshields？”　demanded　a
round…faced　trooper　ten　seats　to　Wulfe’s　right。　He　was　the　newest　man　on　Sergeant　Rhaimes’　crew；
and　it　was　Rhaimes　—　seasoned　commander　of　the　Leman　Russ　Old　Smashbones　—　who　answered；
removing　his　gumshield　for　a　moment　to　do　so。
“Company　tradition；　bugfood；”　he　said。　He　grinned；　creasing　the　skin　around　the　deep　scar　that
ran　from　his　left　eye　to　his　left　ear。　Bugfood　was　his　personal　term　of　affection　for　the　new　guys　and；
whenever　he　said　it；　he　managed　to　make　it　sound　like　idiot　or　arsehole。　Recently；　a　lot　of　the
veterans　had　started　using　it；　and　not　just　in　10th　Company。　“You’re　still　a　drop…virgin　till　you　break
a　tooth　on　the　way　down。”
15
The　trooper　gaped　in　disbelief　for　a　moment　and　then　fished　in　his　pocket　for　something。　He
pulled　out　a　wadded　piece　of　rag；　the　type　of　cloth　used　to　shine　boots　or　buttons　before　inspection；
and　stuffed　it　into　his　mouth。　With　a　miserable　expression；　he　bit　down　on　it。　Wulfe　guessed　it　must
taste　strongly　of　polish。
From　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　saw　Rhaimes　nodding　at　the　young　trooper。　“Good　thinking；　son。
Good　thinking。　We’ll　make　something　of　you　yet。”
“…three；　two；　one；”　buzzed　the　voice　from　the　ceiling。　“Tropospheric　entry　achieved。　Height；
nine　thousand　metres。　All　personnel　brace　for　increased　atmospheric　buffeting。　Touchdown　in
approximately　nineteen　minutes。　Disengaging　onboard　gravitational　systems。　Switching　to　local
gravity　in　three；　two；　one…”
For　the　second　time　since　he　had　come　aboard；　there　was　an　instant　of　gravitational　overlap　that
made　Wulfe　feel　twice　as　heavy　as　he　normally　did。　Some　of　the　men　grunted　as　their　bodies
protested　against　the　sudden　strain　but；　once　the　grav…plates　below　their　feet　went　dead；　they　hardly
noticed　the　difference。
According　to　the　thick　wad　of　briefing　papers　that　everyone　had　been　issued　—　though　few　but
the　guys　in　recon；　as　usual；　had　bothered　to　read　—　Golgotha’s　surface　gravity　was　a　fairly
manageable　1。12Gs。　Wulfe；　who　typically　weighed　around　eighty…five　kilograms；　now　weighed
twelve　per　cent　more；　a　little　over　ninety…five；　but　the　increase　didn’t　bother　him。　The　tech…crews
onboard　the　Hand　of　Radiance　had　taken　care　of　that。　Since　leaving　Palmeros；　they　had
incrementally　increased　the　shipboard　gravity　each　day；　subtly　preparing　the　troops　for　their
eventual　ground　deployment。　Men　like　Siegler　and　Sergeant　Rhaimes；　usually　a　little　soft　around　the
middle；　had　hardened　up　a　lot　over　the　last　few　months。　Wulfe　had　felt　his　appetite　increasing　little
by　little；　and　had　noticed　his　clothes　tightening　around　his　arms；　legs　and　chest。　His　body　had
adapted。　Now；　with　the　planet’s　local　gravity　acting　on　him　directly；　he　didn’t　feel　any　heavier　than
normal。　It　would　make　a　big　difference　to　the　tanks；　though；　fuel　efficiency；　firing　distance；
trajectory；　speed；　wear　and　tear。　All　of　these　were　matters　of　serious　concern。　The　enginseers　in
charge　of　the　regimental　tech…crews　wouldn’t　be　getting　much　sleep。
Thinking　of　the　strange　cybernetic　tech…priests；　Wulfe　decided　they　probably　didn’t　need　much
sleep　anyway。　Maybe　they　just　popped　in　some　fresh　batteries。　The　image　that　formed　in　his　mind
using　and　disturbing。
The　drop…ship　was　really　bouncing　around。　Golgotha’s　atmosphere　was　thicker　than　most
populated　worlds；　and　the　pressure　differentials　between　the　planet’s　hot　and　cold　zones　reportedly
made　for　some　truly　ferocious　storms。　Some　of　the　rookies　looked　set　to　soil　themselves　as　the　craft
was　tossed　this　way　and　that。
Wulfe　fought　an　instinct　to　tense　his　muscles。　It　was　far　smarter　to　relax　if　one　didn’t　want　to
suffer　torn　tendons　and　the　like。　Such　injuries　were　all　too　common　during　a　drop。
“Altitude；　seven　thousand　five—”
The　static…ridden　voice　was　suddenly　drowned　out　by　the　most　awful；　ringing　screech。　Wulfe
pressed　his　hands　to　his　ears。　He　knew　that　sound；　knew　it　never　heralded　good　news。　It　was　the
sound　of　tearing　metal！
The　drop…ship　suddenly　rolled　hard　to　the　right。　Wulfe’s　head　flew　backwards　and　struck　the
padded　surface　of　the　seat。　His　stomach　felt　like　it　was　doing　backflips。　His　vision　dimmed。　He　saw
stars。　Some　of　the　men　on　the　opposite　row　were　thrown　so　hard　against　their　restraints　that　their
gumshields　flew　out。　Yelled　curses　filled　the　air。
“We’re　frakkin’　hit！”　shouted　a　young　trooper　in　a　panic。　Wulfe’s　heart　felt　like　it　was　stuck
somewhere　up　by　his　throat。
“We’re　not　hit；　Webber；”　barked　another。　“Don’t　say　that！”
“What　the　hell　was　it；　then？”　demanded　someone　else。　“By　the　bloody　Eye！”
16
“Quiet！”　Sergeant　Rhaimes　yelled　at　them　around　his　gumshield。　“That’s　enough　of　that！　It’s
turbulence；　you　kak…eating　dung…worms。　You　heard　the　cogboy。　Buffeting；　he　said。　Now；　pipe
down！”
Rhaimes’　lie　was　all　too　obvious。　He　was　trying　to　keep　them　calm；　but　no　one　was　buying　a
word　of　it。
The　ship　rolled　hard　in　the　other　direction　and　righted　itself；　though　the　juddering　was　so　severe；
now；　that　it　was　painful。　The　men　gripped　their　impact　frames　with　white…knuckled　hands。
Wulfe　chanced　a　look　up　the　row　at　Lenck　and　was　irritated　to　see　him　sitting　quietly；　lips
bulging　over　the　tell…tale　bump　of　a　gumshield；　apparently　unfazed。　The　cocky　upstart　only　jumped
when　a　noise　exploded　from　the　vox…speakers。　It　was　a　deafening；　high…pitched　whine　that　cut　off
suddenly　to　be　replaced　by　the　cold　flat　tones　of　the　cogboy　addressing　them　once　again。　This　time；
the　voice　was　amplified　to　ear…damaging　levels　and；　whether　Wulfe　simply　imagined　it　or　not；　he
heard　hints　of　his　own　panic　reflected　in　the　broken　sentences。
“…concentrated　anti…aircraft…　storm…　below…　off　course　and…　down。　All　personnel…　for
immediate…”
Suddenly；　a　great　wave　of　nerve…searing　pain　blossomed　in　Wulfe’s　head。　The　whole　galaxy
seemed　to　roll　over　on　its　axis。　Up　was　down；　left　was　right。　Then　everything　shifted　again　with
frightening　speed。　He　shut　his　eyes　tight；　saw　fireworks　bursting　behind　his　eyelids；　felt　his　muscles
cry　out　in　protest　as　his　body’s　limits　were　brutally　tested；　and　then；　with　his　heart　battering　the
inside　of　his　chest　like　it　wanted　out…
Darkness。　Thoughtlessness。　Silence。
He　sank　into　an　unfeeling　void　in　which　even　bad　dreams　ceased　to　exist。
Something　stung　Wulfe’s　left　cheek。　The　pain　was　sharp；　and；　slowly；　though　he　struggled　against　it；
it　dragged　him　back　from　the　comfort　of　his　dark　oblivion。　Half　awake；　he　probed　the　inside　of　his
cheek　with　his　tongue。　The　flesh　was　ragged。　He　tasted　blood。　His　tongue　played　over　nearby　teeth
and…　Damn　it！　Two　of　them　were　much　sharper　than　before。　They’d　been　broken。　He　wondered
idly　if　he’d　swallowed　the　pieces　and　decided　that　he　probably　had。
Next；　there　came　a　shooting　pain　in　his　eyes。　He　wanted　to　shut　them　tighter；　but　the　lids　were
already　squeezed　together　hard。　Then　a　shadow　fell　across　him；　and　the　pain　dissipated。　Slowly；
carefully；　he　eased　the　lids　apart　and　saw…
“Holtz？　Is　that—”
Waves