Gunheads(科幻战争)-第40部分

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them　to　support　deViers。　He　saw　that　fact　give　strength　to　the　general　now。　The　old　man　stood　taller；
the　years　falling　from　him　once　again。
“Every　last　damned　one　of　you；”　deViers　said。　“When　you　get　back　to　your　vehicles；　I　want　you
to　tell　our　forward　elements　to　hold　that　breach　at　all　costs。　And　get　every　other　man　and　machine
under　my　command　through　it　before　the　orks　get　here　from　the　south。　That　means　the　fuel　trucks；
the　water　trucks；　food；　supplies；　munitions；　every　last　damn　bit　of　it。　I　want　everything　we　have；
everything　we’ll　need；　through　that　breach　and　heading　east　towards　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance
before　the　ork　reinforcements　are　on　us。　Is　that　understood？”
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Rennkamp　mumbled　something　incoherent。
“I　said　is　that　understood？”　hissed　deViers。
“Understood；　sir；”　said　the　three　major　generals。
Tech…Magos　Sennesdiar　didn’t　wait　to　be　dismissed。　He　turned　and　left　the　tent；　saying　nothing
more。
“You’re　mad；　sir；”　said　Rennkamp。　“You　do　realise　that？”
DeViers　looked　at　him　and　grinned。　“Mad；　Aaron？　Or　inspired？”
It’s　a　thin　line　between　the　two；　thought　Bergen。　He　felt　miserable。　He　had　known　for　a　long
time　that　deViers　would　get　them　all　killed　for　his　own　sake：　Balkar　lost；　supply　lines　cut；　every
major　outpost　they　had　won　under　siege　by　the　greenskins。　It　was　worse　even　than　he　had　imagined
it　would　be；　but　still　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　pulled　the　general　on　relentlessly；　and　with　him；　the
men　and　machines　of　the　18th　Army　Group。
“You’ll　see　that　I’m　right；　gentlemen；”　said　deViers。　“It’s　odds　like　these　that　make　legends　of
men。　We　can　still　find　Yarrick’s　tank。　It　awaits　us　not　far　from　here。　And　one　day；　all　of　the
Imperium　will　know　our　story。”
No　they　won’t；　thought　Bergen。　Because　none　of　us　will　survive　this　to　tell　it。
DeViers　dismissed　them；　and；　after　a　salute　that　lacked　any　sincerity　whatsoever；　Bergen
returned　to　his　Chimera。　The　men　of　his　division　were　still　out　there；　fighting　for　their　lives；　fighting
to　hold　the　breach　in　the　ork　wall　so　that　the　infantry　could　keep　pouring　through；　helping　to　secure
more　and　more　ground　on　the　other　side。
If　he　and　the　other　divisional　commanders　could　just　get　everyone　through　before　the　orks　from
the　south　moved　into　range；　then　maybe；　just　maybe；　they　could　run　east。　With　luck；　they　might　stay
ahead　of　the　orks　for　a　while。　They　might　even　reach　the　supposed　coordinates　of　Yarrick’s　tank。
Bergen　hoped　he　survived　that　long。　He　hoped　the　tank　was　there；　despite　his　doubts。　He　wanted
to　know　that　the　dead　had　fallen　for　something　greater　than　an　old　man’s　self…importance。
In　the　back　of　Pride　of　Caedus；　he　hit　a　toggle　on　his　vox…caster　and　opened　a　link　to　Colonel
Vinnemann。
“Armour；　this　is　Division。”
No　answer。　Bergen　felt　his　skin　crawl。
“Armour　Command；”　he　voxed；　“this　is　Divisional　Command。　Respond；　please。”
Nothing　but　static。
“Damn　it；　Vinnemann；　respond。　That’s　an　order；　you　hear？”
Words　tumbled　over　and　over　in　his　mind；　like　a　mantra：　don’t　let　it　be；　don’t　let　it　be。
Perhaps　there　was　just　something　wrong　with　the　Angel’s　vox。
Emperor；　let　it　be　that；　he　pleaded。
He　switched　channels；　contacting　Colonel　Marrenburg；　who　was　overseeing　the　artillery
companies　not　far　from　deViers’　forward　command　tent。　“Marrenburg；　can　you　get　a　visual　on
Angel　of　the　Apocalypse？　I　can’t　raise　Vinnemann　on　the　vox。”
Marrenburg　sounded　like　a　different　man　when　he　answered；　and　Bergen　realised　that　his　fears
were　well…founded。
“It　was　the　ork　bombers；　sir；”　said　the　colonel。　“The　Hydras　got　most　of　them；　but　Vinnemann’s
tank　took　too　many　direct　hits。　We　just　took　the　last　one　down；　but　not　before　it　managed　to　deliver
a　final　payload。　Not　much　left　the　Angel　of　the　Apocalypse　now；　sir。　Throne　rest　the　souls　of　all
those　who　crewed　her。”
Bergen’s　mouth　went　dry。　He　was　speechless。　He　thought　of　Vinnemann；　of　the　hunched　little
man　who　had　endured　so　much　pain；　so　much　struggle　just　to　keep　on　fighting。　Few　men　Bergen　had
ever　met　could　be　said　to　embody　the　Cadian　spirit　of　honour　and　resilience　so　well。　His　eyes　began
to　sting；　and　his　throat　felt　tight。　He　would　miss　Kochatkis　Vinnemann。　The　unrelenting　colonel　had
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gone　beyond　the　call　of　duty　long　ago。　Perhaps　now；　his　soul　would　be　reunited　with　that　of　the　wife
he　had　spent　so　long　avenging。　He　had　more　than　earned　his　peace。
The　81st　Armoured　Regiment’s　second…in…command　would　have　to　take　over。　That　was　Captain
Immrich。
Bergen　would　promote　Immrich　later…　if　he　was　still　alive。
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CHAPTER　TWENTY…ONE
Captain　Immrich　was　alive；　and　he　was　working　damned　hard　to　stay　that　way。　He　was　doing　a　fine
job　of　it；　too；　and　of　gaining　ground　as　he　led　the　tanks　of　the　81st　Armoured　Regiment　against　the
ork　hordes　that　swarmed　towards　them　from　almost　every　direction。
Under　Immrich’s　command；　the　Imperial　armour　kept　pushing　out　beyond　the　wall；　and　the
space　they　created　behind　them　became　filled　with　ever　greater　numbers　of　Chimeras；　halftracks；
Thirty…Sixers　full　of　troops；　and　Sentinel　walkers　that　added　the　firepower　of　their　auto…cannon　to
the　battle；　slaughtering　hundreds　of　greenskin　filth　with　great　sweeps　of　fire。
The　ground　was　a　carpet　of　smoking　metal；　big　brown　bodies　and　raw　red　meat。　Ork　carcasses
covered　every　inch　of　sand　and　rock。　The　Cadian　tanks　pulped　them　as　they　rolled　forward。　There
was　no　way　to　avoid　them。　The　bodies　were　everywhere。　Treads　of　black　iron　became　slick　and
shiny　and　red。　Only　the　filter…masks　worn　by　the　Cadians　protected　them　from　the　stench。　Without
the　masks；　it　would　have　been　impossible　to　breathe　without　vomiting。
Even　with　all　his　hatches　locked　up　tight；　Wulfe’s　nose　crinkled　in　disgust　as　the　smell　of　so
much　death　permeated　his　turret；　competing　with　the　powerful　combined　stink　of　oil；　sweat　and
fyceline。
Last　Rites　II　had　knocked　out　three　ramshackle　ork　machines　already；　and　Beans　was　swinging
the　turret　around　on　a　fourth　that　was　approaching　from　front…left；　when　Wulfe　heard　Immrich’s
voice　on　the　vox…link。　It　sounded　different；　drained；　as　if　something　had　sapped　the　life　out　of　the
man。　He　sounded　lost。　“All　units；　listen　up。　This　is　Captain　Immrich。　New　orders　from　General
deViers。　All　tanks　are　to　focus　on　carving　and　holding　a　corridor　east。　The　rest　of　the　army　group　is
coming　through　behind　us。　When　they’re　clear；　I’ll　give　the　word。　I　want　all　tanks　to　fall　in　behind
them　and　cover　the　column’s　rear。”
We’re　running　east；　thought　Wulfe。　Why　the　frak　aren’t　we　solidifying　our　position　here　first？
The　orks　will　close　in　behind　us　and　harry　our　flanks　if　we　run　now。　Does　the　general　mean　to　let
them　cut　off　our　route　back　to　Balkar？
“There’s　more；”　said　Immrich。　“I’ve　just　been　placed　in　temporary　command　of　the　regiment。
Colonel　Vinnemann…　Colonel　Vinnemann　has　gone　to　meet　the　Emperor。”
Wulfe　reeled　backwards　in　his　seat。　It　couldn’t　be　true。　It　just　couldn’t　be。　Vinnemann　was　the
regiment。　To　every　man　who　knew　him；　he　was　as　permanent　as　the　stars。　What　would　the　regiment
be　without　its　guiding　light；　its　living　symbol　of　honour　and　duty？　He　felt　the　news　hit　him　like　a
physical　blow。
The　sudden　boom　of　his　tank’s　main　gun　shook　him　back　into　himself。　The　turret　jolted。　The
smell　of　burnt　propellant　tugged　his　nose。　He　checked　the　vision　blocks　and　saw　a　heap　of　burning
black　metal　straight　ahead。　The　main　gun　was　still　pointing　directly　at　it。
Beans　whooped　with　satisfaction。　“How　many　points　do　I　get　for　a　truck　full　of　the　bastards？”
“Metzger；”　said　Wulfe；　ignoring　the　gunner’s　celebration；　“wheel　us　around　to　the　north。　We’re
to　hold　a　corridor　here　for　the　others　to　come　through。”
“Aye；　sir；”　said　Metzger；　and　the　tank　started　to　move。
“Siegler；　Beans；　keep　that　rate　of　fire　up；”　said　Wulfe。　“Armour…piercing。　Focus　on　their　armour。
Our　infantry　can　deal　with　their　foot　soldiers。”
He　hoped　that　were　true。　So　far；　they’d　given　the　orks　a　damned　hard　time　getting　anywhere　near
the　Cadian　tanks。　Every　vehicle　that　careered　towards　them　had　been　lit　up　like　fireworks　at　a
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Founding　Festival。　The　orks　were　still　coming；　though；　pouring　towards　the　breach　from　all　along
the　wall；　desperate　to　join　the　fray　where　the　fighting　was　at　its　thickest。　As　the　Imperial　tanks
steadily　thinned　down　the　number　of　ork　machines；　the　fight　became　one　of　lighter　weapons：
lasguns；　bolters；　stubbers　and　the　like。　Wulfe　moved　automatically；　unlocking　the　hatch　of　his
cupola　without　thinking；　still　numbed　by　the　news　of　Vinnemann’s　death。　How　would　van　Droi　be
taking　it？　The　lieutenant　had　idolised　his　senior　officer。
Shock　and　numbness　bled　off　the　moment　Wulfe　poked　his　head　and　shoulders　above　the　rim　of
the　hatch。　There　was　no　time　for　them。　The　air　was　filled　with　the　noise　of　gunfire；　alien　battle…cries
and　the　screams　of　the　dying。　In　his　peripheral　vision；　Wulfe　saw　the　guns　of　the　vehicles　on　either
side　of　him　blazing　away；　cutting　down　dozens　of　heavy　brown　bodies　as　they　charged。　Distantly；　he
noted　that　one　of　the　tanks；　the　one　to　his　right；　was　an　Exterminator。　Lenck’s　machine。
Wulfe　grabbed　the　grips　of　his　heavy　stubber；　knocked　the　safety　off；　cocked　it；　and　hit　the
thumb…triggers　hard。　He　barely　needed　to　line　up。
Fire　blazed　from　the　stubber’s　muzzle。　The　recoil　shook　him；　a　deep　juddering　that　travelled
right　through　his　body。　It　was　a　satisfying　feeling。　More　satisfying　still　was　the　sight　of　a　row　of
massive　greenskin　warriors　in　iron　plate　being　literally　chewed　apart　by　his　hail　of　fire。
“Beans；”　said　Wulfe　over　the　intercom；　“if　you　don’t　have　any　armoured　targets；　get　on　the
damned　co…ax。　Put　some　autocannon　fire　on　them。　We　have　to　hold　them　here　until　the　rear　elements
get　through！”
“I’m　on　it；”　replied　Beans。　Seconds　later；　the　co…axial　autocannon　rattled　to　life。
More　orks　fell。
“Push　through；”　shouted　General　deViers　over　the　vox。　“I　want　every　last　one　of　you　through　that
damned　gap　at　once。　Don’t　look　back。”
The　orks’　flankers　from　the　south　were　closing　fast。　DeViers　had　moved　the　vulnerable
machines　ahead　—　fuel　and　water　trucks；　all　the　transports　with　their　critical　supplies　—　and
ordered　a　rearguard　of　Chimeras　to　follow；　turrets　turned　to　protect　the　flanks。　If　any　of　the　ork　light
armour　closed　before　his　rear　echelons　passed　the　breach；　the　Chimeras　would　have　to　hold　them
off。　It　was　far　from　ideal；　but　all　the　heavy　armour　was　up　front；　holding　the　corridor　eastward。
There　was　no　time　to　reshuffle　his　forces。　Together；　the　orks　behind　the　wall　and　those　from　the
south　would　try　to　smash　his　force；　like　glowing　steel　between　anvil　and　hammer。
The　general’s　Chimera；　Arrow　of　Alibris；　moved　at　the　head　of　the　racing　column；　churning　up
the　dusty　ground　towards　the　gap　that　Angel　of　the　Apocalypse　had　made。　Beside　him；　the　Chimeras
of　his　divisional　and　regimental　commanders　matched　his　speed。
We　will　make　it；　he　told　himself。　If　the　tech…priests　have　it　right；　The　Fortress　of　Arrogance　isn’t
more　than　eighty　kilometres　east　of　here。　But　how　will　I　be　able　to　recover　it　with　all　the　damned
pressure　from　our　rear？　How　long　will　the　Mechanicus　need　to　send　their　damned　beacon　into　space
and　bring