Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第15部分

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Polonas　nodded；　studying　the　positions　with　his　practiced　eye。
'We　can　mark　their　positions　and　shell　them　once　the　first　parallel's　batteries　are　in　place；'　suggested　Delau。　'We　can　bring　enough
rock　down　to　block　the　guns。'
Polonas　shook　his　head。　'I　do　not　believe　it　can　be　done　with　guns。　Look；　there　is　a　rock　canopy　built　across　the　top　of　the　door
and　a　ditch　before　them　to　catch　any　rubble　that　may　be　blasted　loose。'
Honsou　was　impressed。　He　had　not　noticed　those　defences　and　his　respect　for　the　old　man　rose　a　fraction。
'Then　we　take　the　fight　to　them；　and　capture　the　guns　now。'
Once　again；　Polonas　shook　his　head。
'Keep　your　impatience　in　check；　half…breed。　We　must　not　act　in　haste。　Think　about　it。　These　doors　lead　within　the　rock　of　the
fortress；　most　likely　just　to　this　outwork；　but　possibly　even　to　the　main　citadel。　Were　we　to　attack　now；　the　enemy　would　simply
seal　the　tunnels　beyond　our　means　to　breach　and　defend　them　with　great　vigour。'
'Then　what　do　you　suggest；　Polonas？'　snapped　Honsou。
Polonas　turned　his　gaze　on　Honsou　and　snarled；　'You　must　learn　to　respect　your　betters；　half…breed。　The　first　lesson　of　intelligence
gathering　is　knowing　how　to　use　the　information　you　accumulate。　To　act　precipitously　would　be　to　alert　the　enemy　of　what　we
know。'
'Then　what？　We　just　ignore　the　fact　that　we　have　discovered　these　positions？'
'No；　far　from　it。　We　continue　as　though　we　are　unaware　of　their　existence。　Await　their　deployment　and　take　the　positions　by　storm
by　previously　infiltrated　troops。　In　conjunction　with　a　frontal　escalade；　this　will　allow　us　to　take　Tor　Christo　in　a　matter　of　hours。'
Honsou　bit　back　a　retort　as　he　saw　the　sense　in　what　Brakar　Polonas　was　suggesting。　It　was　a　salutary　lesson　and　Honsou　bowed
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
his　head；　accepting　the　words　of　Forrix's　engineer。
'Very　well；　we　will　do　as　you　direct；　Brakar　Polonas'　said　Honsou　formally。
Swiftly；　Honsou　contacted　the　remainder　of　his　warriors　and　issued　the　command　to　return　to　the　rally　point。　He　deactivated　the
vox…link　and　was　preparing　to　move　out　when　Brakar　Polonas　turned　and　slipped　on　a　loose　patch　of　shale；　the　metal　of　his　bionic
leg　scraping　noisily　between　the　faces　of　two　boulders。
The　Iron　Warriors　froze。
Tense　seconds　passed　in　the　stagnant　darkness　as　Honsou　held　his　breath。　He　scrambled　across　to　the　veteran　warrior　as　quietly　as
he　was　able　and　saw　that　his　leg　was　wedged　tight　between　two　rocks。　He　cursed　silently　to　himself　and　pressed　his　gauntlets　flat
against　Polonas's　shoulder　guards。
'Be　still；'　he　warned。
Just　as　he　had　begun　to　think　they　had　not　been　detected；　a　spear　of　phosphorescent　light　streaked　skyward；　closely　followed　by　a
second。　Both　burst　within　seconds　of　one　another　and　the　plateau　was　suddenly　illuminated　by　twin　suns　burning　brightly　as　they
slowly　descended　on　small　grav…chutes。
A　cry　of　alarm　was　raised　high　above　them　and　Honsou　cursed　aloud　this　time；　uncaring　of　who　heard　him。
'Damn　you；　Polonas！'　snarled　Honsou；　wrenching　the　ancient　warrior　from　the　ground。　The　metal　of　the　bionic　leg　was　wedged
tightly　and　it　was　the　organic　components　of　the　limb　that　failed　first；　tearing　free　in　a　wash　of　blood　as　Honsou　ripped　Polonas
from　the　ground。
Polonas　grunted　in　pain；　the　accelerated　healing　mechanism　of　his　body　stemming　the　flow　of　blood　from　his　severed　leg　in
seconds。　Honsou　shucked　the　man　onto　his　shoulders　and　shouted；　'Iron　Warriors；　go！　As　fast　as　you　can！'　He　heard　the
unmistakable　cough　of　mortar　fire。
Honsou　knew　that　the　first　rounds　would　be　for　ranging　purposes；　but　there　would　be　spotters　on　the　wall　to　direct　subsequent
volleys。　They　had　to　make　as　much　use　of　this　time　as　they　could。　The　strobing　light　of　the　two　sunflares　cast　lunatic　shadows
across　the　cracked　ground　and　it　took　all　Honsou's　skill　not　to　lose　his　footing　as　he　raced　from　the　base　of　the　mountain。　The
ground　rocked　as　mortar　shells　burst　ahead　of　them；　scything　deadly　fragments　in　all　directions；　but　they　were　landing　too　long。
The　height　of　the　mortars　was　working　against　the　Imperial　gunners　now。　Their　elevation　gave　them　longer　reach；　but　also　meant
that　it　was　impossible　to　engage　targets　within　a　certain　range。
Perversely；　Honsou　knew　they　had　been　safest　where　they　were；　but　also　knew　it　was　only　a　matter　of　time　until　troops　were　sent
to　flush　them　out。　It　was　unlikely　the　Basilisks　would　join　the　fight；　as　it　would　be　a　waste　of　ordnance　to　engage　so　few　targets
with　so　remote　a　chance　of　hitting。
Another　volley　slammed　into　the　ground；　closer　this　time；　and　Honsou　stumbled　to　his　knees；　just　barely　keeping　his　balance　with
the　weight　of　Polonas　on　his　shoulder。　More　sunflares　exploded　overhead　and　now　small　arms　fire　began　bursting　around　them。
Las…bolts　vitrified　the　dust　and　heavy　bolters　churned　the　ground。　He　felt　an　impact　graze　his　shoulder　and　another　clip　his　thigh；
but　these　were　little　but　annoyances：　his　armour　was　proof　against　such　weaponry。
Heavier　impacts　blasted　into　the　ground　beside　him　and　he　swore　again　as　he　realised　that　the　defenders　had　managed　to　bring
some　heavy　weaponry　up　to　the　firing　step。　A　bolt　from　a　lascannon　hammered　into　the　ground　beside　him；　cracking　the　earth　and
flashing　the　dust　to　vapour。
More　shells　landed　and　this　time　Honsou　was　thrown　to　the　ground　as　a　mortar　shell　burst　less　than　five　metres　directly　above
him；　spraying　him　with　razor　sharp　shrapnel。　Red　runes　winked　into　life　across　his　visor　as　the　spirit　within　his　armour　registered
breaches　in　its　structure。　Honsou　could　feel　the　stickiness　of　blood　briefly　run　down　his　leg　and　back　before　his　enhanced
metabolism　clotted　the　wounds。
He　offered　a　brief　prayer　of　thanks　to　the　gods　for　sparing　him。　Power　armour　was　amongst　the　best　protection　a　warrior　could
have；　but　even　it　had　its　limitations。　He　reached　over　to　grab　Polonas　and　realised　why　he　had　been　spared。
The　veteran's　back　was　laid　open　to　the　bone；　his　thick　ribs　and　spine　glistening　and　red。　His　head　was　a　mass　of　gristle　and
bloody　flesh；　pulped　grey　matter　pouring　in　a　glutinous　flood　from　his　shattered　skull。　Honsou　shrugged　and　tapped　Polonas's　Iron
Warriors'　icon　on　his　shoulder　plate　in　thanks　for　saving　his　life；　then　picked　himself　up　from　the　ground。
Honsou　pushed　himself　forward　and；　freed　from　the　weight　of　Polonas；　was　quickly　able　to　outdistance　the　mortars；　pounding
across　the　cratered　ground　in　a　lumbering　sprint。
Shells　continued　to　land　behind　him；　but　the　gunners　on　the　walls　were　firing　at　phantoms　now；　their　targets　having　escaped　their
wrath。　Honsou　slowed　to　a　jog　and　counted　in　his　men；　coming　up　one　short。　Aside　from　Polonas；　only　one　other　warrior　had
fallen。　Honsou　considered　they　had　been　lucky。
More　sunflares　continued　to　turn　the　valley's　night　into　day；　but　the　Imperials　were　simply　wasting　shells　now。
Honsou　strode　through　the　picket　lines　protecting　the　digging　parties；　satisfied　at　the　progress　the　slaves　were　making。　The　ground
was　dusty　and　hard…packed；　but　given　the　right　threats　and　impetus；　the　slaves　were　working　fast　enough。
Over　two　thousand　men　dug　the　barren　soil　of　Hydra　Cordatus；　creating　a　trench　that　ran　from　the　eastern　edge　of　the　valley　wall
to　a　point　mapped　out　by　today's　foray　of　the　prisoners　at　the　extreme　range　of　Tor　Christo's　guns。　Here　the　trench　bent
southwards；　following　the　curve　of　Tor　Christo's　curtain　wall。
The　earth　excavated　from　the　trench　was　piled　on　its　outer　edge；　on　the　side　facing　the　fortress；　providing　a　ready…made　fire　step
and　protection　for　the　diggers。　Once　the　trench　had　been　completed；　the　Iron　Warriors　would　build　more　permanent　fortifications
along　its　length；　adding　linked　bunkers　every　fifty　metres　and　laying　minefields　of　their　own。
Honsou　jumped　across　the　trench；　nodding　in　acknowledgement　to　men　from　his　company　as　they　supervised　the　labouring　slaves；
ensuring　everything　was　constructed　to　their　satisfaction。　The　work　was　progressing　at　speed　and；　barring　interference　from　the
Imperials；　the　trench　was　sure　to　be　complete　before　morning。
He　moved　easily　through　the　swarming　throng　of　bodies　engaged　in　digging　and　stockpiling　supplies　ready　for　the　push　towards
Tor　Christo。　Slaves　either　dragged　enormous　flatbeds　of　shells　and　explosives　forward　or　sweated　under　the　load　of　adamantium
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sheets　to　form　roadways　for　heavy　artillery　and　tanks。　Others　were　arranged　into　chanting　groups　gathered　around　hastily
emplaced　shrines　to　the　Dark　Gods；　their　mutterings　overseen　by　one　of　Jharek　Kelmaur's　sorcerers。
Bright　arc　lights　were　erected　on　baroque　towers　of　iron；　each　placed　at　points　decreed　by　the　sorcerers　to　create　some　form　of
cabalistic　arrangement。　Quite　what　this　would　achieve；　Honsou　was　unsure；　but　he　reasoned　that　it　couldn't　hurt　to　appease　the
gods；　whatever　measures　were　used。　Honsou　honoured　the　Dark　Powers　of　Chaos；　but　preferred　to　rely　on　the　strength　in　his
sword　arm　and　the　explosives　in　his　artillery　to　win　campaigns。　To　rely　on　Chaos　was　to　invite　disaster　at　the　capaciousness　of　the
gods。　Had　Angron　himself　not　failed　on　Armageddon　by　doing　just　that？
He　saw　the　Warsmith's　pavilion　set　upon　the　rocks　on　the　eastern　flank　of　the　mountains。　Its　bronze　poles　supported　billowing
steeldust　fabric　patterned　with　twisting；　chaotic　designs　that　enraptured　the　eye　and　held　its　fascination　until　reason　itself　became
lost　forever　within　the　swirling　significance　that　remained　forever　elusive。　Honsou　had　learned　never　to　allow　his　gaze　to　be　lured
into　the　foul　pattern　and　kept　his　eyes　firmly　fixed　on　the　figures　that　reclined　beneath　its　treacherous　design。
The　Warsmith　sat　on　an　enormous　throne；　carried　from　lost　Olympia　and　said　to　have　been　crafted　by　the　holy　Perturabo　himself。
The　Warsmith　claimed　it　was　a　gift　from　the　primarch　after　the　fighting　on　Tallarn；　though　Honsou　doubted　that　their　monstrous；
daemonic　progenitor　would　have　been　so　generous　after　that　particular　campaign。　Beside　the　hulking；　sickening　presence　of　the
Warsmith　stood　the　dead…faced　Forrix；　reading　out　lists　of　numbers　and　displacements　of　troops　from　a　bone…rimmed　data…slate。
Behind　the　throne　stood　Jharek　Kelmaur；　the　sorcerer　whose　pronouncements　had　led　them　to　this　world。　The　sorcerer's　armour
was　embossed　with　gold　and　silver；　the　traceries　and　patterning　bewilderingly　complex。　Skulls　decorated　his　greaves　and　cuissart；
and　his　breastplate　was　moulded　in　the　shape　of　Adonis…like　musculature。　He　wore　no　helmet　and　his　features　spoke　of　a　sly
cunning：　a　lipless　mouth　and　sewn…up　eyes；　set　within　a　swept…forward　brow。　His　pale　skull　was　hairless　and　tattooed　with　bizarre
symbols　that　seemed　to　writhe　with　a　life　of　their　own。
Honsou　disliked　Kelmaur；　and　did　not　trust　his　magicks　and　subtle　manipulations。　Kelmaur's　head　turned　in　Honsou's　direction；　as
though　sensing　his　thoughts；　and　a　hidden　smile　creased　his　papery　skin。
Crouched　at　Kelmaur's　feet　was　a　robed　figure；　its　face　hooded　and　unseen。　A　monochrome　cogwheel　symbol　stitched　on　its　back
identified　it　as　a　member　of　the　Cult　of　the　Machine；　and　briefly　Honsou　wondered　what　purpose　the　creature　served。
He　dismissed　the　thought　as　he　halted　at　the　entrance　to　the　pavilion；　awaiting　his　l