Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第18部分

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an　opportunity　to　take　the　fight　to　the　enemy　before　they　were　able　to　properly　deploy　their　Battle　Titans。　Despite　his　reservations；
Fierach　was　elated　at　the　prospect　of　taking　his　warriors　into　battle。　While　their　duty　to　protect　this　citadel　was　sacrosanct；　it　was
not　the　most　satisfying　of　postings　for　a　warrior　who　had　forged　his　reputation　on　countless　battlefields　throughout　the　galaxy。　The
honour　and　kill　banners　hanging　from　the　Imperator　Bellum　were　the　latest　in　a　long　line。　Many　that　had　previously　been　carried
into　battle　were　now　hanging　in　the　Chapel　of　Victory　on　the　Legion's　homeworld　of　Mars；　their　roll　of　honour　scarcely　able　to
contain　the　sheer　number　of　battles　won　and　enemies　slain。
Fierach　removed　his　senses　from　the　tactical　plot；　grunting　in　satisfaction　as　Moderati　Yousen　reported；　'Lieutenant　Colonel
Leonid　reports　that　Force　Anvil　is　in　position　and　ready　to　move　out　on　your　order。'
Fierach　acknowledged　the　information　with　a　raised　finger；　impressed　at　the　efficiency　of　Leonid。　He　had　always　liked　Vauban's
second…in…command　more　than　the　castellan　himself；　feeling　that　Leonid　was　far　more　a　natural　warrior　than　Vauban。
'Very　good；　Moderati。　Open　a　channel　to　all　Titans。'
Yousen's　finger　danced　across　the　panel　before　him。　He　nodded　towards　his　princeps。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
'All　princeps；　this　is　Fierach。　You　all　know　what　to　do；　so　carry　out　your　orders。　I　wish　you　joy　of　the　day　and　good　hunting。　May
the　Emperor　guide　your　aim。'
He　closed　the　channel　without　waiting　for　a　response　and　trained　his　eyes　on　the　red　expanse　of　plain　that　stretched　before　his
Titan；　noting　the　distant　plumes　of　smoke　that　marked　the　locations　of　the　enemy　camp。
Fierach　whispered　a　mantra　of　salute　to　the　spirit　of　the　Imperator　Bellum　and　said；　'Engineer　Ulandro；　give　me　striding　speed。　We
go　to　battle。'
PRINCEPS　CARLSEN　RELISHED　the　sense　of　speed　that　coursed　through　his　body　as　his　Warhound　Titan；　the　Defensor　Fidei；
sprinted　ahead　of　the　Legio's　Battle　Titans。　Less　than　half　the　size　of　a　Reaver　Titan；　the　Warhound　was　an　agile　Scout　Titan；　the
forward　eyes　and　ears　of　the　Legio。　Less　well　armed　and　protected；　it　was　no　match　for　larger　Titans；　but　could　tear　apart　infantry
formations　with　a　combination　of　its　deadly　assault　weaponry　and　speed。
His　wingman；　the　Jure　Divinu；　thundered　alongside　him；　keeping　pace　with　his　evasive　manoeuvres　to　throw　off　any　incoming
fire　that　might　be　directed　at　them。　There　was　none　at　the　moment；　but　it　never　paid　to　be　too　complacent　when　your　void　shields
could　be　taken　out　with　one　good　volley。
Carlsen　turned　to　Moderati　Arkian　and　said；　'Anything？'
Arkian　shook　his　head。　'No；　not　yet。　But　it　won't　be　long　now。'
Carlsen　nodded　and　returned　his　attention　to　the　ground　before　him。　A　spur　of　rock　from　the　valley　sides　some　five　hundred
metres　away　offered　some　protection　should　it　prove　necessary　to　take　shelter　from　incoming　fire。　The　enemy　line　was　a　kilometre
away　and　he　knew　their　speed　would　protect　them　from　all　but　a　desperately　lucky　shot。
Behind　him；　advancing　abreast；　came　a　portion　of　the　armoured　might　of　the　383rd　Jouran　Dragoons；　and　unlike　the　princeps　of
the　larger　Titans；　Carlsen　had　a　healthy　respect　for　infantry　and　armoured　vehicles。　Friendly　support　was　vital　for　a　Titan　of　his
size。　Enemy　infantry　and　vehicles　could　pose　a　serious　threat　to　a　Warhound。
'Have　they　even　seen　us　yet？'　he　wondered　aloud。
'Maybe　we　caught　them　at　meal　time；'　offered　Moderati　Arkian　with　a　grin。
'That　would　be　handy　indeed；　but　I　think　we've　just　disturbed　them；'　replied　Carlsen　as　he　spotted　tongues　of　flame　belch　skyward
from　artillery　behind　the　monstrous　earthworks　thrown　up　before　the　enemy　camp。
He　jinked　the　Defensor　Fidei　sideways；　keeping　close　to　the　valley　walls。
LIEUTENANT　COLONEL　LEONID　rode　in　the　top　of　his　command　Chimera；　the　wind　whipping　past　his　face。　His　goggles　and
bandana　kept　the　worst　of　the　dust　from　his　mouth　and　eyes；　and；　riding　at　the　head　of　his　tanks；　he　had　a　magnificent　view　of　the
battlefield。　His　bronze　breastplate　shone　gold　in　the　red　afternoon　sun　and　as　he　rode　to　battle　he　was　filled　with　a　fierce　pride　in
his　regiment。
Like　Fierach；　he　too　had　reservations　about　this　attack；　but　seeing　so　many　tanks　roaring　forward　at　speed　with　the　ground　shaking
to　the　tread　of　the　Legio　Ignatum；　he　was　swept　up　in　the　glory　of　this　charge。　Ahead　he　could　see　the　traitor　lines；　their　dark
fortifications　raised　high　in　an　impossibly　short　time。　Whoever　was　organising　this　operation　must　be　working　his　men　to　death。
Leonid　watched　the　two　Warhounds　tasked　to　his　storming　force　race　ahead；　their　speed　incongruous　for　such　large　machines。
Slower　moving　Reavers　strode　alongside　his　formation　while　the　majority　of　the　Legio　advanced　on　the　salient　angle　of　the
attackers'　trench　line　…　the　point　where　it　bent　towards　the　south…west　and　could　bring　the　least　amount　of　fire　to　bear。　The　Titans
were　to　smash　through　the　salient　with　the　guns　on　Tor　Christo　covering　their　exposed　right　flank　with　the　tanks　and　men　of　the
Jouran　Dragoons　covering　their　left。
At　the　same　time；　the　Jouran　armoured　thrust　would　hit　the　east/west　trench　line；　storming　the　trenches　with　four　thousand
warriors　hell…bent　on　revenge。　Leonid　had　allowed　the　true　identity　of　those　soldiers　killed　in　the　initial　attack　on　Tor　Christo　to
become　known　and　the　Dragoons　were　hungry　to　avenge　them。
Once　the　Titans　had　established　their　breakthrough；　they　would　link　with　the　fighting　in　the　trenches；　allowing　them　to　sweep
forwards　into　the　invaders'　camp；　wreaking　whatever　havoc　they　could　before　falling　back　in　good　order　to　the　citadel　and
avoiding　the　inevitable　counterattack。
On　paper　it　was　sound　strategy；　but　Leonid　was　enough　of　a　warrior　to　know　that　few　plans　survived　contact　with　the　enemy；　and
was　prepared　to　exercise　his　own　initiative　if　the　situation　turned　sour。　But　looking　at　the　armoured　might　at　his　command　and　the
gargantuan　god…machines　that　marched　beside　them　filled　him　with　supreme　confidence。
Distant　booms　of　artillery　roared　from　behind　him　as　the　citadel's　guns　fired；　supporting　the　attack　with　carefully　arranged　fire
plans　that　would　hopefully　keep　the　invaders'　heads　down　until　the　charge　was　right　on　top　of　them　and　the　men　and　women　of　the
Jouran　383rd　smashed　home。
Beneath　the　bandana　covering　his　mouth；　Leonid　smiled　to　himself。
FORRIX　WATCHED　THE　charging　Imperial　forces　approaching　their　lines　with　disinterest；　knowing　that　their　circumvallations　were
as　secure　as　they　could　be。　He　stood　at　the　salient　angle　of　the　lines；　watching　the　Imperial　Titans　march　towards　them。　The
transparency　of　their　plan　was　obvious　even　from　here。
The　guns　of　Tor　Christo　opened　fire；　sending　screaming　projectiles　towards　their　lines；　but　Forrix　had　been　building　fortifications
for　thousands　of　years　and　was　a　true　master　of　siegecraft。　The　high；　earthen　ramparts　of　his　trenches　absorbed　the　worst　of　the
blasts　and　the　damage　inflicted　was　minimal。　A　few　parties　of　slaves　fled　their　work；　but　as　soon　as　they　broke　cover　they　were
shredded　by　the　storm　of　explosions。
The　guns　from　the　citadel　were　also　firing；　wreathing　the　plateau　in　smoke；　but　Forrix　had　situated　the　first　parallel　beyond　their
range　so　the　Imperial　defenders　were　simply　wasting　ammunition。　Thick　grey　smoke　wreathed　the　plateau；　obscuring　the　Imperial
tanks；　but　the　Iron　Warriors　in　the　bunkers　were　able　to　penetrate　such　petty　obstacles　as　smoke　with　their　gunsights。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
The　Titans　of　the　Legio　Mortis　stood　behind　the　main　lines；　ready　to　be　unleashed　at　the　foe　once　the　Warsmith　decreed　where
they　should　attack。　The　Dies　Irae　stood　motionless　just　behind　him；　its　mighty　guns　awaiting　the　coming　conflict。　Its　form
shimmered　as　the　void　shield　generators　powered　up；　sheathing　the　machine　in　layers　of　protective　energy　fields。
Diesel　smoke　and　the　choking　stench　of　exhaust　fumes　filled　the　air　as　hundreds　of　armoured　tanks　rolled　through　the　campsite；
heading　for　the　gateways　in　the　defensive　lines；　ready　to　sally　forth　and　engage　the　enemy。　Gunners　in　artillery　positions　cranked
their　guns　around　to　face　the　plain　before　the　citadel；　Tor　Christo　no　longer　their　target　for　now。
Forrix　could　see　Honsou　and　Kroeger　marshalling　their　warriors　for　the　coming　battle；　bellowing　orders　to　the　indentured　soldiery
and　thrusting　them　into　the　trenches。　He　could　practically　feel　their　lust　for　battle　and　wished　he　shared　it。　But　this　conflict
promised　to　be　yet　another　that　would　eventually　blur　into　a　seamless　life　of　slaughter　for　him。
Glancing　round　at　the　Warsmith's　pavilion；　he　was　again　struck　by　the　sense　of　impending　change　that　saturated　the　Iron　Warriors'
great　leader。　There　was　always　a　feeling　of　barely　contained　power　around　the　Warsmith；　and　Forrix's　gut　told　him　that　his　master
was　on　the　brink　of　some　monumental　change；　but　what？
The　gods　of　Chaos　were　fickle　beings；　capable　of　raising　their　servants　to　the　highest　pinnacles　of　daemonhood　or　dashing　them　to
a　life　of　mindless　savagery　as　a　spawn。　It　was　for　them　to　decide　which　and　no　one　could　predict　what　choice　they　would　make。
Could　this　explain　the　urgency　of　the　Hydra　Cordatus　campaign？
Was　daemonhood　to　be　the　Warsmith's　reward　for　its　successful　completion？
If　so；　might　it　not　be　possible　for　those　who　had　accompanied　him　and　aided　him　on　that　journey　to　follow　in　his　wake；　to　ride　his
ascension　to　newer　and　greater　things；　where　the　time　spent　since　the　defeat　on　Terra　was　just　the　blink　of　an　eye　and　a　universe　of
potentiality　might　be　opened　up？
Forrix　felt　an　unfamiliar　sensation　stir　in　his　belly　and　was　mildly　surprised　to　find　that　the　fires　of　ambition；　which　he　had　thought
extinguished　forever；　had　merely　been　smouldering　unnoticed　in　the　farthest　corners　of　his　mind。
He　returned　his　gaze　to　the　Warsmith　and　a　cold　smile　touched　his　lips。
PRINCEPS　FIERACH　STRAINED　to　see　the　enemy　battle　lines　through　the　clouds　of　smoke　thrown　up　by　the　barrage　from　the　citadel
and　Tor　Christo。　Billowing　banks　of　red　dust　hung　in　the　air；　rendering　him　virtually　blind　and　he　quickly　voxed　the　senior
gunnery　officers；　shouting；　'All　guns；　cease　fire！　I　repeat　cease　fire！'
A　few　explosions　erupted　before　the　traitor　lines　from　shells　already　in　the　air；　but　Fierach　could　see　that　his　order　had　been
obeyed　with　alacrity；　the　smoke　that　drifted　from　those　impacts　was　not　followed　by　fresh　detonations。　He　swung　the　ponderous
head　of　his　Warlord　to　the　left；　looking　to　see　what　damage　the　citadel's　guns　had　inflicted　on　the　main　trench　line；　but　the　slowdrifting
smoke　frustrated　his　efforts。
He　linked　his　consciousness　to　the　Titan's　sensorium；　noting　that　his　battle　group　was　moving　a　little　too　fast；　outpacing　the　slower
tanks　of　the　Guard　in　their　haste　for　battle。　Briefly　he　considered　ordering　Engineer　Ulandro　to　reduce　speed；　but　immediately
discarded　the　idea。　It　did　well　to　reinforce　their　superiority　over　the　Guard　now　and　again；　and　a　little　rivalry　between　the　different
arms　of　the　citadel's　defenders　never　hurt　either。
The　smoke　ahead　parted　momentarily　and　his　breath　caught　in　his　throat　as　he　caught　a　glimpse　of　something　vast　and