Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第34部分

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to　face　with　a　corpse；　its　mouth　twisted　in　a　rictus　mask　of　death。　He　yelped　and　pushed　himself　back　towards　the　dim　light　at　the
door　where　he　saw　another　three　bodies　slumped　on　the　ground。
Their　fists　were　covered　with　dried　blood。　Looking　at　the　door；　Hawke　saw　bloody　handprints　smeared　over　its　inside　surface。
'Imperator！　There's　dead　bodies　here！'　shouted　Hawke。
'Yes；　the　orbital　bombardment　was　slightly　off…course；　and　hit　the　mountains　instead　of　the　facility。　We　believe　the　explosions
threw　enough　debris　up　to　cover　the　oxy…recyc　units　and　the　men　within　choked　to　death。'
'Choked　to　death？　Then　why　are　their　hands　covered　in　blood？'
'It　is　logical　that　the　men　stationed　here　would　have　tried　to　exit　the　facility　when　they　realised　their　air　supply　was　cut　off；'　said
Beauvais；　his　voice　devoid　of　any　compassion　for　the　dead。
'But　why　couldn't　they　get　out？'　wheezed　Hawke　as　his　breathing　returned　to　normal。
'Facility　staff　do　not　have　access　to　the　codes　that　allow　the　exterior　doors　to　open。　It　would　constitute　a　security　risk　were　one　to
be　compromised。'
'And　for　that；　they　died。　You　cold　bastards！'
'A　necessary　precaution　and　one　all　staff　are　aware　of　when　stationed　in　these　facilities。　Now；　if　we　may　continue？　The　facility
commander　should　have　a　bronze　key　around　his　neck？　Take　it。'
Forcing　down　his　repugnance；　Hawke　checked　the　bodies；　finding　the　key　on　the　third　body。　He　vowed　that　if　he　got　out　of　this
alive；　he　was　going　to　find　Beauvais　and　punch　his　face　in。　He　stepped　over　the　bodies　and　made　his　way　down　the　corridor；
tucking　the　key　into　his　pocket。　The　air　felt　stagnant　and　he　soon　found　himself　wheezing。
'I　can　hardly　breathe　in　here；'　he　complained。
'Do　you　have　a　respirator　to　use　until　the　outside　air　filters　in？'
'Yeah；　I　got　one；'　snapped　Hawke。　He　fumbled　in　the　pack　for　the　clumsy　breathing　apparatus　and　dragged　it　over　his　head；
flicking　on　the　illuminator　above　the　faceplate。
A　featureless　corridor　stretched　off　into　the　darkness；　and　he　started　his　descent。　Following　Beauvais's　instructions；　he　passed
several　iron　doors　sealed　with　keypads　which　were　unmarked　save　for　the　cog　symbol　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。　His　breathing
sounded　loud　in　his　ears　and　the　click　of　his　worn…down　boot　heels　and　the　tinny　voice　of　Beauvais　echoed　from　the　walls；　the
torch…lit　darkness　seeming　to　magnify　the　sounds。　Despite　himself；　Hawke　felt　his　trepidation　growing　the　further　he　descended
into　the　mountain。
At　last；　Beauvais's　directions　led　him　to　an　unremarkable　door；　stencilled　with　wording　he　couldn't　read；　but　a　symbol　that　was
clearly　a　warning。　He　raised　the　handset　to　his　mouth。
'Right；　I'm　here；　now　what？'
'Use　the　key　you　took　from　the　facility　commander　to　unlock　the　door。'
Hawke　dug　the　key　from　his　pocket　and　did　as　instructed；　standing　back　as　the　door　clicked　open　and　a　gust　of　oil　and　incensescented
air　rushed　to　meet　him。　Inside　was　darkness　and　he　stepped　through　the　door；　panning　the　light　from　his　respirator　around
him。
The　room　appeared　to　be　circular；　its　blank　walls　running　around　a　gigantic　white　pillar　at　its　centre　that　took　up　most　of　the　space。
A　metal…ranged　ladder　set　into　the　rockcrete　wall　ascended　into　the　darkness　beside　him；　and　he　stared　in　puzzlement　at　the
massive　object　before　him。
Hawke　put　his　hand　out　and　touched　it。　It　was　warm　to　the　touch　and　felt　as　though　there　ent　within；　but
perhaps　that　was　just　his　imagination。　The　base　of　the　column　sat　in　a　sunken　pit　and　as　he　leaned　over　to　get　a　better　look；　he　saw
what　appeared　to　be　vast　nozzles；　like　the　ones　he'd　seen　on　the　end　of　one　of　the　heavy　weapon　team's　missiles；　but　bigger。
Bigger…
Realisation　sank　in　as　Hawke　craned　his　neck　in　an　attempt　to　see　how　high　this　chamber　was。
'Is　this　what　I　think　it　is？'　he　asked　Beauvais。
'That　depends　on　what　you　think　it　is；　but　I　can　tell　you　that　it　is　a　Glaive　class；　ground…launched　orbital　torpedo。'
'And　what　in　the　name　of　the　High　Lord's　balls　do　you　expect　me　to　do　with　it？'　spluttered　Hawke。
'We　want　you　to　fire　it；　Guardsman　Hawke；'　explained　Magos　Beauvais。
FIVE
FOLLOWED　BY　NEARLY　two　thousand　men；　Castellan　Prestre　Vauban　clambered　over　the　lip　of　the　citadel's　ditch　and　sprinted
towards　the　Iron　Warriors'　raised　earthworks。　There　was　no　battle　cry；　no　shout　of　rage；　only　the　silence　of　soldiers　who　knew
their　only　chance　of　survival　was　stealth。
The　men's　faces　were　smeared　with　soot　and　their　sky　blue　uniform　had　been　left　in　the　barracks　in　favour　of　plain　black　flak
jackets。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
Leonid's　storming　parties　spread　out　from　the　ditch；　clustered　around　the　demolition　teams　and　Vauban　knew　that　this　attack　was　a
desperate　gamble　indeed。　But　as　his　second…in…command　had　pointed　out；　they　had　no　choice　but　to　attempt　to　destroy　the　enemy
guns。　To　not　try　would　be　to　allow　the　Iron　Warriors　to　pound　them　into　dust。
A　thrill　of　fear　and　exultation　coursed　through　his　veins　at　the　prospect　of　battle；　it　had　been　too　long　since　he　had　led　men　into
combat。
He　clutched　his　bolt　pistol　close　to　his　chest；　running　crouched　over；　the　breath　heaving　in　his　lungs。　The　traitor　line　was　still　a
few　hundred　metres　away。　His　breathing　sounded　hellishly　loud　and　the　thump　of　boots　on　the　dusty　earth　was　like　the　thunder　of
a　Titan's　tread；　but　so　far　the　alarm　had　not　been　raised。　Perhaps　there　was　a　chance　this　reckless　attack　might　just　succeed。
Even　in　the　dim　light；　Vauban　could　see　a　head　raised　above　the　level　of　the　ramparts　of　the　enemy　earthworks　and　counted　down
the　seconds　until　the　attack　hit　home。
All　they　needed　was　a　little　more　time。
URAJA　KLANE　PULLED　himself　up　to　the　ramparts　of　the　earthworks　and　peered　into　the　darkness；　resting　his　rifle　on　the　rough；
earthen　parapet。　There　was　something　happening　in　front　of　the　works；　but　he　couldn't　quite　see　what。　Lord　Kroeger　had　charged
them　with　the　protection　of　these　guns　and　he　knew　better　than　to　disappoint　his　master。　But　the　flickering　lights　and　noise　from
the　sprawling　campsite　made　it　difficult　to　make　out　anything。
Behind　him；　several　hundred　soldiers　slept　on　the　firing　step　or　drank　distilled　spirits　from　tin　mugs　in　their　muddy　dug…outs。
He　glanced　down　and　kicked　Yosha　awake。　He　had　a　pair　of　battered　field　glasses　that　could　see　in　the　dark；　didn't　he？
'Hey；　Yosha；　wake　up；　you　useless　piece　of…'　hissed　Klane。
Yosha　mumbled　something　foul　and　unintelligible；　then　rolled　over。　Klane　kicked　him　again。
'Yosha；　wake　up；　damn　you。　Gimme　your　goggles！'
'What？'　slurred　Yosha。　'My　goggles？'
'Yeah；　I　think　there's　something　out　there。'
Yosha　grumbled；　but　dragged　himself　to　his　feet；　rubbing　his　eyes　with　filthy　hands　and　yawning　hugely。　He　peered　out　into　the
darkness。
'There's　nothing　out　there；'　he　declared　sleepily。
'Use　your　damn　goggles；　you　idiot。'
Casting　a　scathing　look　at　his　comrade；　Yosha　pulled　out　a　set　of　blackened　and　ancient　field　goggles。　A　bizarre　protuberance
slotted　over　the　eyepiece　and　Yosha　pulled　it　over　his　shaven　head。　He　rested　his　chin　on　his　hands　and　trained　his　gaze　over　the
parapet。
'Well；'　pressed　Klane。　'You　see　anything？'
'Yeah；'　whispered　Yosha。　'There's　something　coming。　Looks　like—'
'Like　what？'
'Like—'
Klane　never　got　the　chance　to　find　out。　A　sharp；　buzzing　crack　whipped　by　him　and　blasted　the　back　of　Yosha's　head　open　in　an
explosion　of　blood　and　brains。　Yosha　crumpled　slowly　and　toppled　from　the　rampart。
'Khorne's　teeth！'　swore　Klane；　jerking　back　and　switching　his　gaze　from　the　headless　corpse　to　the　ground　before　the　earthworks。
The　whipping　noise　slashed　past　him　again　and　a　puff　of　earth　exploded　next　to　him。
Sniper！
Klane　ducked　down　behind　the　parapet　and　cocked　his　rifle；　his　head　working　left　and　right　to　see　other　sentries　dropping；　no
doubt　picked　off　by　Imperial　snipers　on　the　walls　of　the　ravelin。　He　swore　again。　There　must　be　an　attack　coming　in！
He　crawled　along　the　firing　step；　clambering　over　sleeping　bodies　towards　the　alarm　siren；　and　pulled　himself　up　the　timber　spar
where　the　flared　bullhorn　was　bolted。　He　grabbed　the　cranking　handle。
Klane　heard　booted　steps　approaching　the　parapet　and　realised　he　didn't　have　much　time。　He　turned　the　squealing　handle；　the
wailing　cry　from　the　bullhorn　growing　in　volume　as　he　spun　it　faster　and　faster。　A　shot　blasted　the　timber　beside　him；　showering
him　with　splinters　and　he　flinched；　releasing　the　handle　and　taking　up　his　rifle。
Thudding　footsteps　hit　the　soil　of　the　earthworks　below。　Damned　Imperials！　He　snarled；　pleased　to　have　this　chance　to　kill。
Scrabbling　hands　sounded　on　the　far　side　of　the　parapet。
No　bastard　Guardsman　was　going　to　get　past　Uraja　Klane！
He　roared　in　hatred　and　rose　to　his　feet；　swinging　his　rifle　around　to　find　himself　facing　a　giant　warrior　in　yellow　power　armour
with　a　crackling　sword　and　scarlet　Imperial　eagle　on　his　breastplate。
'What　the　f—'　was　all　he　had　time　to　say　before　the　Imperial　Fists　Space　Marine　clove　him　in　two　with　his　power　sword。
SIRENS　SCREAMED；　PIERCING　the　night　with　their　cries　and　Vauban　knew　that　with　the　element　of　surprise　lost　they　had　only　a
limited　time　to　achieve　their　objective　before　they　would　have　to　fall　back。　He　climbed　the　steep　exterior　slope　of　the　earthworks；
using　the　butt　of　his　pistol　for　purchase。　His　soldiers　scrambled　over　the　parapet　with　a　roar　of　released　fury。
A　grenade　detonated　nearby；　showering　him　with　earth　and　he　slipped；　feet　scrabbling　for　grip。
A　gauntleted　hand　reached　down　and　closed　on　his　wrist；　lifting　him　easily　across　the　parapet　in　a　single　motion。　He　was　deposited
on　the　firing　step　beside　a　broken　corpse；　and　swiftly　drew　his　power　sword。　The　Space　Marine　who　had　hauled　him　over　the
parapet　turned　and　began　firing　a　bolt…gun　into　a　mass　of　enemy　soldiers　in　red　overalls。　His　brethren　were　pushing　further　into　the
entrenchments　as　the　Imperial　Guard　scrambled　over　the　parapet　and　into　the　battery。
'Thank　you；　Brother…Captain　Eshara；'　said　Vauban　breathlessly。
The　Imperial　Fists　captain　nodded；　slammed　a　fresh　magazine　into　his　bolter　and　said；　'Thank　me　later。　We　have　work　to　do；'
before　turning　and　charging　from　the　firing　step。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
Gunfire　and　explosions　lit　the　trenches　and　dug…outs　of　the　battery　with　strobing　light；　screaming　soldiers　and　wounded　men
providing　a　cacophonous　backdrop　to　the　attack。　Hundreds　of　Jourans　poured　over　the　earthwork；　killing　anything　in　their　path。
The　Chaos　soldiery　had　been　caught　largely　unawares；　and　the　Imperial　troops　offered　no　quarter　to　the　unready　foe。　Storming
parties　slaughtered　the　enemy　soldiers；　shooting　them　where　they　lay　or　stabbing　them　with　bayonets　as　they　scrambled　for
weapons。
Fifteen　gigantic　war　machines　were　situated　here；　enormous　howitzers　and　long　cannons　with　barrels　so　wide　a　man　could　stand
upright　inside。　Bronze　plates　embossed　with　skulls　and　unholy　icons　were　fixed　on　each　machine's　flank；　and　thick　chains　looped
around　giant　rings　were　securely　bolted　to　their　track　units。　There　was　a　terrible　sense　of　menace　surrounding　the　siege　engines
and　Vauban　had　a　gnawing　sense　of　wrongness　in　his　gut。　He　knew　without　doubt　that　such　blasphemous　creations　should　never
have　been　allowed　to　come　into　existe