Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第38部分

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　and　advanced　towards
Honsou。　He　lunged　again　and　Honsou　expertly　blocked　the　thrust；　rolling　his　wrists　and　slashing　at　Vauban's　head。　But　he　had
read　the　move　in　Honsou's　eyes　and　the　castellan　dodged　the　blow。
Wary　now；　the　pair　again　circled　each　other；　their　defences　alert　for　any　sudden　moves。
Honsou　attacked；　a　flashing　whirlwind　of　steel；　forcing　Vauban　backwards　step　by　step。　Vauban　parried　a　vicious　slash　aimed　at
his　chest；　launching　a　lightning　riposte　at　his　foe。　The　blade　scraped　a　deep　furrow　in　Honsou's　armour；　but　slid　clear　before
drawing　blood。
Honsou　retreated　and　Vauban　followed　with　a　grin　of　anticipation；　launching　himself　at　Honsou　with　fresh　vigour。　Honsou　was　a
powerful　warrior；　but　Prestre　Vauban　had　been　a　student　of　swordplay　his　entire　life　and　each　attack　drew　fresh　blood　from　his
adversary。
He　hammered　his　enemy's　defences　again　and　again；　forcing　him　slowly　backwards　until　Honsou　stumbled　and　lost　his　footing。
Vauban　spun　left　and　struck　out　at　Honsou's　sword　arm。　Honsou　was　quick；　bringing　his　block　up　just　in　time　to　intercept　the
blow；　and　their　weapons　met　in　a　coruscating　halo　of　sparks。　Vauban　roared　as　Honsou's　blade　snapped　and　his　own　smashed
home。　The　Iron　Warrior　grunted　in　pain　as　his　arm　was　severed　just　above　the　elbow。
Honsou　retreated；　stumbling　as　blood　sprayed　from　the　stump　of　his　arm。
Seizing　the　opportunity；　Vauban　leapt　in　to　deliver　the　deathblow；　but；　at　the　last　second；　realised　that　Honsou　had　lured　him　into
the　attack。
Honsou　roared　and　stepped　to　meet　Vauban；　slamming　inside　his　guard　and　hammering　the　snapped　length　of　his　sword　blade
through　his　silver　breastplate　and　into　his　heart。
White…hot　pain　flooded　Vauban　as　Honsou　twisted　the　blade；　bright　blood　pouring　down　his　chest　and　darkness　veiling　his　sight。
Had　he　heard　someone　crying　his　name？
He　felt　his　lifeblood　pouring　from　him　and　looked　into　the　eyes　of　his　killer。
'Damn　you…'　he　whispered。
'That　happened　a　long　time　ago；　human；'　hissed　Honsou；　but　Vauban　was　already　dead。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
SIX
DAWN　BROKE　ACROSS　the　valley；　scarlet　beams　of　light　throwing　its　unforgiving　glare　over　a　scene　of　utter　devastation。　A　pall　of
grey　dust　hung　heavy　in　the　air　and　smothered　all　sounds　in　an　unnatural　silence。
The　Warsmith　surveyed　the　destruction　before　him　with　an　impassive　eye。　The　swirling　metamorphic　shadows　that　wreathed　his
features　were　a　clue　to　his　fury；　and　none　of　his　war…captains　dared　approach　their　master　for　fear　of　his　rage。　The　writhings　in　his
armour　spun　faster；　their　agonised　mewling　becoming　more　desperate。
Two　batteries　all　but　destroyed；　the　guns　on　Tor　Christo　gone　and　almost　every　daemon　engine　shattered。　Millions　of　rounds　of
artillery　had　been　blown　to　pieces；　thousands　were　dead　and　weeks　of　work　had　been　buried　under　the　rubble　of　a　destroyed
mountain。
The　Warsmith　turned　to　face　his　captains　and　not　one　was　spared　a　moment　of　utter　terror　as　he　advanced　towards　them。　Each　of
them　could　see　that　the　forces　of　change　at　work　within　the　Warsmith's　body　were　increasing　at　a　furious　rate　and　the　force　of　his
presence　was　almost　overpowering。
'You　disappoint　me；'　he　said　simply。
Each　captain　felt　the　horrendous　changes　working　in　the　Warsmith's　body　wash　over　them。　He　leaned　close　to　his　first　captain。
'Forrix；　I　trusted　you　to　have　our　siegeworks　at　the　walls　by　now。　They　are　not。'
He　moved　on。　'Kroeger；　I　trusted　you　to　protect　my　war…engines。　You　did　not。'
The　Warsmith　faced　his　last　war…captain；　his　voice　dangerously　soft　and　controlled。
'Honsou；　you　have　been　blessed　by　the　touch　of　a　creature　of　Chaos。　You　are　now　one　of　us。　You　have　done　well　and　I　shall　not
forget　this　service　you　have　done　me。'
Honsou　nodded　his　thanks；　flexing　the　freshly…grafted　mechanical　arm　the　Warsmith's　personal　Chirumek　had　gifted　him　with　at
the　conclusion　of　last　night's　battle。
The　Warsmith　stepped　back；　his　monstrous　form　swelling　and　the　darkness　of　his　face　parting　for　the　briefest　moment　to　reveal
the　roiling　chaos　beneath。
He　roared；　his　voice　like　the　bellow　of　an　angry　god；　'I　do　not　have　time　to　be　thwarted　in　my　ascension　by　your　incompetence。　Go
now！　Get　out　of　my　sight　and　break　open　that　citadel！'
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
THE　THIRD　PARALLEL
ONE
IT　WAS　FITTING　that　the　interment　of　Castellan　Prestre　Vauban　took　place　under　overcast　skies。　Colonel　Leonid　…　Castellan　Leonid
now　…　thought　it　would　have　been　inappropriate　for　the　sun　to　be　out　on　this　sombre　day。
It　had　been　two　days　since　the　torpedo　had　struck　Tor　Christo；　but　thick　clouds　of　ash　still　hung　low　in　the　blood…red　sky；　plunging
the　valley　into　perpetual　twilight　and　dropping　the　temperature　to　almost　freezing。　Leonid　shivered　as　he　made　his　way　up　the
thousand　steps　on　the　northern　flank　of　the　valley　towards　the　Sepulchre。　He　was　one　of　the　four　pallbearers　carrying　their　dead
leader　to　his　final　resting　place。
A　final　honour　guard　of　two　thousand　men　lined　the　last　route　of　their　commander；　one　on　each　side　of　every　wide　step；　and
Leonid　felt　tears　gather　in　the　corners　of　his　eyes　at　this　spontaneous　tribute。
Vauban　had　said　that　he　believed　his　men　did　not　love　him。
Now　Leonid　knew　he　had　been　wrong。
Between　them；　Morgan　Kristan；　Piet　Anders　and　Brother…Captain　Alaric　Eshara　of　the　Imperial　Fists　carried　a　bier　of　dark　Jouran
oak　upon　which　lay　a　simple　ebony　casket。　Inside　lay　the　mortal　remains　of　Castellan　Vauban；　his　bones　prepared　by　the　Magos
Biologis　to　take　their　place　in　the　Sepulchre's　ossuary。　The　day　was　deathly　silent；　as　though　even　the　enemy　paid　tribute　to　the
brave　warrior　who　was　laid　to　rest。
Thinking　of　the　enemy　sent　fresh　tears　spilling　from　Leonid's　eyes。
He　had　watched　the　Iron　Warrior　drive　his　sword　through　Castellan　Vauban's　chest；　as　he　screamed　a　denial　and　dropped　to　his
knees　in　the　rubble…filled　battery。　Captain　Eshara　and　Librarian　Corwin　had　driven　the　foe　away　from　the　castellan's　body；　and　the
soldiers　of　the　383rd　Jouran　Dragoons　had　borne　their　commander…in…chief　back　to　the　citadel。
He　hoped　that　Vauban　had　died　knowing　how　successful　his　daring　raid　into　the　enemy's　camp　had　been。　Virtually　every　war
machine　in　the　battery　had　been　destroyed；　either　by　Jouran　bombs　or　the　cataclysmic　detonation　of　the　orbital　torpedo。　Emperor
alone　knew　how　much　collateral　damage　had　been　caused　by　the　fallout　from　the　explosion。
Leonid　again　offered　his　thanks　to　the　almighty　God…Emperor　that　He　had　seen　fit　to　deliver　the　Imperial　Fists　to　them。　Not　only
had　their　arrival　caused　the　morale　of　the　garrison　to　soar；　but　the　news　they　brought　had　made　Leonid　believe　that　there　was　real
hope。
News　of　their　arrival　had　reached　him　just　before　he　was　due　to　present　his　plan　of　attack　to　Castellan　Vauban。　At　first　he　had　not
believed　it；　thinking　it　to　be　some　cruel　hoax；　but　as　he　sprinted　from　his　chambers　and　saw　them；　ash…stained　and　weary；　he'd
raised　his　eyes　to　the　heavens　and　blessed　the　name　of　Rogal　Dorn。
Fle'd　run　to　the　Imperial　Fists；　but　all　he　could　think　to　say　was；　'How？'
The　leader　of　the　Space　Marines　said；　'Brother…Captain　Eshara。　Are　you　the　commanding　officer　here？'
'Uh；　no…'　he'd　managed。　'Castellan　Vauban　commands　the　citadel。　I　am　Lieutenant　Colonel　Leonid；　his　second…in…command。
Where　did　you　come　from？'
'Thejustitia　Fides；　our　strike　cruiser；　was　about　to　make　the　jump　into　the　Empyrean　when　the　astropaths　reported　a　faint　distress
signal　emanating　from　this　planet；'　explained　Captain　Eshara。　'The　prefix　on　the　signal　was　of　sufficient　urgency　that　I
immediately　ordered　them　to　pass　it　on　to　the　naval　base　at　Hydraphur　before　turning　the　ship　back　to　Hydra　Cordatus。'
'But　what　about　the　enemy　vessels　in　orbit？'
'We　narrowly　avoided　detection　by　a　Chaos　warship　near　the　jump　point；　but　once　we　were　clear；　I　ordered　best　speed　to　the
source　of　the　distress　signal。　It　was　a　relatively　simple　matter　to　evade　detection　by　the　cargo　hulks　in　orbit；　but　to　avoid　being
spotted　by　enemy　ground　troops　we　flew　the　Thunderhawks　to　the　mountains　some　hundred　kilometres　north　of　this　fastness。
After　that；　we　simply　crossed　the　mountains　on　foot　to　reach　you。'
Leonid　still　marvelled　at　Eshara's　casual　description　of　his　men's　incredible　journey　across　the　mountains。　Two　days　to　cross　some
of　the　most　inhospitable　terrain　Leonid　had　ever　seen。　It　had　taken　Guardsman　Hawke　almost　a　full　day　to　cross　eight　kilometres；
never　mind　a　hundred。
Not　only　that；　but　less　than　five　hours　later；　the　Space　Marines　had　fought　a　major　battle　and　emerged　triumphant。　The　Battle　of
the　Battery　was　as　much　their　victory　as　the　Jourans'。
Leonid　shivered　as　he　looked　up　at　the　grim；　black　tower　before　them；　hating　its　bleak　austerity　and　wishing　that　they　did　not　have
to　perform　this　solemn　duty。　But　perform　it　they　must。　He　lowered　his　eyes　as　they　approached　the　doors　to　the　Sepulchre。
Tonsured　priests　stood　at　the　open　portal　with　their　heads　bowed。　Smoking　censers　hung　from　hooks　beside　the　door；　giving　off
the　heady　aroma　of　Jouran　incense。
As　the　pallbearers　entered　the　Sepulchre；　a　lone　voice　sounded　from　the　ranks　of　the　assembled　soldiers；　'383rd；　present　arms！'
The　sound　of　two　thousand　men　slamming　their　heels　down　on　the　steps　echoed　from　the　mountainsides　and　the　valley　resounded
to　the　deafening　salute　of　rifles　firing　in　perfect　unison。
THE　BRIEFING　CHAMBER　was　hot；　despite　the　chill　of　the　day；　as　the　citadel's　commanding　officers　filed　into　the　room。　Even
though　he　was　now　in　command　of　the　Jouran　Dragoons；　Leonid　was　not　sitting　at　the　head　of　the　meeting　table；　but　in　his　usual
seat　to　the　right　of　Vauban's　chair。
He　watched　as　the　officers　of　his　regiment　…　his　regiment　now；　the　thought　had　not　yet　sunk　in　…　entered　the　briefing　chamber；
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
saluting　before　they　took　their　seats。　They　looked　to　him　for　leadership　now；　and　he　just　hoped　he　could　provide　it。
Vauban　had　been　a　natural　leader　who　made　command　look　effortless；　but　the　last　two　days　had　shown　Leonid　how　difficult　it
truly　was。　Every　day；　a　hundred　decisions　had　to　be　made　and　each　one　had　potentially　life…threatening　consequences。　Could　he
really　take　charge　of　the　regiment　and　command　the　citadel's　defences？　He　didn't　know。
Morgan　Kristan　and　Piet　Anders　took　their　usual　seats。　Opposite　them　sat　the　two　leaders　of　the　Imperial　Fists　detachment：
Brother…Captain　Eshara　and　Librarian　Corwin；　their　polished　armour　a　brilliant　yellow。　Leonid　felt　grateful　for　their　support　and
knew　he　would　need　to　rely　on　them　more　than　ever　over　the　coming　days　now　that　Vauban　was　gone。　Princeps　Daekian　and
Magos　Naicin　were　also　present；　but　their　placement　further　down　the　table　was　indicative　of　their　status　as　pariahs　to　the　Jourans。
Major　Kristan　lifted　the　bottle　of　amasec　from　the　tray　at　the　table's　centre　with　his　good　arm　and　poured　a　glass　for　himself；
Leonid　and　Anders　before　also　filling　the　glasses　at　the　empty　seats　of　Vauban　and　Tedeski。　He　offered　the　two　Space　Marines　a
drink；　but　both　politely　refused。　Pointedly；　he　did　not　offer　a　drink　to　the　new　commanding　officer　of　the　Legio　Ignatum　or　the
representative　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus。　Piet　Anders　took　out　a　bundle　of　thin；　twine…bound　cheroots；