Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第40部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

through　his　mechanical　fingers。　The　new　arm　pleased　him　mightily；　it　was　stronger　and　more　robust　than　his　own　had　been。　It　had
originally　belonged　to　Kortrish；　the　Warsmith's　former　champion；　and　was　a　physical　indication　of　his　master's　favour。　Honsou
was　surprised　by　the　Warsmith's　sudden　favour；　since　he　had　equalled；　if　not　exceeded　his　deeds　in　the　battery　many　times　before。
He　was　also　sure　that　Forrix　must　have　told　the　Warsmith　how　Honsou　had　failed　to　kill　everyone　in　his　initial　attacks　and　thus
was　responsible　for　the　destruction　unleashed　by　the　torpedo。　Since　that　time　Honsou　had　been　unable　to　make　contact　with　Goran
Delau；　and　was　forced　to　assume　that　his　second…in…command　had　failed。
But　if　that　were　the　case；　why　then　did　the　Warsmith　honour　him　so？
Perhaps　in　part　it　was　due　to　the　cleansing　presence　of　the　daemon　that　had　briefly　possessed　his　unworthy　flesh。　Had　it　stripped
away　the　polluted　gene…seed　within　him　in　the　searing　fire　of　its　occupancy；　to　make　him　pure？　The　magnitude　of　the　power　he
had　felt　in　those　fleeting　moments　had　been　intoxicating　and　though　he　knew　it　would　mean　oblivion；　he　longed　for　its　touch　once
again。　His　body　was　still　healing　after　the　daemon's　blissful　violation　and；　though　he　was　unsure；　he　believed　he　could　feel　some
lingering　remnants　of　its　presence　within　him。
Had　the　Warsmith　also　sensed　it；　recognising　a　kindred　power　within　him？
Kroeger　had　been　livid　and　Forrix　dangerously　quiet　following　their　admonishment　by　the　Warsmith；　and　Honsou　had　stayed　clear
of　both　captains　since　then。　Kroeger　had；　unsurprisingly；　chosen　to　vent　his　frustrations　on　prisoners；　slaking　his　anger　in　their
bloody　entrails。　Honsou　wondered　how　long　it　would　be　before　Kroeger　irretrievably　descended　into　madness　to　become　just
another　faceless　berserker。
The　Warsmith　had　then　charged　Forrix　and　his　warriors　with　the　thankless　task　of　constructing　and　advancing　the　final　sap。
Honsou　smiled　to　himself　at　the　thought　of　Forrix；　commander　of　the　First　grand　company；　labouring　in　the　trenches；　a　task　that
had　surely　been　earmarked　for　Honsou　and　his　impure　company。
The　trenches　were　still　knee　deep　in　ash；　despite　the　hundreds　of　slaves　working　constantly　to　clear　them。　Looking　around　him；　he
knew　there　was　no　way　that　the　siegeworks　were　going　to　be　at　the　walls　within　the　ten　days　the　Warsmith　had　demanded。
The　final　sap　was　pushing　forward　to　the　head　of　the　central　ravelin；　but　its　progress　was　maddeningly　slow。　This　close　to　the
citadel；　the　angle　of　each　zigzag　arm　of　the　sap　had　to　be　dug　in　increasingly　shallower　angles　as　they　came　within　range　of　the
weapons　carried　by　the　soldiers　on　the　walls。　Whereas　the　saps　dug　forward　from　the　first　and　second　parallels　were　constructed
by　piling　excavated　earth　onto　the　forward　edge　of　the　trench；　this　sap　had；　by　necessity；　to　be　advanced　with　much　more　care　and
sophistication。　Most　of　the　surviving　slaves　（and　there　were　precious　few　left；　thanks　to　the　Imperial　torpedo）　were　digging　out
what　materials　and　supplies　had　survived　the　destruction　of　Tor　Christo　back　in　the　campsite；　while　the　Iron　Warriors　themselves
prepared　this　last　sap。
Teams　of　Iron　Warriors　inched　forwards　on　their　hands　and　knees　under　cover　of　the　lumbering　sap…rollers；　laboriously　ramming
the　excavated　earth　on　the　trench's　outer　face　then　dragging　forward　iron　palisades　to　strengthen　it。　Gangs　of　specially　picked
slaves　followed　behind；　deepening　the　trench　and　readying　the　sap　for　the　storming　squads。　Constructing　such　a　sap　was
dangerous　and　tedious　work；　requiring　a　great　deal　of　skill　and　teamwork；　since　the　workers　were　under　constant　fire　from　the
citadel's　defenders。　If　the　trench　had　advanced　ten　metres　by　nightfall；　it　was　counted　a　good　day's　work。
Work　parties　from　Kroeger's　company　were　even　now　cannibalising　every　non…essential　vehicle　for　parts　to　construct　more　saprollers；
for　the　Imperial　forces　had　managed　to　remount　many　of　their　parapet　weapons　following　the　attack　on　the　battery。　The
Imperial　guns　would　hammer　each　sap…roller　with　devastating　barrages；　blowing　them　apart　within　hours；　and　the　Iron　Warriors
had　little　with　which　to　reply。
The　Dies　Irae　pounded　the　citadel；　but　its　remaining　guns　were　at　their　maximum　range　and　unless　the　mighty　war…engine　could
be　made　mobile　again；　its　usefulness　was　limited。　The　remaining　two　Titans　of　the　Legio　Mortis　were　being　kept　in　reserve　until
the　final　assault；　though　Honsou　wondered　if　the　grievous　wounding　of　the　Dies　Irae　had　broken　the　nerve　of　the　Legio's　warriors。
Even　from　here；　Honsou　could　see　that　the　ramparts　were　being　quickly　repaired；　no　doubt　under　the　direction　of　the　reviled
Imperial　Fists。　Much　as　he　hated　to　admit　it；　the　ancient　enemy　were　competent　siege　engineers　and　would　make　their　job　all　the
harder。
Honsou　eagerly　awaited　the　final　attack。　The　need　to　kill　Imperial　Fists　was　now　his　only　imperative；　and　he　chafed　at　the　slow
speed　at　which　the　sap　advanced。
Slow　though　their　progress　was；　Honsou　calculated　that　within　three　days　the　sap　would　be　almost　at　the　lip　of　the　citadel's　huge
ditch；　in　a　position　where　it　could　be　branched　left　and　right　to　form　the　third　parallel。　Under　normal　circumstances；　a　trench
cavalier　would　be　built　along　the　parallel's　length；　a　solid　earthwork　some　three　metres　high　with　a　parapet　that　would　allow　troops
manning　its　firing　step　to　obtain　plunging　fire　into　ramparts　of　the　ravelin。　This；　combined　with　fire　from　Vindicator　siege　tanks
and　the　spider…legged　Defilers；　should　compel　the　defenders　to　abandon　the　ravelin；　allowing　the　attackers　to　assault　the　breaches。
But　these　were　not　normal　circumstances　and　the　unexpected　destruction　of　their　siege　batteries　meant　there　were　no　breaches　in
the　walls。
They　would　need　some　other　way　of　bringing　down　the　walls　if　they　were　to　take　this　citadel。　As　he　turned　back　towards　the
camp；　it　came　to　him　how　such　a　feat　could　be　achieved。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
CROUCHED　IN　A　dark　part　of　Kroeger's　dugout；　Larana　Utorian　rocked　back　and　forth；　her　knees　tucked　up　under　her　chin；　her
hands　clasped　over　her　ears。　A　red　line　dribbled　down　her　chin　where　she　had　chewed　her　lip　and　her　thin；　wasted　frame　was
malnourished　to　the　point　of　starvation。　Her　features　were　gaunt　and　sallow　and　her　ribs　pushed　against　her　filthy　skin　beneath　the
threadbare　remains　of　her　uniform　jacket。
Kroeger's　armour　once　more　hung　on　its　frame；　its　surfaces　slathered　in　gore。
On　the　ground　before　her　lay　the　armoured　gauntlet；　the　fingers　curled　in　a　fist；　the　knuckles　caked　with　pounded…in　blood。　Her
bone　knife　rested　against　it；　its　edge　nicked　and　bloody。
Larana's　breathing　came　in　short；　hiked　gasps。　The　voice　had　come　again。
'Who　are　you？'　she　asked；　the　sound　no　more　than　a　hoarse　whisper。　There　was　no　answer　and　for　the　briefest　second　she
wondered　if　she　had　imagined　the　hissing　voice　that　had　spoken　to　her。
A　nervous　laugh　built　in　her　throat；　but　died　as　the　voice　came　again。
I　am　all　that　you　want；　little　one。　I　feel　your　hate　and　it　is　exquisite。
The　voice　slithered　around　her　head；　seeming　to　come　from　all　around　her；　sounding　more　dead　than　alive。　The　horrific　voice　was
composed　of　many；　each　overlaying　the　other；　monstrously　intertwined　with　sussurating　hoarseness。
Larana　whimpered　in　fear。　Looking　up　at　Kroeger's　armour　she　saw　a　pale　nimbus　of　light　building　up　behind　the　visor　of　the
helmet。　The　eyes　seemed　to　be　looking　straight　through　her；　through　her　skin；　past　her　bones　and　organs　and　into　her　very　soul。
The　sense　of　violation　was　horrific。
She　screwed　her　eyes　shut　and　wept　as　the　sensation　crawled　around　her　mind；　teasing　open　every　dark　and　secret　place　of　her
soul。
Then；　as　suddenly　as　it　had　begun；　the　loathsome　exploration　was　done。
Oh　yes；　you　are　ripe；　little　Larana。　You　have　a　fecund　and　inventive　hate。　You　shall　be　my　greatest　work…
'Stop　speaking　to　me！'　wailed　Larana；　beating　her　fists　against　her　head。　'What　do　you　want？'
I　want　to　take　away　your　pain　if　you　will　but　let　me。　I　can　make　you　strong　again。
Larana　opened　her　eyes；　hope　and　fear　shining　in　equal　measure。
'How？　Why？'
I　am　done　with　Kroeger。　He　has　descended　to　the　point　where　his　petty　slaughters　no　longer　amuse　me。　But　you；　oh　you　have　such
hate　within　you！　It　smoulders；　but　I　see　in　you　the　seeds　of　an　inferno。　It　will　be　an　age　before　I　tire　of　you；　Larana。
Almost　against　her　will；　her　eyes　were　drawn　towards　the　gauntlet　lying　on　the　dusty　floor　of　the　dugout。　As　if　sensing　her　gaze；
the　fingers　of　the　gauntlet　slowly　uncurled　so　that　it　lay　palm　up　before　her。
Go　on！　I　can　feel　hate　oozing　from　every　pore　of　your　flesh。　We　shall　strike　back！　He　is　a　butcher　of　men　and　deserves　to　die；　does
he　not？　I　can　help　you　kill　him。　Is　that　not　what　you　desire　above　all　else？
'Yes！'　snarled　Larana；　picking　up　the　heavy　gauntlet　and　slipping　her　hand　inside。
CASTELLAN　LEONID　RESTED　his　elbows　on　the　parapet　of　the　curtain　wall　and　stifled　an　exhausted　yawn　as　he　watched　the　men　on
the　walls　of　the　two　forward　bastions　with　pride。　Under　the　direction　of　the　Imperial　Fists；　the　ramparts　had　been　rebuilt；　fresh
entrenchments　dug　at　the　necks　of　the　bastions　and　bomb　shelters　constructed　at　the　base　of　the　walls。　The　sense　of　optimism
amongst　the　soldiers　was　palpable。
He　and　Captain　Eshara　stood　on　the　walls　beside　the　towers　flanking　the　Destiny　Gate；　looking　out　over　the　blasted　expanse　of　the
plain　before　the　citadel。　Craters　and　thousands　of　metres　of　trenches　covered　the　ground；　with　bodies　and　wrecked　machines　left　to
rot　and　rust　where　they　lay。　Smoke　rose　in　a　constant　pall　from　the　camp　at　the　end　of　the　valley　and　seeing　the　might　of　the　Iron
Warriors　like　this；　Leonid　wished　he　shared　his　soldiers'　optimism。
Despite　a　fearful　hammering　from　the　remounted　wall　guns；　the　sap　driven　forward　from　the　partially　collapsed　second　parallel
had　come　to　within　fifteen　metres　of　the　edge　of　the　ditch。　A　fresh　scar　on　the　landscape　stretched　before　them；　a　third　parallel
running　from　the　flank　of　Vin…care　bastion　to　that　of　Mori　bastion。
'It　will　not　be　long；　will　it？'　asked　Leonid。
'No；　not　long；'　replied　Eshara。
'When　do　you　think　they　will　attack？'
'It　is　difficult　to　say；'　answered　Eshara。　'The　Iron　Warriors　never　begin　an　attack　until　every　detail　of　the　assault　is　in　place。　There
will　be　a　bombardment；　feint　attacks；　diversionary　tactics　and　frontal　escalades。　Everything　will　be　designed　to　keep　us　off
balance。'
'I　will　need　you　with　me　when　the　assault　comes；　captain。'
'I　shall　be　honoured　to　fight　alongside　you。'
'How　will　they　come　at　us；　do　you　think？'
Eshara　considered　the　question　for　a　moment　before　replying。
'Without　their　batteries；　it　is　unlikely　that　they　will　try　and　blast　a　breach　in　the　walls。　All　the　signs　suggest　that　they　will　attempt
to　undermine　the　walls。'
'They　do？'
'Yes。　Your　forward　observers　have　not　reported　the　construction　of　batteries；　but　this　parallel　is　close　enough　for　siege　tanks　to　be
deployed　behind　the　earthwork。'
'So　why　does　that　suggest　the　Iron　Warriors　will　be　constructing　a　mine？'
Eshara　pointed　towards　the　sap　that　ran　from　the　second　parallel　to　the　third。　Plumes　of　exhaust　wreathed　the　trench　in　clouds