Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第41部分

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Eshara　pointed　towards　the　sap　that　ran　from　the　second　parallel　to　the　third。　Plumes　of　exhaust　wreathed　the　trench　in　clouds　of
blue　oilsmoke。
'There　is　an　almost　constant　stream　of　vehicles　travelling　back　and　forth　from　the　forward　trench。　The　trench　here　is　not　being
widened　or　extended；　yet　the　earthen　rampart　they　build　before　it　continues　to　grow。　That　would　suggest　that　there　are　mining
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
works　being　carried　out　below。'
Leonid　swore。　He　should　have　noticed　that　himself。　He　cursed　himself　for　a　fool　for　not　thinking　of　such　a　possibility。
'What　can　we　do　to　stop　it？'
'I　have　begun　a　series　of　countermines。　One　from　within　a　derelict　building　behind　the　inner　wall　and　another　from　within　the
Primus　Ravelin。　When　they　are　complete　I　will　fill　them　with　assault　troops　equipped　with　auspexes。　The　troops　also　have　charges
for　blowing　any　tunnels　they　discover　and　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　have　provided　me　with　an　unpleasant　surprise　for　anyone
within　those　tunnels。　However；　countermining　is　not　an　exact　science；　and　we　will　need　to　be　ready　should　the　Iron　Warriors
manage　to　bring　down　a　significant　portion　of　the　wall。'
Leonid　nodded；　watching　the　activity　on　the　plain　with　fresh　eyes；　picturing　how　the　enemy　would　come　at　them；　and　devising
counters　to　meet　them。
The　citadel's　first　line　of　defence　was　the　ditch；　six　metres　deep　and　thirty　wide；　in　which　sat　the　Primus　Ravelin。　After　crossing
the　ditch　and　ravelin；　all　the　while　under　constant　fire　from　the　ramparts；　the　attackers　would　have　still　have　to　fight　their　way
across　the　walls。
And　if　the　enemy　did　manage　to　carry　the　walls；　then　every　building　within　the　perimeter　of　the　citadel　was　a　fortress　in　its　own
right。　From　the　stores　of　the　Commissariat　to　the　field　hospital；　each　building　was　equipped　with　looped　windows；　armoured
entrances；　and　was　capable　of　offering　fire　support　to　those　nearby。
But　many　buildings　had　taken　severe　damage　already　and　were　continuing　to　suffer　as　Arch　Magos　Amaethon's　ability　to　maintain
the　shield　grew　weaker　with　every　passing　day。
All　the　defences　needed　strengthening；　and　the　men　of　the　Jouran　Dragoons　worked　hand…in…hand　with　the　warriors　of　the
Imperial　Fists　to　make　the　citadel　as　impregnable　as　possible。　Eshara　and　Leonid　watched　the　labours　of　the　soldiers　below　and
were　heartened　by　the　sense　of　shared　purpose　and　camaraderie　they　saw。
'My　compliments；　Castellan　Leonid；　your　men　do　you　proud；'　observed　Eshara；　following　Leonid's　gaze。
'Thank　you；　captain；　we　have　made　fine　fellows　out　of　them。'
'Yes；　it　is　a　pity　that　war　brings　out　both　the　best　and　worst　in　men；'　sighed　Eshara。
'What　do　you　mean？'
'You　have　seen　combat；　Castellan　Leonid；　you　know　full　well　the　barbarity　soldiers　are　capable　of　in　the　fire　of　battle。　But　look
around　you：　the　bond　of　brotherhood　that　has　formed　here　is　something　that　only　soldiers　facing　death　can　truly　know。　Every　man
and　woman　here　understands　that　they　may　be　dead　soon；　and　yet　they　are　in　fine　spirits。　They　have　seen　the　sun　rise；　but　none
know　whether　they　will　live　to　see　it　set。　To　know　that　and　make　peace　with　it　is　a　rare　gift。'
'I　don't　know　that　many　soldiers　would　appreciate　that。'
'Probably　not　on　a　conscious　level；　no；'　agreed　Eshara；　'but　on　a　level　they　may　not　even　be　aware　of；　they　do。　They　fear　death；　but
only　by　facing　it　can　they　truly　find　their　courage。'
Leonid　smiled。　'You　are　a　remarkable　man；　Captain　Eshara。'
'No；'　said　Eshara；　without　hint　of　false　modesty。　'I　am　a　Space　Marine。　I　have　trained　my　whole　life　to　fight　the　Emperor's
enemies。　I　have　the　finest　weapons；　armour　and　faith　in　the　galaxy。　It　is　of　no　matter　to　me　who　I　fight：　I　know　I　shall　be
triumphant。　I　say　this　without　arrogance；　but　there　are　few　foes　in　this　galaxy　that　can　stand　before　the　might　of　the　Adeptus
Astartes。'
In　any　other　person；　Leonid　would　have　said　Eshara's　words　were　arrogant；　but　he　had　seen　him　fight　in　the　battery　and　knew　that
the　Space　Marine　captain　spoke　the　truth。
'I　know　I　can　defeat　any　foe；'　continued　Eshara；　'but　your　soldiers　have　no　such　knowledge；　yet　still　they　stand；　knowing　the
enemy　is　superior　to　them。　They　are　true　heroes　and　will　not　fail　you。'
'I　know　that；'　said　Leonid。
'Speaking　of　which；　have　you　been　able　to　raise　your　man　Hawke　yet？'　asked　Eshara；　looking　towards　the　mountains。
Leonid　frowned　and　shook　his　head。　'No；　not　yet。　Magos　Beauvais　lost　contact　with　Hawke　just　before　the　torpedo　launched。　Once
the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　got　over　their　pique　at　having　been　kept　out　of　the　loop　on　that　one；　they　went　over　the　recordings　and
filtered　the　last　few　seconds　through　their　cogitators。　It　seems　that　there　was　gunfire　just　before　the　signal　was　lost。'
'So　you　think　Hawke　is　dead？'
'Yes；　I　believe　he　is；'　nodded　Leonid。　'Even　if　his　attackers　didn't　kill　him；　the　torpedo's　engines　would　have。'
'A　shame；'　noted　Eshara。　'I　think　I　would　have　liked　to　meet　Guardsman　Hawke。　He　sounds　like　a　most　heroic　individual。'
Leonid　smiled。　'Had　anyone　used　the　words　〃Hawke〃　and　〃heroic〃　in　the　same　sentence　a　month　ago；　I　would　have　laughed　at
them。'
'An　unlikely　hero　then？'
'The　unlikeliest；'　agreed　Leonid。
FORRIX　SWEATED　INSIDE　his　armour；　the　heat　and　choking　air　of　these　tunnels　an　anathema　to　him　after　the　planet's　surface。　The
floor　of　the　tunnel　sloped　down　at　a　steep　angle；　rough…hewn　steps　leading　into　the　sweltering　depths　of　the　mine。　The　red　rock　of
this　planet　held　the　day's　heat　in　a　miser's　grip；　releasing　it　as　night　fell　in　baking　waves。　Scores　of　slaves　had　died　of　heat
exhaustion　already；　but　the　tunnel　was　making　swift　progress。
Galleries　already　branched　to　either　side　of　the　main　tunnel。　Lined　with　explosives　to　blow　the　lip　of　the　ditch；　they　would　allow
the　attackers　to　descend　into　it。　Beyond　these　branches；　the　tunnel　dipped　more　steeply　in　order　to　pass　under　the　ditch；　where　the
drilling　rigs　pushed　towards　the　main　curtain　wall。　Once　this　tunnel　was　complete；　further　galleries　would　be　constructed　beneath
a　sizeable　length　of　the　wall's　foundations　and　a　vast　quantity　of　explosives　detonated　to　bring　it　crashing　down。
Like　the　construction　of　the　third　parallel；　it　was　dirty；　thankless　work　and　brought　little　glory　to　its　builders。　Forrix　knew　he　was
being　punished；　and　the　knowledge　that　his　punishment　was　unjustified　was　a　twisting　knife　in　his　gut。　He　had　watched　Honsou
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
strutting　around　with　the　bionic　arm　that　had　once　belonged　to　Kortrish；　swaggering　in　his　new…found　favour。　Did　he　not　realise
that　it　had　been　him；　Forrix；　who　had　nurtured　his　ambition；　kept　him　hungry　to　prove　himself？　And　this　was　how　he　was　repaid；
forced　to　toil　like　a　slave；　a　beast。　He；　the　captain　of　the　First　grand　company；　labouring　in　the　depths　of　a　mine！
How　could　things　have　reversed　so　suddenly？　Less　than　a　week　ago；　he　had　been　pre…eminent　in　the　Warsmith's　eyes：　credited
with　the　swift　capture　of　Tor　Christo　and　honoured　with　the　direction　of　the　advancing　saps　and　parallels。　No　matter　that　Kroeger
had　allowed　the　daemon　engines　to　be　destroyed！　No　matter　that　Honsou's　incompetence　had　allowed　the　Imperials　to　launch　an
orbital　torpedo　at　them。
With　the　Warsmith　on　the　brink　of　greatness；　being　stuck　down　here　was　the　very　last　place　he　needed　to　be。
Jharek　Kelmaur　had　confessed　the　truth　of　the　matter　after　the　debacle　in　the　battery。　Forrix　had　gone　to　the　sorcerer's　tent　with
murder　in　his　heart　and　stormed　in；　his　power　fist　sheathed　in　lethal　energies。　He　had　lifted　the　shocked　magicker　from　his　feet　and
thrown　him　across　his　alchemist's　table；　where　a　bound　figure　writhed　in　gurgling　pleasure。
'You　knew！'　stormed　Forrix。　'You　knew　the　Imperial　Fists　would　come　to　this　place。　You　knew　and　you　did　not　tell　us。'
Kelmaur　picked　himself　up　and　rounded　on　Forrix；　his　hands　spreading　with　the　beginnings　of　a　sorcererous　incantation。　Forrix
smashed　his　fist　into　Kelmaur's　belly；　doubling　him　up；　and　lifted　him　from　his　feet。
'Do　not　waste　your　cantrips　on　me；　sorcerer；'　sneered　Forrix；　hurling　Kelmaur　to　the　ground　and　squatting　beside　him。　He　wrapped
his　gauntlet　around　Kelmaur's　neck　and　bunched　his　power　fist　above　the　sorcerer's　head；　poised　to　pound　his　skull　to　destruction。
'You　knew　the　Imperial　Fists　would　come；　did　you　not？'
'No！　I　swear！'
'You　are　lying　to　me；　Kelmaur；'　snapped　Forrix。　'I　saw　the　look　on　your　face　when　you　told　the　Warsmith　that　the　defenders　had
not　managed　to　send　a　warning。　You　lied　to　him；　didn't　you？　There　was　a　warning　given；　wasn't　there？'
'No！'　wailed　Kelmaur。　Forrix　slammed　his　power　fist　into　Kelmaur's　face；　deactivating　the　energy　field　at　the　last　second。
Kelmaur's　nose　broke　and　he　spat　bloody　teeth。
'Do　not　lie　to　me　again　or　I　will　keep　the　fist　active　next　time；'　warned　Forrix。
'I　did　not…　know　exactly；　but　I　feared　there　had　been　a　signal　sent。　It　was　so　weak　I　knew　it　could　not　have　left　the　system　and
believed　that　no　one　would　hear　it。'
'But　someone　did；　didn't　they？'
'So　it　seems；　but　I　took　steps　to　try　and　prevent　any　intervention。'
'What　steps？'
'I　despatched　the　Stonebreaker　to　the　system　jump　point　to　intercept　any　reinforcements。'
Forrix　groaned　at　Kelmaur's　foolishness。　'And　it　never　occurred　to　you　that　this　might　well　have　allowed　them　to　approach　the
planet　in　the　first　place？　Your　stupidity　is　galling。'
Forrix　released　the　sorcerer　and　shook　his　head。　'Answer　me　this　then；　Kelmaur。　Why　are　we　here？　Why　does　the　Warsmith　bid　us
attack　this　place？　What　drives　us　towards　this　citadel　with　such　haste　and；　more　importantly；　what　is　happening　to　the　Warsmith？'
The　sorcerer　did　not　answer　immediately　and　Forrix　reactivated　his　poed　away；　but　not　quickly　enough。
The　Iron　Warrior　gripped　his　robes　and　dragged　him　to　his　feet。
'Speak！'
'I　dare　not！'
'You　will　tell　me　or　you　will　die。　Decide　now；'　snarled　Forrix；　drawing　back　his　fist。
'Gene…seed！'　wailed　Kelmaur；　the　words　tumbling　from　his　lips　in　a　desperate　rush。　'This　citadel　is　a　secret　bastion　of　the　Adeptus
Mechanicus。　They　store　and　monitor　the　purity　of　the　Adeptus　Astartes'　gene…seed　here。　There　is　a　laboratorium　hidden　beneath
the　citadel　with　enough　genetic　material　to　create　legions　of　Space　Marines！　The　Despoiler　had　given　the　task　of　its　capture　to　the
Warsmith　in　return　for　his　ascension。　If　we　are　successful；　the　Warsmith　ascends　to　daemonhood！　If　we　fail；　he　will　be　destroyed；
reduced　to　the　mindless　horror　of　spawndom；　cursed　to　live　forever　as　a　writhing；　mutated　monstrosity。'
Forrix　lowered　Kelmaur　as　the　implications　of　such　a　prize　sank　in。
Gene…seed。　The　most　precious　resource　in　the　galaxy。　With　such　a　prize；　there　would　be　no　limit　to　the　Despoiler's　power　and　his
Black　Crusades　would　carve　a　new　empire　from　the　ashes　of　the　Imperium。　The　scale　of　such　a　vision　astounded　even　Forrix's
jaded　senses。
Daemonhood！　To　become　a　creature　of　almost　limitless　potential；　with　the　power　of　the　warp　to　call　your　own；　to　be　able　to　mould
reality　to　your　own　ends　and　become　master　of　a　million　souls。　Such　a　prize　was　worth　any　cost　and　Forrix　now　understood　the
Warsmith's　all…consuming　need　to　break　into　the　citadel。　And　if　that　meant　sacrificing　every　warrior　here　to　achieve　those　ends；
then　t