Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第47部分

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All　it　required　was　the　correct　symbols；　a　few　ritualistic　lines　of　doggerel　and　they　would　believe　you　were　one　of　their　own。　It
was　galling　to　think　that　an　organisation　that　could　be　so　easily　deceived　was　one　of　the　foundations　the　cursed　Imperium　rested
upon。　The　sooner　his　master　destroyed　it　the　better。　United　under　the　yoke　of　Chaos；　humanity　would　be　the　stronger　for　its
absence。
Naicin　reached　the　top　of　the　slope　and　looked　back　upon　the　wasteland　of　Hydra　Cordatus。　The　Iron　Warriors'　attack　would　come
with　the　dawn；　and　a　storm　of　iron　would　engulf　the　citadel；　against　whose　wrath　none　could　stand。　The　men　struggling　on　the
walls　below　were　fighting　bravely；　but　he　wondered　if　they　would　fight　as　hard　knowing　the　truth　of　what　had　happened　to　this
world；　why　it　was　such　a　desolate　wilderness。　Or；　indeed；　what　was　happening　to　their　own　bodies　even　now。
He　raised　his　eyes　to　the　opposite　flank　of　the　valley；　wondering　again　where　the　body　of　that　troublesome　soldier　Hawke　lay。　His
survival　had　almost　alerted　Leonid　to　the　truth　of　how　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　had　deceived　them　all；　but　Naicin　had　briefed　his
underlings　well　and　the　colonel　had　emerged　from　the　Biologis　infirmary　none　the　wiser。
He　strode　towards　the　doors　of　the　Sepulchre；　sputtering　torches　guttering　in　their　sconces　either　side　of　the　portal；　and　pulled
them　open；　smelling　the　distinctive　tang　of　blood　and　death　the　instant　he　opened　the　door。　This　place　was　a　tomb；　and　thus　he　was
not　surprised　at　the　latter　stench；　but　the　former　was　a　newcomer　to　the　Sepulchre。
Naicin　stepped　into　the　well…lit　outer　chambers；　marvelling　at　the　images　on　the　stained　glass　windows　above　him。
Depicting　anonymous　Space　Marines　in　battle；　the　utter　ruthlessness　they　displayed　was　out　of　all　proportion　to　their　enemies；　the
savagery　frightening　in　its　intensity。　No　loyalist　Space　Marines　these；　but　a　tangible　warning　of　how　easy　it　was　for　even　those
raised　above　all　others　to　fall　from　grace。
The　irony　of　the　windows'　subject　matter　was　not　lost　on　Naicin；　given　that　he　knew　the　truth　of　this　place　and　the　true　identity　of
its　architects；　but　he　was　not　here　to　admire　the　aesthetics　of　the　Sepulchre；　he　had　a　more　vital　errand。
Thin　slivers　of　red　light　were　making　their　way　across　the　floor　as　night　released　its　grip　on　the　valley　and　the　dawn　of　the　Iron
Warriors　began。　It　was　time。
Gripping　the　handles　of　the　Ossuary's　door；　Naicin　took　a　moment　to　savour　the　significance　of　this　moment；　etching　the
sensations　of　each　second　on　his　memory　before　pulling　wide　the　inner　doors。
A　tall；　weirdly　baroque　leviathan　stood　on　the　other　side；　thick；　cable…like　arms　hanging　by　its　side　and　clad　in　robes　that　rippled
with　barely　concealed　motion。　Naicin　could　see　the　face　of　the　corrupted　Adept　Cycerin　below　its　hood；　the　skin　of　his　face　alive
with　writhing　mecha…organic　circuitry　as　it　wove　into　new　and　more　evolved　patterns　in　his　subcutaneous　layer。　The　colour　had
drained　from　Cycerin's　face　and　his　skin　was　a　flat；　metallic　white　with　crawling　mercurial　veins。　A　terrible　power　radiated　from
the　former　machine　priest　and　Naicin　felt　a　suffocating　fear　rise　in　his　chest　at　the　monstrous　creature　before　him。　He　stepped　back
in　awe。
Cycerin's　arms　raised；　fluidly　morphing　into　wide　barrelled；　biomechanical　weapons　as　his　eyes　tracked　Naicin's　movements。　For
a　second；　Naicin　was　sure　Cycerin　was　about　to　destroy　him；　but　some　unknown　algorithm　in　the　adept's　altered　brain　must　have
identified　that　he　was　not　a　threat；　and　the　weapon　arms　lowered。
Naicin　gulped　away　his　fear　and　indicated　the　doors　that　led　down　the　mountainside　towards　the　citadel。
He　said；　'Adept　Cycerin；　I　have　come　to　take　you　home。'
FOUR
DAWN　WAS　AN　hour　old　as　Honsou　watched　spears　of　light　break　over　the　top　of　the　earthworks。　His　sense　of　urgency　mounted
with　the　sun　as　the　red　sunlight　spilled　over　the　valley；　throwing　the　shadow　of　the　citadel　out　across　the　ditch　and　making　his
gunmetal　armour　shine　like　bloodstained　silver。　An　artillery　duel　was　underway　between　the　Imperial　gunners　and　the　siege　tanks
of　the　Iron　Warriors；　throwing　up　plumes　of　earth　and　smoke。　It　was　an　unequal　struggle　as　the　siege　tanks　methodically
dismounted　the　citadel's　guns　one　by　one。
Honsou　crouched　with　his　warriors　behind　the　siege　tanks。　The　noise　was　phenomenal　and　the　ground　shook　with　the　violence　of
their　firing。　In　moments　he　would　unleash　his　warriors　over　the　earthworks　and　attack　the　Primus　Ravelin；　capturing　the　outwork
and　preventing　its　guns　from　flanking　warriors　from　Forrix　and　Kroeger's　companies　to　his　right。　Forrix　had　been　granted　the
honour　of　attacking　the　breach　in　the　curtain　wall；　while　Kroeger　and　his　berserkers　were　poised　to　storm　the　tear　blasted　in　the
Mori　bastion。　But　both　attacks　would　surely　founder　without　the　fall　of　the　ravelin。
Once　the　ravelin　had　fallen；　he　was　to　lead　his　men　across　the　ditch　and　follow　Forrix　through　the　breach。　After　that；　any　strategy
or　plan　was　irrelevant　as　the　soldiers　who　had　fought　through　the　hell　of　a　storming　would　be　so　blood…maddened　that　almost
nothing　could　stop　a　rampage　of　colossal　proportions。　Honsou　looked　forward　to　it。
Forrix　and　his　men　gathered　in　the　approach　trench　that　zigzagged　its　way　back　from　the　third　parallel；　and　Honsou　could　see　the
veteran　captain　was　becoming　more　used　to　his　mechanised　body　with　each　step。　At　the　far　end　of　the　parallel；　Kroeger　stood
motionless　before　the　firing　step　of　the　earthwork；　staring　intently　towards　the　breach　he　would　soon　be　attacking。　Normally
Kroeger　would　be　strutting　up　and　down　the　length　of　the　parallel；　boasting　of　his　prowess　and　heaping　scorn　upon　Honsou；　but
there　was　nothing　now；　merely　a　sinister　silence。
Honsou　had　approached　Kroeger　as　dawn　had　broken；　sensing　the　change　that　had　overtaken　his　nemesis　more　clearly　than　ever。
'The　Warsmith　honours　you；　Kroeger；'　he　had　said；　but　Kroeger　had　not　answered　him；　nor　even　acknowledged　his　presence。
'Kroeger？'　repeated　Honsou；　reaching　up　to　grip　the　edge　of　Kroeger's　shoulder　guard。
As　soon　as　Honsou's　hand　touched　the　metal　of　the　armour；　Kroeger's　hand　shot　up　and　gripped　his　wrist；　wrenching　it　away　and
pushing　him　back。　Honsou　snarled；　drawing　his　sword　partway　from　its　scabbard；　but　Kroeger　turned；　and　Honsou　was　seized　by　a
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
dire　premonition　that　to　attack　Kroeger　would　be　to　die。　A　pale　nimbus　of　light　played　around　Kroeger's　helmet　and；　though　he
couldn't　be　sure；　Honsou　thought　he　could　see　that　same　light　seeping　through　the　visor　of　Kroeger's　helm。　The　light　carried　hints
of　an　ancient　malevolence　and　Honsou　had　slowly　sheathed　his　sword；　turning　on　his　heel　and　returning　to　his　company。
He　shook　his　head　free　of　the　memory；　shifting　his　weight　from　foot　to　foot；　impatient　for　the　attack　to　begin。　The　boom　of　the
Vindicators　suddenly　ceased　and；　with　a　huge　revving　roar；　the　siege　tanks　pulled　back　from　the　earthworks。　This　was　the　signal
he　had　been　waiting　for。　Honsou　rose　to　his　feet；　raising　his　pistol　and　sword　high　above　him。
'Death　to　the　False　Emperor！'　he　roared　and　sprinted　through　the　embrasure　in　the　earthwork。　He　scrambled　down　its　blasted　front；
his　warriors　following　him　through　this　and　other　gaps　fashioned　in　the　earthwork。
The　rubble　slope　of　the　ditch　was　less　than　ten　metres　away　and　Honsou　ran　towards　it　as　the　crack　of　small　arms　fire　snapped
from　the　crumbling　ramparts　of　the　curtain　wall　and　the　flanks　of　both　bastions。　Shots　slashed　through　the　air　beside　him；　bright
streamers　of　las…fire　plucking　at　his　armour　or　vaporising　nearby　patches　of　earth。　A　roar　of　hate　built　in　Honsou's　throat　as　he　slid
down　the　rocky　slope　into　the　ditch。
A　sea　of　red　bodies；　already　beginning　to　rot　in　the　heat；　carpeted　the　trench。　He　charged　across　the　multitude　of　corpses；　crushing
bones　and　pulverising　soft；　decaying　tissue　underfoot　as　yet　more　fire　was　directed　at　them。　The　soldiers　on　the　Primus　Ravelin
had　fought　hard　these　last　few　days；　but　they　had　faced　only　the　chaff　of　the　Iron　Warriors'　army。　Now　they　would　fight　the　best。
Heavier　blasts　of　las…fire　speared　from　the　ramparts；　blasting　craters　in　the　floor　of　the　ditch　and　tossing　severed　limbs　and　gasbloated
corpses　high　into　the　air。　But　Honsou　could　see　the　inferior　quality　of　the　Imperial　soldiers　was　telling　now　as　the　majority
of　their　shots　flew　high。　Without　a　huge　mass　of　targets　to　aim　at；　their　shooting　was　woefully　inaccurate　and　barely　a　handful　of
Iron　Warriors　had　fallen。
Honsou　reached　the　blasted　foot　of　the　ravelin；　its　once…smooth　face　now　cracked；　broken　and　easily　climbed。　He　fired　at　the　top
of　the　ravelin　and　began　scrambling　his　way　up　the　slope。　A　shot　struck　the　top　of　his　shoulder　guard；　but　he　ignored　the　impact
and　kept　climbing。
Withering　hails　of　bullets　and　las…bolts　from　the　flank　of　the　Mori　bastion　hammered　the　walls　of　the　ravelin。　He　heard　a　roar　of
warriors　unleashed　far　to　his　right　and　knew　that　Forrix　and　Kroeger　were　beginning　their　attack。
Dozens　of　warriors　were　clambering　up　the　slopes　of　the　ravelin　amid　the　explosion　of　grenades　and　constant　snap　of　lasgun　fire。
The　Iron　Warrior　beside　him　lost　his　grip　as　a　shell　burst　above　him；　tearing　his　head　off　in　a　fountain　of　blood。　His　heavy　corpse
smashed　half　a　dozen　warriors　from　the　wall　as　he　fell。
Honsou　shook　his　helmet　clear　of　blood；　punching　his　fist　deep　into　the　wall　and　gripping　onto　a　reinforcement　bar　as　he　saw　a
cluster　of　grenades　slither　down　the　wall　towards　him。　He　pressed　his　body　flat　against　the　wall　as　they　detonated；　blowing　clear　a
chunk　of　grey　rockcrete。　Torn　ligaments　in　his　arms　shrieked　as　the　force　of　the　blast　lifted　him　from　the　wall；　but　his　grip　on　the
rebar　held　him　firm。
Red　runes　winked　into　life　on　his　visor；　and　he　felt　blood　flowing　along　his　limbs；　but　he　pushed　upwards；　dragging　himself　up　the
wall。
The　slope　grew　less　steep　as　he　climbed；　reaching　the　broken　sections　of　the　wall　pulverised　by　the　siege　tanks。　Gunfire　from
below　slackened　as　the　Iron　Warriors　firing　at　the　parapet　now　holstered　their　weapons　and　began　climbing。
A　face　appeared　above　Honsou。　He　put　a　bolt　through　it　and　carried　on　upwards。　He　risked　a　glance　behind　him。　Perhaps　a　dozen
Iron　Warriors　were　dead　and　they　had　yet　to　clear　the　ramparts。　Honsou　turned　in　time　to　see　an　Imperial　Fist　swing　the　crackling
edge　of　a　power　sword　towards　his　head。　He　threw　himself　flat　against　the　wall；　feeling　the　sword　blade　hack　a　portion　of　his
shoulder　guard　away。　He　rolled　as　the　sword　swung　again；　cutting　through　the　rockcrete　and　sliding　free　in　a　shower　of　orange
sparks　as　it　struck　an　embedded　reinforcement　bar。
Honsou　dragged　his　own　sword　from　its　scabbard　and　rolled　as　he　saw　the　Imperial　Fist　on　the　rampart　draw　back　his　sword　for
another　strike。　Honsou　lunged；　spearing　his　foe　through　the　chest　with　his　sword。　He　hurled　himself　over　the　parapet；　barrelling
into　a　group　of　Guardsmen　rushing　to　plug　the　gap　in　the　walls　and　landing　in　a　tangle　of　limbs。
Honsou　battered　his　elbows　downward；　hearing　screams；　feeling　bones　break　and　skulls　cracking　open。
He　rolled　to　his　knees；　slashing　low　with　his　sword　at　a　charging　Imperial　Fist；　hacking　his　legs　o