Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第5部分

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derous　crack
of　a　tank's　main　gun　activated　the　dampers　on　his　armour's　auto…senses。　Clouds　of　dust　and　rubble　rained　down　and　Honsou　could
hear　the　cries　of　those　wounded　by　the　blast。　They　had　to　move　fast　or　the　citadel's　defenders　would　be　able　to　counterattack
before　the　Iron　Warriors　were　able　to　consolidate　their　position　here。
He　peered　through　a　ragged　hole　torn　in　the　side　of　the　aircraft；　wrenching　the　pilot's　bloody　corpse　out　of　the　way　and　pondered
the　situation。　The　corner　bunkers　were　the　key：　take　them　and　they　could　roll　up　the　Imperial　line　with　ease。　The　gunfire　sawing
from　the　bunkers　was　murderous；　anyone　who　attempted　to　charge　through　it　would　pay　the　price　for　such　stupidity。　He　grinned
wryly　as　he　saw　several　of　Kroeger's　men；　berserkers　by　the　look　of　them；　lying　torn　open；　their　blood　leeching　into　the　dusty
ground。　He　wondered　if　perhaps　Kroeger　himself　might　be　numbered　amongst　the　dead；　but　knew　that；　despite　his　recklessness；
Kroeger　was　no　fool　and　would　not　risk　his　own　neck　if　he　did　not　have　to。
Even　as　he　formed　the　thought；　he　caught　sight　of　his　nemesis　some　two　hundred　metres　away；　firing　his　pistol　ineffectually　at　the
Imperial　defenders。　Kroeger's　attack　on　the　tower　had　failed　and　Honsou　knew　that　this　was　his　chance。
He　crawled　along　to　his　heavy　weapon　gunners　and　hammered　his　fist　on　the　shoulder　guards　of　the　warriors　with　the　lascannons；
slung　across　their　shoulders　as　easily　as　a　human　soldier　might　carry　a　walking　cane。
The　gunners　turned；　acknowledging　their　leader　with　curt　nods。
Another　rain　of　debris　fell　around　them　as　a　tank　shell　exploded　nearby。　Honsou　pointed　towards　the　tower；　shouting；　'When　I　give
the　order；　aim　for　the　salient　angle　of　the　near　bunker；　and　keep　firing　until　you　break　it　open。'
The　gunners　nodded　and　Honsou　moved　further　down　the　line。　He　knew　he　was　condemning　those　men　to　death；　but　didn't　care。
Another　of　his　heavy　gunners　carried　a　hissing　weapon　with　a　wide；　flaring　barrel　etched　with　elaborate　traceries　of　flame。　The
gunner's　armour　was　dented　and　scorched　in　places；　but　the　weapon　was　pristine；　as　though　freshly　pressed　from　a　weapon　forge。
'When　the　lascannons　blow　open　the　bunker；　I　want　you　to　put　enough　melta　fire　into　that　bunker　to　make　the　rock　run　like　liquid。'
Without　waiting　for　a　response；　Honsou　rolled　over　towards　the　lascannons　and　jabbed　his　fist　towards　the　bunker；　voxing　the
order　to　stand　to　throughout　his　squads。　He　scrambled　to　the　edge　of　the　wrecked　Marauder；　watching　as　the　two　warriors　carrying
the　lascannons　moved　into　firing　positions　and　aimed　their　weapons。　Bolt　after　bolt　of　powerful　las…blasts　slammed　into　the
protruding　salient　angle　of　the　bunker；　blasting　away　huge　chunks　of　armaplas　and　rockcrete。　Realising　the　danger；　Imperial
gunners　switched　their　fire　to　the　two　heavy　gunners；　tearing　up　the　ground　in　a　storm　of　las…blasts　and　bolter　fire。
The　two　Iron　Warriors　paid　no　attention　to　the　incoming　fire；　sending　shot　after　shot　of　unimaginably　powerful　energy　into　their
target。　Honsou　watched　as　the　angled　corner　of　the　bunker　cracked　wide　open；　the　rockcrete　burning　orange　in　the　heat。　For　a
moment　it　appeared　that　the　gunners　might　survive　the　hail　of　shots　directed　at　them。
But　the　thunder　of　Imperial　battle　cannons　settled　the　matter；　obliterating　both　gunners　in　an　explosive　storm　of　ordnance。　Before
the　echoes　had　died；　the　Iron　Warrior　with　the　multi…melta　rose　from　his　concealment　and　charged　forwards　to　fire。　The　gun's
discharge　built　to　a　deafening　screech　before　erupting　from　the　barrels　in　a　searing　hiss。　The　warrior's　aim　was　true　and　the　air
within　the　bunker　ignited　with　atomic　fury；　spurts　of　vaporised　flesh　and　superheated　oxygen　blasting　from　the　weapon　slits。
A　huge　hole　had　been　blown　in　the　tower's　line　of　defence。　Honsou　rose　up　from　his　cover　and　screamed；　'Death　to　the　False
Emperor！'
He　leapt　over　the　Marauder's　fuselage　and　sprinted　towards　the　molten　hell　of　die　wrecked　bunker；　its　walls　now　flowing　like　wax
across　the　ground。　His　men　followed　him　unquestioningly。　To　his　left；　he　could　see　Kroeger　gathering　his　men　for　the　charge；
obviously　realising　that　Honsou　would　beat　him　to　the　tower。
Honsou　leapt　onto　the　remains　of　the　bunker；　his　iron…shod　boot　sinking　into　the　molten　rock。　The　heat　scorched　his　leg　armour；
but　it　held　firm　as　he　pushed　off　and　dropped　into　the　heart　of　the　defence。
He　caught　a　glimpse　of　the　carnage　his　men　had　inflicted　and　rejoiced　to　see　that　his　labours　had　borne　such　bloody　fruit。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
Scorched　and　blackened　limbs　lay　strewn　about；　all　that　remained　of　those　stationed　too　close　to　the　bunker；　the　backwash　of　the
melta　impact　had　burnt　flesh　and　bone　to　cinders　in　an　instant。　An　open　mouthed　head　lay　perched　bizarrely　atop　a　pile　of　rabble
as　if　placed　there　by　some　macabre　prankster。　Honsou　punched　it　aside　as　he　passed。
Imperial　soldiers　were　frantically　reorganising　their　battle　line　as　the　Iron　Warriors　poured　in　through　the　gap　in　their　defences。
Honsou　could　see　a　tank　…　a　Leman　Russ　Demolisher　…　reversing　from　its　revetment　and　bringing　its　ponderous　turret　to　bear　on
the　attackers。　Honsou　dropped　as　the　sponson…mounted　weapons　sprayed　shells　overhead；　the　ricochets　tearing　up　the　blasted
rubble　around　him。　Another　white…hot　blast　of　melta　fire　flashed　and　the　Demolisher's　turret　was　engulfed　in　the　inferno　of　the
impact。　Steam　and　smoke　obscured　the　tank　for　brief　seconds；　but；　unbelievably；　it　continued　onwards　through　the　boiling　cloud。
Time　slowed　as　Honsou　watched　the　barrel　of　its　main　gun　depress　and　knew　that　any　second　it　would　blast　him　to　atoms。　Then；
with　a　terrific　explosion；　the　turret　lifted　clean　off；　the　tank　detonating　spectacularly　from　within　as　the　shell　exploded　inside　the
main　gun。　Deadly　shrapnel　whickered　through　the　Imperial　ranks；　scything　men　down　by　the　dozen　and　ripping　them　to　bloody
rags。　Honsou　roared　in　release　as　he　realised　the　heat　of　the　melta　blast　must　have　warped　the　barrel　enough　to　cause　the　weapon
to　misfire　and　the　shell　to　detonate　prematurely。
He　rose　to　one　knee　and　opened　up　with　his　bolt　pistol；　raking　his　fire　over　those　fortunate　enough　to　survive　the　destruction　of　the
Demolisher；　killing　everything　he　saw　in　his　battle　rage。
Kroeger's　blood…maddened　berserkers　clambered　across　the　shattered　walls　of　the　redoubt；　ignoring　wounds　that　would　have　felled
a　normal　human　a　dozen　times　over。　Not　for　them　the　elegance　of　precisely　orchestrated　attacks　using　sound　principles　of　military
engineering。　Bodies　were　hurled　aside；　ripped　apart　with　their　bare　hands　when　there　was　no　weapon　to　wield。
Honsou　spotted　Kroeger　amongst　his　men；　wading　through　a　press　of　bodies；　hacking　left　and　right　with　his　chainsword。　He　raised
his　own　sword　in　acknowledgement　towards　his　fellow　commander；　but　Kroeger　ignored　him；　as　Honsou　knew　he　would。　He
smiled　beneath　his　helm　and　sprinted　through　the　blazing　wreck　of　the　Demolisher　towards　the　tower。
ADEPT　CYCERIN　WATCHED　the　battle　raging　below　with　analytical　detachment。　His　moment　of　panic　had　passed。　Now；　secure
within　the　Hope；　he　watched　the　dance　of　attackers　and　defenders　as　coloured　icons　moving　across　a　topographical　representation
of　the　base。　Red　icons　surrounded　the　tower；　periodically　closing　in；　but　each　time　fading　as　the　fire　of　the　defenders　below　saw
them　off。
He　felt　mildly　ashamed　at　the　panic　he　had　displayed　earlier　and　resolved　again　to　request　ascension　to　the　next　level　of　symbiosis
with　the　holy　machine。　He　would　seek　permission　once　these　impudent　creatures　had　been　defeated。　Despite　his　failures　in　the
past；　surely　Arch　Magos　Amaethon　would　not　deny　him　again　after　his　masterful　defence　of　Jericho　Falls？　He　smiled　to　himself　as
he　watched　yet　more　red　icons　fade　from　the　slate。
The　smile　fell　from　his　face　as　the　icon　representing　the　southern　bunker　faded　from　a　steady　blue　to　an　ominous　black。
'Operator　Three；　what's　happened？'　he　asked。
'It's　gone；　destroyed；'　replied　Koval　Peronus。　'One　second　it　was　there；　now　it's　not！'
Cycerin　watched；　horrified　as　the　red　icons　suddenly　spilled　over　the　location　that　had；　only　moments　before；　been　one　of　the
lynchpins　of　his　defence。　As　the　defences　were　breached；　the　entire　line　fell　apart　with　horrifying　rapidity。　The　blue　icons
vanished　as　they　were　systematically　eliminated。　Cycerin　could　not　even　begin　to　imagine　the　carnage　occurring　less　than　twenty
metres　from　where　he　stood。
Eerie　orange　glows　from　the　fires　flickered　through　the　armoured　glass　windows；　but　no　sound　penetrated　the　control　room；
making　it　appear　remote　and　detached。　Just　below　him；　countless　lives　had　been　lost　and　there　would　be　many　more　before　this
day's　slaughter　was　over。
He　consoled　himself　with　the　knowledge　that　the　tower　itself　was　totally　secure　and　that　there　was　nothing　more　he　could　have
done　to　prevent　this　disaster。
A　deathly　hush　fell　upon　the　operators　and　staff　within　the　tower　as　a　massive　thudding　boom　suddenly　echoed　up　from　the　main
entrance。
'What　in　the　name　of　the　Machine　was　that？'　Cycerin　whispered　in　terror。
FORRIX　WATCHED　THE　adamantium　door　shudder　under　the　impact　of　the　Dreadnought's　siege　hammer；　the　metres…thick　door
buckling　under　the　repeated　blows。　It　was　only　a　matter　of　moments　until　the　door　would　be　ripped　from　its　frame　by　the
screaming　war　machine。　Thick　chains；　looped　through　bolted　rings；　ran　from　its　legs　and　shoulder　mounts；　where　two　dozen　of　the
strongest　Iron　Warriors　stood　ready　to　restrain　the　machine　once　it　had　broken　down　the　door　to　the　control　tower。
He　could　well　imagine　the　torment　the　damned　soul　bound　within　the　armoured　sarcophagus　must　be　undergoing。　To　be　cut　off
from　the　sensation　of　bloodletting；　never　to　feel　the　beat　of　blood　in　your　veins　at　the　moment　of　the　kill。　To　be　denied　the　thrill　of
bare　flesh　against　flesh　as　you　took　another　being's　life。　Such　a　fate　was　indeed　misery　and　suffering。　It　was　small　wonder　that；
once　confined　to　the　shell　of　a　Dreadnought；　the　scraps　of　flesh　that　awoke　to　find　themselves　confined　within　the　cold；　metal
walls　of　such　an　eternal　prison　could　not　escape　the　clutches　of　madness。
At　least　for　those　lunatic　war　machines；　madness　was　some　sort　of　release。　For　killing　held　no　joy　for　Forrix　any　longer。　Ten
thousand　years　of　butchery　and　murder　had　allowed　him　to　explore　the　deepest；　most　wretched　corners　of　the　human　capacity　for
cruelty　and　death。　He　had　shot；　cut；　tortured；　strangled；　snapped；　choked；　bludgeoned　and　dismembered　uncounted　souls　in　his
long　life；　yet　he　could　remember　none　of　them。　Each　blended　into　a　seamless　segue　of　banal　horror　that　had　long　since　dulled　his
senses　and　vicarious　enjoyment　of　such　slaughter。
Gunfire　sounded　sporadically；　the　last　pockets　of　resistance　being　mopped　up　even　now。　The　half…breed's　warriors　were　clearing
out　the　Imperial　soldiers　from　the　ruins　of　their　barrack　complex；　and　despite　Forrix's　contempt　for　Honsou's　flawed　heritage；　he
had　to　admit　that　his　rival　was　a　competent　commander。　Furthermore；　he　still　believed　in　the　dream　of　Horus；　and　the　unification
of　Humanity　under　the　terrible　Powers　of　Chaos。
Forrix　watched　Kroeger　pace　like　a　caged　animal；　straining　to　be