Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第8部分

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Bitterness　rose　in　him　and　he　let　it　come；　revelling　in　the　ashen　taste　in　his　mouth。　Bitterness　was　easier　than　the　stench　of
desperation　and　frustration　he　smelled　on　himself；　the　knowledge　that　no　matter　how　hard　he　strove；　he　would　never　be　accepted。
The　driver　of　his　Rhino；　once　an　Iron　Warrior；　now　so　mutated　that　he　and　the　vehicle　were　virtual　symbiotes；　pulled　onto　the　top
of　the　ridge；　halting　the　vehicle　beside　that　of　Forrix。　The　gnarled　veteran　acknowledged　his　arrival　with　the　briefest　nod　of　his
head；　while　beyond　Kroeger　ignored　him。
Honsou　allowed　himself　a　tight　grin。　No　matter　how　bitter　he　felt　towards　his　master；　he　could　always　take　solace　in　the　fact　that
he　was　warrior　enough　to　threaten　Kroeger。　He　knew　that　the　Warsmith　valued　Kroeger；　and　if　the　headstrong　captain　of　the
second　company　felt　that　Honsou　was　a　threat；　so　much　the　better。
The　Warsmith　stood　at　the　edge　of　the　ridge；　lost　in　thought；　and　Honsou　shuddered　in　unreasoning　fear　as　his　eyes　followed　the
writhing　of　the　damned　souls　that　undulated　within　the　substance　of　his　lord's　armour。　His　eyes　stung　if　he　stared　too　long；　but　his
attention　was　claimed　by　something　far；　far　greater　than　the　Warsmith's　armour。
Ahead；　cupped　within　the　red…brown　rocks　of　the　valley；　sat　the　fortress　complex　of　Hydra　Cordatus。
Honsou　could　scarcely　believe　his　eyes。　The　perfection　of　the　citadel　before　him　was　breathtaking。　Never　before　had　he　laid　eyes
upon　such　a　wondrous　example　of　the　military　architect's　art。
Ahead；　hunched　on　a　rocky　promontory　high　above　the　plateau　sat　a　small；　three…bastioned　fort；　with　sloped　walls　of　featureless
rockcrete。　Before　the　centre　bastion　stood　a　tall；　crenellated　tower；　with　sweeping　walls　protecting　the　narrow　gorge　between　the
left　and　centre　bastions。　The　tower　commanded　the　plateau；　though　in　a　protracted　siege；　Honsou　saw　that　it　would　be　the　first
location　to　be　destroyed。　The　height　and　steepness　of　the　slopes　leading　up　to　the　fortress　presented　a　formidable　barrier　in　itself；
and　Honsou　knew　well　enough　that　any　assault　on　its　walls　would　be　bloody　work　indeed。　Every　centimetre　of　the　plateau　before
the　fort　was　sure　to　be　covered　by　guns　and　diere　could　be　no　approach　to　the　main　citadel　while　this　outwork　remained　in
Imperial　hands。
But　as　his　gaze　travelled　further　north　from　the　high　fortress；　Honsou　forgot　the　impressiveness　of　the　fastness　atop　the
promontory。　It　was　but　the　smaller　cousin　to　the　main　citadel　itself；　and　Honsou　felt　the　blood　thunder　in　his　veins　at　the　prospect
of　attacking　this　mighty　edifice。　Its　proportions　were　so　perfect　that　he　wondered　whether　even　he　or　any　of　the　Iron　Warriors
alive　could　have　designed　such　a　majestic　creation。
Two　vast　bastions；　each　large　enough　to　contain　thousands　of　warriors；　squatted　threateningly　on　each　side　of　the　valley；　the
majority　of　their　armoured　structure　concealed　below　the　slope　of　the　ground　as　it　angled　downwards　towards　Honsou。　The
geometry　of　their　construction　was　flawless；　the　precision　of　their　construction　a　marvel。　A　long　curtain　wall　connected　them　and；
between　the　two　massive　bastions；　Honsou　could　see　the　top　of　what　looked　like　a　forward　ravelin；　an　angled　structure　shaped；　in
plan；　like　a　flattened　V。　The　ravelin　protected　the　curtain　wall　and　gate　behind　from　attack；　and　could　sweep　attackers　from　the
faces　of　the　two　bastions　with　murderous　flanking　fire。　Both　fronts　of　the　ravelin　were　in　turn　covered　by　the　faces　of　the　bastions；
so　there　could　be　no　refuge　from　the　storm　of　gunfire　and　artillery。
Though　the　slope　of　the　ground　concealed　the　foot　of　the　bastions　and　ravelin；　Honsou　knew　that　each　would　have　a　lethal　mix　of
ditches；　fire　traps；　killing　zones；　minefields　and　other　defensive　traps。
Hundreds　of　metres　of　razor　wire　stretched　out　from　the　lip　of　the　glacis；　the　slope　built　up　at　the　forward　edge　of　the　ditch　before
the　walls　to　prevent　them　from　being　targeted　with　direct…fire　artillery　weapons；　the　wire　forming　a　barbed　carpet　across　the　entire
floor　of　the　valley。
Much　of　the　remainder　of　the　fortress　was　concealed　from　his　vision　by　the　angle　of　the　ground　and　the　cunning　of　its　builders；　but
in　the　centre　of　the　northernmost　face　of　the　valley；　Honsou　could　see　a　diamond…shaped　blockhouse　built　high　on　the　slopes；　its
upper　walkways　bristling　with　guns。　Its　positioning　could　only　mean　one　thing：　that　it　was　protecting　something　below　and　out　of
sight；　possibly　an　entrance　to　the　underground　defences　within　the　mountainside。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
Positioned　on　higher　ground；　nearly　a　kilometre　to　the　west　of　this　blockhouse　sat　an　ornate　tower；　crowned　with　winged　angels
and　carved　from　a　smooth　black　stone。　Even　from　here；　Honsou　could　see　that　it　was　not　constructed　from　local　materials；　but
ones　brought　from　off…world。　A　statue　lined　walkway　sloped　down　from　this　tower；　vanishing　from　sight　as　it　travelled　below　the
horizon　of　the　bastion　tops。
What　its　purpose　was；　or　how　such　an　exquisite　piece　of　delicate　architecture　had　come　to　be　built　in　such　a　desolate　place；　was　a
mystery；　but　Honsou　paid　it　no　heed。　Its　strategic　importance　in　any　plan　to　attack　this　fortress　was　negligible；　and　thus　it　was
irrelevant　to　him。
Whoever　had　designed　this　citadel　was　a　master　of　the　art　indeed　and　Honsou　felt　a　fierce　stirring　in　his　belly　as　he　imagined　this
place　churning　with　men　and　machines；　blood　and　death；　the　thunder　of　artillery　rumbling　from　the　valleysides；　blinding　clouds　of
choking；　acrid　smoke　and　the　screams　of　men　as　they　drowned　in　thick；　sucking　mud；　crushed　underfoot　by　the　tread　of　mighty
Titans。
What　secrets　did　this　citadel　hold？　What　mighty　weapon　or　unknown　treasure　was　concealed　within　its　walls？　In　truth；　Honsou　did
not　care；　the　chance　to　assault　a　place　of　such　majesty　would　be　honour　enough。　That　the　Warsmith　desired　to　unlock　its　mysteries
was　sufficient　for　Honsou；　and　he　vowed　that　whatever　it　took；　whatever　acts　he　had　to　commit；　he　would　be　the　first　across　the
shattered　rabble　of　this　citadel's　walls。
A　hollow　boom　echoed　from　the　sides　of　the　valley　and　Honsou　saw　a　puff　of　dirty　smoke　blossom　from　behind　the　walls　of　the
promontory　fort。　Even　as　the　shell　arced　through　the　orange　sky；　Honsou　could　see　it　would　land　short。　Sure　enough；　the　shell
impacted　over　half　a　kilometre　before　their　position　on　the　ridge；　throwing　up　great　chunks　of　earth　and　a　long　plume　of　smoke。
The　Warsmith　stared　in　the　direction　the　shot　had　come　from　and　said；　'The　battle　has　begun　and　it　is　time　we　learned　more　of　our
foes'　capabilities。'
He　turned　to　his　champions；　nodding　to　Kroeger。
'Bring　up　the　prisoners…'
FIVE
THE　COMMANDER　OF　the　383rd　Jouran　Dragoons　regiment；　Prestre　Vauban；　took　a　lungful　of　tobacco　from　his　cigar　and　closed　his
eyes；　allowing　the　acrid　blue　smoke　to　swirl　in　his　mouth　before　exhaling　slowly。　The　thick　cigar　was　a　gift　from　Adept　Naicin
and；　while　he　normally　preferred　a　milder　cheroot；　there　was　something　strangely　satisfying　about　the　powerful　taste　of　this
monstrous；　hand…rolled　cigar。
Naicin　smoked　them　constantly　and　swore　blind　that　a　day　would　come　when　the　Imperial　apothecaries　would　finally　admit　that
cigars　were　a　healthy　pastime　for　a　man　to　indulge　in。
Vauban　somehow　doubted　it；　but　it　was　hard　to　put　a　dent　in　Naicin's　conviction　once　he　had　an　idea　in　his　head。　Vauban　rested
his　arms　on　the　iron　guard…rail　and　surveyed　the　landscape　before　him。
The　view　from　the　briefing　chamber's　south　balcony　was　spectacular；　to　say　the　least。　The　blazing　orange　sky　had　awed　him　with
its　primal　fire　when　he　had　first　come　to　this　world；　but　now　its　radiance　simply　nauseated　him。　Much　like　everything　else　on　this
Emperor…forsaken　rock。　Ash　covered　mountaintops　stretched　as　far　as　the　eye　could　see；　and　were　it　not　for　his　cold　fury　and　the
thick　pillars　of　black　smoke　burning　far　to　the　south…east；　he　might　have　been　able　to　enjoy　the　rugged　beauty　of　the　scene。
Vauban　would　never　forget　the　horror　of　the　images　of　Jericho　Falls　he'd　seen　on　the　remote　pict…viewers　for　as　long　as　he　lived：
the　spaceport　had　burned　red　with　the　blood　of　his　regiment。　That　he　could　not　have　prevented　it　did　nothing　to　ease　the　burden　of
his　soldiers'　deaths。　They　were　his　men　and　had　a　right　to　expect　their　commanding　officer　not　to　put　them　into　harm's　way
without　good　reason。　He　had　failed　in　his　duty　to　his　men　and　the　pain　of　that　failure　was　a　splinter　in　his　heart。
Jericho　Falls　in　enemy　hands；　and　so　many　dead　it　was　inconceivable　to　the　soldier　in　him。
Vauban　caught　himself　staring　at　the　magnificent　panorama　of　steep…sided　mountains　before　him；　thinking　about　the　battles　to
come。
What　would　it　matter　if　they　lived　or　died　here；　he　wondered？　Would　the　mountains　crumble　to　dust；　the　wind　blow　any　less
fiercely　or　the　sun　grow　dimmer？　Of　course　not；　but　then　he　thought　of　the　vile　images　he'd　seen　at　Jericho　Falls。　The　evil　they
promised　was　unlike　anything　Vauban　had　experienced　before；　and　every　nerve　in　his　body　recoiled　at　the　thought　of　such　forces。
They　had　no　right　to　exist　in　the　universe。
Beings　who　would　wreak　such　carnage　were；　by　their　very　nature　evil　and　must　be　opposed。
It　might　not　matter　to　the　rocks　and　the　sun　whether　they　died　here；　but　Vauban　knew　that　such　evil　had　to　be　opposed　wherever　it
appeared。
'Sir？'　said　a　voice；　rousing　him　from　his　grim　thoughts。
A　staff　officer　stood　at　the　armoured　door　that　led　to　the　briefing　chamber；　coughing　in　the　stagnant　air。　He　held　a　thick　sheaf　of
folders　and　papers　clutched　close　to　his　chest。
'Are　they　all　here？'　asked　Vauban。
'Yes；　sir。　Everyone　has　arrived；'　replied　the　officer。
Vauban　nodded　his　acknowledgement　as　the　staff　officer　gratefully　retreated　within。　He　took　a　last　look　at　the　soaring　peaks　and
breathed　deeply；　drawing　his　sky　blue　uniform　jacket　tighter　and　buttoning　his　collar。
They　might　be　at　war；　but　appearances　had　to　be　maintained。
Vauban　shivered；　telling　himself　it　was　the　crisp　mountain　air；　but　he　only　half　believed　it。　An　enemy　more　evil　that　he　could
possibly　have　imagined　had　come　to　this　world。
Now　they　would　plan　how　to　fight　it。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
THE　BRIEFING　CHAMBER　felt　uncomfortably　warm　to　Vauban；　but　he　ignored　the　sweat　prickling　on　his　brow　and　made　his　way　to
his　chair　at　the　head　of　the　meeting　table。　Regimental　colours　and　plaques　of　all　the　regiments　that　had　garrisoned　this　citadel　over
the　centuries　lined　the　walls　and　Vauban　nodded　respectfully　to　the　ghosts　of　his　predecessors。
Every　seat　was　taken。　The　senior　commanders　from　his　battalions　and　heads　of　station　were　gathered　around　the　long；　oval　table。
The　commanders　of　his　regiment　sat　along　one　side：　Mikhail　Leonid；　his　second…in…command；　and　the　three　battalion　commanders
Piet　Anders；　Gunnar　Tedeski　and　Morgan　Kristan。　Along　the　other　side　of　the　table　sat　the　representatives　of　the　Adeptus
Mechanicus。　Adept　Naicin　sat　with　his　gloved　hands　laced　before　him；　smoking　a　long　cigar；　his　artificial　lungs　purging　the
smoke　from　exhaust　ports　along　his　flexing；　silver　spine。　A　retinue　of　blind　scriveners　and　auto…recorders　stood　behind　him；
meticulously　noting　down　their　master's　every　movement　and　utterance。
Beside　Adept　Naic