Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第38章

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parapet。
'Well；'　pressed　Klane。　'You　see　anything？'
'Yeah；'　whispered　Yosha。　'There's　something　coming。　Looks　like—'
'Like　what？'
'Like—'
Klane　never　got　the　chance　to　find　out。　A　sharp；　buzzing　crack　whipped　by　him　and　blasted　the　back　of　Yosha's　head　open　in　an
explosion　of　blood　and　brains。　Yosha　crumpled　slowly　and　toppled　from　the　rampart。
'Khorne's　teeth！'　swore　Klane；　jerking　back　and　switching　his　gaze　from　the　headless　corpse　to　the　ground　before　the　earthworks。
The　whipping　noise　slashed　past　him　again　and　a　puff　of　earth　exploded　next　to　him。
Sniper！
Klane　ducked　down　behind　the　parapet　and　cocked　his　rifle；　his　head　working　left　and　right　to　see　other　sentries　dropping；　no
doubt　picked　off　by　Imperial　snipers　on　the　walls　of　the　ravelin。　He　swore　again。　There　must　be　an　attack　coming　in！
He　crawled　along　the　firing　step；　clambering　over　sleeping　bodies　towards　the　alarm　siren；　and　pulled　himself　up　the　timber　spar
where　the　flared　bullhorn　was　bolted。　He　grabbed　the　cranking　handle。
Klane　heard　booted　steps　approaching　the　parapet　and　realised　he　didn't　have　much　time。　He　turned　the　squealing　handle；　the
wailing　cry　from　the　bullhorn　growing　in　volume　as　he　spun　it　faster　and　faster。　A　shot　blasted　the　timber　beside　him；　showering
him　with　splinters　and　he　flinched；　releasing　the　handle　and　taking　up　his　rifle。
Thudding　footsteps　hit　the　soil　of　the　earthworks　below。　Damned　Imperials！　He　snarled；　pleased　to　have　this　chance　to　kill。
Scrabbling　hands　sounded　on　the　far　side　of　the　parapet。
No　bastard　Guardsman　was　going　to　get　past　Uraja　Klane！
He　roared　in　hatred　and　rose　to　his　feet；　swinging　his　rifle　around　to　find　himself　facing　a　giant　warrior　in　yellow　power　armour
with　a　crackling　sword　and　scarlet　Imperial　eagle　on　his　breastplate。
'What　the　f—'　was　all　he　had　time　to　say　before　the　Imperial　Fists　Space　Marine　clove　him　in　two　with　his　power　sword。
SIRENS　SCREAMED；　PIERCING　the　night　with　their　cries　and　Vauban　knew　that　with　the　element　of　surprise　lost　they　had　only　a
limited　time　to　achieve　their　objective　before　they　would　have　to　fall　back。　He　climbed　the　steep　exterior　slope　of　the　earthworks；
using　the　butt　of　his　pistol　for　purchase。　His　soldiers　scrambled　over　the　parapet　with　a　roar　of　released　fury。
A　grenade　detonated　nearby；　showering　him　with　earth　and　he　slipped；　feet　scrabbling　for　grip。
A　gauntleted　hand　reached　down　and　closed　on　his　wrist；　lifting　him　easily　across　the　parapet　in　a　single　motion。　He　was　deposited
on　the　firing　step　beside　a　broken　corpse；　and　swiftly　drew　his　power　sword。　The　Space　Marine　who　had　hauled　him　over　the
parapet　turned　and　began　firing　a　bolt…gun　into　a　mass　of　enemy　soldiers　in　red　overalls。　His　brethren　were　pushing　further　into　the
entrenchments　as　the　Imperial　Guard　scrambled　over　the　parapet　and　into　the　battery。
'Thank　you；　Brother…Captain　Eshara；'　said　Vauban　breathlessly。
The　Imperial　Fists　captain　nodded；　slammed　a　fresh　magazine　into　his　bolter　and　said；　'Thank　me　later。　We　have　work　to　do；'
before　turning　and　charging　from　the　firing　step。
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
Gunfire　and　explosions　lit　the　trenches　and　dug…outs　of　the　battery　with　strobing　light；　screaming　soldiers　and　wounded　men
providing　a　cacophonous　backdrop　to　the　attack。　Hundreds　of　Jourans　poured　over　the　earthwork；　killing　anything　in　their　path。
The　Chaos　soldiery　had　been　caught　largely　unawares；　and　the　Imperial　troops　offered　no　quarter　to　the　unready　foe。　Storming
parties　slaughtered　the　enemy　soldiers；　shooting　them　where　they　lay　or　stabbing　them　with　bayonets　as　they　scrambled　for
weapons。
Fifteen　gigantic　war　machines　were　situated　here；　enormous　howitzers　and　long　cannons　with　barrels　so　wide　a　man　could　stand
upright　inside。　Bronze　plates　embossed　with　skulls　and　unholy　icons　were　fixed　on　each　machine's　flank；　and　thick　chains　looped
around　giant　rings　were　securely　bolted　to　their　track　units。　There　was　a　terrible　sense　of　menace　surrounding　the　siege　engines
and　Vauban　had　a　gnawing　sense　of　wrongness　in　his　gut。　He　knew　without　doubt　that　such　blasphemous　creations　should　never
have　been　allowed　to　come　into　existence。
The　Imperial　Fists　swept　efficiently　through　the　battery；　securing　its　perimeters　and　killing　the　war　machines'　gunners。　They
established　themselves　in　strong　positions　around　the　approach　trenches　and　parallel；　ready　to　hold　off　the　inevitable
counterattack。
Vauban　dropped　from　the　firing　step　and　shouted；　'Alpha　demo　team；　with　me！　Bravo　team　with　Colonel　Leonid！'
Two　dozen　men　followed　him　towards　the　machines　and；　even　over　the　crack　of　small…arms　fire；　Vauban　shivered　as　he　felt　the
pulse　of　monstrous；　daemonic　breath　grating　along　his　spine　just　below　the　threshold　of　hearing。　He　stepped　across　scores　of
corpses；　making　his　way　quickly　towards　the　daemon　engines。　As　he　and　his　men　drew　near；　the　sense　of　wrongness　grew　stronger
and　stronger。　As　he　set　foot　on　the　metal　decking　where　the　machines　were　chained；　agonising　pain　ripped　into　him　and　he　felt　his
guts　cramp　and　his　knees　buckle。　Terror　seized　him　as　his　mind　was　filled　with　the　unshakable　belief　that　to　touch　these　unholy
monsters　was　to　die。
He　could　see　he　was　not　alone　in　this　hideous　sensation。　Soldiers　were　dropping　to　their　knees；　some　vomiting　blood　as　the
daemonic　aura　of　the　nightmare　machines　washed　over　them。　Chains　rattled　and　metal　groaned　beneath　them　as　the　war　machines
supped　on　the　red　liquid；　a　bass　thrumming　building　from　the　line　of　daemon　engines。
The　sounds　of　bolter　fire　intensified　from　the　edges　of　the　battery；　and　Vauban　knew　the　Iron　Warriors　must　be　counterattacking；
fearful　of　losing　their　hellish　artillery。
They　couldn't　fail！　Not　now　they　had　come　so　close。
Vauban　pushed　himself　to　his　feet；　gritting　his　teeth　against　the　waves　of　sickness　that　wracked　him　and　dragged　the　soldier
nearest　to　him　to　his　feet。
'Come　on；　damn　you！'　he　yelled。　'On　your　feet；　soldier！'
The　man　grabbed　his　satchel　charges　and　stumbled　after　Vauban；　his　face　contorted　in　terror　and　agony。　The　two　men　lurched
towards　the　nearest　machine；　its　chains　jangling　furiously　and　geysers　of　steam　venting　from　corroded　grilles。　A　furious　static
descended　upon　his　vision；　like　looking　through　a　faulty　holo。　A　bitter；　metallic　taste　flooded　Vauban's　mouth　as　he　bit　the　flesh　of
his　lip　to　keep　from　screaming。
Then；　as　suddenly　as　it　had　begun；　the　pain　and　terror　vanished　like　the　light　from　a　snuffed　candle。　Vauban　felt　a　huge；　pressing
weight　lift　from　his　mind。　His　lungs　heaved　and　he　spat　blood；　spinning　as　he　heard　a　booming　chant　from　behind　him。
One　of　the　Imperial　Fists；　his　yellow　armour　decorated　with　numerous　purity　seals　and　one　shoulder　guard　painted　blue；　strode
towards　the　daemon　engines；　his　proud　voice　clear　and　true。　He　carried　a　carved　staff　of　ebony；　coils　of　blue　light　coruscating
along　its　length。
Vauban　did　not　know　the　warrior's　name；　but　knew　by　his　words　that　their　saviour　was　a　psyker；　one　of　the　Chapter's　Librarians。
Somehow；　he　was　fighting　against　the　corrupting　power　of　the　daemon　engines　and　protecting　them　from　its　malign　influence。
Ghostly　streamers　of　insubstantial　energy　flared　from　the　icons　and　markings　on　the　armoured　flanks　of　the　war　machines。
Vauban　could　see　by　the　sweat　pouring　in　runnels　from　the　Librarian's　face　and　the　pulsing　vein　in　his　temple　that　the　effort　of
holding　their　daemonic　essence　at　bay　was　stretching　him　to　the　limit。
The　Librarian　had　bought　them　a　chance；　but　they　would　need　to　be　quick。
'Quickly！'　he　bellowed　over　the　bark　of　gunfire　and　explosions。　'Demo　teams；　plant　your　charges　and　let's　get　the　hell　out　of　here！'
The　men　with　demolition　charges　picked　themselves　up　from　the　steel　decking　of　the　battery　and；　under　the　direction　of　Vauban's
best　ordnance　officers；　began　placing　the　explosive　charges　at　vital　points　on　each　daemon　engine。　The　vast　machines　strained　at
their　bindings；　thrashing　in　fury　at　these　mortals　who　dared　to　defile　them。
As　the　men　moved　on　to　the　next　machine　the　vox…bead　in　Vauban's　ear　clicked　and　Captain　Eshara's　voice　filled　his　skull。
'Castellan　Vauban；　we　must　leave！　The　enemy　are　coming　in　overwhelming　numbers　with　heavy　support　and　I　do　not　believe　we
can　hold　them。'
'Not　yet！'　yelled　Vauban。　'Give　us　enough　time　to　set　the　explosives　then　fall　back！　We　need　you　alive！'
'How　long　do　you　need？'　asked　Eshara；　his　voice　muffled　by　nearby　shots　and　detonations。
Vauban　looked　along　the　line　of　bucking　war　machines　and　said；　'Give　us　four　minutes！'
'We'll　try！　But　be　ready　to　move　when　you　see　us　falling　back！'
'HOLD　ON　A　minute！'　snapped　Hawke。　'Attach　the　bronze　cable　with　the　sacred　halo　symbol　to　the　two　pins　with　the　what？'
Even　over　the　vox…link；　Hawke　detected　more　than　a　trace　of　impatience　in　the　magos's　voice　as　he　answered。
'The　bronze　cable　attaches　to　the　pins　with　the　demi…cog　symbol。　Just　like　I　said　before。　Once　you　have—'
'Hold　on；　hold　on…'　grumbled　Hawke；　fiddling　with　the　cable　clips　as　he　fought　to　find　the　correct　pins　and　hold　the　wire　steady
over　the　exposed　circuitry。　The　illuminator　on　his　respirator　was　growing　dim　and　he　had　to　squint　to　see　the　symbols　Beauvais
was　talking　about。　There！　He　reached　in　and　snapped　the　clips　over　the　pins；　flinching　and　almost　losing　his　balance　when　they
sparked　violently　and　burnt　his　fingertips。
He　grabbed　onto　the　steel　gantry　he　was　lying　on　and　tried　not　to　think　of　how　high　above　the　floor　he　was。　The　gantry　was　solidly
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
constructed；　one　of　several　bolted　to　the　wall　at　various　points　around　the　room；　presumably　for　technicians　to　carry　out　routine
maintenance　to　the　torpedo。　He　seriously　doubted　it　was　used　for　people　trying　to　hotwire　the　device。　Behind　him；　a　mesh　grille　in
the　wall　led　off　into　darkness。　It　had　taken　him　a　frustrating　twenty　minutes　to　climb　the　ladder；　find　the　correct　access　panel　in　the
side　of　the　giant　torpedo　and　use　Hitch's　knife　to　undo　the　sacred　bolts　that　held　it　in　place。
And　over　the　past　hour；　he'd　been　mildly　electrocuted　twice；　burnt　his　fingers　three　times　and　almost　fallen　thirty　metres　to　the
solid　rockcrete　floor。　Hawke　was　not　a　happy　man。　He　steadied　his　breathing　and　spok