Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第6部分

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The　Chimera　had　come　to　a　halt；　and　another　two　Ice　Warriors　emerged；　exchanging　amiable
banter。　They　introduced　themselves　as　Troopers　Barreski　and　Grayle。　That　made　six　—　eight；
including　the　sergeant　and　the　colonel。　It　was　enough　to　make　do；　but　two　short　of　the　full　squad　for
which　Gavotski　had　hoped。　He　glanced　at　Steele　for　instructions；　but　could　see　that；　as　always；　he
was　happy　to　trust　his　sergeant’s　judgement。
He　decided　to　wait　another　ten　minutes。　With　luck；　Palinev　might　still　make　it；　and　bring　the
count　up　to　nine。　Beyond　that…
Gavotski　had　had　high　hopes　for　one　more　Ice　Warrior。　He　had　added　Pozhar’s　name　to　his　list；
despite　his　chequered　service　record；　despite　Steele’s　concerns；　because　he　had　worked　with　the　lad
before　and　judged　him　to　have　potential。　Pozhar　was　one　of　the　three　MIAs　—　which　meant　that
Gavotski　was　now　praying　for　a　miracle。
Or；　to　put　it　another　way；　he　was　about　to　find　out　if　his　faith　had　been　justified。
Pozhar　had　lost　all　track　of　time。
He　was　so　close　to　his　goal；　so　close　to　getting　back　to　his　comrades；　the　returning　hero。　It
seemed　like　days　since　he　had　been　separated　from　them；　days　since　he　had　lain　on　the　battlefield；
almost　gagging　on　the　stench　of　the　fallen　Chaos　worshippers　whose　bodies　had　protected　him。
Now；　he　was　just　a　few　metres　away。
A　few　metres　—　but　it　may　as　well　have　been　a　few　thousand。
It　was　not　in　the　young　trooper’s　nature　to　lie　still　for　long。　Anyway；　the　grumbling　of
approaching　engines　had　alerted　him　to　a　new　danger。　The　Chaos　army　had　pressed　forward；　most　of
its　foot　soldiers　passing　him　by　without　seeing　him；　but　behind　them　had　come　the　heavy　artillery；
the　tanks　and　the　battle　cannons；　and　he　had　had　to　act　fast　to　avoid　being　crushed　beneath　their
wheels。
Pozhar　had　scrambled　to　his　feet；　feeling　the　sting　of　cold　air　on　his　face；　expecting　to　be　shot
down　as　soon　as　he　was　seen。　Instead；　surrounded　by　the　enemy；　he　went　unnoticed。　He　had　realised
that　his　uniform　was　dishevelled　and　torn；　coated　in　grime　and　blood；　and　thus　there　was　no　real
visible　difference　between　him　and　any　number　of　Traitor　Guardsmen　on　the　battlefield。　Thinking
quickly；　he　had　ripped　off　his　unit　badge　to　further　this　illusion；　and　had　considered　taking　a　coat
from　one　of　the　fallen　traitors；　one　daubed　in　Chaos　sigils；　but　the　thought　of　wearing　such　a　thing
had　made　his　stomach　turn　and　his　skin　crawl。
He　couldn’t　just　stand　there；　he　had　realised。　He　had　to　do　something；　make　it　look　like　he
belonged　here；　give　himself　time　to　think；　to　find　an　escape　route。
Casting　around；　he　had　seen　a　pair　of　cultists　bickering　over　an　upset　cart。　A　purloined　plasma
cannon；　too　heavy　to　carry；　had　spilled　from　the　rickety　contraption；　and　Pozhar　had　rushed　to　help
lift　it　back　into　place。　In　so　doing；　he　had　brushed　against　a　cultist’s　arm　and　felt　something　shifting
beneath　his　cloak。　He　had　caught　a　glimpse　of　a　slimy　black　tentacle；　and　had　almost　vomited　on　the
spot。
Pozhar　had　ached　—　truly；　physically　ached　—　with　the　driving　need　to　pull　out　his　lasgun；　to
blast　these　freaks　to　whatever　afterlife　they　believed　in；　and　he　would　have　done　it　too　had　it　not
been　for　the　vox…message…　had　it　not　been　for　the　fact　that　Colonel　Stanislev　Steele　needed　him。
He　wished　he　knew　how　long　it　had　been。
He　had　slipped　away　from　the　cultists　at　the　first　opportunity；　leaving　his　last　frag　grenade　in
their　cannon’s　barrel。　When　the　weapon　was　fired；　the　grenade　would　burst　and；　Pozhar　hoped；
trigger　a　devastating　plasma　explosion。　He　had　made　his　way　to　the　edge　of　the　battlefield；　trying　to
remain　innocuous；　finding　cover　where　he　could　in　deserted；　half…demolished　buildings。
He　had　not　counted　on　running　into　civilians。　Four　women　and　six　children　were　huddled　in　a
dark　corner　of　one　of　those　buildings；　somehow　overlooked　by　the　heretics　that　had　burnt　out　their
homes　and　slaughtered　their　men。
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At　first　they　had　been　an　unwelcome　burden；　because　Pozhar　would　certainly　have　become　a
target　as　soon　as　he　had　stepped　out　into　the　open　with　them。　But；　emboldened　by　the　appearance　of
an　Imperial　Guardsmen；　their　saviour；　the　women　had　told　him　of　a　way　out：　a　hatchway　into　the
underhive。
And　so；　Pozhar　had　ended　up　here；　in　a　tunnel　mouth；　up　to　his　ankles　in　the　filth　of　a　billion
departed　slum…dwellers；　as　the　women　waited　some　way　behind　him　and　tried　to　keep　their　children
quiet。　And　the　ladder　that　would　take　them　all　back　up　to　the　surface；　back　to　Pozhar’s　comrades；
was　just　a　few　metres　away…　a　few　metres　away；　but　guarded。
It　had　been　a　shock　to　find　cultists　in　the　underhive。　Fortunately；　the　women　had　known　their
way　around；　and；　so　far；　they　had　been　able　to　keep　out　of　sight；　though　a　number　of　diversions　due
to　blocked　tunnels　had　left　Pozhar　fretting　with　impatience。　His　greatest　fear　was　that　Colonel　Steele
might　have　given　up　on　him　by　now　—　worse　still；　might　have　written　him　off　as　a　coward　or　a
traitor。
Four　cultists。　He　could　take　them；　he　thought；　especially　as　their　guns　were　trained　on　the
manhole　above　them。　They　were　expecting　trouble　from　above；　not　from　below。　They　weren’t
expecting　him。　He　could　take　them。
And　they　would　raise　the　alarm；　and　then　more　cultists　would　come　running。　Would　he　be　able
to　ferry　the　women　and　the　children　up　the　ladder　and　hold　their　attackers　off　long　enough　to　follow
them？
A　more　cautious　man　might　have　waited　a　while　longer；　might　have　looked　for　a　better　chance；
or　even　another　ladder。　Not　Pozhar。　He　had　lost　enough　time　already。
Even　though　he　knew　that　the　fight　ahead　of　him　would　be　difficult；　even　though　he　knew　that
his　chances　of　survival　were　slim；　he　drew　his　lasgun　and　he　ran　to　meet　it　firing。　And　he　did　so　not
just　because　he　felt　he　had　no　other　choice；　but　with　a　grin　on　his　face　and　a　mad　laugh　erupting
from　his　stomach。
A　step　gave　way　beneath　Trooper　Palinev’s　foot；　and　he　leapt　for　the　safety　rail　and　pulled　himself
up。　He　had　started　a　cascade　effect；　which　demolished　the　rest　of　the　staircase　beneath　him；　but　he
had　attained　the　balcony　level　of　the　refinery　as　planned。
He　grinned　at　the　memory　of　those　comrades　who　had　thought　him　mad　for　eschewing　the
standard　Valhallan　greatcoat。　His　basic　flak　jacket　might　not　have　provided　the　same　level　of
protection　against　the　cold；　but　it　was　much　lighter；　more　flexible；　and　Palinev’s　unencumbered
agility　had　just　saved　his　life。
He　reached　the　tall；　narrow　window　—　the　one　towards　which　his　sergeant　had　directed　him
from　outside；　below。　He　settled　behind　it　and　used　the　butt　of　his　long…las；　his　sniper　variant　lasgun；
to　knock　out　the　glass。　An　icy　gust　of　wind　blew　away　the　refinery’s　stuffy　gloom；　and　further
reddened　Palinev’s　already　ruddy　cheeks。
He　rested　the　long；　thin　barrel　of　his　weapon　against　the　sill；　and　waited。
The　battle　had　only　just　spread　to　this　part　of　the　hive；　and　many　of　the　buildings　were　still
standing。　Palinev’s　platoon　was　attempting　to　draw　the　enemy　into　a　narrow　street；　a　bottleneck　in
which　the　defenders　would　have　the　advantage；　and　the　strategy　was　working。　The　first　wave　of
Chaos　forces　came　crashing　against　the　Ice　Warriors’　front　lines；　and　were　held。　That　made　them
sitting　ducks　for　Palinev；　and　the　nine　other　snipers　stationed　behind　the　surrounding　windows。　He
squeezed　off　round　after　round；　claiming　kill　after　kill。
And　then；　in　a　second；　the　tide　turned。
Palinev　didn’t　know　what　had　happened　at　first；　only　that　there　had　been　a　shift　in　the　battle；　that
his　comrades　were　reacting　to　something　he　hadn’t　seen。　Something　behind　them。　Then　he　saw　lasbeams
ripping　into　them；　from　an　area　that　ought　to　have　been　secure；　taking　them　by　surprise。　It
was　a　massacre。
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His　heart　in　his　throat；　Palinev　abandoned　his　post　and　raced　along　the　circular　balcony；　his
footsteps　ringing　off　metal　mesh。　Three　windows　along；　he　found　a　better　view；　and　he　saw　to　his
horror　that　cultists　and　traitors　were　rising　from　the　manholes；　from　the　underhive；　outflanking　their
foes。　The　Ice　Warriors　on　the　ground　were　rallying；　but　they　didn’t　stand　a　chance。　Still；　Palinev　did
what　he　could　to　help　them；　sniping　down　all　the　heretics　he　could　in　the　time　he　had。
The　refinery　doors　crashed　open；　somewhere　beneath　him；　and　all　of　a　sudden　the　battle　seemed
a　great　deal　louder；　a　great　deal　closer　to　him。
The　intruders　knew　where　he　was。　A　frag　grenade　arced　over　the　balcony　rail　and　rolled　up　to
Palinev’s　feet。　He　was　already　running；　just　ahead　of　the　explosion；　which　blew　out　a　section　of　the
building’s　wall。　The　balcony　was　mangled；　left　partially　unsupported；　trembling　and　creaking　—
and；　as　Palinev　reached　the　one　remaining　set　of　steps；　he　found　four　Chaos　cultists　ascending
towards　him；　recognisable　by　their　cloaks　and　by　their　obscene　tattoos。
He　brought　up　his　gun；　but　the　cultists　were　too　fast　for　him；　and　he　had　to　throw　himself　onto
his　stomach　to　avoid　their　las…fire。　He　wasn’t　accustomed　to　close　combat；　wasn’t　built　for　it。
Palinev　had　spent　his　years　in　service　honing　his　sneaking　and　sniping　skills。　This；　then；　was　his
worst　nightmare：　an　enemy　that　could　see　him！
A　section　of　mesh　beneath　him　rattle