Ice Guard(科幻战争)-第8部分

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think　I’d　have　taken　down？　Five？　Six？　I　killed　three　times　that　many　before　morning　rations；　and　I’ll
do　the　same　tomorrow；　and　the　next　day。　That’s　how　I　serve　the　Emperor！　How　about　you；　Trooper
Blonsky？　How　many　kills　have　you　claimed　today？　Do　you　really　want　to　talk　about　whose　life　is
the　more　valuable？”
Blonsky’s　stare　didn’t　waver。　“You　should　not　have　come　back；”　he　repeated　with　the
unshakeable　conviction　of　a　witch　hunter。
The　Termite　gave　a　judder；　and　Grayle；　seated　at　the　controls；　called　back　over　his　shoulder；
“We’ve　just　left　the　hive；　sir。　No　sighting　of　the　enemy　as　yet。”
“How　do　we　stand　on　that　escort？”　asked　Gavotski。
“Looks　like　we　can　expert　two　Chimeras　to　meet　us；”　said　Grayle。　“Still　waiting　for　a　vox　from
Ursa　Platoon　to　see　if　we　can　make　it　three。”
“You　clap　eyes　on　the　enemy；　Grayle；”　said　Barreski；　“you　just　point　me　in　their　direction。　I’ll
show　them　we　don’t　need　bodyguards！”　He　was　stationed　at　one　of　the　six　hull…mounted　flamers；
squinting　along　its　barrel；　making　minute　adjustments　to　its　sights。　His　enthusiasm　was　appreciated；
but　Gavotski　knew　that　the　Termite　was　not　built　for　combat。　It　didn’t　have　the　firepower。　That　was
why　they　had　left　the　hive　by　an　eastern　gate；　from　a　zone　relatively　untouched　by　the　battle　to　the
north。　For　the　first　leg　of　their　journey；　they　would　be　travelling　above　ground；　and　they　hoped　to
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avoid　the　battle　altogether。　Due　to　pressure　of　time；　however；　they　couldn’t　give　it　as　wide　a　berth　as
they　would　have　liked。
“If　we　do　come　under　attack；”　said　Borscz；　“I　would　rather　get　out　there　and　trust　to　the　strength
of　my　own　two　hands　than　suffocate　or　freeze　to　death　in　this　tin　can。”　He　did　look　uncomfortable；
his　massive　frame　sandwiched　between　Barreski　and　Anakora。　However；　as　one　of　the　first　troopers
into　the　Termite；　Borscz　appeared　to　have　chosen　his　seat　purposely　to　avoid　having　to　man　a
flamer。
“You　would　agree　with　me；　I　think；　my　friend；”　he　continued；　leaning　forward　to　give　Palinev　an
overly　familiar　pat　on　the　shoulder。　The　force　of　the　blow　almost　knocked　the　smaller；　slighter　man
to　the　floor。　“As　a　scout；　you　must　rely　on　your　own　abilities　to　stay　silent　and　hidden；　yes？　Not
much　use　to　you　inside　a　great　clunking　machine。”
“You　are　joking；　right？”　said　Barreski。　“Without　machines；　our　ancestors　would　never　have　won
the　Great　War。　It　was　machines　like　this　one　that　turned　the　tide；　and　allowed　them　to　drive　the
filthy　orks　from　our　world。”
“The　machines　would　have　been　little　use；”　Borscz　countered；　“without　good；　strong　men　inside
them。　It　is　not　in　the　machines　that　our　ancestors　found　the　will　to　defeat　the　invaders；　Trooper
Barreski；　but　rather　in　their　own　beating　hearts。”
Anakora　played　little　part　in　the　conversation。　She　had　introduced　herself　to　the　others；　given
accurate　but　short　answers　to　their　questions　about　her　war　record；　but　that　was　all。　She　was　acutely
aware　that　they　were　all　here　because　of　their　proven　expertise　in　their　fields。　She　had　no　right　to　sit
among　them。
Few　Valhallan　women　served　in　the　Imperial　Guard。　With　so　many　men　being　marched　off　to
war　and　so　few　returning；　they　had　the　vital　and　valued　task　of　replenishing　their　world’s　population；
of　birthing　and　raising　the　next　generation　of　Ice　Warriors。　This；　then；　was　the　life　Anakora　had
expected　to　live；　the　life　that　had　been　shot　to　pieces　by　a　few　cold　words　from　a　disinterested
medic。
It　had　taken　her　a　few　days　to　come　to　terms　with　the　news；　to　accept　that　her　life　had　no　purpose
any　longer。　Even　one…time　friends；　even　family；　had　looked　at　her　with　contempt；　seeing　her　as　a
burden；　a　drain　on　their　society。　But　far　worse　than　that　were　those　few　who　did　understand；　and
whose　looks　were　laced　with　pity。
There　had　been　no　compulsion　on　Anakora　to　join　up；　not　ostensibly。　But　she　had　soon　seen　that
she　had　no　choice。　The　worst　sin　you　could　commit　as　an　Imperial　citizen　was　to　serve　the　Emperor
to　less　than　your　full　ability；　and　there　was　only　one　way　left　in　which　she　could　serve。
She　had　expected　to　find　basic　training　a　struggle。　She　had　just　kept　her　head　down　and　tried　to
get　through　it；　her　only　goal　not　to　embarrass　herself　beside　men　who　had　spent　their　lives　in
preparation　for　this。　She　had　worked　hard；　steeled　herself　to　appear　as　tough　and　as　stoic　as　any　of
them；　and　no　one　could　have　been　more　surprised　than　Anakora　when　she　had　passed　out　with
honours。
Still；　she　had　felt　she　was　faking　it；　bluffing　her　way　through　a　world　in　which　she　did　not
belong；　and　she　had　known　that　her　first　battlefield　would　find　her　out。　Fifteen　hours；　that　was　the
average　life　expectancy　of　an　Imperial　Guardsmen；　though　for　an　Ice　Warrior　it　was　a　little　more；
maybe　seventeen。　Anakora　didn’t　expect　to　last　that　long；　but　if　she　could　claim　just　one　kill；　take
one　heretic　down　with　her；　then　she　would　have　balanced　the　scales　and　justified　her　fleeting
existence。
Four　years　later；　she　was　still　here；　and　she　didn’t　know　why。
She　should　have　died　on　that　first　battlefield。　She　should　have　died　in　the　underhive；　a　couple　of
hours　ago。　She　should　have　died　so　many　times；　on　so　many　worlds　—　but　most　of　all；　she　should
have　died　two　and　a　half　years　ago；　on　Astaroth　Prime。
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Astaroth　Prime…　A　hellhole　of　a　world；　with　lakes　of　fire　and　molten　rivers；　a　world　on　which
no　Guardsman　accustomed　to　the　sub…zero　temperatures　of　Valhalla　should　ever　have　set　foot；　a
world　to　which　a　company　of　Ice　Warriors　had　been　sent　anyway；　to　deal　with　an　incursion　by　their
oldest　enemies；　the　orks；　a　world　on　which　that　company　of　Ice　Warriors　had　been　massacred。
In　her　brightest　hours；　Anakora　tried　to　imagine　that　she　had　been　spared　for　a　reason；　that　the
Emperor　had　had　a　higher　purpose　in　mind　for　her。　In　her　darkest；　she　forever　relived　that　moment
when　a　fellow　trooper；　a　good　comrade；　had　thrown　himself　in　the　path　of　an　ork　axe　to　save　her。
Her　record　showed　that　she　was　a　survivor；　and　in　the　Imperial　Guard　that　ability　was　as　highly
prized　as　it　was　rare。　Anakora　knew　the　truth。　She　knew　that　she　had　not　survived　so　long　through
her　own　efforts。　She　had　survived　because　someone　had　taken　pity　on　her；　had　thought　her　in　need
of　protection。
So；　now　she　had　been　pulled　from　another　suicide　mission　and　given　this　chance　to　survive
again；　precisely　because　of　her　record　thus　far。　She　couldn’t　help　but　wonder　if　this　might　be　the
time　her　luck　ran　out　at　last；　the　time　that　everyone　would　see　through　her。
Anakora　looked　forward　to　the　release　of　death。　Her　only　fear　was　that；　when　she　died；　she
would　take　the　rest　of　her　new　squad　with　her。
Mikhaelev　joined　in　with　the　general　chatter。　He　concurred　with　his　new　comrades　that　the　Chaos
forces　didn’t　know　what　was　about　to　hit　them；　that　Confessor　Wollkenden　was　as　good　as　rescued。
He　kept　his　true　feelings　to　himself。
He　was　worried。　Behind　the　false　bravado；　he　thought；　they　all　were。　Well；　perhaps　not　Pozhar
or　Borscz　—　they　both　seemed　like　the　kind　of　Guardsmen　who　lived　only　to　die；　the　perfect
brainwashed　soldiers。　It　would　not　have　occurred　to　them　to　question　their　orders；　to　wonder　if　their
lives　might　have　been　put　to　better　use。
Mikhaelev　asked　himself　those　questions。　He　stewed　over　the　details　of　his　briefing；　the　logic　of
staking　ten　lives　on　the　faint　chance　of　saving　just　one。　If　Confessor　Wollkenden　was　so　important；
why　did　the　Inquisition　care　so　little　about　him？　Why　couldn’t　the　virus　bombing　they　had
authorised　be　delayed　a　few　days　for　his　sake？
He　couldn’t　speak　out；　of　course。　Even　if　some　of　the　others；　these　relative　strangers；　agreed
with　him；　they　would　not　dare　to　confess　to　it。　No；　the　floor　would　be　held　by　the　likes　of　Blonsky；
spewing　his　accusations；　insisting　that　to　doubt　one’s　leaders；　even　if　they　were　only　men；　was　to
doubt　the　Emperor。　Just　as　those　same　leaders　would　want　him　to　think。
Not　that　Blonsky　would　hear　him；　of　course。　No；　as　soon　as　he　opened　his　mouth；　he　knew　that
Steele　or　Gavotski　would　do　their　duty　and　shoot　him　dead。
So；　he　kept　his　own　counsel；　said　what　he　was　expected　to　say；　and　did　what　he　was　told　as　if　he
was　the　perfect　brainwashed　soldier　too。　And　the　fact　that　he　was　here；　in　this　Termite；　in　this　squad；
was　proof　that　he　had　played　that　part　supremely　well。
He　did　all　this　because　he　knew　there　was　just　one　thing；　one　choice　he　could　make；　that　would
prove　more　dangerous　than　serving　the　Imperium…　and　that　was　not　serving　it。
The　Termite　was　under　attack；　being　buffeted　by　shock　waves。　If　he　tuned　out　the　deafening　sound
of　its　engines；　Steele　could　identify　the　crump　of　explosive　shells　from　without；　of　the　sort　fired　by　a
Basilisk　or　a　Bombard。
“We　have　a　problem；　sir；”　Grayle　yelled　from　the　controls。　“We’re　in　the　sights　of　something…
long…range　artillery。　It’s　decided　to　take　a　few　pot　shots。　Thing　is；　it　has　good　cover。　The　Chimeras
can’t　see　to　return　fire。　The　captain　of　one　is　requesting　your　permission　to　break　formation；　to　go
after　it。”
“Denied；”　said　Steele。　“Do　what　you　can；　Grayle。　Find　us　cover；　get　out　of　firing　range。　Do　not；
I　repeat　do　not；　engage　with　the　enemy。”
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“A