Death World(科幻战争)-第29章

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He　closed　his　eyes；　put　his　hands　over　his　ears；　like　he　was　in　pain；　and　he　was　screaming　for
everyone　to　stop　talking；　to　leave　him　alone；　to　let　him　think。
“Well；　it　was　all　over　then；　of　course。　Braxton　started　forward—I　don’t　know　why；　like　maybe
he　thought　he　could　drag　Mackenzie　to　safety　or　something—but　the　commissar　had　made　up　his
mind。”
“Or　rather。”　Lorenzo　murmured；　“the　light　had　made　it　up　for　him。”
“And　the　rest；　like　Commissar　Mackenzie；　is　history。”
“And　Braxton？”
“Oh；　he’s　alright。　Old　Hardhead　grabbed　hold　of　him；　pulled　him　back；　damn　near　got　himself
killed　in　the　process。　Now；　that—that　would’ve　been　a　tragedy！”
“I　shouldn’t　have　stopped　him；”　said　Lorenzo。　“Sharkbait。　At　the　river。　He　would’ve　killed
Mackenzie；　but　I　thought…　I　don’t　know　what　I　thought。　If　I’d　kept　quiet；　if　I’d　let　him…　Sharkbait
would　still　be　alive。　And　Brains。”
“Doesn’t　work　like　that；”　said　Woods；　with　more　understanding　than　Lorenzo　would　have
expected　from　him。　“No　one　made　Sharkbait　do　anything　he　didn’t　want　to　do。　You　made　him　think；
is　all。　He　let　Mackenzie　off　the　hook　for　the　same　reason　any　of　us　would’ve　done　it：　because　when
the　commissar’s　harness　went　and　he　grabbed　for　that　rope　and　he　held　on；　he　surprised　us　all。　You
were　right；　Lorenzo。　You　can’t　deny　a　man　a　second　chance　after　proving　himself　like　that。”
“Even　so…”
“If　the　light　hadn’t　got　Mackenzie；”　said　Woods；　“it　would’ve　worked　its　influence　on　someone
else。　Braxton；　maybe。　Or…　or…　I　told　you；　Lorenzo；　I　felt　it　in　my　head。　I　felt　it　calling　to　me—and
in　that　second；　I　think　I　would’ve　done　just　about　anything　it　told　me　to　do。”
That　sealed　it。　This　wasn’t　the　Woods　that　Lorenzo　knew。　He　turned　to　his　comrade　with　a　new
anxiety　prickling　at　him；　and　he　said；　“You　never　told　me　about　yourself。　How　you　ended　up…　I
mean；　how　you　went　on。　Last　night。”
“Hey；　don’t　worry　about　me；”　said　Woods　cheerfully。　“I　did　okay。　Really。　Just　tired　myself　out；
is　all—and　you　know　Greiss：　he　likes　to　think　he’s　looking　after　us。　He　said　if　I　didn’t　come　in　here
for　a　lie…down；　he’d　knock　me　out　himself。”
“Right；”　said　Lorenzo；　not　quite　buying　it。　He　was　just　starting　to　realise　how　pale　his　comrade
seemed　where　the　daylight　fell　across　him。　Sweat　beaded　his　brow；　as　if　he　was　feverish—or
perhaps　he　too　was　just　hot　in　his　ork　furs。
“Seriously；”　said　Woods；　“you　think　this　looks　bad；　you　should　see　the　ork　that　did　it　to　me。　I
should　say；　the　twenty　orks！”　And　he　launched　into　a　detailed　and　bloody　account　of　every　punch　he
had　thrown；　every　shot　he　had　fired；　every　thrust　of　his　devil　claw　against　the　ork　hordes。
Lorenzo　stopped　listening　after　a　time。　He　tuned　out　the　words；　and　strained　to　catch　the　distant；
muffled　sounds　beyond　the　hut’s　walls：　footsteps；　scraping；　the　odd　snatch　of　conversation。　He　felt
as　if　he　had　been　lying　in　this　bed　for　an　age；　and　he　longed　to　feel　fresh　air　on　his　face；　to　catch　up
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with　the　comrades　he　had　thought　he　would　never　see　again。　To　see　what　fresh　challenges　had　arisen
in　his　absence。
He　knew　he　should　wait。　He　didn’t　know　the　extent　of　his　injuries。　He　didn’t　feel　too　badly　hurt；
but　then　his　head　was　muzzy　and　he　could　have　been　in　shock。　He　could　have　been　infected。　But
normally；　the　person　to　tell　him　that—the　man　who　ought　to　have　been　at　his　bedside　with　his
revolting　herbal　cures—was　Brains。　Lorenzo　couldn’t　bear　to　wait　any　longer。
Woods　had　fallen　silent。　Lorenzo　realised　he　was　asleep。
He　peeled　off　his　bed　coverings　and　tested　each　of　his　limbs；　trying　his　weight　on　them；　before
he　levered　himself　to　his　feet。　He　swayed　a　little；　and　felt　sickness　rising　in　his　throat　but　suppressed
it。　Morning　air　breezed　in　through　the　window；　and　prickled　his　skin　like　pins　and　needles。　He　crept
over　to　Woods　and　put　his　hand　to　his　forehead；　finding　it　hot　like　a　simmering　pan。　He　located　his
clothes　and　backpack　in　a　pile　in　the　corner；　with　Muldoon’s　lasgun　laid　out　almost　reverently
across　them。
His　jacket　felt　heavy　and　grimy　against　his　skin；　its　insides　caked　with　his　own　dried　blood。　It
was　only　when　he　saw　his　water　bottle　that　he　realised　how　dry　his　throat　was；　and　how　cracked　his
lips。　He　gulped　from　the　bottle　greedily；　and　had　to　stop　himself　before　he　emptied　it。　There　had　to
be　fresh　water　somewhere　in　the　camp；　he　reasoned。　The　skin　around　his　patched…up　wound　had
evidently　been　cleaned。　He　longed　for　a　pool　to　bathe　in；　though　a　bit　of　dirt　didn’t　usually　bother
him。
Finally；　Lorenzo　approached　the　door　to　the　outside　world—and　thought　it　was　locked　at　first；　as
it　jammed　in　its　frame。　He　put　his　shoulder　to　it；　and　tried　to　pretend　that　the　effort　hadn’t　made　stars
explode　in　front　of　his　eyes。　He　stumbled　out　into　the　sunlight；　unsteady　and　blinking；　and　walked
straight　into　Sergeant　Greiss。
Somewhere；　there　was　a　fire　burning；　and　Lorenzo　caught　a　glimpse　of　Myers　and　Storm
lugging　an　ork　corpse　between　them。
Then　Greiss　was　guiding　him　back　into　the　hut；　telling　him　to　take　it　easy　in　his　gentlest　growl；
and　Lorenzo　tried　to　throw　off　his　hold；　tried　to　prove　he　could　stand　unassisted；　but　before　he　knew
it　he　was　sitting　on　the　bunk　again；　just　grateful　that　the　room　wasn’t　spinning　anymore。　Greiss　took
Lorenzo’s　head　in　his　callused　hands；　peered　into　his　eyes；　and　nodded；　satisfied。　“You’ll　live。”
“We　did　okay—right；　sergeant？”
“Yes；　Lorenzo。　We　did　okay。　We　did　more　than　okay。　We’ve　been　tossing　ork　bodies　on　the
flames　all　morning。”　Lorenzo　didn’t　question　that　statement。　He　knew　the　Catachans　didn’t　burn
their　enemies’　corpses　for　the　sake　of　their　souls。　Orks　were　renowned　for　their　regenerative
properties；　it　was　common　for　one　thought　dead　to　rise　from　a　cold　battlefield　in　search　of　revenge。
On　Rogar　III；　he　realised；　there　was　even　more　reason　to　take　precautions。
“Sergeant！”　Lorenzo’s　fellow　patient　was　awake　again。　Lorenzo　found　himself　wondering　if
Woods’　voice　had　sounded　so　weak；　so　subdued；　the　last　time　he　had　spoken。　Perhaps　it　had；　and　he
just　hadn’t　noticed。　“Lorenzo　tell　you　about　Sharkbait？”　asked　Woods。　Greiss　replied　that　he　hadn’t；
and　Woods　repeated　the　story　as　the　sergeant　listened　patiently。　This　time；　there　were　twenty　orks　on
the　battlewagon；　and　Muldoon　had　to　hack　his　way　through　four　more　to　reach　it；　but　Lorenzo　didn’t
bother　to　correct　the　details。　Woods’　version　made　a　better　story；　and　Muldoon　deserved　his　glory。
“We　ready　to　move　out　yet；　sergeant？”　asked　Woods；　when　the　story　was　told。
“Not　yet；　Hotshot；”　said　Sergeant　Greiss。　“Still　cleaning　up　behind　ourselves。　We’ve　taken　apart
all　the　comms　we　can　find；　but　you　can　bet　a　few　gretchin　would’ve　made　a　run　for　it　when　they
realised　they　were　beaten。”
Woods　grimaced。　“Sooner　or　later；　they’ll　find　more　greenskins；　and　then　the　whole　planet　will
know　we’re　here。”
“If　we’re　lucky；”　said　Greiss；　“the　orks　won’t　put　two　and　two　together　in　a　hurry。　For　all　they
know；　this　camp　could’ve　been　our　target　all　along。”
“Yeah；　“specially　when　they　hear　about　the　attacks　on　their　other　camps。”
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“But　they’ll　know　we’re　closing　in　on　their　warboss—whether　they　believe　we　know　it　or　not—
and　if　Big　Green　has　half　the　brains　Mackenzie　reckoned　he　had；　he’ll　be　doubling　his　personal
guard　about　now。　Our　dear；　departed　commissar　just　made　getting　to　our　target　about　ten　times
harder　than　it　ever　was。”
“I　thought　as　much；”　said　Woods。　“But；　we　just　came　through　against　thirty…to…one　odds。
Shouldn’t　think　there’s　a　whole　lot　can　stop　us　now；　yeah？”
“Funny　thing　about　that。”　Greiss　growled。　“There　aren’t　half　as　many　dead　orks　about　these
parts　as　there　ought　to　be。　I　think　we　got　lucky；　Hotshot。　I　think　our　job　was　half…done　before　we　got
here。”
“You　think　Rogar’s　been　as　hard　on　them　as　it’s　been　on　us？”
“About　the　size　of　it；　yes。”
“Now　you’re　wondering　what　happened　to　the　orks　it　killed。　And　how　long　it　took　the　survivors
to　work　out　that　any　bodies　they　leave　intact…”
Lorenzo　didn’t　remember　lying　down；　but　he　was　staring　at　the　ceiling。　He　didn’t　remember
discarding　his　backpack　and　jacket；　but　he　was　unencumbered　by　them。　He　had　been　thinking　about
Dougan；　or　rather　about　the　mockery　this　deathworld　had　made　of　his　memory。　About　the　skeletal
birds　that　had　refused　to　lie　down。　And　now；　about　a　hundred；　two　hundred；　dead　orks；　in　varying
stages　of　decay；　clambering　from　the　ground　all　over　the　planet…
“Should　make　for　an　interesting　few　days；”　murmured　Greiss。
“Nothing　we　can’t　handle　though；”　said　Woods；　“right；　sergeant？”
Lorenzo　drifted　into　a　dreamless　sleep；　then；　and　opened　his　eyes　only　once　in　the　next　few
hours　to　find　himself　on　the　cot　again；　and　Greiss　in　the　doorway　of　the　hut。　He　must　have　been
leaving；　waking　Lorenzo　as　he　shouldered　the　sticking　door　out　of　its　frame。　But　something　had
stopped　him。　He　was　looking　at　Woods；　and　with　the　sunlight　behind　him　casting　his　face　into
shadow；　Greiss　seemed　weighed　down　by　every　one　of　his　thirty…five　years；　older　and　more　tired
than　Lorenzo　had　seen　him　before。
When　next　he　woke；　Greiss　was　there　again；　standing　ove