Death World(科幻战争)-第30章

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than　Lorenzo　had　seen　him　before。
When　next　he　woke；　Greiss　was　there　again；　standing　over　him；　shaking　him；　and　from　the
quality　of　the　light　through　the　window　he　guessed　it　was　early　afternoon。　“Time　you　dragged
yourself　out　of　that　pit；　trooper；”　he　said。　“We　got　a　lot　of　ground　to　make　up　if　we　still　want　a
chance　of　catching　the　warboss　by　surprise。　You　up　to　it？”
“Yes；　sergeant；”　said　Lorenzo；　getting　to　his　feet；　relieved　when　his　body　didn’t　make　a　liar　of
him。　He　still　felt　weak；　drained；　and　his　side　hurt　like　hell；　but　his　senses　were　clearer　now。
Catachan　men　healed　quickly。　He　donned　his　jacket　and　his　backpack　again；　picked　up　the　lasgun
that　he　supposed　was　now　his；　and　made　for　the　door。　He　stopped　when　he　realised　Greiss　wasn’t
following。　He　was　sitting　on　the　bunk　Lorenzo　had　vacated；　staring　into　space；　a　lasgun　laid　across
his　lap。　Not　his　own　gun：　that　was　slung　under　his　pack　as　normal。　Lorenzo　felt　a　knot　forming　in　his
stomach　as　he　was　finally　forced　to　face　an　unpleasant　truth。
“What　about　Hotshot；　sergeant？　Aren’t　you　going　to　wake　him？”
“In　a　minute；”　the　sergeant　said。
Lorenzo　looked　at　Woods。　His　skin　was　whiter　than　ever；　drenched　in　perspiration。　His
breathing　was　ragged；　and　his　face　twitched　with　emotions　that　Lorenzo　had　never　seen　writ　there
before。　Every　few　seconds　he　let　out　a　low　moan；　almost　a　whimper。　He　seemed　to　be　having　the
mother　of　all　nightmares。　The　young　trooper　looked　surprisingly；　awfully　small。
“Is　he…？”　Lorenzo　ventured。
“Hotshot　managed　to　find　a　sniping　position；”　said　Greiss；　“up　a　tree。　He　was　cutting　down　those
greenskins　like　dummies　on　a　shooting　range。　But　one　of　’em　got　lucky—happened　to　be　looking
the　right　way　when　an　explosion　went　off　and　the　light　glinted　off　Hotshot’s　lasgun。　He　couldn’t　get
down　in　time。　The　orks　surrounded　him；　started　firing　up　into　the　branches。　Hotshot　took　a　bullet　in
the　leg；　was　grazed　by　two　more；　but　nothing　critical；　he　knew　how　to　make　himself　small；　use　his
backpack　and　the　tree　trunk　to　protect　himself—and　with　his　camouflage　and　all；　the　greenskins
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didn’t　know　where　they　were　aiming。　Hotshot　was　firing　at　’em；　dropping　grenades　on　their　heads—
he　must’ve　taken　out　a　dozen　or　more。　But　you　know　what　orks　are　like。　They　don’t　give　up　easy。
They　were　swarming　up　that　tree；　and　Hotshot　was　shooting　and　slashing　down　at　’em；　but　even　he
couldn’t　stay　put　forever。　He　made　a　jump　for　it；　sailed　right　over　their　heads。”　There　had　been　a
touch　of　admiration　in　Old　Hardhead’s　voice；　but　now　it　faded；　and　his　shoulders　slumped。　Lorenzo
knew　how　fond　he　had　always　been　of　Woods。
“He　didn’t　make　it。”
“If　it　hadn’t　been　for　that　damn　slug　in　his　leg…”　Greiss　was　silent　for　a　moment；　then　with
pride　in　his　voice；　he　continued；　“He　kept　fighting。　Even　though　he’d　shattered　his　spine；　he　was　on
the　ground；　and　the　orks　were　piling　onto　him…　I　should’ve　got　there　sooner。”
“No；　sergeant！”　Lorenzo　protested　automatically。
“Don’t　give　me　that；”　Greiss　growled。　“If　any　of　us　had　to　end　his　days　a　cripple；　better　it　be　an
old　warhorse　with　no　fight　left　in　him。　Better　it　be　someone　who’s　had　his　day；　whose　story’s　been
told。”
Lorenzo　was　still　digesting　the　full　import　of　what　Greiss　was　saying。　“…end　his　days　a
cripple…”　They　were　on　a　stealth　mission；　without　backup；　unable　to　vox　for　an　airlift—and　even　if
they　could　get　Woods　back　to　an　Imperium　facility；　it　would　certainly　have　been　the　last　thing　he
wanted。　It　was　unlikely　a　medic　could　do　much　for　him。　The　only　person　who　could　save　him　now
from　a　fate　worse　than　death　was　Greiss。　Lorenzo’s　gaze　strayed　to　the　spare　lasgun　on　the
sergeant’s　knee。
“He’ll　be　remembered；”　was　all　he　could　think　of　to　say。　It　seemed　to　cheer　Greiss　up　a　little。
Then　there　was　an　awkward　silence　as　Lorenzo　realised　there　was　nothing　more　he　could　say；
and　eventually　turned　to　the　door　again。
The　last　thing　he　saw　as　he　left　that　hut；　as　he　left　another　comrade　behind　forever；　was　Greiss
leaning　over　Woods；　shaking　him　gently　awake；　telling　him　it　was　time　and　pressing　the　lasgun　into
his　hands。　And　Woods’　smile—not　afraid；　but　relieved。　Grateful；　even。
Just　one　of　those　things。　Lorenzo　had　learned　to　accept　it。　He　walked　away　from　the　hut；　and
ignored　the　part　of　him　that　wanted　to　break　into　a　run；　to　get　away　from　there　before　he　had　to
hear…
He　thought　about　his　promise：　“He’ll　be　remembered。”　He　walked；　and　waited。　And　thought
about　his　comrade；　relating　his　last　story；　and　he　wished　he’d　known；　wished　he’d　been　more
attentive。　He　thought　about　the　dangers　that　still　lay　ahead；　all　his　depleted　squad　still　had　to　do；　and
he　told　himself　they’d　come　through　somehow。
Lorenzo　pretended　not　to　hear　the　dark　voice　in　the　back　of　his　head。　The　voice　that　said：　Yes；
Hotshot　Woods　will　he　remembered。　Sharkbait　Muldoon　will　be　remembered。　They　will　all　be
remembered。
But　for　how　long？
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CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
The　rain　came　early　in　the　evening。
The　Jungle　Fighters　had　seen　the　clouds；　felt　the　cool；　fresh　breeze　that　presaged　the　outburst—
but　the　speed　and　ferocity　with　which　it　broke　defied　their　expectations。
The　rain　was　acidic。　Guardsman　Braxton　winced　as　the　first　drop　splashed　off　his　cheek；　and
Lorenzo　threw　a　hand　to　his　neck　as　the　skin　there　began　to　smart。　The　acid；　fortunately；　wasn’t
strong；　not　like　that　from　the　spitter　plants—but　with　prolonged　exposure；　it　could　do　as　much
damage。
They　found　some　shelter　beneath　the　spreading　branches　of　a　huge　tree。　Lorenzo　listened　as　the
rain　beat　down　on　its　roof　of　leaves；　and　he　looked　gloomily　at　the　cascade　of　redirected　liquid　like　a
waterfall　around　him。　He　wondered　how　long　it　would　be　before　the　leaves　were　burnt　through；　and
he　couldn’t　help　but　feel　that　even　this　downpour　was　deliberate。　It　was　as　if　the　planet　was　so
determined　to　destroy　them　that　it　would　sacrifice　a　part　of　itself。
They　debated　the　wisdom　of　turning　back；　of　scavenging　sheets　of　metal　from　the　ork　camp；　but
Greiss　in　particular　was　reluctant　to　lose　ground。　“Aside　from　which；”　he　growled；　casting　a　wary
glance　back　over　his　shoulder；　“we　don’t　know　what　might　be　behind　us。”　They　all　knew　what　he
meant。　Ever　since　they　had　set　off；　they　had　all　been　aware　of　ghosts　dogging　their　footsteps　again。
It　had　been　inevitable；　of　course。　Still；　Lorenzo　had　hoped　for　at　least　some　respite。　He　wasn’t
the　only　one　of　the　six　remaining　men　in　his　squad—half　their　original　complement—to　have　been
injured　in　the　previous　night’s　battle；　nor　to　feel　profoundly　tired。　Armstrong’s　left　arm　was　useless；
the　nerve　tendons　in　his　shoulder　severed　by　an　ork　axe；　and　Braxton　hadn’t　said　a　word　all
afternoon　and　looked　like　he　could　drop　at　any　moment。　Their　lasguns　were　low　on　energy；　too；
Myers　wore　a　belt　of　strung…together　power　packs；　letting　the　dwindling　sunlight　do　what　it　could　to
recharge　them　until　they　could　build　a　fire　to　do　the　job　properly。　But　the　nature　of　their　mission—
and　Greiss；　now　firmly　back　in　command—had　required　they　press　on；　and　not　one　of　those　six　men
was　prepared　to　admit　defeat。
Their　map　had　been　incinerated　along　with　Mackenzie；　but　Armstrong　knew　where　they　were
and　was　sure　he　could　remember　the　location　of　the　warboss’　lair　from　the　briefing。　He　could　get
them　close；　at　least。
They　broke　out　the　alkaline　powders　from　their　backpacks；　rubbed　them　into　their　exposed　skin
and　hair。　As　they　worked；　the　ghosts　began　to　gather；　in　the　corners　of　their　vision。　This　time；　they
had　attracted　more　than　one　stalker。　Many　more。　And　these　creatures；　it　seemed；　were　trying　less
hard　to　conceal　their　presence。
Or　maybe　it　was　just　that　they　were　bigger　and　clumsier　than　Dougan；　less　able　to　hide。　Ork
corpses；　as　the　Jungle　Fighters　had　anticipated。　This　close；　there　was　no　denying　the　stink　of　death
that　rose　from　them；　it　had　been　wafting　past　Lorenzo’s　nostrils　for　the　past　few　hours；　whenever　the
breeze　was　right。　Some　of　these　orks　had　been　dead　weeks　or　months；　but　now　they　were　a　part　of
the　planet　itself；　cocooned　in　its　substance　and　animated　by　its　mysterious　energy。
It　had　taken　six　Jungle　Fighters　to　send　one　monster　into　retreat。　A　smaller　monster。　Six　Jungle
Fighters；　relatively　refreshed　and　ready　for　battle。
For　now；　the　zombies　seemed　content　to　keep　their　distance；　to　watch。　Greiss　moved　his　squad
on　quickly　anyway；　worried　that　if　they　stayed　put　too　long　they　might　be　surrounded。　They　moved
through　the　rain　at　a　faster…than…normal　pace；　with　their　packs　over　their　heads；　hugging　the　trees。
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Fortunately；　they　knew　enough　about　Rogar　now　to　avoid　its　more　obvious　traps—though　Lorenzo
remembered　what　Donovits　had　said　about　this　world’s　rapid　evolution；　and　he　eyed　even　the　safestlooking
flowers　with　suspicion。
He　twitched　at　another　rustle　from　the　foliage。　It　was　closer　than　usual；　to　the　left　of　the　squad
rather　than　behind　them。　He　brought　his　lasgun　around　but　didn’t　dare　fire　lest　he　start　something
they　couldn’t　finish。　Another　ork　shape　was　clearly　outlined；　watching　him　with　unblinking　eyes；
one　of　which　had　slid　half　out　of　its　socket　on　a　slagheap　of　dried　bloo