Death World(科幻战争)-第39章

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last　batch　he’d　gathered。　In　case　the　planet　had　brewed　up　a　new　poison　to　surprise　them。
They　knew　there　was　a　small　chance　that　foraging　gretchin　would　happen　upon　them；　so
Lorenzo　helped　Armstrong　set　up　a　few　traps。　Any　creature　that　came　within　earshot　of　them　would
be　strung　up　in　a　net；　unable　to　raise　an　alarm。
They　ate；　and　their　conversation　turned　to　the　usual　subject：　to　comrades　gone　but　not　forgotten。
They　spoke　of　Hotshot；　Sharkbait　and　Brains’　defiance　of　the　ork　hordes。　They　had　all　heard　the
stories　by　now；　of　course；　but　it　helped　to　reiterate　them。　It　comforted　them；　and　ensured　that　they
had　the　details　right；　for　the　next　time　the　stories　were　told。　They　talked　of　Landon’s　bravery；　and　of
the　heroic　fight　Steel　Toe　Dougan　had　no　doubt　put　up　against　the　blue　light。　In　time；　their
conversation　turned　to　earlier　exploits；　and　they　found　these　stories　were　even　more　worth　the　telling
because　Armstrong　and　Guardsman　Braxton　were　new　to　their　squad　and　hadn’t　heard　them　before。
Greiss　recalled　how；　as　an　eager　young　rookie；　Hotshot　Woods　had　rushed　an　ork　sniper　that　had
pinned　the　squad　down；　miraculously　reaching　it　without　a　scratch　and　wrestling　it　from　its
emplacement。　Myers　and　Storm　took　it　in　turns　to　relate　how　Brains　Donovits　had　survived　an
encounter　with　a　stranded　Chaos　Space　Marine；　simply　by　outthinking　it；　and　were　pleased　when
Braxton　asked　questions　and　made　expressions　of　admiration　in　all　the　right　places。　Then　they　all
listened　attentively　to　Armstrong’s　fresh　tales　of　heroes　from　his　former　squad；　and　expressed　a
collective　wish　that　they　could　have　known　these　great　men　and　witnessed　their　deeds。
Myers　followed　that　with　the　tale　of　how　Old　Hardhead　had　earned　his　name。　It　was　a　story　from
before　Lorenzo’s　time；　of　course—before　Myers’；　for　that　matter—but　they　had　both　heard　it　often
enough。　Trooper　Greiss；　as　he　had　been　then；　had　been　part　of　a　single　platoon　that　had　taken　down
a　Chaos　Dreadnought。　He　had　lain　some　of　the　snares　into　which　it　had　walked；　and　planted　a　mine
on　its　leg　as　it　had　struggled　to　free　itself。　Unfortunately；　he　hadn’t　been　able　to　outran　the　explosion
that　had　ripped　the　Dreadnought　apart。　Or　maybe　it　hadn’t　been　fortune　but　fate　that　had　lodged　a
sizeable　hunk　of　shrapnel　in　Greiss’　skull。　The　surgeons　had　reportedly　written　him　off；　but　his
strength　of　character　had　buoyed　him　to　a　full　recovery。　“Without　that　metal　plate　they　put　in　his
head；”　Myers　concluded；　“he　wouldn’t　be　the　cantankerous　old　sod　we　know　today。”
“Knock　it　off；　Bullseye；”　growled　Greiss；　“unless　you　want　latrine　duty　when　we　get　back　to
civilisation。”
“You　wait　till　you’re　splashed　over　the　front　page　of　Eagle　&　Bolter；　sergeant；”　said　Myers。
“We　got　their　star　reporter　in　our　midst；　you　know。”
“Yes；　that’s　right；”　remembered　Storm；　turning　to　Braxton。　“Didn’t　I　hear　you　were　working　on
a　story　about　us？”
“We　give　you　enough　material　yet？”　put　in　Myers。
“Ease　off；　you　two；”　said　Greiss。　“You　know　what　those　rags　are　like。　The　higher…ups　wouldn’t
let　Braxton　print　any　of　this　stuff　if　he　wanted　to。　They’re　only　interested　in　their　own　truths。”
“I　wish　I　could　argue　with　that；”　said　Braxton；　“but　you’re　right；　yes。　I　always　wrote　what　I　was
told　to　write—about　successful　missions；　and　ground　that　we’d　gained。　I　don’t　think　half　of　it　was
even　true。　I　didn’t　ask。”
“Never　saw　a　broadsheet　that　was　any　different；”　remarked　Myers。
“And　I　thought　that　was　alright；”　continued　Braxton；　“because　it　was　all　about　morale。　That　was
what　Mackenzie　always　said；　and　the　commissar　before　him。　Put　the　best　possible　spin　on　it；　they
said。　Tell　the　troops　about　the　overall　campaign；　about　the　Imperium　resisting　its　enemies；　and
remind　them　why　they’re　doing　it。　Don’t　let　them　dwell　on　the　details；　how　people　like　them—like
us—are　suffering　and　dying　for　the　cause。　Your　story　would　have　been　no　different。　Just　a　few　lines
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about　your　great　victory；　maybe　a　name　check　for　the　commissar。　They’d　never　have　let　me　write
about　Woods　or　Dougan　or　the　others。”
“All　the　more　reason　for　us　to　make　it　back　alive；”　said　Storm。　“Because　if　we　don’t　tell　those
stories；　who　will？”
“I　will；”　swore　Braxton。　“One　day。　I’ll　tell　them　how　it　is　with　you—how　you　make　sure　that
everyone　matters；　every　life　counts　for　something。”
“Keep　talking　like　that；”　said　Greiss；　“and　your　next　commissar　will　probably　boot　you　right　out
on　the　first　suicide　mission　to　cross　his　desk。”
Braxton　grimaced；　but　took　the　joke　in　the　spirit　it　was　intended。
They　were　all　still　smiling　when　the　ground　shook　again。
This　tremor　was　worse　than　the　first　one。　It　lasted　longer；　felt　deeper　and　more　destructive；
although　the　only　visible　signs　of　it　above　ground　were　a　slight　blurring　of　the　trees　and　the
dislodging　of　a　few　leaves　and　fruits。　The　tremor　died　down　with　no　harm　done；　but　Lorenzo　could
see　his　apprehension　mirrored　in　die　other　Jungle　Fighters’　eyes；　because　they　knew　what　it　might
presage。
Maybe　Rogar　III　hadn’t　conceded　defeat　after　all。　Maybe　it　was　just　waiting；　planning；　and
building　up　to　its　biggest　offensive　against　its　interlopers　yet。
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CHAPTER　FIFTEEN
“Sergeant—you’ve　got　to　see　this。”
As　the　Jungle　Fighters　had　ventured　deeper　into　ork　territory；　they　had　switched　to　stealth
tactics；　as　they　had　by　the　encampment。　This　time；　it　was　Myers　who　had　the　task　of　scouting　ahead
for　traps。　He　had　already　guided　the　squad　around　several　tripwires　and　a　concealed　pit。　Now　he
came　scurrying　back　to　them；　face　flushed。
They　followed　him　through　the　foliage；　all　too　aware　that　they　were　moving　parallel　to　a　path
worn　down　and　churned　up　by　footprints。　Lorenzo　could　hear　clinking　and　clunking　and　the　guttural
sounds　of　ork　voices　ahead；　and　he　moved　as　carefully　as　he　could；　disturbing　hardly　a　leaf。
A　light　spilled　into　the　jungle；　and　Lorenzo　feared　at　first　that　it　was　the　mind…altering　blue　light。
It　was　white；　though；　far　more　harsh；　and　it　seemed　to　emanate　from　many　sources。　The　Jungle
Fighters　were　careful　to　stick　to　the　shadows；　not　to　let　the　light　reveal　them。
Then；　with　a　cautious　touch；　Myers　parted　a　cluster　of　spiny　fronds；　and　Lorenzo　saw　what　the
excitement　was　about。
The　orks　had　set　up　a　mining　operation。　They　were　working　well　into　the　night。　A　clearing　was
illuminated　by　lanterns　strung　up　in　trees；　turned　inwards；　their　light　bleaching　out　all　but　the
faintest　hints　of　colour。　Across　the　clearing；　the　ground　rose　steeply；　and　a　tunnel　had　been　dug　into
the　side　of　this　hillock。　A　square　wooden　frame　propped　up　its　entrance—and　as　the　Jungle　Fighters
watched；　another　light　appeared　in　the　tunnel’s　depths。　An　ork　emerged；　the　light　streaming　from　a
battered　helmet　that　was　balanced　atop　its　misshapen　head。　It　was　wheeling　a　lopsided　barrow
overloaded　with　rocks；　which　it　dumped　unceremoniously　onto　one　of　several　heaps　dotting　the
area。
Four　gretchin　were　sorting　through　this　heap；　giving　each　rock　a　cursory　glance　before　they
tossed　it　onto　a　discard　pile。　Nearby；　two　orks　quarrelled　over　a　pickaxe—and　ten　more　stood　sentry
at　regular　intervals　around　the　clearing；　with　one　stationed　to　each　side　of　the　mine　entrance。　A　few
more　gretchin　were　scampering　about；　fetching　and　carrying；　offering　their　ork　masters　food　and
drink。
“What　do　you　suppose　they’re　looking　for？”　asked　Armstrong；　after　the　Jungle　Fighters　had
backed　up　a　safe　distance。
“Isn’t　much　worth　digging　up　on　Rogar；”　said　Wildman　Storm；　“at　least　not　according　to
Brains—or　did　I　hear　that　wrong？”
Greiss　shook　his　head。　“You　heard　right；　Wildman。　But　remember　what　else　Brains　said—about
this　world’s　energy　signature。　There’s　something　here；　something　the　explorators　couldn’t　identify。
I’m　guessing　the　green…skins　are　after　it。”
“How？”　protested　Lorenzo。　“If　the　explorators　couldn’t　find　it…”
Greiss　shrugged。　“You　know　orks。　Bloody…minded。　Likelihood　is　they　got　nothing；　know
nothing；　but　they’ll　just　keep　on　looking　on　the　off…chance　that　there’s　some　miracle　rock　down
there　they　can　mine　and　use　against　us。　Probably　hollow　out　this　whole　planet　before　the