Death World(科幻战争)-第9章

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“Enright？”
“The　sergeant　who　started　the　trouble　yesterday。　Talk　about　noses　being　out　of　joint！　Or　if　it
wasn’t　before　the　fight；　your　trooper　over　there　sure　saw　to　it…　Enright　and　his　cronies　can’t　face
the　fact　that　we　need　your　help。　They　think　we　should　be　able　to　handle　a　few　orks　by　ourselves。”
“But　the　orks　aren’t　the　problem。”　Lorenzo　pointed　out。
“I　know；”　said　Braxton。　“Rogar　III　has　changed。　I　think　I’ve　noticed　it　more　than　some　of　the
others；　because…　well…”　He　shifted　in　his　seat。　“Since　I　got　this　assignment；　I　haven’t　seen　much
action；　you　know？　But　last　week；　I　went　out　there；　into　the　jungle；　for　the　first　time　in　a　while；
and…”
Lorenzo’s　ears　pricked　up；　eager　for　some　hint　of　what　was　to　come。　“I　swear；”　said　Braxton；
“those　jungle　lizards　had　doubled　in　size　since　the　last　time　I’d　seen　one—and　they’d　never　been　so
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vicious。　They　used　to　run　for　cover　when　we　got　within　ten　metres。　We　used　them　for　target
practice。　Now；　they’re　getting　bolder；　sniffing　around　the　camp　itself。　One　of　them　stung　Marks。　The
veins　in　his　neck；　and　then　his　face；　they　turned　black；　throbbing。　He　was　screaming；　begging　us　to
put　him　out　of　his　misery。　We　had　to　do　it。　He’d　have　brought　the　orks　down　on　us。”
“I　just　wanted　to　say；”　said　Braxton；　“that　it’s　good　to　have　the　experts　here。”
“Not　according　to　Mackenzie；”　said　Lorenzo。
“I　know—and　if　it　were　up　to　me；　we’d　leave　you　to　do　your　jobs。　We’re　only　going　to　slow　you
down　out　there。　But　the　commissar—he’s　young；　he　wants　to　prove　himself。　I　think　he　wants　to　be
the　one　to　tame　the　famous　Jungle　Fighters。　And　deal　with　Big　Green；　of　course。”
“And　you　just　go　where　Mackenzie　leads；　huh？”
“My　job　is　to　report　his　glorious　victory—if　I’m　lucky。”
Lorenzo　regarded　Braxton　with　a　newly　sympathetic　gaze。　It　occurred　to　him　that　he　was　only
obeying　orders；　like　anyone—and　that；　in　his　own　milieu；　he　was　probably　an　able　fighter。　But；　like
most　Guardsmen；　he　would　have　been　conscripted　at　the　age　of　sixteen　or　seventeen；　already　an
adult。　Lorenzo　had　been　taught　to　defend　himself　with　a　knife　before　he　could　walk。　By　the　age　of
eight；　Catachan　children　were　expected　to　be　able　to　tame　a　wild　grox；　a　harsh　lesson　that　some　did
not　survive；　but　such　was　the　nature　of　life　on　a　deathworld。　You　could　be　forged　in　its　jungle　heat；
or　you　could　wither　and　die　in　it。
Beneath　Guardsman　Braxton’s　words　was　an　unspoken　plea　for　help。　But　the　men　of　Lorenzo’s
world—like　those　of　all　deathworlds　across　the　Imperium—obeyed　only　one　law：　that　of　the　jungle。
Survival　of　the　fittest。
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CHAPTER　FOUR
It　was　another　clear　day。　The　sun　blazed　bright　and　hot；　the　morning　temperature　far　in　excess　of
that　of　the　previous　evening；　the　air　bereft　of　breeze。　Most　of　the　Validians　had　been　forced　out　of
their　stuffy　huts；　and　some　were　evidently　finding　the　heat　uncomfortable。　The　Catachans；　however；
revelled　in　it。　It　opened　Lorenzo’s　pores　and　invigorated　him。
The　clearing　was　full　of　sweaty　bodies；　moving　in　time　to　barked　commands。　Jungle　Fighters
were　forming　up　in　their　squads　and　moving　out。　The　men　of　A　Platoon　were　arming　themselves
with　autocannons　and　heavy　bolters；　and　tuning　up　the　three　Sentinels　that　would　precede　them　into
battle。
Mackenzie　was　in　the　thick　of　the　activity；　dispensing　words　here　and　there　to　the　sergeants；
complaining　repeatedly　about　the　Catachans’　lack　of　a　formal　uniform。　“Uniforms　get　damaged。”
Colonel　Graves　told　him；　“when　you’re　out　in　the　jungle。”　But　it　didn’t　seem　to　calm　Mackenzie’s
ire。
Greiss　would　normally　have　had　his　squad　doing　circuits　or　squat…thrusts　by　now；　instead；　he　sat
with　his　knees　to　his　chest；　and　snarled　at　anyone　who　dared　come　near　him。　Muldoon　had　acquired
the　dyes　of　some　indigenous　plants；　and　was　adapting　his　body　camouflage　to　the　local　shapes　and
colours。　A　few　other　Catachans　had　followed　his　lead；　Myers　and　Storm　among　them；　glad　to　let　the
sun　caress　their　skin。　Lorenzo；　however；　was　no　artist；　he　would　have　to　make　do　with　his　heavy
jacket；　and　with　a　few　streaks　of　dubbin　across　his　face。
Mackenzie　was　annoyed　to　find　the　squad　not　standing　to　attention；　awaiting　his　inspection；　he
made　his　displeasure　known　to　Greiss；　who　shrugged　and　climbed　to　his　feet　in　his　own　time。　The
Catachans　fell　in　sloppily；　making　their　feelings　for　the　young　officer　clear。　In　turn；　Mackenzie
griped　about　the　absence　of　regulation　shoulder　guards　with　identifying　numbers；　but　there　wasn’t
much　he　could　do　about　it　at　this　stage。　He　gave　a　stern　speech　that　was　mostly　a　reworking　of　the
previous　day’s—“whip　you　rabble　into　shape”；　“smartest　Guardsmen　in　the　Imperium”　and　so
forth—with　a　few　clichés　added：　“When　I　say　‘jump’…　I　expect　you　to　crawl　on　your　bellies　over
broken　glass…”
“We’re　facing　a　four…day　journey　together；”　concluded　the　commissar。　“Eight　days；　for　those
lucky　enough　to　make　the　return　trip。　It’ll　go　much　easier　if　we　all　pull　together。”　He　produced　a
sheet　of　paper；　then；　and　began　a　roll　call。　“Sergeant　Greiss。”
“Yes！”
“Yes；　what？”
“Yes；　sir！”　said　Greiss　with　a　sneer。
“Trooper　Armstrong。”
Patch　Armstrong　answered　to　his　name；　and　Mackenzie　went　through　the　others；　giving　each
trooper　in　turn　an　appraising　look　as　he　committed　his　face　to　memory。　Dougan；　Storm；　Myers；
Donovits；　Muldoon；　Woods；　finally；　Lorenzo　and　Landon。
Braxton；　of　course；　was　already　well　known　to　the　commissar。　The　Validian　had　found　an　illfitting
camouflage　jacket　in　the　stores；　and　was　looking　uncomfortable。　Mackenzie　was　in
camouflage　too；　though　he　had　retained　his　peaked　cap。　It　was　a　little　too　large　for　him；　but　his
jutting　ears　kept　it　from　sliding　down。　“Do　you　think　it’s　a　good　idea　to　be　going　into　this　with　an
eagle…shaped　target　on　your　head；　sir？”　Greiss　asked；　with　measured　disdain。
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“It’s　a　symbol　of　authority；　sergeant；”　snarled　Mackenzie。　“You’ll　learn。　By　the　time　I’m
finished　with　you；　you’ll　all　learn。”
They　moved　out；　at　the　commissar’s　insistence；　at　a　quick　march　in　two　ranks　of　five；　with
Greiss　leading　the　way。　Mackenzie　brought　up　the　rear；　occasionally　shouting　orders。
They　broke　step；　however；　as　they　crossed　the　tree　line—and　Lorenzo　noted　that　Mackenzie
worked　his　way　into　the　centre　of　the　group；　so　that　there　would　always　be　a　Catachan　between　him
and　any　potential　threat。　The　commissar　had　a　rough　sketched　map；　which　he　kept　to　himself；　and　a
compass。　He　kept　the　squad　moving　on　a　bearing　of　approximately　twenty…five　degrees。　“We’re
taking　a　circuitous　route；”　he　explained　when　questioned；　“to　avoid　a　small　ork　encampment　to　the
north…west　of　here。”
“I’m　sure　we　could　take　’em；　sir；”　offered　Woods。
“I’m　sure　we　could；　trooper；”　said　Mackenzie　icily；　“but　as　I　explained　at　the　briefing　last　night；
this　is　a　stealth　mission。　A　single　ork　gets　wind　of　our　presence　in　this　area　and　lives　to　tell　of　it；　and
we　may　as　well　pack　up　and　go　home—because　our　chances　of　getting　within　shooting　distance　of
their　warboss　will　be　zero。”
“I　still　say　we　could　take　’em；”　muttered　Woods　resentfully。　But　Mackenzie　was　right；　and　he
knew　it。
The　jungle　closed　in　above　them；　sparing　them　the　fiercest　of　the　sun’s　rays；　though　the　air　was
still　sweltering。　Braxton　was　sweating；　wiping　his　damp　forehead　with　his　sleeve　every　few　steps。
The　burnt　odour　lingered；　and　the　Catachans’　feet　crunched　on　dead；　blackened　leaves。　This　area
had　been　torched—and　recently—but　with　little　effect。　Some　of　the　plants　and　trees　seemed　to　have
been　growing　here　for　years。
Their　progress　was　punctuated　by　cracks　of　las…fire；　whenever　a　jungle　lizard　was　sighted。　Myers
and　Storm　had　warned　everyone　of　the　creatures’　chameleonic　properties；　and　Lorenzo　had　added
the　information　he’d　received　from　Braxton；　so　the　whole　squad　was　on　the　alert。　Out　loud；　each
man　swore　he　would　never　end　his　days　like　Braxton’s　ill…fated　friend；　pleading　for　the　mercy　of　a
quick　death。　Privately；　Lorenzo　knew—as　the　others　must　have　known—that　stronger　men　than　he
had　been　broken　by　such　pain　as　only　a　deathworld　could　inflict。
In　time；　the　discharges　became