Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第50章

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tive　glance　over　the　gantry
and　saw　that　the　armoured　giant　had　killed　his　remaining　soldiers。　Perhaps　they　hadn't　been　keen　to　meet　the　same　fate　as　their
comrades。
Hawke　grinned　suddenly。　He　didn't　blame　them。
'You　are　braver　than　I　took　you　for；　little　man；'　said　the　Chaos　Marine；　mounting　the　iron　ladder。　'I　will　honour　you　with　the　most
brutal　death。'
'If　it's　all　the　same　to　you；　I'll　pass　on　that；'　shouted　Hawke；　firing　his　lasgun；　but　the　weapon　was　useless；　his　shots　bouncing　from
the　warrior's　burnished　armour。　He　searched　desperately　for　something　to　use　as　a　weapon；　his　gaze　finally　falling　on　the　one　thing
he　knew　would　finish　this　bastard　off。
But　how　to　use　it？　What　had　Beauvais　said？
Strike　the　rune　of　firing　upon　the…
The　what？
He　bit　his　lip　as　he　heard　the　warrior　climbing。
'To　hell　with　it；'　he　said　and　closed　his　eyes；　reaching　inside　the　access　panel　and　hammering　his　open　palm　against　the　exposed
runes；　switches　and　buttons。
Nothing　happened。
'Emperor　damn　you！'　Hawke　screamed　in　frustration。　'You　useless　pile　of　worthless　junk！　Fire；　damn　you！　Fire　you　bastard！　Fire！'
As　the　last　word　left　his　mouth；　a　rumbling　tremor　filled　the　chamber；　klaxons　blared　and　a　series　of　lights　began　flashing　at　the
chamber's　top。　Hawke　opened　his　eyes　and　laughed　hysterically。　Of　course！　The　Chant　of　Awakening！
Sudden　heat　filled　the　chamber　and　steam　flashed　up　the　walls　as　powerful　rocket　engines　began　igniting　sequentially。　He'd　only
gone　and　bloody　done　it；　hadn't　he？
As　the　heat　in　the　torpedo　room　suddenly　leapt　upwards　he　realised　his　danger。　The　ladder　was　sure　as　hell　not　an　option　and　he
cried　in　relief　as　he　saw　the　duct　exposed　by　the　shattered　grille。　He　didn't　know　where　it　led；　but　was　sure　it　had　to　be　better　than
here。
'Well；　Hawke；　my　lad；'　he　whispered；　'time　to　get　going。'
Swiftly　he　crawled　towards　the　duct；　pushing　his　lasgun　ahead　of　him。　It　was　easily　wide　enough　to　accommodate　him　and　he
slithered　inside。
Something　tugged　at　his　fatigues。　He　turned　and　cried　out　as　he　saw　the　Chaos　warrior's　loathsome；　mechanised　claw　snap　shut　on
his　ankle。
The　giant　was　too　large　to　enter　the　duct；　but　the　claw　would　soon　pull　him　out。
'If　we　are　to　die；　we　will　die　together；　little　man；'　promised　the　warrior。
'Guess　again；'　snapped　Hawke　as　he　drew　his　knife　and　sawed　through　the　throbbing　power　cables　that　ran　from　the　claw。　Black
oil　and　hydraulic　fluid　spurted　out；　and　the　claw　jerked　spastically。
Its　iron　grip　slackened　and　he　kicked　it　clear；　powering　along　the　smooth　metal　duct。　With　every　passing　second　he　expected　a
bullet　in　the　back；　but　none　came。　Vibrations　rumbled　along　the　duct　and　he　pushed　his　muscles　harder　than　he　would　have
believed　possible。
Hot　steam　billowed　after　him。　Sweat　poured　from　his　brow　as　the　aimbling　of　rocket　engines　grew　behind　him　and　the　ductwork
creaked　as　it　expanded　in　the　burgeoning　heat。
Suddenly　there　was　space　above　him。　He　pulled　himself　from　the　duct　and　slung　his　rifle　over　his　shoulder　as　he　found　himself　in
what　looked　like　a　vent　chamber。　Other　ducts　fed　into　the　chamber　and　another　ladder　ascended　to　a　circle　of　reddish　sky　high
above　him。　He　leapt　onto　the　ladder；　climbing　as　fast　as　he　could；　hearing　the　rumble　behind　him　build　to　a　full…throated　bellow；
like　a　mighty　dragon　waking　from　its　slumbers。
He　climbed　and　climbed　as　the　roar　built　below　him。
Geysers　of　scalding　steam　flashed　past　him。
The　heat　was　intolerable　and　he　gritted　his　teeth。　His　skin　blistered；　but　he　shut　out　the　pain；　putting　one　hand　above　the　other　and
pulling　himself　onwards。
Hawke　reached　the　top　of　the　ladder　and　moaned　in　fear　as　he　felt　a　blaze　of　heat　rash　towards　him　and　searing　orange　light　flare
around　him。　He　shouted　with　one　last　herculean　effort；　hurling　himself　over　the　lip　of　the　vent　and　rolling　aside　as　a　fountain　of
fiery　exhaust　gasses　exploded　behind　him。
Hawke　squeezed　his　eyes　shut；　and　rolled　away　from　the　heat　until　he　was　sure　he　was　safe。　He　gasped　for　air　and　pushed　himself
into　a　sitting　position；　opening　his　eyes　in　time　to　see　the　torpedo　roaring　through　the　sky　on　a　pillar　of　fire。
Guardsman　Julius　Hawke　knew　he'd　never　seen　a　more　beautiful　sight。
THE　GLAIVE　CLASS　ground…launched　orbital　torpedo　climbed　rapidly　through　the　red　sky　of　Hydra　Cordatus　on　a　blazing　tail
plume；　lighting　the　battlefield　below　with　its　brilliant　glare。　It　soon　became　nothing　more　than　a　flickering　point　of　light　in　the　sky；
climbing　to　an　altitude　where　the　air　was　thinner　and　its　speed　could　increase。　As　it　reached　a　height　of　nearly　one　hundred
kilometres；　the　first　stage　of　the　torpedo　separated　and　stage　two　ignited；　increasing　its　velocity　still　further　as　the　war…spirit　caged
within　the　warhead　calculated　the　time；　distance　and　vector　to　its　target。
The　torpedo　nosed　over；　travelling　at　almost　fourteen　thousand　kilometres　per　hour；　and　began　hunting　for　its　prey。　The　Adeptus
Mechanicus　had　cursed　its　target　and　that　curse　now　passed　to　the　war…spirit。　As　the　torpedo　angled　itself　back　towards　the　planet；
the　warhead　identified　its　target。
With　its　target　locked　in　its　sights；　the　war…spirit　vectored　the　nozzles　on　the　second　stage　to　fire　a　corrective　burn　that　altered　its
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
flight　path　and　sent　the　torpedo　plummeting　back　to　Hydra　Cordatus。
FORRIX　STOOD　AT　the　edge　of　the　promontory　watching　the　battle　raging　below　with　impotent　frustration。　The　batteries　were　being
attacked　by　the　Imperials　and　he　could　do　nothing　about　it。　Who　would　have　believed　the　curs　of　the　corpse…god　could　be　so　bold？
His　hands　bunched　into　fists　and　he　vowed　that　someone　would　pay　for　this。
Flashes　and　rippling　explosions　lit　up　the　night　and　his　enhanced　sight　could　follow　individual　acts　of　bravery　and　heroism　in　the
battle。　Not　only　that；　but　he　could　clearly　see　the　yellow　armour　of　the　Imperial　Fists　in　the　flickering　light。　To　have　the　ancient
foe　here　was　as　close　to　perfect　synchronicity　as　he　could　have　wished。　He　remembered　fighting　Dorn's　warriors　on　the　walls　of
the　Eternity　Gate　on　Terra；　ten　thousand　years　ago。　Then　they　had　been　warriors　to　walk　the　road　to　hell　with；　but　now…　？
He　would　soon　find　out。　An　inferno　of　hate　burned　within　his　heart　with　a　passion　he　had　all　but　forgotten。
He'd　watched　the　spear　of　light　roar　from　the　mountains　to　the　east　of　the　citadel　and　had　experienced　a　moment's　unease　as　he
watched　the　orbital　torpedo　climb　higher　and　higher。
How　had　it　been　fired　and　where　was　it　bound？　But　these　questions　seemed　largely　irrelevant　now；　as　it　had　streaked　into　the
heavens　then　vanished　through　the　clouds。
Forrix　returned　his　attention　to　the　battle　below；　sneering　in　contempt　as　he　saw　the　Imperials　begin　to　pull　back　under　the　fury　of
the　Iron　Warriors'　counterattack。　He　saw　Honsou　leading　a　rabble　of　soldiers　through　the　battery；　killing　those　not　quick　enough　to
make　their　escape；　and　smiled　grimly。
Honsou　was　becoming　a　fearsome　war…leader　and　Forrix　knew　that；　given　the　chance；　he　could　be　amongst　the　greatest　Warsmiths
the　Legion　had　ever　seen。
The　battle　below　was　as　good　as　over。　Forrix　turned　away；　marching　past　the　huge　number　of　artillery　pieces　he　had　assembled　on
the　promontory　and　over　the　breach　Honsou　had　fought　his　way　across。　Tomorrow　they　would　begin　firing　again　and　the　walls　of
the　citadel　would　crumble。
He　crossed　the　entrenchment　on　long；　flat　sheets　of　metal；　stopping　as　a　sudden　premonition　sent　a　shiver　along　his　spine。　He
craned　his　neck　upwards。
The　sky　was；　as　usual；　the　colour　of　blood；　lit　by　reflected　flashes　of　explosions　from　below。
What　had　made　him　look　up？
Then　he　saw　it。
A　burning　dot　of　light　high　in　the　sky；　arcing　down　towards　the　planet　at　fantastic　speed。　Forrix's　jaw　hung　slack　as　he　realised　the
ultimate　destination　of　the　torpedo。　Hot　anger　flooded　his　body　as　he　watched　molten　streamers　of　light　flare　from　the　torpedo　as　it
entered　the　lower　atmosphere。
He　bolted　for　the　keep；　shouting　a　voxed　warning　to　the　warriors　inside。
'By　all　that　is　unholy；　raise　the　keep's　void　shield！'
He　lumbered　towards　the　sunken　blast　doors　that　led　within；　casting　a　hurried　glance　over　his　shoulder。　The　burning　corona　of