Storm Of Iron(科幻战争)-第73章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


building。　Smoke　filled　every　street。　None　of　their　attackers　were　falling；　and　Leonid　knew　they　must　make　every　shot　count。　The
Warhound　Defensor　Fidei　walked　backwards　behind　his　men　as　they　fell　back　from　this　assault；　firing　into　the　mass　of　the　enemy
as　they　pursued　the　Jourans。
Through　gaps　in　the　smoke　pouring　from　shelled　buildings；　he　could　see　massive　chunks　of　rockcrete　being　torn　from　the　wall　by
the　Titan　siege　towers；　and　knew　they　had　only　minutes　until　these　gargantuan　war　machines　joined　the　battle。　Tanks　and
grotesque；　multi…limbed　constructs；　with　turrets　adorned　with　hateful　runes；　poured　through　the　smashed　gate；　and　fear　was　visible
in　every　bloodied　face。
Brother…Captain　Eshara　had　regrouped　the　survivors　of　his　company；　thirty　Space　Marines；　and　fought　alongside　him；　firing　his
bolter　with　every　grudging　step　backwards。
Suddenly；　a　dozen　of　the　Iron　Warriors'　damnable　red　clad　soldiery　charged　through　the　smoke　to　their　side。　Shots　from　crude
rifles　felled　five　of　his　men　before　they　could　react。　Leonid　knelt；　jamming　his　rifle　to　his　shoulder　and　opening　up　on　full　auto；
spraying　the　smoke…filled　street　with　bright　lasbolts。　Three　enemy　soldiers　dropped　and　Eshara　killed　another　four　with　deadly
accurate　bolter　fire。　The　remainder　drew　a　bead　on　Leonid；　but　before　they　could　shoot；　the　ground　rocked　and　a　massive
adamantium　foot　slammed　down；　crushing　them　to　death。
The　Jure　Divinu　sprayed　the　building　across　from　Leonid　with　turbo　laser　fire　and　he　saw　six　enemy　soldiers　tumble　from　it；
burning　debris　crashing　down　as　its　already　unstable　structure　finally　gave　way。
From　the　smoke；　Leonid　saw　a　warrior　in　Terminator　armour　charging　straight　for　the　Jure　Divinu；　bright　hunger　etched　on　his
face。　His　dead　features　spoke　of　ancient　malice　and　bitter　hatred。
Leonid　had　no　time　to　think。　Eshara　grabbed　his　arm　and　hustled　him　back　through　the　burning　ruins　towards　the　northern　wall　of
the　citadel。　Space　Marines　ran　alongside　them；　the　men　of　the　Guard　having　already　passed　through　the　Valedictor　Gate　and
descended　into　the　caverns。
Built　flush　against　the　flank　of　the　mountain　with　two　armoured　blockhouses　to　either　side　of　it；　the　Valedictor　Gate　was　intended
to　bar　the　route　into　the　underground　caverns；　but　with　Naicin's　betrayal　in　the　Machine　Temple；　it　remained　treacherously　open。
Explosions　ripped　through　the　buildings　behind　Leonid　and　smashed　him　to　the　ground。
Eshara　dragged　him　to　his　feet　as　the　thirty　Imperial　Fists　formed　a　semi…circle　around　the　Valedictor　Gate；　facing　outwards。
The　Space　Marine　captain　lowered　his　dented　and　blackened　helm　level　with　Leonid's　and　said；　'Castellan；　you　must　get　below
and　destroy　the　gene…seed。'
'How？'　gasped　Leonid　breathlessly。　'The　Machine　Temple's　gone；　there's　no　way　to　do　it。'
Eshara　gripped　his　arm　tighter。　'Do　what　you　must；　find　flamer　units；　plasma　gunners；　anything；　but　do　not　let　even　a　scrap　of
gene…seed　fall　into　the　enemy's　hands。　It　is　better　that　it　all　be　destroyed　than　have　the　foe　claim　it。　Do　you　understand？'
'We　will　need　time　to　destroy　it　all；　my　friend。　Can　you　hold　them　here　for　long　enough？'　asked　Leonid；　fully　aware　of　the　price
that　time　would　be　bought　with。
The　two　warriors　locked　eyes　then　shook　hands　in　the　warrior's　grip；　wrist　to　wrist。
'We　will　hold　them　for　long　enough；'　nodded　Eshara　as　he　dropped　his　empty　bolter　and　drew　both　his　power　swords。
Leonid　said；　'Good　luck；　Brother…Captain　Eshara。'
'And　to　you；　Castellan　Leonid。'
Without　another　word；　Leonid　turned　and　sprinted　through　the　Valedictor　Gate。
FORRIX　WATCHED　THE　beast　stagger　as　a　shell　from　a　Vindicator　burst　against　its　leg。　The　Warhound　lurched；　its　weapon　mount
shearing　off　as　it　slammed　into　a　ruined　building。　They　had　it　now；　backed　into　a　corner　and　stripped　of　its　protection。
There　was　another　Warhound　nearby；　but　the　billowing　smoke　and　thump　of　explosions　obscured　its　whereabouts。
'It　is　time　for　a　reckoning；　beast！'　he　yelled　as　he　crashed　forward。　More　gunfire　hammered　the　armoured　carapace　of　the
Graham　McNeill　？Storm　of　Iron？
Warhound；　its　legs　buckling　under　the　weight　of　fire。　The　pilot's　compartment　swung　low　to　the　ground；　the　green　of　its　eyes
locking　with　Forrix　and　he　laughed；　knowing　that　the　beast's　life　was　forfeit。　He　had　it　now。
He　and　his　Terminators　closed　on　the　struggling　machine；　power　fists　raised　to　deliver　the　killing　blow。　Forrix　clambered　onto　its
massive　foot　and　hammered　his　power　fist　into　the　ankle　joint　of　the　Warhound's　leg　again　and　again。
The　war　machine　lifted　its　leg；　realising　the　danger　and　stepped　backwards；　swaying　drunkenly　and　smashing　into　the　building
across　the　street；　causing　it　to　collapse。
Forrix　held　on　for　dear　life　as　the　Warhound　sought　to　dislodge　him；　hammering　his　fist　against　its　ankle。　The　Titan's　leg　swept
round；　slamming　down　on　a　jagged　section　of　rubble。　Forrix　was　thrown　clear　as　the　full　weight　of　the　Warhound　came　down
awkwardly　on　its　pulverised　ankle。
The　joint　sheared　off　in　an　explosion　of　flame　and　the　Warhound　toppled；　smashing　backwards　through　the　burning　building　and
slamming　into　the　ground　in　a　cascade　of　rockcrete　blocks。　The　pilot's　compartment　cracked　open　under　the　impact　and　Forrix
scrambled　across　the　flaming　wreckage　to　finish　the　beast。
Shadowed　forms　struggled　weakly　within　as　Forrix　emptied　his　combi…bolter　into　the　Warhound's　bridge；　slaughtering　its　crew　in
a　storm　of　bolts。
Forrix　laughed　as　he　slew　the　crew　of　the　Jure　Divinu；　racking　the　arming　slide　of　his　underslung　melta　gun。
The　wall　behind　the　slain　beast　collapsed；　showering　him　with　rock　and　smoke；　momentarily　obscuring　his　vision。
As　it　cleared　he　felt　his　pleasure　at　the　kill　drain　from　him　as　he　found　himself　staring　into　the　baleful　eyes　of　the　second
Warhound。
'No！'　hissed　Forrix。
Its　weapons　whined；　building　power　to　fire。
Forrix　raised　his　weapon　and　pulled　the　trigger　as　both　the　turbo　lasers　and　Vulcan　bolters　fired。
Forrix　had　the　briefest　sensation　of　pain　and　frustration　before　the　Defensor　Fidei's　guns　utterly　destroyed　him。
HONSOU　JOGGED　THROUGH　the　fallen　citadel；　elated　beyond　words　at　the　slaughter　around　him。　The　warriors　of　both　his　and
Forrix's　company　followed　him　through　the　streets　of　their　enemy's　fastness；　cheering　his　name　to　the　dark　gods。
Loud　gunfire　roared　from　somewhere　to　his　left　and　he　angled　his　advance　towards　it；　rounding　a　corner　in　time　to　see　a　wrecked
Warhound　topple　to　the　ground　and　Forrix　charging　towards　the　war　machine's　head。
Honsou　saw　the　wall　before　Forrix　collapse　and　the　furious　form　of　the　Warhound's　twin　emerge　from　the　smoke。　He　saw　it　raise
its　weapons　and　blast　Forrix　from　the　ruins　in　an　explosion　of　blood　and　mechanised　body　parts。
As　he　watched　Forrix　die；　Honsou　felt　nothing　but　triumph。　Kroeger　had　vanished　and　Forrix　was　dead：　truly　the　gods　of　Chaos
favoured　him　this　night。
The　Warhound's　victory　was　short…lived　as　the　might　of　the　Pater　Mortis；　its　crashing　footsteps　collapsing　buildings　all　around
them；　emerged　from　behind　Honsou　and　fired　its　weapons。　The　Scout　Titan　vanished　in　a　flurry　of　bright　explosions；　its　few　void
shields　and　light　armour　no　match　for　the　power　of　the　Warlord　Titan。
It　reeled　under　the　impacts　and；　for　an　incredible　moment；　Honsou　believed　it　had　survived；　but　a　massive　explosion　engulfed　its
head　and　the　Warhound　fell；　its　crew　compartment　a　blazing　rain。
Honsou　snarled　in　satisfaction　and　set　off　once　more。
Everywhere　the　enemy　was　defeated；　broken　and　fleeing　before　them。
He　emerged　into　a　wide　square；　at　the　far　end　of　which　he　saw　a　pitiful　ring　of　the　Imperial　Fists。　They　stood；　swords　bared　at　the
entrance　to　caverns　gouged　into　the　mountains；　their　faces　proud　and　defiant。
Honsou　laughed　as　he　marched　at　the　head　of　his　company；　the　Warsmith　descending　from　the　hot　darkness　above　him。　The
master　of　the　Iron　Warriors　landed　hard；　the　cobbles　hissing　molten　with　his　step；　as　though　the　ground　itself　rebelled　against　the
chaos　writhing　within　him。　His　body　rippled　with　change；　as　though　a　million　forms　sought　to　be　birthed　from　his　unquiet
anatomy。　The　black　our　was　becoming　glossier；　more　organic　looking；　like　the　carapace　of
an　insect。