Death World(科幻战争)-第40部分

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“We’re　easy　targets　up　here；”　muttered　Armstrong。　“We　can　hold　off　these　greenskins　for　a
while—but　our　backs　are　exposed　to　the　main　chamber。　Once　the　orks　down　there　see　us；　we’ll　be
caught　in　a　crossfire；　dead　meat。”
He　was　saying　nothing　Lorenzo　didn’t　know。　He　cast　around　for　something；　anything—and　his
eyes　found　the　lantern。　It　was　trailing　tangled　cables　in　each　direction　around　the　great　cavern；
clockwise；　the　next　lantern　still　clung　to　the　wall；　but　anticlockwise；　the　nearest　two　had　been
wrenched　free　from　their　moorings　and　were　hanging　suspended。　Lorenzo　pulled　at　the　cables　in　that
direction；　and　found　plenty　of　slack。
Armstrong　glanced　at　him；　saw　what　he　was　thinking　and　nodded　his　approval。　“That　might　get
one　of　us　out　of　here；”　he　said。　“Go。　I’ll　buy　you　some　time。”
With　that　he　was　off；　before　Lorenzo　could　stop　him—back　down　the　passageway；　leaping　onto
the　first　ork　as　it　hauled　itself　up　out　of　the　hole；　taking　it　by　surprise；　forcing　it　back　down　but
falling　with　it；　toward　the　bloodthirsty　pack　that　Lorenzo　knew　must　have　gathered　below。　His
instinct　was　to　go　after　his　comrade；　to　do　what　he　could　to　help　him—but　not　only　was　it　hopeless；
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he　would　have　been　doing　him　a　disservice。　Armstrong　had　sacrificed　himself　to　save　Lorenzo；　to
give　him　a　chance　at　least—because　Lorenzo　had　let　him；　because　he　hadn’t　spoken　up　first；　because
he　hadn’t　told　his　comrade　that　his　life　was　over　anyway；　that　if　the　orks　and　the　quake　didn’t　finish
him　the　poison　would。
Armstrong　was　relying　on　Lorenzo　to　tell　that　story—which　was　all　that　kept　him　going　now　as
he　yanked　on　the　lantern；　tore　out　the　taut　cables　from　one　side　of　it　and　gathered　the　loose　ones　to
the　other。　He　looked　for　a　safe　landing　spot；　clear　of　orks　and　lava　and　falling　rocks。
That　was　when　he　saw　it。　Amid　the　chaos　below；　a　great　brutish　ork；　trapped　on　the　far　side　of
the　lava　stream　but　walking　taller；　more　confidently；　than　its　fellows。　It　was　surrounded　by　an
entourage　seven…strong—one　of　which　was　festooned　with　bizarre　totems　and　carried　a　staff。
As　Lorenzo　watched；　two　of　the　guards　seized　another　gretchin；　and　bore　it　face…first　into　the
lava。　First　the　larger　ork　then　the　shaman　used　it　as　a　stepping…stone；　hopping　onto　its　back　and
across　to　safety　before　it　boiled　away。　Then　the　big　ork　turned　and　shouted　impatient　curses　at　its
guards；　and　they　tried　to　follow　but　without　any　such　assistance。　Four　of　them　made　the　leap；　two
did　not。
Lorenzo　didn’t　care　about　them。　He　had　eyes　only　for　their　master；　with　its　tough；　leathery　skin
and　its　gleaming　new　axe；　twice　the　size　of　the　other　orks’　weapons　and　with　ceremonial　trappings。
He　had　no　doubt　that　this　was　him。　The　warboss。　Big　Green。　He　even　knew；　with　a　flash　of　insight；
what　the　strange…looking　ork　with　the　staff　had　to　be；　why　it　was　getting　preferential　treatment。　The
source　of　Big　Green’s　vaunted　intelligence。　An　ork　psyker—a　weirdboy！
Everything　he　had　ever　wanted。　His　blaze　of　glory…
Lorenzo　wrapped　his　hands　around　the　entwined　cables；　calculated　the　trajectory　of　his　swing。
The　ork　leader　was　facing　away　from　him；　at　the　edge　of　the　lava　flow。　One　kick　between　the
shoulder　blades；　with　enough　weight　behind　it；　would　send　him　reeling。　Hit　him　at　the　right　angle；
and　the　weirdboy　might　even　go　with　him。　And　the　fact　that　Lorenzo　would　doubtless　follow　both
orks　into　the　fire—well；　that　was　good　too。　A　fitting　end　for　a　hero。
Only；　he　realised；　with　a　pang　of　despair；　who　would　see　it？　Who　would　tell　the　story　of　this；　his
greatest　moment？　He　hesitated。
Which；　in　turn；　made　him　angry　with　himself。　Not　this　time；　he　thought。　His　last　chance　to
count；　to　make　his　life　mean　something。　At　least　he’d　know。
So；　Lorenzo　pushed　himself　off　from　the　rock；　and　his　heart　leapt　as　he　saw　that　his　path　was
true；　that　even　the　quake　hadn’t　shaken　him　off…course。　He　saw　his　destiny　rushing　towards　him；　and
in　that　moment　he　knew　that　someone；　somewhere；　would　tell　a　story　about　this　some　day。
Even　if　it　was　only　the　orks　themselves。
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CHAPTER　SEVENTEEN
Everything　had　changed　in　an　instant。
Lorenzo　was　on　the　ground；　fighting　unconsciousness；　not　sure　how　much　of　the　violent；
lurching　motion　around　him　came　from　the　earthquake　and　how　much　from　inside　him。　He　tried　to
put　together　the　pieces　of　what　had　just　happened。
He　had　seen　it　lain　out　before　him：　the　rest　of　his　life。　His　heroic　death。　The　ork　warboss；
growing　larger　and　closer　until　there　was　nothing　else　in　the　world；　nothing　else　that　mattered。　Only
the　warboss；　and　the　river　of　fire。
Only　Big　Green；　somehow；　had　heard　him　coming；　or　maybe　a　follower　had　shouted　a　warning
or　his　psyker　had　muttered　a　prediction；　because　he　had　turned—and；　with　no　time　to　swing　his　axe
nor　to　sidestep；　he　had　leapt　instead；　and　met　his　oncoming　attacker　head　on。　His　muscular　arms　had
encircled　Lorenzo’s　legs；　and　they　had　hit　the　ground　together　but　the　warboss　had　landed　on　his
feet　while　Lorenzo　had　been　smacked　down　onto　his　back。
He　expected　to　die　a　failure—until　he　realised　that　the　warboss　had　staggered；　at　least。　He　had
taken　a　step　back　to　brace　himself—and　his　foot　had　slipped　into　the　lava　stream。　The　psyker　let　out
a　panicked　chittering　sound　at　his　master’s　peril　and　hobbled　away。　Lorenzo　held　his　breath　but　the
warboss’　self…control　was　incredible。　He　triumphed　over　what　must　have　been　searing　agony　to　keep
his　balance—and　he　loomed　over　the　Catachan　with　his　axe　raised　high；　though　one　of　his　legs　now
tapered　to　a　dripping；　cauterised　stump　at　the　ankle。　Lorenzo　still　didn’t　know　what　to　do；　because
he　hadn’t　planned　for　this　situation；　hadn’t　planned　to　survive　this　long。
So　it　was　just　as　well　that　his　instincts　took　over—and　he　kicked　out　at　the　warboss’　intact　leg
with　all　his　might；　and　he　managed　to　fell　him　but　not　backwards　as　he’d　hoped。　Lorenzo　scrambled
on　top　of　the　huge　ork；　still　hoping　that　somehow　he　could　roll　them　both　into　the　lava—but　Big
Green　was　too　heavy　and　unyielding；　and　Lorenzo　was　seized　from　behind　by　two　of　his　four
remaining　bodyguards。
He　kicked　and　yelled　as　he　was　dragged　from　his　foe—as　more　orks　streamed　towards　him　from
all　directions；　disregarding　their　own　peril　in　the　face　of　his　threat　to　their　leader。　Rarely　had　he　seen
such　a　display　of　loyalty　from　the　greenskins。　Now　a　curtain　of　snarling　faces　closed　in　front　of
Lorenzo；　and　he　couldn’t　see　the　ork　leader　anymore；　and　he　knew　it　was　all　over。
The　sounds　of　las…fire　seemed　distant　at　first；　as　if　they　came　from　a　world　that　was　no　longer　his
concern。　It　was　only　when　the　orks　began　to　scatter；　when　one　of　those　that　held　him　was　hit　and
loosed　its　grip；　that　Lorenzo　realised　a　new　element　had　entered　the　equation。　Or　rather；　two　new
elements。　Sergeant　Greiss　and　Braxton。　Lorenzo　didn’t　know　where　they’d　come　from—a　tunnel
opening　beneath　the　collapsed　gallery　was　his　best　bet—but　they　had　bought　him　another　chance
when　he　had　thought　he　was　out　of　chances；　and　he　wasn’t　about　to　waste　it。
He　tried　to　throw　his　remaining　captor；　but　failed。　Again；　his　instincts　came　to　the　rescue；
predicting　the　patterns　of　the　quake；　telling　him　when　the　ground　would　buck　beneath　the　ork’s　feet；
which　way　to　push　when　it　did。　The　greenskin　squealed　as　it　fell；　surfed　the　shifting　floor　on　its　back
and　wound　up　with　its　head　in　the　lava。
Lorenzo　drew　his　gun；　and　immediately　found　a　target。　The　greenskin　psyker。　He　had　thought　it
long　gone；　but　it　must　have　run　into　the　new　arrivals　and　reversed　its　flight。　At　least；　he　thought　as
he　killed　it；　that　was　the　end　of　the　warboss’　advantage。　He　was　just　a　normal　warboss　now。　But　his
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squad’s　orders　hadn’t　been　to　kill　the　psyker；　they’d　been　to　kill　Big　Green　himself；　and　he　intended
to　do　just　that。
The　warboss　couldn’t　have　gone　far—not　with　only　one　foot。　Indeed；　there　he　was；　just　a　few
metres　distant；　being　helped　along　by　two　guards。　But　Greiss　was　closer；　and　Lorenzo　could　see　the
familiar　gleam　in　his　sergeant’s　eyes；　knew　he　had　spied　an　opening　and　would　take　it；　heedless　of
the　cost　to　himself。　While　Lorenzo’s　path　was　blocked　again；　and　he　couldn’t　clear；　it　in　time—
though　he　ploughed　into　the　orks　anyway；　lasgun　flaring；　fang　flashing；　and　he　wasn’t　sure　if　the　red
mist　he　could　see　was　a　product　of　his　own　unreasoning　anger　or　his　poisoning　or　just　an　afterglow
from　the　lava　stream。
All　he　knew；　in　that　desperate　moment；　was　that　he　had　to　reach　the　warboss　before　his　sergeant
did。　He　couldn’t　help　himself。　Greiss　was　tired　of　life；　wanted　to　go　out　on　a　high—but　he　had
earned　his　name。　Weren’t　there　enough　stories　told　of　him　already？
Greiss　was　wading　through　orks　like　they　were　nothing。　They’d　given　up　trying　to　shoot　him；
because　it　was　hopeless　aiming　through　the　quake；　and　they　were　throwing　themselves　at　him　to　be
hurled　aside　or　gutted　or　just　trampled　as　they　mistimed　their　rushes　and　fell　at　Greiss’　feet。　Lorenzo
was　so　busy　watching　this　performance　that　he　was　barely　aware　of　his　own　actions；　moving　on
autopilot；　stabbing　at　an　ork　throat　here；　reacting　to　the　whistle　of　a　descending　axe　there。　It　was
only　as　a　subst