Ice Guard(科幻战争)- 第1部分

　　　




　　　　
《Ice　Guard（科幻战争）》
作者：　＇英＇Steve　Lyons【完结】




Synopsis　（英文书籍文案）　

The　world　has　been　lost。　The　order　to　withdraw　has　been　given。　In　forty…eight　hours　Cressido　will　be　virus…bombed　from　orbit；　completely　sterilized。　Colonel　Stanislav　Steele　of　the　Valhallan　Ice　Warriors　has　one　last　task　to　perform。　Steele　handpicks　a　squad　of　nine　to　go　with　him　on　a　stealth　mission。　Their　task　is　to　find　and　rescue　a　stranded　Imperial　confessor。　The　chrono　is　already　ticking。

The　group　must　quickly　learn　to　trust　in　themselves；　as　well　as；　each　other　as　they　follow　Colonel　Steele　through　mutants；　Traitor　Space　Marines；　and　other　obstacles。





It　is　the　41st　millennium。　For　more　than　a　hundred　centuries　the　Emperor　has　sat　immobile　on
the　Golden　Throne　of　Earth。　He　is　the　master　of　mankind　by　the　will　of　the　gods；　and　master　of　a
million　worlds　by　the　might　of　his　inexhaustible　armies。　He　is　a　rotting　carcass　writhing　invisibly
with　power　from　the　Dark　Age　of　Technology。　He　is　the　Carrion　Lord　of　the　Imperium　for　whom
a　thousand　souls　are　sacrificed　every　day；　so　that　he　may　never　truly　die。
Yet　even　in　his　deathless　state；　the　Emperor　continues　his　eternal　vigilance。　Mighty　battlefleets
cross　the　daemon…infested　miasma　of　the　warp；　the　only　route　between　distant　stars；　their　way　lit
by　the　Astronomican；　the　psychic　manifestation　of　the　Emperor’s　will。　Vast　armies　give　battle　in
his　name　on　uncounted　worlds。　Greatest　amongst　His　soldiers　are　the　Adeptus　Astartes；　the　Space
Marines；　bio…engineered　super…warriors。　Their　comrades　in　arms　are　legion：　the　Imperial　Guard
and　countless　planetary　defence　forces；　the　ever…vigilant　Inquisition　and　the　tech…priests　of　the
Adeptus　Mechanicus　to　name　only　a　few。　But　for　all　their　multitudes；　they　are　barely　enough　to
hold　off　the　ever…present　threat　from　aliens；　heretics；　mutants　—　and　worse。
To　be　a　man　in　such　times　is　to　be　one　amongst　untold　billions。　It　is　to　live　in　the　cruellest　and
most　bloody　regime　imaginable。　These　are　the　tales　of　those　times。　Forget　the　power　of
technology　and　science；　for　so　much　has　been　forgotten；　never　to　be　re…learned。　Forget　the
promise　of　progress　and　understanding；　for　in　the　grim　dark　future　there　is　only　war。　There　is　no
peace　amongst　the　stars；　only　an　eternity　of　carnage　and　slaughter；　and　the　laughter　of　thirsting
gods。
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CHAPTER　ONE
Time　to　Destruction　of　Cressida：　48。00。00
This　was　the　way　a　world　died。
Chaos　forces；　the　Lost　and　the　Damned；　had　penetrated　Alpha　Hive；　breaking　down　its　walls。
Hundreds　of　thousands　of　Guardsmen　had　given　their　lives　to　hold　them　back；　to　contain　them　in　the
outer　zones　at　least；　but　the　advance　was　relentless。
It　was　when　the　generators　had　blown；　when　production　had　ground　to　a　halt；　that　the　evacuation
order　had　been　signed。　The　civilians　had　been　lifted　out　first；　those　few　who　could　still　be　reached
and　who　hadn’t　been　slaughtered　or　turned　traitor。　Now　it　was　the　turn　of　the　Imperial　Guardsmen
on　the　ground。
Cressida　had　been　a　proud　world　once。　Its　mines　had　been　bountiful；　and　its　refineries　and
factories　the　most　efficient　in　the　sector。　Its　standard　of　living；　on　the　highest　hive　levels；　had　been
good；　and　even　the　underhives　had　enjoyed　a　far　lower　than　normal　attrition　rate。　Cressida’s　subjects
had　been　loyal　and　happy；　with　a　consequently　high　rate　of　population　growth。　They　had　been　in　the
process　of　building　their　thirteenth　hive；　and　Imperial　Guard　Command　had　advanced　plans　to　raise
another　Guard　regiment　from　their　numbers　within　ten　years。
It　had　taken　less　than　half　that　time　for　Cressida　to　be　invaded；　overrun；　lost；　and　finally
abandoned。
Colonel　Stanislev　Steele　stood　in　what　had　been　a　mine　overseer’s　office　on　Alpha　Hive’s　eightythird
level。　An　explosion　had　ripped　through　the　room　recently；　and　two　of　its　walls　had　been　torn
out。　Its　ceiling　hung　precariously　over　him；　and　every　few　seconds　the　vibrations　from　a　fresh　blast
below　travelled　far　enough　to　make　it　tremble　and　threaten　to　give　way。
From　this　uncertain　vantage　point　he　could　look　out　over　what　remained　of　the　outer　zones　—　at
the　ebb　and　flow　of　battle；　at　fire　and　smoke　and　metal；　and　the　bottle…green　lines　of　his　regiment；
the　Valhallan　319th；　marking　the　extent　of　the　enemy’s　progress　through　the　ruins。
It　made　sense；　of　course；　that　a　Valhallan　regiment　should　remain　on　the　front　lines；　fighting　a
rearguard　action　to　buy　time　for　the　evacuees。　Cressida’s　temperature　had　been　dropping　steadily　for
the　past　few　years　—　some　side　effect　of　the　Chaos　incursion；　although　no　one　had　been　quite　able
to　explain　it　—　but　the　men　of　Steele’s　world　were　well　used　to　the　freezing　cold。
The　Ice　Warriors；　as　they　called　themselves；　were　also　renowned　for　their　tenacity　in　defence。
Fighting　in　close　formation；　they　held　their　ground　long　after　the　men　of　most　other　worlds　would
have　given　way。
They　found　themselves　driven　back；　all　the　same。　Again　and　again；　blossoms　of　fire　erupted
within　their　ranks；　and　their　green　lines　were　broken　and　then　erased；　to　be　redrawn；　a　little　shorter
than　before　and　a　little　further　back；　but　as　firmly　as　ever。
Steele　drew　his　armoured　greatcoat　tighter　around　his　body；　tucked　his　gloved　hands　into　its
loose　sleeves。　He　could　have　sworn　that　the　temperature　had　dropped　another　two　degrees　in　the
past　day。　He　checked　his　augmetics；　but　they　didn’t　respond。　So；　he　chose　to　believe　his　own
instincts。
Streaks　of　light　scarred　the　overcast　grey　sky：　the　trails　of　spacecraft　carrying　more　troops　clear
of　Cressida。　They；　at　least；　would　live　to　fight　another　day；　albeit　in　a　different　theatre　of　war；　one　in
which　they　might　stand　a　chance　of　winning。
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Steele　could　hear　footsteps　approaching。　His　augmented　ears　filtered　the　soft　sound　from　the
clamour　of　war　cries　and　the　crump　of　mortars。　He　turned　to　greet　Sergeant　Ivon　Gavotski；　a　tall；
thoughtful　man；　approaching　middle　age；　unflappable。
Gavotski　threw　up　a　crisp　salute；　and　announced；　“All　done；　sir。　Orders　have　been　sent　to　the
eight　men　on　our　list；　and　to　four　more；　in　case　some　of　the　first　eight　are　already　dead　or　can’t　be
located。　I　filed　a　requisition　order　for　a　Termite　with　the　Departmento　Munitorum；　and　I　mentioned
the　cardinal’s　name　as　you　suggested。　I　think　I　impressed　upon　the　quartermaster　the　importance　of
this　particular　request。”
Steele　nodded；　and　said；　“I　just　hope　the　men　we　have　chosen　are　as　good　as　their　records
suggest　they　are。　This　could　be　the　most　important　mission　the　319th　has　ever　undertaken；　the　one
that　will　decide　how　we　are　remembered。”
He　turned　back　to　the　battlefield；　on　which　an　array　of　Chaos…controlled　tanks　—　Leman　Russ
Demolishers　had　managed　to　gain　some　purchase　in　the　rubble　to　advance。　The　Ice　Warriors’　tanks
were　responding；　moving　cumbersomely　into　position；　trying　to　draw　a　fresh　defensive　line　across
this　new；　unexpected　front。
“At　any　rate；”　sighed　Steele；　“it　appears　it　may　be　the　last。”
He　wasn’t　exaggerating。　The　war　on　Cressida　had　been　long　and　hard；　and　his　men；　their　ranks
already　depleted　after　campaigns　on　Dellenos　IV　and　Tempest；　had　suffered　heavy　casualties。　He
had　heard　the　whispers；　heard　that　when　all　this　was　over　the　survivors　of　the　Valhallan　319th　would
be　absorbed　into　other　regiments；　that　their　glorious　history　would　come　to　an　end。
It　was　starting　to　snow　—　but　in　contrast　to　the　pure　white；　cleansing　falls　of　his　home　world；
these　snowflakes　were　a　dirty　grey　in　colour。
Trooper　Pozhar　squinted　down　the　sights　of　his　las…gun；　and　scowled　as　a　bone…biting　wind　whipped
up　a　flurry　of　grey　snow；　obscuring　his　view　of　the　enemy。
His　trigger　finger　itched　with　the　enforced　delay。　On　the　front　line；　a　man　could　be　dead　in　a
second；　without　even　seeing　what　had　hit　him。　Pozhar　was　determined　to　make　each　second　count。
Even　so；　he　didn’t　want　to　waste　power　—　not　just　because　that　would　be　a　sin　against　the　Emperor；
but　because　he　was　down　to　his　last　pack。　He　had　just　clicked　it　into　his　gun；　reciting　the　Litany　of
Loading　as　he　did　so　in　deference　to　the　machine…spirits。
So；　Pozhar　held　his　fire　until　dark　shapes　began　to　loom　through　the　haze；　and　then　he　thumbed
his　power　pack　setting　to　full　auto　and　squeezed　off　fully　a　quarter　of　its　charge　in　a　deadly；　lowlevel
barrage　across　the　rubble。
Many　of　the　shapes　crumpled；　but　as　always　there　were　more　out　there；　many　more。　They
clambered　over　the　bodies　of　the　fallen；　bearing　down　on　him。　They　were　greeted　by　the　percussion
cracks　of　a　hundred　more　lasguns；　Pozhar’s　comrades　following　his　lead；　and　a　score　of　frag
grenades　burst　and　filled　the　air　with　a　cloud　of　blood　and　dismembered　limbs；　but　still　they　came。
Pozhar　could　see　them　now；　and　he　felt　a　surge　of　rage　at　the　sight　of　their　tattered　uniforms。
They　were　the　worst　kind　of　foe：　Traitor　Guard。　He　didn’t　recognise　their　colours。　So　many
regiments　had　turned　on　Cressida　in　the　past　few　years　that　he　had　lost　track　of　them　all。
They　were　close　enough　for　the　Valhallans’　cover　to　mean　very　little。　The　traitors　raised　their
guns；　and　Pozhar’s　ears　popped　with　the　retorts　of　las…fire　from　both　fronts。　He　had　been　crouching
behind　a　half…demolished　wall；　but　it　had　been　all　but　chipped　away　by　las…beams。　A　lucky　shot
penetrated　the　fur　hat；　and　the　head；　of　the　trooper　beside　him；　and　Pozhar　was　left　exposed。
It　could　only　be　a　matter　of　minutes　now。　Soon；　the　order　would　come　to　fall　back　again；　to
surrender　a　little　more　ground　to　the　enemy。　But　Pozhar　was　a　Valhallan　Ice　Warrior；　and　until　that
order　came；　he　would　not　give　a　centimetre。
The　traitors　swept　over　him；　hardly　seeming　to　notice　that　he　was　alive　and　still　standing。
Perhaps　they　expected　him　to　fall　and　be　trampled；　but　instead　he　cannoned　into　the　stomach　of　the
nearest　of　them；　disarming　him；　sending　him　to　the　ground。　Two　more　traitors　rounded　on　Pozhar；
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but　he　dropped　beneath　their　lunges　and　swung　his　gun　like　a　club；　scoring　a　pair　of　palpable　hits　to
a　chin　and　a　forehead。　Then　his　micro…bead　earpiece　crackled　into　life；　and　he　heard　the　urgent　voice
of　a　vox…operator；　instructing　him　to　fall　back　and　report　to　the　platoon　commander。
He　could　almost　have　laughed　at　the　timing　of　it。　The　traitors　were　pressing　in　all　around　him；
and　he　could　measure　the　rest　of　his　life　in　seconds。　It　didn’t　matter。　A　red　mist　had　settled　over
Pozhar；　and　he　felt　as　if　he　was　standing　outside　of　his　body　as　instinct　took　over　and　he　punched
and　kicked　and　swiped；　and　jammed　the　muzzle　of　his　lasgun　into　one　traitor’s　stomach　and　blew
out　his　guts。
It　was　over　too　soon；　of　course。　He　was　borne　to　the　ground　by　sheer　weight　of　numbers。　He
reached　into　his　greatcoat　for　a　frag　grenade　and　prepared　to　go　out　in　a　ball　of　fire　that　would
consume　ten　or　more　alongside　him。
“Do　you　hear　me；　Pozhar？　Get　your　sorry　carcass　back　here　fast。　Word　is；　you’re　being
reassigned；　by　order　of　Colonel　Steele　himself。”
The　explosion　deadened　his　ears；　heat　searing　his　skin；　and　he　thought　for　a　moment　that　his
senses　were　deceiving　him　because　he　hadn’t　yet　pulled　out　the　pin。
The　grenade　that　had　gone　off　had　not　been　his。　It　had　been　thrown　by　a　comrade；　eviden