Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第1部分

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《Fifteen　Hours（科幻战争）》
作者：＇英＇Mitchel　Scanlon【完结】




Synopsis　（英文书籍文案）

The　stalwart　troops　of　the　Imperial　Guard　are　the　first　line　of　defence　against　the　nemerous　foes　of　the　Imperium。　Their　heroisn　and　courage　is　renowned　across　the　galaxy　and　their　armoured　might　has　crushed　countless　rebellions　and　invasions。　This　action　packed　novel　tells　the　story　of　a　lone　guardsman　and　his　baptism　of　fire　in　a　combat　zone　where　the　average　expected　lifespan　is　a　mere　fifteen　hours。　Fighting　hand…to…hand　against　the　barbarous　orks；　he　must　draw　upon　all　of　his　training　if　he　is　to　live　to　see　another　dawn。　The　horrors　of　war　are　only　too　real　in　this　harrowing　tale　of　carnage　and　valour！

It　is　about　one　soldiers　misfortune　when　he　signs　up　for　the　Imperial　Gaurd。　Arivin　Larn　his　given　up　his　simple　life　of　a　farm　boy　to　become　a　fighter　in　the　Imperial　Gaurd。　He　isn't　too　far　int　his　training　when　he　gets　called　to　his　first　mission。　However；　ake　planetfall；　they　realise　that　they're　on　the　wrong　planet　and　soon　after　that；　all　of　them　die　to　artilaary　fire　exept　for　Larn。　He　finds　his　way　to　Imperial　Gaurd　lines。　He　joins　a　new　unit　and　fights　for　his　life　as　the　enemy　draw　closer　and　closer。　He　was　a　farm　boy　with　little　to　no　fighting　experience　dropped　off　into　one　of　the　most　deadliest　killzones　in　the　enitre　galaxy。　Nobody　believed　he　would　surivive　the　first　day　and　everyone　in　his　ne　a　15　hour　life　expectancy。　






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　Emperors　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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The　sky　was　dark；　and　he　knew　he　was　dying。
Alone　and　frightened；　unable　to　stand　or　even　move　his　legs；　he　lay　on　his　back　in　the　frozen
mud　of　no…man’s　land。　Lay　there　helpless；　his　body　shrouded　in　darkness；　eyes　gazing　up　at　the
nighttime　sky　overhead　as　though　trying　to　read　some　portent　of　his　future　in　the　cold　distant　stars。
Tonight；　the　stars　kept　their　own　counsel。　Tonight；　the　bleak　and　foreboding　heavens　held　no
comfort。
How　long　has　it　been　now；　he　thought。　How　many　hours？
Finding　no　answer　to　his　question；　he　turned　his　head　to　look　out　at　the　scenery　about　him　—
hoping　at　last　to　see　some　sign　of　rescue　but　there　was　nothing：　no　movement　in　the　darkness；　no
cause　for　hope。　Around　him；　the　bleak　expanses　of　no…man’s　land　lay　still　and　silent。　A　landscape
rendered　featureless　by　the　hand　of　night；　painted　black　with　threatening　shadows；　holding　nothing
that　spoke　to　his　hopes　or　could　even　help　him　to　find　his　bearings。　He　was　lost　and　alone；
abandoned　to　a　world　of　darkness；　with　no　prospect　of　help　or　salvation。　For　a　moment　it　seemed　to
him　he　might　as　well　be　the　last　man　left　alive　in　the　entire　galaxy。　Then；　the　thought　of　it　gave　him
cause　for　fear　and　he　quickly　put　it　from　his　mind。
How　long　now；　he　thought　again。　How　many　hours？
He　had　felt　nothing　when　the　bullet　struck　him。　No　pain；　no　agony；　nor　even　anguish；　just　a
strange　and　sudden　numbness　in　his　legs　as　he　slid　toward　the　ground。　At　first；　not　understanding
what　had　happened；　he　had　thought　he　had　tripped。　Until；　cursing　himself　for　his　clumsiness；　he　had
tried　to　rise　only　to　find　his　legs　curiously　unresponsive。　It　was　then；　as　he　felt　the　spreading　warmth
of　his　own　blood　seeping　across　his　belly；　that　he　had　realised　his　mistake。
In　the　hours　since；　unable　to　see　the　extent　of　his　wounds　in　the　darkness；　he　had　used　his
probing　fingers　to　tell　him　what　his　eyes　could　not。　He　had　been　hit　at　the　base　of　the　spine；　the
bullet　leaving　a　fist…sized　hole　at　the　front　of　his　stomach　as　it　exited　his　body。　Treating　his　wounds
to　the　best　of　his　medical　knowledge；　he　had　stuffed　them　with　gauze　to　stem　the　bleeding　and
placed　dressings　over　them。　Though　there　were　phials　of　morphia　in　his　Guard…issue　med…pack　and
he　had　learned　the　“Prayer　of　Relief　from　Torment”　by　heart；　he　had　no　need　for　them。　There　was　no
pain　from　his　wounds　—　even　when　his　probing　fingers　had　slid　past　the　knuckle　into　the　ragged
hole　in　his　stomach　he　had　felt　no　physical　discomfort。　He　did　not　need　to　be　possessed　of　any　great
medical　knowledge　to　know　that　was　not　a　good　sign。
Hoind　again；　unbidden。　How　many　hours？
There　were　other　discomforts；　though。　The　chill　of　the　cold　night　air　biting　at　the　exposed　skin
of　his　face　and　neck；　a　terrible　mind…wearying　fatigue　that　made　his　thoughts　seem　dull　and　leaden：
the　fear；　the　loneliness；　the　isolation。　Worst　of　all；　there　was　the　silence。　When　first　he　had　fallen
wounded；　the　night　had　thundered　with　all　the　cacophony　of　battle：　the　high…pitched　whine　of
lasguns；　the　crack　of　slugthrowers；　the　roar　of　explosions；　the　screams　and　cries　of　the　wounded　and
the　dying。　Sounds　that　gradually　subsided；　growing　slowly　more　distant　before　finally　giving　way　to
silence。　He　would　never　have　thought　a　man　could　draw　comfort　from　such　sounds。　As　terrifying　as
the　clamour　of　battle　had　been；　the　quiet　that　followed　was　worse。　It　compounded　his　isolation；
leaving　him　alone　with　all　his　fears。　Here；　in　the　darkness；　fear　had　become　his　constant　companion；
plaguing　his　heart　without　remorse　or　respite。
How　long　now？　The　question　would　not　leave　him。　How　many　hours？
At　times；　the　compulsion　came　over　him　to　cry　out。　To　shout　for　help；　to　beg　for　mercy；　to
scream；　to　yell；　to　pray　—　anything　to　break　that　dreadful　silence。　Every　time　it　came　he　fought　it
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with　all　his　strength；　biting　his　lip　hard　to　stop　the　words　from　spilling　out。　He　knew　that　to　make
even　the　slightest　sound　would　only　be　to　bring　death　upon　him　all　the　sooner。　For　though　his
comrades　might　hear　him；　so　would　the　enemy。　Somewhere；　out　there　on　the　other　side　of　no…man’s
land；　the　enemy　waited　in　their　countless　millions。　Waited；　ever　eager　to　fight；　to　maim；　to　kill。　No
matter　how　terrifying　it　was　to　be　trapped　alone　and　wounded　in　no…man’s　land；　the　thought　of　being
found　by　the　enemy　was　worse。　For　what　seemed　like　hours　now；　he　had　endured　the　silence。
Knowing　that；　as　desperately　as　he　might　hope　for　rescue；　he　could　do　nothing　to　speed　it　on　its　way
towards　him。
How　long　now；　the　thought　pounded　insistently　in　his　head。　How　many　hours？
There　was　so　little　left　to　him　now。　So　little　of　real　substance。　All　the　things　that　had　once　meant
so　much　—　his　family；　his　homeworld；　his　faith　in　the　Emperor　—　now　seemed　dim　and　distant。
Even　his　memories　were　insubstantial；　as　though　his　past　was　fading　away　before　his　eyes　as　swiftly
as　was　his　future。　His　inner　world；　the　world　of　his　life　which　had　once　seemed　so　full　and　bright
with　promise；　had　been　diminished　and　reduced　by　circumstance。　He　was　left　with　only　a　few
simple　choices：　to　cry　out　or　keep　his　silence；　to　bleed　to　death　or　take　his　knife　and　end　it　quickly；
to　stay　awake　or　fall　asleep。　At　the　moment；　sleep　seemed　a　tempting　prospect。　He　was　tired　and
bone…weary；　fatigue　pulling　at　his　sluggish　mind　like　an　insistent　friend；　but　he　would　not　yield　to　it。
He　knew　if　he　fell　asleep　now　he　would　likely　never　awaken。　Just　as　he　knew　that　all　these　so…called
choices　were　simply　illusions。　In　the　end；　there　was　only　one　stark　choice　left　to　him　now　—　to　live
or　to　die　—　and　he　refused　to　die。
How　long　now；　the　question　again；　relentless。　How　many　hours？
But　there　was　no　answer。　Resigning　himself　to　the　thought　that　his　fate　was　now　in　the　hands　of
others；　he　waited　in　the　silence　of　no…man’s　land。　Waited；　hoping　that　somewhere　out　in　the　night
his　comrades　were　already　searching　for　him。　Waited；　refusing　to　give　in　or　fall　asleep。　He　waited；
caught　between　life　and　death。　His　life　a　last　fitful　burning　spark　lost　amid　a　sea　of　darkness；　his
mind　wondering　how　it　was　he　had　ever　come　to　be　there　at　all…
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CHAPTER　ONE
20：14　hours　Jumal　IV　Central　Planetary　Time
（Western　Summer　Adjustment）
The　Last　of　a　Thousand　Sunsets　—　A　Letter　Edged　in　Black　—　A　Ghost　in　the　Cellar　—　The
Lottery　and　the　Tale　of　his　Fathers
The　sun　was　setting；　its　slow　descent　reddening　the　vast　reaches　of　the　westward　sky　and　bathing　the
endless　wheat　fields　below　it　in　shades　of　gold　and　amber　as　they　stirred　gently　in　the　evening
breeze。　In　his　seventeen　years　of　life　to　date；　Arvin　Larn　had　seen　perhaps　a　thousand　such　sunsets；
there　was　something　about　the　beauty　of　this　one　that　gave　him　pause。　Enraptured；　his　chores　for　the
moment　forgotten；　for　the　first　time　since　his　childhood　he　simply　stood　and　watched　the　setting　of
die　sun。　Stood　there；　with　the　world　still　and　peaceful　all　about　him；　gazing　toward　the　gathering　fall
of　night　as　he　felt　a　nameless　emotion　rising　deep　within　his　heart。
There　will　be　other　sunsets；　he　thought　to　himself。　Other　suns；　though　none　of　them　will　mean　as
much　to　me　as　this　one　does；　here　and　now。　Nothing　could　mean　as　much　as　this　moment　does；
standing　here　among　these　wheat　fields；　watching　the　last　sunset　I　will　ever　see　at　home。
Home。　The　mere　thought　of　the　word　was　enough　to　make　him　turn　his　head　and　look　over　his
shoulder　across　the　swaying　rows　of　ripening　grain　toward　the　small　collection　of　farm　buildings　on
the　other　side　of　the　field　behind　him。　He　saw　the　old　barn　with　its　sloping；　wood…shingled　roof。　He
saw　the　round　tower　of　the　grain　silo：　the　ginny…hen　coops　he　had　helped　build　with　his　father；　the
small　stock　pen　where　they　kept　the　draft　horses　and　a　herd　of　half…a…dozen　alpacas。
Most　of　all；　he　saw　the　farmhouse　where　he　had　been　born　and　raised。　Two…storeyed；　with　a　low
wooden　porch　out　front　and　the　shutters　on　the　windows　left　open　to　let　in　the　last　of　the　light。　Given
the　unchanging　routines　of　his　family’s　existence；　Larn　did　not　need　to　see　inside　to　know　what　was
happening　within。　His　mother　would　be　in　the　kitchen　cooking　the　evening　meal；　his　sisters　helping
her　set　the　table；　his　father　in　the　cellar　workshop　with　his　tools。　Then；　just　as　they　did　every　night；
once　their　chores　were　done　the　family　would　sit　down　at　the　table　together　and　eat。　Tomorrow　night
they　would　do　the　same　again；　the　pattern　of　their　lives　repeating　endlessly　day　after　day；　varying
only　with　the　changing　of　the　seasons。
It　was　a　pattern　that　had　endured　here　for　as　long　as　anyone　could　remember。　A　pattern　that
would　continue　so　long　as　there　was　anyone　left　to　farm　these　lands。　Though；　come　tomorrow　night
at　least；　there　would　be　one　small　difference。
Come　tomorrow；　he　would　no　longer　be　here　to　see　it。
Sighing；　Larn　returned　to　his　work；　turning　once　more　to　the　task　of　trying　to　repair　the　ancient
rust…pitted　irrigation　pump　in　front　of　him。　Before　the　sunset　had　distracted　him　he　had　removed　the
outer　access　panel　to　reveal　the　inner　workings　of　the　pump’s　motor。　Now；　in　the　fading　light　of
twilight；　he　removed　the　motor’s　burnt…out　starter　and　replaced　it　with　a　new　one；　mindful　to　say　a
prayer　to　the　machine　spirit　inside　it　as　he　tightened　and　re…checked　the　connections。
Taking　a　spouted　canister　from　beside　the　foot　of　the　pump　he　dribbled　a　few　drops　of　unguent
from　it　into　the　workings。　Then；　satisfied　everything　was　in　order；　he　reached　out　for　the　large　lever
at　the　side　and　worked　it　slowly　up　and　down　a　dozen　times　to　prime　the　pump　before　pressing　the
ignition　stud　to　start　the　motor。　Abruptly；　the　pump　shuddered　into　noisy　life；　the　motor　whining　as
it　strained　to　pull　water　up　from　aquifers　lying　deep　below　the　ground。　For　a　moment；　Larn
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congratulated　himself　on　a　job　well　done。　Until；　just　as　the　first　few　muddy　drops　of　water　emerged
from　the　mouth　of　the　pump　to　stain　the　dry　earth　of　the　irrigation　trench　before　it；　the　motor
coughed　and　died。
Disappointed；　Larn　pressed　the　ignition　stud　again。　This　time　though；　the　motor　stayed　sullenly
silent。　Leaning　forward；　he　carefully　inspected　the　parts　of　the　mechanism　once　more　—　checking
the　connections　for　corrosion；　making　sure　the　moving　parts　were　well…lubricated　and　free　from　grit；
searching　for　broken　wires　or　worn　components　—　all　the　things　the　mechanician…acolyte　in
Ferrusville　had　warned　them　about　the　last　time　the　pump　was　serviced。　Frustratingly；　Larn　could
find　nothing　wrong。　As　far　as　he　could　see；　the　pump　should　be　working。
Finally；　reluctantly　forced　to　concede　defeat；　Larn　lifted　the　discarded　access　panel　and　began　to
screw　it　into　place　once　more。　He　had　so　badly　wanted　to　be　able　to　fix　the　pump；　with　harvest　time
still　three　weeks　away；　it　was　important　the　farm’s　irrigation　system　should　be　in　good　working
order。　Granted；　it　had　been　a　good　season　so　far　and　the　wheat　was　growing　well　but　the　life　of　a
farmer　was　always　enslaved　to　the　weather。　Without　the　irrigation　system　to　fall　back　upon；　a　couple
of　dry　weeks　now　could　mean　the　difference　between　feast　and　famine　for　an　entire　year。
But　in　the　end　he　knew　that　was　only　part　of　it。　Standing　there；　looking　down　at　the　pump　after
he　had　screwed　the　panel　back　in　place；　Larn　realised　his　reasons　for　wanting　to　see　it　repaired　went
far　beyond　such　practical　considerations。　Like　it　or　not；　tomorrow　he　would　be　leaving　the　farm
forever　and　saying　farewell　to　the　only　land　and　life　he　had　ever　known；　never　to　return。　He
understood　now　that　he　had　felt　the　need　to　perform　some　last　act　of　service　to　those　he　would　be
leaving　behind。　He　had　wanted　to　complete　some　final　labour　on　their　behalf。　An　act　of　penance
almost；　to　give　closure　to　his　grief。
This　morning；　when　his　father　had　asked　him　to　look　at　the　pump　and　see　if　he　could　fix　it；　it　had
seemed　the　perfect　opportunity　to　achieve　that　aim。　Now　though；　the　recalcitrant　machine　spirits
inside　the　pump　and　his　own　lack　of　knowledge　had　conspired　against　him。　No　matter　how　hard　he
tried；　the　pump　was　broken　beyond　his　powers　to　repair　it　and　his　last　act　of　penance　would　go
unfulfilled。
Larn　collected　his　tools　together　and　made　ready　to　turn　for　home；　only　to　pause　again　as　he
noticed　a　change　in　the　sunset。　Ahead；　the　sun　had　already　half　disappeared　below　the　horizon；
while　the　sky　around　it　had　turned　a　deeper　and　more　angry　red。　What　gave　him　pause　was　not　the
sun　or　the　sky；　but　the　fields　below　them。　Where　once　they　had　been　bathed　in　spectacular　shades　of
gold　and　amber；　now　the　colour　of　the　fields　had　become　more　uniform；　changing　to　a　dark　and
unsettling　shade　of　brownish　red；　like　the　colour　of　blood。　At　the　same　time　the　evening　breeze　had
risen　almost　imperceptibly；　catching　the　rows　of　wheat　in　the　fields　and　causing　them　to　flow　and
shift　before　Larn’s　eyes　as　though　the　fields　themselves　had　become　some　vast　and　restless　sea。　It
could　almost　be　a　sea　of　blood；　he　said　to　himself；　the　very　thought　of　it　causing　him　to　shiver　a
little。
A　sea　of　blood。
And；　try　as　hard　as　he　might；　he　could　read　no　good　omen　in　that　sign。
By　the　time　Larn　had　put　his　tools　away；　the　sun　had　all　but　set。　Leaving　the　barn　behind；　he　walked
towards　the　farmhouse；　the　yellow　glow　of　lamplight　barely　visible　ahead　of　him　through　the　slats　of
the　wooden　shutters　now　closed　over　the　farmhouse　windows。　Stepping　onto　the　porch　Larn　lifted
the　latch　to　the　front　door　and　walked　inside；　carefully　removing　his　boots　at　the　threshold　so　as　not
to　track　mud　from　the　fields　into　the　hallway。　Then；　leaving　the　boots　just　inside　the　doorway；　he
walked　down　the　hall　towards　the　kitchen；　unconsciously　making　the　sign　of　the　aquila　with　his
fingers　as　he　passed　the　open　door　of　the　sitting　room　with　its　devotional　picture　of　the　Emperor
hung　over　the　fireplace。
Reaching　the　kitchen　he　found　it　deserted；　the　smell　of　woodsmoke　and　the　delicious　aromas　of
all　his　favourite　foods　rising　from　the　pans　simmering　on　the　stove。　Roasted　xorncob；　boiled　derna
8
beans；　alpaca　stew　and　taysenbeny　pie：　together；　the　dishes　of　the　last　meal　he　would　ever　eat　at
home。　Abruptly　it　occurred　to　him；　in　whatever　years　of　his　life　might　yet　come；　those　selfsame
aromas　would　forever　now　be　linked　with　a　feeling　of　desperate　sadness。
Ahead；　the　kitchen　table　was　already　laid　out　with　plates　and　cutlery　ready　for　the　meal。　As　he
stepped　past　the　table　toward　the　sink；　he　remembered　returning　from　the　fields　two　nights　earlier　to
find　his　parents　sitting　in　the　kitchen　waiting　for　him；　the　black…edged　parchment　of　the　induction
notice　lying　mutely　on　the　table　between　them。　From　the　first　it　had　been　obvious　they　had　both
been　crying；　their　eyes　red　and　raw　from　grief。　He　had　not　needed　to　ask　them　the　reason　for　their
tears。　Their　expressions；　and　the　Imperial　eagle　embossed　on　the　surface　of　the　parchment；　had　said
it　all。
Now；　as　he　moved　past　the　table　Larn　spotted　the　same　parchment　lying　folded　in　half　on　top　of
one　of　the　kitchen　cupboards。　Diverted　from　his　original　intentions；　he　walked　towards　it。　Then；
picking　up　the　parchment　and　unfolding　it；　he　found　himself　once　more　reading　the　words　written
there　below　the　official　masthead。
Citizens　of　Jumael　IV；　the　parchment　read。　Rejoice！　In　accordance　with　Imperial　Law　and　the
powers　of　his　Office；　your　Governor　has　decreed　two　new　regiments　of　the　Imperial　Guard　are　to　be
raised　from　among　his　people。　Furthermore；　he　has　ordered　those　conscripted　to　these　new
regiments　are　to　be　assembled　with　all　due　haste；　so　that　they　may　begin　their　training　without　delay
and　take　their　place　among　the　most　Holy　and　Righteous　armies　of　the　Blessed　Emperor　of　All
Mankind。
From　there　the　parchment　went　on　to　list　the　names　of　those　who　had　been　conscripted；　outlining
the　details　of　the　mustering　process　and　emphasising　the　penalties　awaiting　anyone　who　failed　to
report。　Larn　did　not　need　to　read　the　rest　of　it　—　in　the　last　two　days　he　had　read　the　parchment　so
many　times　he　knew　the　words　by　heart。　Yet　despite　all　that；　as　though　unable　to　stop　picking　at　the
scab　of　a　half…healed　wound；　he　continued　to　read　the　words　writte