Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第14部分

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“No；　it　is　you　who　does　not　understand　the　situation；　captain；”　Chelkar　said　after　a　moment。　“I
don’t　give　a　damn　about　your　rank　or　your　orders。　Nor　do　I　care　if　you　report　me　to　the
Commissariat。　In　fact；　please　feel　free　to　do　so：　if　nothing　else；　they　can　serve　as　pallbearers　at　your
funeral。　What　you　fail　to　understand　is　that；　even　if　you　have　me　arrested；　there　is　an　entire　regiment
of　men　standing　around　me　ake　good　on　my　threat。　And；　if　you　think　the
Commissariat　will　be　willing　to　arrest　an　entire　frontline　combat　unit　to　save　you；　I　think　you
overestimate　your　own　value　to　the　war　effort　of　this　city。　Oh；　and　by　the　way；　captain；　the
chronometer　is　counting　down。　You　now　have　only　one　minute　and　twenty　seconds　to　make　a
decision。　Chelkar　out。”
Giving　the　vox…com　and　headphones　back　to　Grishen；　Chelkar　stood　waiting　beside　the　table。
Listening　intently；　like　every　other　man　in　the　dugout　to　the　sound　of　shelling　going　on　above　their
heads。
“I　don’t　understand；”　Larn　whispered。　“Surely　the　sergeant　has　just　written　his　own　death
warrant　by　talking　to　an　officer　that　way？”
“Maybe；”　Bulaven　whispered　back。　“You　don’t　know　Chelkar　though；　new　fish。　In　seventeen
years　I　have　never　seen　him　be　afraid　of　anything。　If　there　is　something　that　needs　to　be　done；　he　is
the　man　to　do　it。　Whatever　the　cost。　All　the　same；　I　wonder　if　even　he　has　gone　too　far　this　time。　If
the　captain　should　vox　a　complaint　to　the　Commissariat…”
“Ach；　you　are　both　like　children　frightened　of　your　own　shadows；”　Davir　muttered　beside　them。
“You　especially　should　know　better；　Bulaven。　When　has　Chelkar　ever　failed　us？　The　sergeant
knows　what　he　is　doing。　These　artillery　monkeys　always　think　frontline　troops　are　crazy　to　begin
with。　This　arsehole　captain　won’t　dare　call　the　Commissariat。　Trust　me；　he　is　probably　already
soiling　himself　in　fear　and　is　giving　the　order　to　cease　fire　even　as　we　speak。”
Above；　as　though　in　confirmation　of　Davir’s　opinions；　the　guns　abruptly　fell　silent。　At　first　no
one　spoke；　all　of　them　listening　to　hear　whether　the　shelling　would　begin　again。　Until；　as　the　seconds
passed　into　a　full　minute　with　no　further　sound　of　explosions；　it　became　clear　the　bombardment　was
ended。
“There；　you　see；　Grishen？”　Chelkar　half…smiled。　“It　is　simply　a　matter　of　knowing　how　best　to
talk　to　these　people　to　get　your　point　across。”　Then；　taking　up　his　shotgun　once　more　and　turning
away　from　the　corporal；　Chelkar　noticed　every　man　in　the　dugout　was　looking　at　him　with　faces
caught　in　expressions　of　awe　and　gratitude。
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“It　was　nothing　so　much；”　Chelkar　said　to　them。　“Still；　it　was　probably　better　that　I　let　our　friend
the　captain　think　he　was　going　to　have　an　entire　regiment　after　his　blood　if　he　didn’t　stop　the
shelling。　If　he’d　known　the　902nd　Vardan　was　only　made　up　of　a　single　company　perhaps　he　would
have　felt　man　enough　to　take　us　all　on。　It　is　not　unusual　for　these　rear　echelon　heroes　to　have　a
bloated　sense　of　their　own　abilities。”
At　that　the　men　smiled；　some　even　laughed　in　nervous　relief。　Seeing　the　mood　of　reverence　had
been　successfully　dispelled；　the　sergeant’s　manner　became　more　business…like。
“All　right；”　he　said。　“Now；　enough　of　this　hiding　underground。　Back　to　your　posts。　We　don’t
want　to　leave　the　firing　trenches　undefended　and　make　the　orks　think　it　is　a　worthwhile　time
launching　another　attack。　Go　on。　Get　moving；　all　of　you。”
As　the　men　in　the　dugout　began　to　hurry　out　towards　their　trenches　again；　Larn’s　last　sight　of
Chelkar　came　as　he　saw　the　sergeant　turn　to　towards　Corporal　Grishen　once　more　with　further
instructions。
“Grishen；　I　want　you　to　contact　General　Headquarters；”　he　heard　the　sergeant　say。　“Inform　them
Sector　1…13　is　most　certainly　not　in　ork　hands　and　make　it　clear　we　would　consider　it　a　great
personal　favour　if　they　would　adjust　their　situation　maps　accordingly。　Oh；　and　you　had　better　try
voxing　Battery　Command　as　well　to　ask　them　if　in　future　they　could　please　refrain　from　ordering
people　to　shoot　at　us。　It　probably　won’t　work；　of　course。　But　I　suppose　we　should　at　least　pretend　we
believe　the　men　in　charge　of　this　war　have　some　idea　of　what　it　is　they　are　doing。”
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INTERLUDE
As　Above；　So　Below
or
Grand　Marshal　Kerchan　and　the　Genius　of　Command
By　any　standard　of　measurement；　the　war　was　going　badly。
Brooding　as　he　sat　through　yet　another　interminable　briefing　His　Excellency　Grand　Marshal
Tirnas　Kerchan；　Hero　of　the　Varentis　Campaign　and　Supreme　Commander　（All　Forces）　of　the　Most
Glorious　Armies　of　the　Emperor　in　Broucheroc；　considered　the　facts　he　had　learned　so　far　that　day
and　found　there　was　nothing　there　to　please　him。　For　the　best　part　of　two　hours　now；　from　his　place
at　the　head　of　the　long　table　inside　General　HQ’s　Central　Briefing　Room　One；　he　had　listened　as　a
succession　of　his　commanders　read　aloud　their　latest　situation　reports　to　the　assembled　General
Staff。　Through　it　all；　through　all　their　pasty…faced　dissemblings　and　pathetically　transparent　attempts
to　lay　the　blame　for　their　failures　on　others；　the　message　at　the　heart　of　each　man’s　report　was
exactly　the　same。
They　were　losing　the　war。
“Grand　Marshal？”　he　heard　his　adjutant；　Colonel　Vlin；　whisper　from　his　chair　by　the　side　of
him；　breaking　his　train　of　thought。
Disturbed　from　his　despairing　reverie；　the　Grand　Marshal　abruptly　realised　he　had　lost　track　of
the　briefings。　Looking　up　he　saw　the　eyes　of　every　man　at　the　table　were　turned　to　gaze　his　way；
nervously　awaiting　his　reaction　to　the　substance　of　the　last　report。　For　a　moment；　unable　to
remember　the　name　of　the　man　standing　before　him　who　had　presented　it；　he　found　himself　stymied。
“Yes；　good。　Very　good。”　Kerchan　harrumphed；　then　floundered。　“Most　cogent　and　concise。　An
excellent　analysis；　General…　ah…”
“Dushan；”　Vlin　said　sotto　voce；　raising　a　sheath　of　papers　in　front　of　his　mouth　to　hide　the　words
as　he　spoke　them。
“Yes；　General　Dushan；”　the　Grand　Marshal　said；　inclining　his　head　toward　the　officer　in
question　and　giving　him　a　curt　nod　by　way　of　encouragement。　“Your　grasp　of　the　situation　is　to　be
commended。”
Clearly　relieved；　his　face　all　but　beaming　at　the　praise；　the　ferret…faced　Dushan　puffed　out　his
chest　with　pride　and　bent　forward　in　a　low　bow　in　grateful　acknowledgement　before　taking　his　seat
once　more。
Look　at　him；　the　Grand　Marshal　thought　sourly。　The　man　is　an　idiot。　Still　he　is　hardly　unique　in
that　regard。　I　am　surrounded　by　idiots。　This　whole　damned　city　would　seem　to　be　staffed　from　first
to　last　with　idiots；　cowards　and　incompetents。
Briefly；　the　Grand　Marshal　idly　wondered　whether　it　might　not　be　better　to　make　an　example　of
Dushan。　To　denounce　him；　here　and　now；　and　order　him　taken　away　to　stand　court　martial　on
charges　of　incompetence。　That　might　put　the　fear　of　the　Emperor　into　the　rest　of　them　for　a　while；　he
thought。　Force　them　to　buck　their　ideas　up　for　fear　they’d　he　facing　more　of　the　same　themselves。　As
attractive　as　the　idea　was；　he　found　himself　forced　to　dismiss　it。　He　had　just　praised　the　man；　after
all。　To　go　back　on　that　praise　so　quickly　might　make　him　seem　indecisive。　No；　like　it　or　not；　for　the
rest　of　the　day　at　least　the　idiot　Dushan　was　beyond　arrest；　almost　as　inviolable　to　the　Grand
Marshal’s　powers　as　the　body　of　an　Imperial　saint。　It　was　a　matter　of　maintaining　the　proper　respect
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for　the　chain　of　command。　Once　the　Grand　Marshal　had　given　voice　to　an　opinion　on　a　man　there
could　be　no　turning　back。
And　besides；　thought　Kerchan；　I　was　the　one　who　gave　Dushan　his　position　in　the　first　place。　To
punish　him　for　his　inadequacies　now　might　be　perceived　as　an　admission　I　was　wrong　to　promote
him。　No　matter　what；　a　Grand　Marshal　can　never　admit　to　having　made　a　mistake。　He　must　be　seen
to　be　infallible。　To　give　credence　to　any　thought　otherwise　would　be　to　fatally　undermine　the　rightful
awe　every　Guardsman　naturally　feels　for　the　wisdom　of　their　superiors。　Well；　the　awe　that　most　of
them　feel　anyway。　It　is　the　nature　of　war　that；　occasionally　and　inevitably；　there　will　always　be
dissenters。
With　a　distant　stab　of　quiet　anger；　the　Grand　Marshal　found　himself　remembering　the　officer
whose　place　Dushan　had　taken　on　the　General　Staff。　What　was　the　man’s　name；　he　thought。　Minor？
Minaris？　Minovan？　He　was　about　to　turn　to　Colonel　Vlin　to　ask　him　the　name　of　Dushan’s
predecessor；　when　abruptly　it　came　to　him。　Mirovan！　That　was　the　man’s　name。　The　remembered
name　brought　with　it　a　clearer　picture　in　his　mind　of　the　individual　to　whom　it　belonged　and　Grand
Marshal　Kerchan　found　his　bleak　and　unhappy　mood　growing　even　darker。
Of　all　the　men　on　his　staff；　Mirovan　had　always　seemed　the　best　and　brightest。　An　exemplary
field　officer　with　an　admirable　record　of　citations　for　bravery　behind　him；　Mirovan　had　made
general　in　a　creditably　short　space　of　time。　If　the　man　had　any　flaw　at　all；　it　was　in　the　one　single
characteristic　Kerchan　could　never　abide　in　a　subordinate。
Insolence。
Mirovan　had　been　so　insolent　in　fact　that　two　weeks　ago　he　had　even　had　the　temerity　to
question　one　of　the　Grand　Marshal’s　military　decisions　during　a　staff　meeting。　Enraged；　Kerchan
had　demoted　the　man　on　the　spot；　busting　him　down　to　the　rank　of　common　trooper　and　ordering
him　to　be　immediately　posted　to　a　frontline　combat　unit。　Next；　in　a　hasty　decision　the　Grand
Marshal　now　bitterly　regretted；　he　had　promoted　the　man’s　less　than　able　second…in…command；　the
men…colonel　Dushan；　and　ordered　him　to　serve　on　the　General　Staff　in　Mirovan’s　place。　Though　he
had　felt　quite　sure　humbling　Mirovan　had　been　the　right　thing　to　do　at　the　time；　the　Grand　Marshal
now　experienced　a　troubling　sense　of　ill…defined　unease。　In　many　ways　Mirovan　was　an　admirable
man；　he　thought　sadly。　Certainly；　he　was　a　damn　sight　more　competent　than　most　of　the　toadies　and
feckless　lackeys　who　bedevil　me　sitting　around　this　table　day　after　day。　I　wonder　what　happened　to
him？
“He　was　a　good　man　in　his　way；”　the　Grand　Marshal　said。　“It　would　be　a　pity　if　such　a　man　were
dead。”
All　around　the　table；　the　others　were　staring　at　him。　Kerchan　realised　he　must　have　inadvertently
spoken　his　musings　aloud；　interrupting　the　flow　of　conversation　around　him　as　the　members　of　the
General　Staff　discussed　the　significance　or　not　of　Dushan’s　report。　On　every　side　of　him；　as　though
not　entirely　sure　how　they　should　react；　generals　stared　towards　him　with　expressions　ranging　from
uncertainty　to　quiet　trepidation。　Even　the　ever…faithful　Vlin　seemed　to　be　looking　at　him　strangely。
Kerchan；　however；　felt　no　embarrassment。　If　nothing　else；　a　lifetime　spent　commanding　soldiers　had
taught　him　a　simple　truth。　A　man　with　the　absolute　authority　of　life…or…death　over　others　should
never　feel　any　need　to　have　to　apologise　for　his　own　behaviour。
“I　was　remembering　Mirovan；”　he　said；　turning　to　look　toward　General　Dushan。　“After　his
demotion　he　was　given　over　to　your　command；　Dushan。　What　happened　to　him？”
“I…　I　am　not　sure；　your　excellency；”　Dushan　said；　almost　squirming　before　the　Grand　Marshal’s
gaze。　“I　left　the　matter　of　assigning　him　to　a　new　posting　to　one　of　my　aides。　As　to　where　precisely
he　was　sent；　I　should　have　to　check　the　battalion　rosters…”
Faltering；　failing　miserably　to　hide　his　discomfort；　Dushan’s　voice　gradually　trailed　away　to
guilty　silence。　He　probably　had　the　man　posted　to　the　worst　unit　and　the　most　dangerous　duties　he
could　find；　Kerchan　thought。　Somewhere　right　in　the　thick　of　the　action　no　doubt；　where　Mirovan
would　have　been　lucky　to　survive　a　week。　After　all；　with　their　former　general　still　alive　there　would
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always　be　the　danger　of　dissent　and　mutiny　among　the　men　who　had　served　under　him。　So；　Mirovan
is　likely　dead　then。　Not　that　I　can　fault　Dushan’s　decision…making　in　that　regard；　of　course。　Dissent
is　a　cancer。　If　I　had　been　in　his　position；　I　would　have　done　the　same　myself。
Then；　looking　at　the　eyes　of　the　men　seated　around　him；　the　Grand　Marshal　realised　his　mention
of　Mirovan’s　name　had　apparently　had　an　entirely　unforeseen　consequence。　Every　man　there
seemed　in　the　grip　of　the　same　queasy　discomfort　as　Dushan；　as　though　the　recollection　of
Mirovan’s　sudden　fall　from　grace　had　spooked　them。　Watching　them；　the　Grand　Marshal　began　to
understand　he　had　quite　inadvertently　achieved　his　original　purpose。　Mentioning　Mirovan　did　the
trick；　he　thought。　That　seems　to　have　put　the　fear　of　the　Emperor　in　them；　all　right。　Not　for　the　first
time；　Kerchan　was　left　dazzled　by　the　extent　of　his　own　genius　when　it　came　to　motivating　the　men
under　his　command。　I　didn’t　even　realise　I　was　doing　it；　he　thought。　And　yet　still；　by　some　happy
accident；　I　seem　to　have　created　exactly　the　effect　I　wanted。　No；　not　an　accident。　Unconsciously　or
not；　the　fact　I　achieved　my　aim　means　I　must　have　intended　to　do　so　all　along。　There　are　no
accidents　when　one　is　a　Grand　Marshal。　Then；　making　the　effort　to　summon　his　most　carefully
unreadable　sinister　half…smile；　the　Grand　Marshal　spoke　to　Dushan　once　more。
“No　matter；　Dushan；”　he　said；　noting　with　satisfaction　that　the　man　seemed　little　reassured　by
his　manner。　“It　was　simply　an　idle　thought；　nothing　more。　Now；　on　to　other　matters。　Colonel　Vlin？
Who　is　scheduled　to　give　the　next　briefing？”
“Magos　Garan；　your　excellency；”　his　adjutant　said。　“He　wishes　to　advise　us　on　the　monthly
production　figures　from　the　city’s　munitions　manufactoriums。”
His　brief　mood　of　good　humour　abruptly　evaporating；　the　Grand　Marshal　watched　with　a　sinking
heart　as　the　hooded　figure　of　the　archmagos　of　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　in　Broucheroc　rose　slowly
to　his　feet。　As　much　machine　as　man；　covered　in　whirring　devices　that　had　kept　their　owner　alive　for
far　past　the　normal　span　of　life；　what　could　be　seen　of　the　magos’　aged　and　withered　body　from
beneath　his　cloak　no　longer　looked　entirely　human。　Most　disquieting　of　all　were　the　mechadendrites：
four　thin　tentacle…like　mechanical　arms　that　would　periodically　emerge　from　the　folds　of　the　magos’
cloak　to　make　minute　adjustments　to　the　other　machines　that　covered　his　flesh。
Though　as　disturbing　as　he　had　always　found　the　creature’s　appearance；　the　real　root　of　the
Grand　Marshal’s　dislike　of　Magos　Garan　lay　more　in　practical　considerations　than　in　anything　so
flighty　as　matters　of　aesthetics。　Unlike　the　rest　of　the　men　seated　around　the　briefing　table；　Magos
Garan　did　not　serve　at　the　Grand　Marshal’s　whim。　As　the　most　senior　member　of　the　Adeptus
Mechanicus　in　the　city　Garan　was　not　here　as　a　subordinate。　Without　the　machine…adepts　to　keep　the
city’s　manufactoriums　working；　the　Grand　Marshal　would　have　no　munitions　for　his　troops。　No　new
las…guns。　No　missile　launchers。　No　replacement　power　packs。　No　grenades；　mortar　rounds；　artillery
shells；　or　any　of　the　hundreds　of　other　things　the　Guardsmen　of　the　city　needed　daily　to　help　them
keep　the　orks　at　bay。　As　such；　the　Grand　Marshal　found　himself　forced　to　deal　with　Magos　Garan　as
though　he　was　the　representative　of　some　foreign　power。　A　man　to　be　negotiated　and　entreated　with；
but　never　commanded。　An　equal；　not　an　inferior。　Not　being　by　inclination　a　man　much　given　to　the
subtle　intricacies　of　diplomacy；　Kerchan　had　long　found　dealing　with　the　haughty　Magos　to　be　a
difficult　burden　to　bear。
“In　the　last　thirty　days　the　productivity　of　the　city’s　manufactoriums　has　fallen　by　a　figure　of
four　point　three　four　per　cent；”　the　Magos　said　in　a　dry　monotone　voice；　apparently　so　long　past
remembering　what　it　was　to　be　human　he　made　no　attempt　to　leaven　the　bad　news　as　he　delivered　it。
“The　reasons　for　this　fall　in　productivity　are　as　follows。　One；　the　loss　of　five　manufactoriums　in
Sector　1…49　when　the　sector　in　question　was　partially　overrun　by　the　orks。　Two；　the　destruction　of
another　manufactorium　in　Sector　1…37　by　an　ork　raiding　party　who　had　gained　entrance　past　the
city’s　defensive　perimeter　by　unknown　means。　Three；　damage　to　a　further　fifteen　manufactoriums　in
Sectors　1…22　through　1…25　caused　by　the　orks’　long…range　artillery。　Four；　further　damage　to　three　of
the　same　manufactoriums　caused　by　gretchin　suicide　bombers。　Five；　the　slowness　of　repair　to　these
facilities　caused　by　a　chronic　lack　of　qualified　personnel。　Six；　the　outbreak　of　an　unknown　viral
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pathogen　among　the　lay　manufactorium　workers　of　Sector　1…19；　causing　the　loss　of　180；757
working　man…hours　through　either　sickness　or　death。　Seven；　the　loss　of　162；983　working　man…hours
caused　through　civil　unrest　occasioned　by　food　shortages　among　the　lay　manufactorium　workers　of
Sector　1…32；　said　unrest　having　since　been　suppressed　at　the　result　of　a　further　34；234　working　manhours
lost　through　either　injury　or　death…”
His　face　emotionless；　the　magos　continued；　droning　out　an　apparently　endless　catalogue　of
doom。　As　he　listened；　Grand　Marshal　Kerchan　once　more　found　himself　falling　into　despair。
According　to　his　strategic　calculations；　the　battle　for　Broucheroc　should　have　been　won　weeks；　if
not　months；　ago。　More　than　that；　by　now　they　should　have　broken　out　of　this　Emperor…forsaken　city
and　be　pushing　the　enemy　back　on　every　front。　Yet；　impossibly；　after　ten　years　of　warfare　the　orks
still　showed　no　sign　of　defeat　or　collapse。　While　day　after　day；　hour　after　hour；　Grand　Marshal
found　himself　confronted　by　defeatism　at　every　turn：　his　every　waking　moment　spent　in　the
company　of　dozens　of　mewling　incompetents；　all　of　them　with　their　pleas　of　extenuation　and　tales　of
woe。
The　Adeptus　Mechanicus　complained　about　not　having　enough　workers　or　raw　materials　for　the
manufactoriums。　The　Medical　Corps　complained　of　not　having　enough　surgeons　or　medicines　for
the　apothecariums。　The　militia　authorities　he　had　placed　in　command　of　the　civilian　infrastructure
complained　of　not　having　the　resources　to　provide　enough　food　or　clean　water　for　the　city’s
population。　Worst　of　all；　his　own　generals　complained　of　not　having　enough　men；　or　arms；　or
artillery　support；　or　any　other　damned　thing。　Complaint；　after　complaint；　after　damn　complaint。　All
the　while；　the　Grand　Marshal　knew　all　these　complaints　for　what　they　truly　were。　Excuses。　It　was
hardly　any　wonder　that　sometimes　he　felt　such　outrage　he　was　tempted　to　pick　out　one　of　his
generals　at　random　and　put　a　lasblast　through　his　head　just　as　an　example　to　the　others。
A　lasblast；　he　thought；　hand　straying　unconsciously　to　the　finely　filigreed　surface　of　the
ceremonial　laspistol　at　his　side。　Right　here　and　now。　That　really　would　put　the　fear　of　the　Emperor
into　them！
“Fifteen；　the　loss　of　38；964　working　man…hours　through　reason　of　power　shortages　in　Sectors　1…
42　through　1…47。”　the　magos　droned　relentlessly　on；　his　mechadendrites　still　attending　to　the
machines　of　his　body　as　though　with　a　life　of　their　own。　“Sixteen；　the　loss　of　a　manufactorium　to
explosion　in　Sector　1…26；　said　explosion　believed　to　have　been　caused　by　a　malfunction　in　an
incorrectly　fitted　power　conduit。　Seventeen…”
And　on　and　on　and　on。　Seeking　relief　from　the　depressing　tedium　of　the　Magos’　report；　hearing
the　sound　of　a　door　opening　behind　him　the　Grand　Marshal　turned　his　head　enough　to　the　side　to
watch　from　the　corner　of　his　eye　as　one　of　Vlin’s　aides　stepped　into　the　briefing　room　from　the
anteroom　outside。　Holding　a　data…slate　the　aide　advanced　to　the　table　to　hand　it　to　Colonel　Vl