Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第17部分

快捷操作: 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! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


Something　deep　inside　him　refused　to　let　him　move。
They　have　all　been　in　this　place　too　long；　he　thought　at　last。　That’s　what　it　is。　That　is　why　they
see　dark　motives　in　everything　and　can’t　accept　the　fact　of　miracles。　Really；　it　is　not　even　a　matter　of
forgiving　them。　I　should　feel　sorry　for　them。　Not　angry。
Then；　just　as　he　had　all　but　finally　summoned　the　will　to　swallow　his　pride　and　move；　Larn
heard　the　sound　of　a　shrill　whistle　that　seemed　to　come　from　the　direction　of　the　dugouts。
“Ach；　at　last；”　Davir　said；　as　around　him　the　other　men　began　to　stand　and　collect　their　weapons。
“It’s　about　time。　I　have　been　getting　so　hungry　sitting　here　I　was　beginning　to　think　about　eating
Scholar’s　boots。”
86
“Really？”　said　Scholar　mildly；　checking　to　see　if　he　still　had　his　book　with　him。　“And　there　was
perhaps　some　special　reasons　you　were　considering　eating　my　boots　rather　than　your　own；　Davir？”
“What；　you　think　I　should　eat　my　own　boots　and　risk　getting　frostbite？”　Davir　said。　“No　thank
you；　Scholar。　Besides；　you　have　such　big　feet　there　would　be　plenty　of　boot　to　go　around。　Happily
though；　we　seem　to　have　averted　that　particular　catastrophe。　Time　to　get　to　the　barracks　and　see
what　culinary　pleasures　are　awaiting　us。”
“Come　on　then；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　standing　over　Larn。　“If　you　are　last　to　the　mess　line
there　won’t　be　much　left　for　you。”
“You　mean　it　is　meal　time？”　Larn　asked。
“A　meal；　yes；”　Bulaven　said。　“And　a　two…hour　rest…period　as　well。　They　rotate　us　off　the　line　in
groups　of　ten　fireteams　at　a　time。　One　whistle　means　it　is　Barracks　Dugout　One’s　turn。　Our　turn。
Now；　come　on；　new　fish。　The　food　will　be　getting　cold。”
“Yes；　come　on；　new　fish；”　Davir　said。　“Believe　me；　you　think　your　day　has　been　bad　enough　so
far？　Well；　you　haven’t　tasted　Trooper　Skench’s　cooking　yet。”
After　so　long　in　the　cold　of　the　trench；　the　interior　of　Barracks　Dugout　One　seemed　warm　and
inviting　to　him　now。　So　inviting；　in　fact；　that　Larn　found　he　barely　even　noticed　the　stifling　stench　of
smoke　and　stale　sweat　that　permeated　the　air　of　the　dugout。　Inside；　a　line　of　Guardsmen　had　already
formed　up　by　the　time　they　arrived。　Waiting；　with　mess　tins　in　their　hands；　as　a　lanky　rat…faced
Vardan　trooper　with　only　one　arm　dolefully　served　out　portions　of　gruel　from　a　battered　and　gigantic
pot　from　on　top　of　the　stove。
“Ah；　the　inestimable　Skench；”　Davir　purred　as　he　reached　the　head　of　the　line。　“Tell　me；　good
friend　Skench　—　what　delightful　delicacy　are　you　attempting　to　poison　us　with　today？”
“Hhh。　It’s　gruel；　Davir；”　Skench　said　sourly。　“Why？　What　does　it　look　like？”
“Between　you　and　me；　I　wasn’t　entirely　sure；”　Davir　said　as　he　watched　Skench　ladle　a　steaming
dollop　into　his　mess　tin。　“Gruel；　you　say？　And　you　have　followed　your　normal　recipe；　I　take　it？
Sawdust；　spittle；　and　whatever　dubious　organic　refuse　you　could　lay　your　hands　on？”
“Pretty　much；”　said　Skench；　humourlessly。　“Though　you　can　be　sure　I　made　certain　you　got　an
extra　helping　of　spit　in　yours。”
“Why　thank　you；　Skench；”　Davir　said；　favouring　the　one…armed　cook　with　his　most　irritating
smile。　“Really；　you　are　spoiling　me。　I　must　remember　to　write　to　Grand　Marshal　Kerchan　and
recommend　you　for　a　commendation。　If　you　got　a　nice　medal　it　would　give　you　something　extra　to
put　in　the　soup。”
“Hhh。　Always　the　funny　man；　Davir；”　Skench　muttered；　watching　Davir　walk　away。　Then；
turning　back　to　see　Larn　standing　next　in　line；　he　squinted　at　him　in　wary　hostility。
“I　haven’t　seen　you　before；”　Skench　said。　“You　a　new　fish？”
“Yes；”　said　Larn。
“Uh…huh。　You　got　something　funny　to　say　about　my　cooking；　new　fish？”
“Umm…　no。”
“Good；”　Skench　said；　dropping　a　ladleful　of　greasy　brown　gruel　into　Larn’s　tin；　then　nodding
towards　a　pile　of　ration　bars　lying　on　a　nearby　table。　“Make　sure　you　keep　it　that　way。　As　well　as　the
gruel　you　get　to　take　a　ration　bar。　One　bar；　mind；　new　fish。　I’ve　counted　them；　so　don’t　try　taking
two。　Oh；　and　if　tonight　you　should　have　the　runs；　don’t　do　what　the　rest　of　them　do　and　come　round
here　blaming　me。　There　ain’t　nothing　wrong　with　my　cooking。　We　clear　on　that？”
“Uhh…　yes。　We’re　clear。”
“Good。　Then　get　moving；　new　fish。　You’re　holding　up　the　line。　And　remember　what　I　told　you。
There　ain’t　nothing　wrong　with　my　cooking。”
87
“This　is　disgusting。”　Larn　said。　“Really　disgusting；　I　mean。　I　thought　the　food　they　gave　us　in　basic
training　on　Jumael　was　bad　enough。　But　this　is　ten　times　worse。”
“Well；　I　did　warn　you；　new　fish；”　Davir　said；　as　he　shovelled　another　spoonful　of　gruel　into　his
own　mouth。　“Such　is　Skench’s　extraordinary　mastery　of　the　culinary　arts；　he　can　make　bad　food
taste　even　worse。”
Having　collected　his　ration　bar；　Larn　now　sat　with　Davir；　Bulaven　and　Scholar　among　the　bunks
inside　the　barracks。　Meanwhile；　still　occasionally　glowering　at　Larn　as　though　to　assure　him　his
feelings　of　hostility　had　not　waned；　Zeebers　sat　alone　and　apart　from　them　against　one　of　the　dugout
walls。　Though；　while　he　still　wondered　at　the　source　of　Zeebers’　strange　antagonism　towards　him；
Larn　found　he　was　more　directly　concerned　at　that　moment　with　the　small　white　shape　he　saw
wriggling　among　the　slop　in　his　mess　tin。
“There　is　some　kind　of　maggot　in　my　food；”　he　said。
“A　Tullan’s　worm…grub；”　Scholar　said。　“They　are　quite　plentiful　hereabouts；　new　fish。　And　an
excellent　source　of　protein。”
“They　add　to　the　flavour　as　well；”　Bulaven　said。　“But　make　sure　you　chew　up　your　food
properly。　If　the　grub　is　still　alive　when　you　swallow　it　they　can　lay　eggs　in　your　stomach。”
“Eggs？”
“Don’t　worry　about　it；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　replied。　“It’s　not　as　bad　as　it　sounds。　Gives　you　the
runs　for　a　couple　of　days；　that　is　all。　Course；　if　Skench　cooked　them　properly；　the　grubs　would　be
dead　by　the　time　they　got　to　us。”
“Sweet　Emperor；　I　can’t　believe　you　act　like　it　is　normal　to　eat　things　like　this；”　Larn　said。
“Normal？”　Davir　said；　mouth　open　to　reveal　a　mashed　lump　of　half…chewed　gruel。　“In　case　you
hadn’t　notice　you’re　in　the　Imperial　Guard；　new　fish。　And　in　the　Guard　you　eat　what　you　can　get。
Anyway；　you　think　this　is　bad　you　should’ve　seen　the　whipsaw　grabs　we　had　to　eat　on　Bandar
Majoris。”
“Actually；　I　seem　to　remember　they　e；　Davir；”　Scholar　said。　“Tasted　a　bit
like　ginny　fowl。”
“I’m　not　talking　about　how　they　tasted；　Scholar；”　Davir　said。　“I’m　talking　about　the　fact　they
were　as　big　as　your　leg　with　a　metre…long　tongue　covered　in　razor…sharp　barbs。　Not　to　mention　they
were　strong　enough　to　tear　a　man’s　arm　off。　And　if　you　want　know　how　we　know　that；　new　fish；　just
go　ask　Skench。”
“Don’t　listen　to　him。　He　is　just　fooling　with　you；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“It　was　an　ork　axe　that
did　for　Skench’s　arm　right　here　in　Broucheroc；　not　a　whipsaw　grub　on　Bandar　Majoris。　Though　we
did　lose　a　lot　of　men　to　those　grabs。”
“Do　you　remember　Commissar　Grisz？”　Scholar　said。　“Went　behind　a　bush　one　morning　to　see　to
his　daily　bowel　movement　only　to　find　he　was　squatting　over　a　whole　nest　of　the　damned　things。
You　could　have　heard　his　scream　halfway　across　the　planet。”
“Phah。　Good　riddance　to　bad　rubbish；”　Davir　said。　“Grisz　always　was　a　pain　in　the　arse。　No　pun
intended。”
“You　ask　me；”　Bulaven　said；　“the　thing　I　remember　most　from　Bandar　is　Davir　hunting　the
terranosaurs。”
“Ah　yes；”　Scholar　said。　“You　mean　the　wager。”
“Ach；　you’re　not　still　going　on　about　that；　Bulaven；”　Davir　scowled。　“Emperor　wept。　Once　a
man　wins　a　bet　against　you；　you　never　forgive　him。”
“You　should　have　seen　it；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　smiling。　“We’d　been　on　Bandar　a　week
maybe；　at　most。　It　is　a　jungle　planet　and　there　were　these　deathworlders。　Ach；　you　tell　it；　Scholar　—
you　always　do　a　better　job　of　it　than　me。”
“All　right；　then；”　Scholar　said；　leaning　intently　forward。　“Imagine　the　scene；　new　fish。　It　is
midday：　the　jungle　is　hot　and　humid。　We　have　come　back　into　camp　after　being　out　on　patrol　when
88
we　smell　the　most　delicious　and　mouth…watering　aroma。　Following　our　noses　we　find　a　group　of
Catachans　are　roasting　a　metre…and…a…half　long　two…legged　lizard　on　an　open　spit。　Naturally；　we
enquire　whether　we　can　join　in　their　feast。　But；　being　Catachans；　they　refuse。　“Go　catch　your　own
terranosaur；”　they　say。　Now；　you　thought　that　would　have　been　the　end　of　it。　But　Davir　refuses　to　let
matters　rest。　Soon；　he　begins　bragging　to　us　that　he　is　more　than　capable　of　capturing　a　terranosaur
just　as　the　Catachans　had。　And；　before　you　could　say　small　man；　big　mouth　we　have　agreed　to　enter
into　a　wager　with　him　on　the　matter。”
“He　bet　us　he　could　hunt　down　a　terranosaur；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　jumped　in　excitedly。　“He　bet
us　a　hundred　credits　he　could　hunt　one；　kill　it；　and　bring　it　home　for　dinner。”
“So；”　Scholar　continued；　“armed　with　a　lasgun；　our　intrepid；　if　diminutive；　hunter　goes　alone
into　the　jungle　in　search　of　his　prey。　Only　to　re…emerge　two　hours　later；　running　back　into　camp　in　a
panic　as　though　he　had　a　daemon　on　his　trail！”
“Ach；　you　and　Bulaven　can　laugh　all　you　like；”　Davir　said；　holding　a　hand　high　above　his　head
like　a　fisherman　describing　the　size　of　his　catch。　“But　nobody　told　me　the　one　the　Catchans　killed
was　only　a　baby；　and　that　the　adults　were　ten　metres　tall　when　full…grown。　Or；　for　that　matter；　that
they　hunted　in　packs。　I　tell　you：　I　only　got　out　of　that　damn　stinking　jungle　by　the　skin　of　my　teem。
And；　besides；　you　have　to　admit　I　did　what　I　said　I’d　do　in　the　end。　I　did　kill　a　terranosaur　and　I　did
bring　it　home　for　dinner。　About　three　of　them；　in　fact。”
“Only　because　you　bribed　someone　in　comms　to　let　you　call　in　an　artillery　strike　against　them！”
Bulaven　said；　outraged。　“Then；　after　the　batteries　had　been　pounding　that　patch　of　jungle　for　an　hour
straight；　you　got　a　search　party　together　and　brought　back　the　remains　of　all　the　terranosaurs　that　had
been　killed　by　the　shellfire。　That　doesn’t　count；　Davir。”
“Of　course；　it　counts。　What；　you　think　I　should　have　dug　a　pit　trap　like　some　idiot　deathworlder
and　waited　for　one　of　the　big　dumb　beasts　to　wander　by　and　fall　into　it？　I　keep　telling　you；　Bulaven：
you　should　have　been　more　specific　about　the　conditions　of　the　bet。　You　didn’t　say　anything　about
not　being　able　to　use　artillery。”
The　argument　continued：　Davir　and　Bulaven　squabbling　comically　about　the　details　of　the
decade…old　bet　while　Scholar　attempted　to　act　as　arbiter。　As　he　listened　to　them；　Larn　became　aware
of　how　different　the　three　men’s　manner　had　become　since　the　whistle　had　blown　and　they　had
come　to　the　dugout。　Here；　they　did　not　seem　as　gruff　and　intimidating。　They　seemed　more　relaxed。
More　at　ease　with　themselves　and　their　surroundings。
Looking　around；　Larn　saw　it　was　the　same　everywhere。　All　about　him　he　could　see　Vardans
talking；　joking　and　laughing　amongst　themselves；　their　faces　animated；　their　gestures　more　free　and
expansive。　It　was　almost　as　though　here　in　the　dugout；　for　the　moment　at　least；　there　were　no　orks。
No　constant　threat　of　death。　No　Broucheroc。　Here；　the　Vardans　seemed　almost　like　the　people　Larn
had　known　back　home。　As　though；　momentarily　released　of　the　shadow　of　war　and　horror；　they　had
reverted　to　their　true　selves。
As　he　watched　them；　Larn　began　to　understand　for　the　first　time　that　each　of　the　Vardans　had
once　been　like　him。　Each　of　them　had　been　a　green　recruit。　Each　of　them　had　once　been　a　new　fish
and　he　realised　there　was　hope　for　him　in　that　thought。　If　each　of　these　men　had　somehow　learned
how　to　survive　the　brutalities　and　privations　of　this　place；　then　so　could　he。　He　would　learn。　And　he
would　survive。
And　then；　comforted　by　that　warm　and　happy　thought；　before　he　even　knew　it；　Larn　was　asleep。
89
CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
20：01　hours　Central　Broucheroc　Time
A　Mosaic　Coloured　in　Blues；　Greens；　and　Reds　—　A　Dream　of　Home　—　A　Bombardment　Again　—
Zeebers’　Behaviour　is　Perhaps　Explained　—　Sergeant　Chelkar　Rallies　the　Troops　—　The　Myth　of
The　Big　Push
“You　ordered　us　to　Alert　Condition　Red！”　the　general　roared；　his　voice　so　loud　that　the　Guardsmen
and　militia　auxiliaries　seated　at　their　work　stations　around　them　in　the　Situation　Room　gave　a
collective　jump。　“Have　you　taken　leave　of　your　senses？”
“If　you　would　allow　me　to　explain；　sir；”　Colonel　Drezlen　said；　his　expression　tight　as　he　stood
facing　the　older　man；　fighting　visibly　to　keep　his　own　temper　in　check。
“Explain？”　General　Pronan　thundered。　“What　is　there　to　explain？　You　have　grossly　exceeded
your　authority；　colonel。　I　could　have　you　court…martialled　for　this。”
“I　had　no　choice；　sir；”　Drezlen　said。　“We　were　faced　with　an　emerging　situation；　and　you　were
elsewhere—”
“Don’t　try　and　lay　the　blame　for　this　debacle　at　my　door；　Drezlen。”　The　general’s　cheeks　grew
florid　with　rage。　“You　will　only　end　up　making　matters　worse　for　yourself；　you　hear　me？　I　know
very　well　I　was　away　from　Sector　Command。　I　was　at　General　Headquarters；　where　fortunately　I
was　made　aware　of　your　alert　order　in　time　to　quash　it　before　all　hell　could　let　loose。”
“You…　quashed　it？”　Drezlen　said；　appalled。　“You　countermanded　the　alert？”
“Of　course　I　did。　Have　you　any　idea　of　the　fuss　an　alert　order　can　cause？　Troops　are　seconded
from　other　sectors　all　across　the　city；　extra　supplies　are　sent　up；　reserve　units　are　brought　forward　to
the　front。　Sweet　Emperor；　man！　Don’t　you　know　a　sector　has　to　be　on　the　verge　of　being　overrun
before　an　order　to　go　to　Alert　Condition　Red　is　warranted？　Never　mind　the　fact　that；　by　issuing　an
alert　on　your　own　authority；　you　violated　the　chain　of　command！”
“You　countermanded　the　alert；”　Drezlen　said　quietly；　his　face　ashen。　“I　can’t　believe　it…”
“Yes。　And　by　doing　it　I　likely　saved　you　from　a　firing　squad；”　the　volume　of　the　general’s　voice
had　fallen；　his　manner　growing　more　composed　as　his　anger　abated。　“But　you　can　thank　me　for　that
later；　Drezlen。　First；　I　want　you　to　start　giving　me　some　answers。”
“Answers？”　Drezlen　was　curt。　“Very　well；　general。　Let　me　give　you　all　the　answers　you　could
want。”　He　turned　towards　a　nearby　Guardsman　seated　beside　a　control　panel　covered　in　dials　and
switches。　“Corporal　Venner？　Activate　the　pict…display　and　bring　up　the　current　situation　map　for　our
sectors。　Let　us　see　if　we　can　show　the　general　exactly　why　I　believed　we　had　reached　Alert
Condition　Red　status。”
At　the　flick　of　a　switch　the　large　rectangular　pict…display　set　into　one　of　the　Situation　Room’s
walls　suddenly　hummed　into　life；　a　small　white　dot　appearing　in　the　middle　of　the　black　screen
before　expanding　to　cover　its　entire　surface。　Then；　as　Corporal　Venner　worked　another　series　of
switches；　the　situation　map　for　Sectors　1…10　through　1…20　appeared　on　screen。　A　mosaic　coloured　in
blues；　greens；　and　reds：　blue　for　the　areas　under　Imperial　control；　green　for　the　parts　held　by　the
orks；　red　for　the　territories　whose　ownership　was　currently　being　contested。
“I　don’t　understand；”　the　general　said；　looking　up　at　the　pict…display　in　confusion。　“I　don’t
remember　seeing　all　this　red　on　the　board　when　I　left　for　General　Headquarters　this　morning。”
90
“Matters　have　developed　considerably　since　then；　general；”　Drezlen　said。　“As　of　fifteen　minutes
ago　no　less　than　ten　of　the　eleven　sectors　under　your　command　are　currently　being　attacked　by　the
orks。　In　each　case；　the　pattern　is　the　same：　massed　assaults　preceded　by　lengthy　bombardment　by
enemy　artillery；　as　well　as　coordinated　attacks　on　vital　facilities　by　gretchin　suicide　bombers　and　ork
troops。　Currently；　it　is　unclear　how　many　of　these　assaults　are　the　real　thing　and　how　many　are
intended　only　as　diversions　to　put　pressure　on　our　resources。”
“Diversions？　Lengthy　bombardments？　Coordinated　attacks？”　the　general’s　expression　was
incredulous。　“Have　you　lost　your　mind；　man？　You’re　talking　as　though　the　enemy　were　working　to
some　kind　of　coherent　plan　of　action。　For　the　Emperor’s　sake；　these　are　orks　we　are　talking　about！
They　don’t　have　the　brains　or　organisational　ability　to　put　anything　like　that　in　motion。”
“Be　that　as　it　may；　sir；　it　appears　that　is　precisely　what　they　are　doing。　So　far；　we　are　holding　on
by　our　fingernails。　But　if　you　want　to　see　just　how　bad　things　here　could　get；　take　a　look　at　Sector　1…
13。”
“1…13？”　the　general　said。　“What　are　you　talking　about　Drezlen？　The　situation　map　says　Sector　1…
13　is　blue。”
“Yes；　sir。　And　what　is　more；　it　is　the　only　sector　that　has　yet　to　be　attacked。　And　I　ask　you；
leaving　aside　for　a　moment　the　fact　that　our　enemies　are　orks；　what　does　that　suggest　to　you？”
“You　don’t　mean？”　the　general　blustered。　“But　that　is　impossible；　colonel…”
“Ordinarily　I　would　agree；　sir。　But　there　seems　to　be　a　pattern　here。　And；　given　that　pattern；　we
have　to　ask　why　would　the　orks　launch　a　major　offensive　against　every　sector　to　the　side　of　it　and
leave　Sector　1…13　unmolested？　Unless　what　we　are　seeing　on　the　situation　map　are　only　the　opening
moves　of　a　larger　assault　intended　to　tie　up　our　forces　and　allow　the　orks　a　clear　ran　at　their　real
target。　Imagine　it；　general：　if　the　orks　were　to　launch　a　full…scale　assault　on　Sector　1…13　now；　there
would　be　precious　little　we　could　do　to　stop　them　achieving　a　sector…wide　breakthrough。”
“But　if　that　happened；　our　forces　in　other　sectors　would　have　to　retreat　or　risk　being　cut　off。　It
could　turn　into　a　rout。　No。　It　is　just　not　possible；　Drezlen。　They　are　orks。　Savages。　They　are　not
clever　enough　to　have…”
For　a　moment；　turning　to　gaze　intently　at　the　pict…display　before　him　the　general　fell　quiet。
Watching　the　old　man’s　troubled　face　as　he　silently　wrestled　with　all　he　had　heard；　Colonel　Drezlen
felt　a　sudden　sympathy　for　him。　General　Pronan　was　an　old　school　solider；　thoroughly　indoctrinated
by　his　forty　years　in　the　Guard　in　the　belief　that　all　aliens　were　little　better　than　animals。　The　idea　he
might　have　been　outmanoeuvred　by　them；　and　by　orks　for　that　matter；　would　be　hard　for　him　to
swallow　but　it　was　a　matter　of　evidence。　Slowly；　Drezlen　saw　a　grim　look　of　resolve　come　over　the
general’s　face。　He　had　made　his　decision。
“All　right；　then；”　the　general　said　at　last。　“Let　us　assume　for　the　sake　of　argument　your　theory　is
correct。　Can　we　reinforce　Sector　1…13？”
“No；　sir。　As　I　say；　all　our　forces　are　tied　up　fighting　off　the　orks　in　other　sectors。”
“What　about　our　forces　already　inside　Sector　1…13？　Who　do　we　have　stationed　there？”
“Company　Alpha；　the　902nd　Vardan　Rifles；　commanded　by　Sergeant　Eugin　Chelkar。”
“A　single　company？”　the　general’s　voice　was　a　dry　whisper。　“Commanded　by　a　sergeant？　That’s
all　we　have？　But；　Holy　Throne；　if　you　are　right　and　the　attack　comes—”
“Yes；　sir。”　Colonel　Drezlen　said。　“If　that　happens；　then　two　hundred　and　something　Guardsmen
are　all　that　stands　between　us　and　this　entire　map　going　green。”
He　dreamed　of　home。　He　dreamed　of　spring：　the　earth　of　the　fields　wet　and　rich　as　the　seeds　were
planted。　He　dreamed　of　summer：　the　sky　blue　and　endless　overhead　as　rows　of　golden　wheat　grew
ripe　below　it。　He　dreamed　of　autumn：　the　same　sky　now　thick　with　lazy　smoke　from　the　burning　of
the　stubble　after　the　harvesting　was　done。　He　dreamed　of　winter：　the　fields　dizzyingly　empty；　the
ground　hard　with　frost。　He　dreamed；　his　dreams　a