Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第18部分

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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　jumbled　montage　of　people；　places；　memories；
recollections。
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He　dreamed　of　home。
He　dreamed　of　the　days　of　his　youth。　Of　the　change　of　the　seasons。　Of　happiness；　peace　and
contentment。
And　then；　he　awoke　to　hell　once　more。
Starting　awake　at　the　sound　of　an　explosion　overheard；　for　an　instant　Larn　had　no　idea　where　he
was。　Gazing　blearily　about　him　in　confusion；　he　recognised　the　dugout　and　realised　he　must　have
fallen　asleep　on　one　of　the　bunks　while　the　others　were　talking。　Then；　he　heard　another　explosion
much　louder　than　the　first　and　looked　up　to　see　a　thin　trickle　of　soil　fall　downwards　through　the　gap
between　two　of　the　wooden　planks　that　made　up　the　dugout’s　inner　ceiling。
“That　was　a　close　one；”　he　heard　Bulaven’s　voice　say　calmly。　“I　wouldn’t　like　to　be　above
ground　in　the　middle　of　this　one。”
Becoming　fully　awake；　Larn　realised　he　had　inadvertently　fallen　asleep　on　top　of　his　mess　tin。
Wiping　away　a　chunk　of　congealed　gruel　that　had　stuck　to　his　uniform；　he　turned　to　see　the　Vardans
were　still　gathered　nearby。　Bulaven　sat　in　one　bunk　rubbing　dubbing　into　his　boots；　Scholar　sat　in
another　reading　his　book；　while；　incredibly；　despite　the　now　continuous　roar　of　explosions
overheard；　Davir　lay　in　another　bunk　sound　asleep。
“Ah；　you　are　awake；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　gesturing　up　with　his　thumb　toward　the　ceiling　at
the　sound　of　more　explosions　overhead。　“I　can’t　say　I　am　surprised。　They　are　making　enough　noise
up　there　to　wake　the　dead。”
“They　are　shelling　us　again？”　Larn　asked。　“Our　own　side；　I　mean？”
“Hmm？　Oh　no；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“It　is　the　orks　this　time。　If　you　listen　closely　you　can
hear　the　difference；　ork　shells　have　a　duller　sound　to　them　when　they　explode。　Still；　you　needn’t
worry。　These　dugouts　are　built　to　last。　We　should　be　quite　safe　so　long　as　we　are　in　here。”
“Unless；　of　course；　a　shell　scores　a　direct　hit　on　the　dugout’s　ventilation　chimney。”　Scholar
raised　his　eyes　from　his　book。　“Even　if　the　shell　doesn’t　break　through　it；　the　chimney　is　still　likely
to　funnel　the　explosion　down　here。”
“True；”　Bulaven　said。　“Ach；　but　that　hardly　ever　happens；　new　fish。　You　needn’t　worry　about
that。　Anyway；　this　bombardment　won’t　last　long。　The　orks　have　no　staying　power　when　it　comes　to
these　things；　you　see。　Chances　are　whichever　ork　is　in　charge　of　their　big　guns　has　become
overexcited　for　some　reason　and　has　decided　to　let　off　a　few　rounds　in　celebration。　Trust　me；　new
fish；　in　ten　minutes’　time　or　so　it　will　all　be　over。”
“How　long　has　it　been　now；”　Larn　asked；　listening　to　the　muffled　thud　and　whump　of　shells　striking
the　ground　above　the　dugout。
“About　an　hour；　I’d　say；”　Bulaven　shrugged；　now　busy　cleaning　the　trigger　mechanism　of　his
heavy　flamer。　“Maybe　three…quarters。　Looks　like　the　orks　must　be　very　excited。　Still；　I　wouldn’t
worry　too　much　about　it。　Don’t　let　it　ruin　your　barracks　time；　new　fish。　They　are　bound　to　get　tired
of　shelling　us　sooner　or　later。”
Finding　himself　far　from　reassured；　Larn　looked　upward　to　see　another　trickle　of　soil　falling
from　the　gaps　between　the　wooden　planks　of　the　ceiling。　Remembering　a　dream　of　tattered　crones
standing　around　his　grave　as　shovelfuls　of　earth　hit　his　face；　Larn　felt　an　involuntary　shiver　ran
through　him。　Those　explosions　sound　close；　he　thought。　What　if　one　of　the　shells　hits　the　dugout
entrance　and　we　are　trapped　down　here？　Would　anyone　on　the　surface　be　able　to　dig　us　out？　Would
they　even　try？　Sweet　Emperor；　it　might　be　better　if　what　Scholar　talked　about　happened　instead　and
a　shell　hit　the　ventilation　chimney。　At　least　then　it　would　be　quick。　You　would　be　dead　before　you
knew　it。　Not　buried　alive　in　this　tomb　of　a　dugout；　waiting　for　your　air　to　run　out　or　to　slowly　die　of
thirst　and　starvation。
Abruptly；　realising　his　nerves　were　beginning　to　shred　at　the　constant　sound　of　explosions　and
the　thought　of　what　those　explosions　might　cause；　Larn　begin　to　scan　the　interior　of　the　dugout　in
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search　of　something　—　anything　—　to　take　his　mind　from　what　was　going　on　above　them。　Around
him；　the　dugout　had　become　crowded　with　men　who　had　taken　refuge　from　the　shelling。　Among
them　he　saw　Sergeant　Chelkar；　Medical　Officer　Svenk；　and　some　of　the　men　from　Repzik’s
fireteam。　While　the　din　of　explosions　continued　overhead；　here　life　inside　the　dugout　seemed　to　be
proceeding　just　as　it　had　before　the　shelling　started。　He　saw　Vardans　eating；　talking；　laughing；
drinking　recaf；　some　of　them　even　trying　to　sleep　like　Davir。　Then；　Larn　noticed　Zeebers　was　still
sitting　alone　against　one　of　the　dugout　walls；　idly　tossing　a　knife　around　in　his　hand　to　catch　first　the
blade；　then　the　hilt。
Watching　Zeebers　playing　with　his　knife；　Larn　felt　a　sudden　urge　to　have　the　answer　to　a
question　that　had　been　gnawing　at　him　ever　since　he　had　first　met　the　man。
“Bulaven？”　he　asked。　“Before；　remember　when　you　told　me　that　I　shouldn’t　worry　too　much　at
the　things　Davir　said？　That　it　was　just　his　way？”
“Of　course　I　remember；　new　fish。”　Bulaven　said。　“Why　do　you　bring　it　up？”
“Well；　I　was　wondering　about　Zeebers…”　Abruptly　Larn　paused；　uncertain　how　best　to　broach
the　subject。
“Zeebers；　new　fish？　What　about　him？”
“I　think　he　has　noticed　that　Zeebers　has　been　showing　a　certain　hostility　towards　him；　Bulaven；”
Scholar　said；　raising　his　eyes　from　his　book　once　more　to　look　at　Larn。　“I　am　right；　yes；　new　fish？
That　is　what　you　were　about　to　ask？”
“Ah；　I　see；”　said　Bulaven。　“Well；　there　is　no　great　secret　there；　new　fish。　Zeebers　just　gets
nervous　whenever　there　are　any　more　than　four　men　in　our　fireteam。”
“Nervous？”　asked　Larn。　“Why？”
“It　is　a　matter　of　superstition　with　him；”　Scholar　said。　“Apparently；　on　Zeebers’　homeworld　the
number　four　is　considered　lucky。　Then；　when　he　first　came　to　Broucheroc　and　joined　us　there　were
only　three　men　left　in　our　fireteam　…　Bulaven；　Davi；　and　myself。　Hence；　Zeebers　was　the　fourth　man；
lucky　number　four　to　his　mind；　and　he　has　convinced　himself　that　is　how　he　survived　his　first　fifteen
hours　—　not　to　mention　how　he　has　survived　ever　since。　So；　you　see；　whenever　they　send　us　a　new
replacement　and　there　are　five　men　in　the　fireteam　he　tends　to　believe　his　luck　has　become
endangered　somehow。　You　remember　before　I　said　every　man　here　has　his　own　theory　as　to　how　he
survived　where　so　many　others　have　died？　Zeebers’　beliefs　are　but　anomer　example　of　the　same
thing。”
“You　see；　new　fish；　no　great　mystery。”　Bulaven　said；　before　abruptly　turning　his　head　to　look
over　at　another　part　of　the　dugout。　“Hmm；　looks　like　something　is　brewing。”
Following　the　direction　of　Bulaven’s　gaze；　Larn　saw　Sergeant　Chelkar　standing　deep　in
conversation　with　Corporal　Vladek　by　the　quartermaster’s　table　in　the　corner　of　the　barracks。　Then；
while　Sergeant　Chelkar　walked　away　to　talk　to　someone　else；　Vladek　turned　to　open　a　wooden　crate
beside　him　and；　one…by…one；　began　to　carefully　pull　out　a　number　of　heavy　demolitions　charges　and
stack　them　on　the　table　before　him。　As　he　did；　Larn　noticed　that　Bulaven’s　face　had　grown　suddenly
uneasy　as　though　the　big　man　had　seen　something　in　Vladek’s　actions　to　worry　him。
“What　is　it；　Bulaven？”　he　asked。　“What　have　you　seen？”
“A　bad　sign；　new　fish。”　Bulaven　said。　“Between　me　and　you；　a　very　bad　sign　indeed。”
“We　are　at　Alert　Condition　Red；”　Chelkar　said；　his　face　grave　as　he　addressed　the　Guardsmen
standing　before　him　while　overhead　the　sound　of　explosions　continued。　“Sector　Command　says　we
can　expect　an　assault。　A　big　one；　probably　timed　to　begin　the　moment　this　bombardment　ends。
Looks　like　the　orks　are　going　to　hit　us　hard　this　time。　Leastways；　harder　than　any　of　the　other　attacks
we’ve　had　to　deal　with　today。”
A　few　minutes　had　passed　and　in　the　wake　of　his　conversation　aster；　Sergeant
Chelkar　had　ordered　the　men　in　Barracks　Dugout　One　to　arm　themselves　and　assemble　around　the
iron　stove　for　an　impromptu　briefing。　Scholar；　Bulaven；　Davir；　Zeebers；　the　other　fireteams；　even
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Vladek　and　the　one…armed　cook　Skench；　stood　in　their　battle　gear　listening　intently　to　Chelkar’s
words；　their　expressions　every　bit　as　grave　and　serious　as　their　sergeant’s。　Looking　about　him；　Larn
saw　that　the　easy　and　relaxed　manner　with　which　these　men　had　enjoyed　their　time　in　the　barracks
was　gone　now。　They　were　soldiers　once　more。　Guardsmen。　They　were　ready　for　war。
“I　won’t　lie　to　you。”　Chelkar　said。　“Things　look　grim。　Every　other　sector　in　the　area　is　under
heavy　assault　and　all　reserve　units　are　tied　up　elsewhere。　Which　means　no　there　is　no　potential　for
reinforcements　—　at　least　not　for　several　hours。　Worse；　Battery　Command　is　already　tasked　to　the
limit；　so　we　can’t　expert　artillery　support　either。　We　still　have　our　own　mortars；　of　course；　and　our
fire　support　teams　but；　other　than　that；　we　are　on　our　own。
“Now　for　the　good　news。　Sector　Command　has　made　it　clear　that　if　we　lose　here　there　is　the
danger　of　a　major　ork　breakthrough　into　the　city。　Accordingly；　they　have　ordered　that　we　are　to　hold
this　sector　at　all　costs。　Stand　or　die；　they　say。　No　matter　how　many　orks　come　at　us　or　how　hard　they
hit　us；　we　are　to　hold　on　until　we　are　reinforced；　the　ork　assault　fails；　or　the　Emperor　descends　to
fight　alongside　us　—　whichever　one　of　those　comes　first。　We　hold　the　line。　I　don’t　care　if　hell　itself
comes　calling。　We　hold　the　line　no　matter　what。　Not　that　we　have　much　choice　here　anyway；　you
understand。
You　all　know　what　happens　if　we　retreat。　The　commissars　don’t　even　bother　with　a　court　martial
anymore：　it’s　just　a　bullet　in　the　back　of　the　head　and　a　place　on　the　corpse…pyres。　This　is
Broucheroc：　between　the　orks　and　our　own　commanders；　there’s　just　nowhere　else　left　for　us　to　go。
As　for　our　plan　of　defence；　I　have　ordered　Vladek　to　distribute　four　extra　frag　grenades　to　each
man　and　one　demolition　charge　per　fireteam。　Once　the　assault　begins　we　will　hold　the　forward　firing
trenches　for　as　long　as　possible；　only　retreating　to　the　dugout　emplacements　when　the　situation　there
becomes　untenable。　Then；　once　we’re　at　the　dugout　emplacements　we　will　make　a　stand。　That’s　as
far　as　we　go。　After　that；　it’s　hold　the　line　or　die。
“Are　there　any　questions？”
No　one　spoke。　Silently；　the　Guardsmen　stood　gazing　back　at　their　sergeant　with　resolve　and
determination　etched　into　every　line　of　their　faces。　For　better　or　worse；　they　were　ready。
“All　right；　then；”　said　Chelkar。　“We　have　been　in　this　situation　often　enough　before　to　make
saying　anything　else　irrelevant。　You　all　know　what　is　ahead　of　us。　I　will　say　only　this。　Good　luck　to
every　one　of　you。　And；　fates　willing；　let　us　all　see　each　other　again　when　the　battle　is　over。”
“Maybe　it　is　The　Big　Push；”　Larn　heard　one　of　the　Vardans　say　as　he　hung　the　extra　grenades
Vladek　had　given　him　on　his　belt　and　went　over　to　join　the　other　members　of　Fireteam　Three。
“Emperor　knows；　it　was　bound　to　happen　sometime。”
“It　can’t　be；”　said　another　man　nearby。　“General　Headquarters　would　have　told　us。”
“Phah。　You　are　fooling　yourself；”　a　third　man　said。　The　damn　generals　refuse　to　even　admit　The
Big　Push　exists。
“When　it　finally　does　come　they’ll　be　caught　as　much　by　surprise　as　the　rest　of　us。”
The　Big　Push。　By　then　Larn　had　heard　the　phrase　used　several　times　already；　whispered　amongst
themselves　by　grim…faced　Guardsmen　as　they　stood　in　the　dugout　making　final　adjustments　to　their
bardment　continued　above　them。　Each　time　he　heard　it；　Larn
found　something　in　the　tone　of　the　way　they　said　the　phrase　that　made　him　uneasy。　It　was　a　tone；　he
realised；　of　nervousness　and　quiet　anxiety。　The　tone　of　fear；　he　thought　with　a　sudden　shudder。
“Bulaven？”　he　asked　the　big　man　beside　him。　“What　is　The　Big　Push？”
For　a　moment　the　Vardan　was　silent；　his　usually　affable　manner　replaced　by　the　bleak　and
brooding　expression　of　a　parent　who　realises　he　can　no　longer　protect　his　child　from　the　dark
realities　of　the　world。
“It　is　a　bad　thing；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“A　story　you　could　call　it；　I　suppose。　Or　a　myth。　You
know　when　the　preachers　talk　in　church　of　the　Last　Judgement　when　the　Emperor　will　finally　step
forward　from　His　throne　once　more　and　judge　humanity　for　its　sins？　The　Big　Push　is　like　that。”
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“It　is　something　in　the　manner　of　a　folktale；”　Scholar　said；　standing　next　to　him。　“The　Big　Push
is　the　mythic　apocalypse　that　every　Guardsman　in　this　city　dreads。　A　Day　of　Judgement；　as　Bulaven
puts　it；　when　the　orks　will　at　last　mount　their　long…expected　final　assault　and　the　city　of　Broucheroc
will　fall。　It　is　a　nightmare；　new　fish。　The　one　thing　that　the　defenders　of　this　city　fear　more　than
anything　else。　And；　as　such；　I　am　not　surprised　you　heard　it　mentioned。　For　the　orks　to　launch　so
many　assaults　across　different　sectors　at　once　and　coordinate　them　with　artillery　bombardment　is
highly　unusual。　So　unusual　in　fact　that　it　is　easy　to　see　in　it　the　portent　of　something　larger。”
“The　Big　Push　is　bullshit；　new　fish；”　Davir　said。　“A　story　that　the　mothers　of　this　city　scare　their
children　to　sleep　with；　nothing　more。　Put　it　from　your　mind。”
At　that；　they　became　silent　and；　looking　at　the　faces　of　his　companions；　Larn　saw　the　same　thing
there　as　had　been　hidden　in　the　whispers　of　the　men　he　had　heard　discussing　The　Big　Push　to　begin
with。
He　saw　fear。
And　he　was　not　reassured。
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CHAPTER　FOURTEEN
21：15　hours　Central　Broucheroc　Time
Bookkeeping　and　the　Tragedy　of　War　—　Matters　of　Tactics　while　Waiting　for　an　Eternity　to　Pass　—
Preparations　and　Preludes　in　the　Trenches　—　Holding　the　Line　—　Shot　in　the　Head　and　Saved　by
Davir　—　Last　Stand　by　the　Dugouts　—　The　Sound　of　Salvation
For　Captain　Arnol　Yaab　it　had　been　a　long　and　tiring　day。　A　day　spent　like　every　other　day　of　the
last　ten　years　in　a　cramped　windowless　office　in　the　lower　levels　of　the　General　Headquarters
building　in　the　centre　of　Broucheroc；　ceaselessly　compiling　the　twice…daily　Imperial　Guard　casualty
statistics　from　the　reports　and　logs　of　the　various　Sectors　Command　throughout　the　city。
Sector　1…11；　he　wrote　in　a　neat　and　ordered　hand　in　the　pages　of　the　ledger　before　him。　12th
Coloradin　Rifle　Corps。　Commanding　Officer：　Colonel　Wyland　Alman。　Previous　Strength：　638　men。
Total　Casualties　in　Last　Twelve　Hour　Period：　35　men。　Current　Adjusted　Strength：　603　men。
Percentage　Loss：　5。49％。
Sector　1…12；　he　continued；　carefully　allowing　the　ink　time　to　dry　so　as　not　to　risk　smudging　the
previous　entry。　35th　Zuvenian　Light　Foot。　Commanding　Officer：　Captain　Yiroslan　Dacimol
（Deceased）。　Previous　Strength：　499　men。　Total　Casualties　in　Last　Twelve　Hour　Period：　43　men。
Adjusted　Strength：　456　men。　Percentage　Loss：　8。62％。
Sector　1…13。　902nd　Vardan　Rifles。　Commanding　Officer：　Sergeant　Eugin　Chelkar　（Temporary
Appointment）。　Previous　Strength：　244　men。　Total　Casualties　in　Last　Twelve　Hour　Period：　247　men。
Current　Adjusted　Strength：　…3。　Percentage　Loss：　101。23％。
Abruptly；　gazing　down　at　the　entry　he　had　just　written；　Yaab　became　aware　that　there　seemed　to
be　some　problem　with　his　figures。　101。23％？　That　cannot　be　right；　he　thought。　How　can　a　unit　have
lost　more　than　one　hundred　per　cent　of　its　original　strength　and　be　reduced　to　a　current　adjusted
strength　of　minus　three？　It　is　an　impossibility。　How　can　you　have　minus　three　men？
Pursing　his　lips　in　annoyance；　Captain　Yaab　re…checked　the　figures　in　the　Sector　Command　Beta
casualty　log。　There；　in　black　and　white；　the　same　statistic　was　confirmed。　Out　of　a　total　strength　of
244　men；　the　902nd　Vardan　had　somehow　conspired　to　lose　no　less　than　247　of　their　number　in　the
last　twelve　hours。　Then；　just　as　deep　in　his　pen…pusher’s　soul　he　began　to　fear　he　had　made　an　error
that　would　see　him　reprimanded　—　or　worse　—　posted　to　the　frontlines；　Yaab　noticed　a　sheet　of
paper　clipped　to　the　back　of　the　log　and　realised　he　had　perhaps　found　the　source　of　the　mistake。
It　was　a　supplementary　report；　recording　that　a　lander　had　crash…landed　in　Sector　1…13　at　around
midday　and　deposited　an　additional　235　Guardsmen　into　the　sector。　Ah；　now　that　would　account　for
the　discrepancy；　Yaab　thought；　making　a　quick　series　of　mental　calculations。　An　extra　235　men
would　put　the　total　strength　of　the　sector　at　479。　Then；　the　loss　of　247　men　would　leave　us　with　a
current　adjusted　strength　of　232；　constituting　a　percentage　loss　of　51。57％。　All　in　all；　a　much　more
acceptable　figure。
Happy　again；　Captain　Yaab　adjusted　his　ledger　in　line　with　the　new　calculations　only　to　find
himself　aggravated　once　more　as　he　noticed　the　unsightly　mess　the　alterations　had　made　to　the
clean；　well…ordered　columns　of　his　figures。　Sighing　as　he　returned　to　compiling　his　statistics；　Yaab
tried　to　take　comfort　from　the　thought　that　it　could　not　be　helped。　It　was　the　tragedy　of　his　life　that
certain　amount　of　unsightliness　was　to　be　expected。
War；　after　all；　could　be　a　messy　business。
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“Switch　your　comm…bead　to　our　command　net　on　frequency　five；”　Bulaven　told　Larn　through　the
roar　of　shellfire　shaking　the　ground　above　them。　“You　will　know　we　are　about　to　go　when　the
shelling　stops。　Then；　when　we　get　the　order；　we　run　back　to　our　firing　trench。　No　crouching　or　trying
to　stay　in　cover　this　time；　new　fish。　You　just　sprint　there　as　fast　as　you　can。　We　have　to　be　back　in
the　trench　and　ready　to　shoot　before　the　orks　reach　the　kill　zone　at　the　three　hundred　metre　mark。”
They　were　standing　with　the　rest　of　the　Vardans　next　to　the　steps　leading　from　the　dugout　up　to
the　surface。　As　his　fingers　fiddled　to　change　the　frequency　of　the　comm…bead　in　his　ear；　Larn’s　mind
turned　to　a　lesson　he　had　learned　in　his　last　battle。　This　is　the　worst　time；　he　thought。　While　you　are
waiting　for　the　attack　to　start；　before　the　battle　even　begins。　Once　the　fighting　is　underway　you　are
still　afraid。　But　it　is　having　time　to　think　about　what　is　coming　that　makes　the　fear　worse。　And　the
orks　would　seem　to　know　it。　They　are　giving　us　plenty　of　time　to　dwell　on　our　fears。　Right　now；　it
feels　like　waiting　for　an　eternity　to　pass。
“All　right；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“Now；　I　have　told　you　everything　you　need　to　know　about
what　we　are　going　to　do　after　that。　I　want　you　to　tell　it　back　to　me　now　so　I　can　be　sure　you　have
understood　it。”
Can　he　see　that　I　am　afraid；　Larn　thought。　Is　that　it？　Is　he　trying　to　keep　me　busy　and　take　my
mind　off　the　fact　we　could　all　he　dead　in　a　matter　of　minutes？　And　if　Bulaven　can　see　it　what　about
the　rest　of　them？　Are　they　all　standing　here　watching　me　wondering　if　I　am　going　to　turn　and　run？
Do　they　think　I　am　a　coward？
“Our　tactics；　new　fish？”　Bulaven　prodded。　“What　are　they？”
“Once　we　reach　the　firing　trench　we　will　hold　it　as　long　as　we　can；”　Larn　said；　silently　praying
to　the　Emperor　his　voice　did　not　sound　as　frightened　and　nervous　as　he　suspected。　“Then；　if　it　looks
like　we　are　going　to　be　overrun；　Scholar　will　set　the　demolition　charge　to　buy　us　enough　time　to　fall
back。　You　will　be　carrying　the　flamer；　I　will　be　carrying　a　spare　fuel　canister　for　you；　Davir　and
Zeebers　will　give　us　covering　fire　with　their　lasguns。”
“And　if　any　of　us　are　dead　by　then？”　Bulaven　asked。　“Or　too　badly　wounded　to　move　on　their
own？　What　th