Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第7部分

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that　it　means　they’re　planning　on　hitting　us　with　a　frontal　assault。　Another　one。　What　is　that　now？
Something　like　the　third　one　today？”
“Third　time　is　right；　Kell；”　the　Guardsman　called　Vidmir　said；　his　face　grim　as　he　pressed　a
finger　to　his　ear　to　listen　to　something　on　his　comm　bead。　“You’ll　have　to　remember　to　remonstrate
with　the　orks　about　their　lack　of　originality　when　they　get　here。　From　the　reports　I’m　hearing　over
the　tactical　net；　you　should　soon　be　getting　the　opportunity　to　do　so。”
“What　is　it？”　the　other　Guardsman　—　Kell　—　asked；　while　the　rest　of　the　men　in　the　trench
turned　to　look　at　Vidmir。　“What　have　you　heard？”
“Sector　Command　says　auspex　is　reading　a　lot　of　movement　in　the　ork　lines；”　Vidmir　replied。
“Sounds　like　Repzik　was　right。　They’re　going　to　be　hitting　us　hard；　and　in　numbers。　Though；　from
the　sound　of　it；　I　think　there’s　more　to　this　than　just　a　matter　of　the　orks　getting　excited　over　killing
the　new　fish’s　friends。　Could　be　they　were　already　getting　ready　to　launch　an　offensive。　Which
would　be　bad　enough；　except　it　sounds　like　our　own　side　is　trying　to　get　us　killed　as　well。　Battery
Command　are　refusing　to　give　us　artillery　support　until　they　are　sure　this　is　really　a　full…blown
assault　and　not　just　a　feint。”
“A　feint；　my　arse；”　Kell　grunted。　“When　have　you　ever　known　an　ork　to　do　anything　by　halves？”
“Agreed；”　Vidmir　said。　“But；　irrespective；　it　looks　like　we’re　going　to　have　to　repel　the　orks　on
our　own。　Emperor　help　us。”　Then；　turning　towards　Larn；　Vidmir　gave　him　the　cold　flash　of　a
graveyard　smile。
“Congratulations；　new　fish；”　he　said。　“Looks　like　not　only　did　you　manage　to　get　yourself
dropped　right　into　the　middle　of　hell　but　you　picked　a　bad　day　in　hell　besides。”
Repzik；　Vidmir；　Donn；　Ralvs　and　Kell。　These　were　the　names　of　the　five　men　who　shared　the　trench
with　him。　Larn　had　learned　that　much　about　them　at　least　in　the　quiet　time　as　they　waited　for　the
battle　to　begin。　They　were　from　a　planet　called　Vardan；　they　told　him。　They　and　their　regiment；　a
group　of　hardened　veterans　known　as　the　902nd　Vardan　Rifles；　had　come　to　the　city　of　Broucheroc
more　than　ten　years　ago　and　had　been　here　even　since。　Ten　years！　He　could　hardly　believe　it。　Nor
where　those　the　only　things　that　Larn　had　learned　from　the　Vardans。
“I　don’t　understand　it；”　he　said；　looking　out　at　the　group　of　gretchin　on　the　other　side　of　noman’s
land。　“What　are　they　waiting　for？”
Ten　minutes　had　passed　since　the　first　alien　appeared。　Though　the　numbers　of　those　waiting　with
it　had　now　increased　to　perhaps　a　couple　of　hundred；　still　the　ranks　of　gretchin　stood　exposed　and
out　in　the　open　on　the　other　side　of　no…man’s　land。　Occasionally　a　squabble　would　break　out；　two　or
three　of　the　aliens　suddenly　breaking　away　from　the　main　group　to　fight　a　bloody　battle　with　tooth
and　claw　while　their　fellows　watched　with　lazy　interest。　For　the　most　part　the　aliens　simply　stood
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there　unmoving；　their　feral　faces　turned　to　stare　unblinkingly　towards　the　human　lines。　It　was　an
unnerving　spectacle。　Not　for　the　first　time；　Larn　found　himself　fighting　the　urge　to　take　his　lasgun
and　fire　at　them。　To　shoot　over　and　over　again　until　every　one　of　the　ugly　inhuman　faces　he　could
see　before　him　had　been　obliterated。
“It’s　an　old　trick；　new　fish；”　Repzik　said。　“They’re　waiting　for　us　to　shoot　at　them　and　give　away
our　positions。”
“But　that’s　suicide；”　Larn　said。　“Why　would　they　be　willing　to　sacrifice　themselves　like　that？”
“Hhh。　They’re　gretch；　new　fish；”　Repzik　replied。　“Willing　doesn’t　come　into　it。　If　their　Warboss
tells　’em　to　go　stand　out　in　no…man’s　land　and　wait　to　get　killed；　it’s　not　like　they　get　much　say　over
it。　Of　course；　even　the　fact　that　their　boss　is　smart　enough　to　think　of　using　his　gretch　that　way　tells
us　something。　It　means　the　green…skin　leading　the　assault　is　likely　to　be　one　crafty　son　of　a　bitch；
relatively　speaking。　And　that’s　likely　to　be　bad　news　for　us；　believe　me。　There’s　not　much　worse
than　a　crafty　ork。　Now　quiet　down；　new　fish。　There　will　be　plenty　of　time　for　questions　later；　after
the　attack。　Assuming；　of　course；　we　survive　it。”
At　that　Repzik　fell　silent　once　more；　his　eyes　staring　into　no…man’s　land　with　the　rest　of　the
Vardans。　Denied　the　distraction　of　further　conversation；　Larn　began　to　realise　just　how　tense　the
atmosphere　was　in　the　trench。　An　attack　is　coming；　he　thought。　Although　these　men　have　faced
dozens；　perhaps　even　hundreds　of　such　attacks　in　the　past；　still　the　tension　is　plain　on　every　line　of
their　faces　for　anyone　to　see。　Briefly；　he　tried　to　find　comfort　in　that　thought。　He　tried　to　tell　himself
that　if　hardened　veterans　like　these　felt　queasy　in　the　face　of　the　impending　assault；　there　was　no
shame　in　the　churning　of　his　own　stomach　but　he　remained　unconvinced。　Am　I　a　coward；　he
thought。　I　am　afraid；　but　will　my　nerve　hold　so　I　can　do　my　duty？　Or　will　it　fail？　Will　I　fight　when
the　attack　comes　or　will　I　break　and　run？　But　as　forcefully　as　those　questions　rebounded　around
inside　his　head；　he　could　find　no　answer。
The　waiting　was　the　worst　of　it。　Abruptly；　as　he　stood　there　on　the　firing　step；　Larn　realised　that
until　now　he　had　been　inoculated　against　fear　by　the　sheer　breathless　pace　of　events　since　the　lander
had　been　hit。　Now；　in　the　silence　of　the　lull　before　battle；　there　was　no　hiding　place　from　his　fears。
He　felt　alone。　Far　from　home。　Terrified　that　he　was　about　to　die　on　a　strange　world　under　a　cold　and
distant　sun。
“Ready　your　weapons；”　Vidmir　said；　as　more　gretchin　began　to　appear　on　the　other　side　of　noman’s
land。　“This　is　it。　Looks　like　they　got　tired　of　waiting。”
“We　hold　our　fire　until　they’re　three　hundred　metres　away；”　Repzik　said　to　Larn。　“See　that　flat
grey…black　rock　over　there？　That’s　your　mark。　We　wait　“til　the　first　rank　of　gretch　reach　that　before
we　fire。”　Then；　seeing　Larn　looking　in　confusion　into　no…man’s　land　as　he　tried　to　distinguish　which
of　the　thousands　of　grey…black　rocks　was　the　mark；　Repzik　sighed　in　exasperation。　“Never　mind；
new　fish。　You　shoot　when　we　do。　You　follow　orders。　You　do　what　we　tell　you　to　do；　when　we　tell
you　to　do　it；　and　you　don’t　ask　any　questions。　Trust　me；　that’s　the　only　way　you　going　to　survive
your　first　fifteen　hours。”
Ahead；　the　group　of　gretchin　out　in　no…man’s　land　had　swelled　to　become　a　horde　several
thousands　strong。　They　seemed　agitated　now；　jabbering　to　each　other　in　incomprehensible　alien
gibberish　while　the　more　brave　or　foolhardy　among　them　pushed　their　way　to　the　front　of　the　group
as　though　restless　for　their　wait　to　be　at　an　end。　Then；　finally；　the　waiting　was　over　as　for　the　first
time　Larn　heard　the　sound　of　massed　alien　voices　screaming　a　terrifying　war　cry。
Waaaaaaaghhhh！
As　one；　firing　their　guns　into　the　air；　the　horde　of　gretchin　came　charging　towards　them。　As
unnerving　as　the　sight　of　the　aliens　had　seemed　to　Larn　earlier；　they　were　nothing　compared　to　the
horrors　he　now　saw　emerging　into　view　in　their　wake。　Just　behind　the　onrushing　gretchin　he　saw
countless　numbers　of　much　larger　green…skins　rise　up　to　join　the　charge。　Each　one　of　them　a
grotesquely　muscled　broad…shouldered　monster　more　than　two　metres　tall；　screaming　with　ferocious
savagery　as　they　took　up　the　battle　cry　of　their　smaller　brethren。
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Waaaaaaaaghhh！
Sweet　Emperor；　Larn　thought；　half…beside　himself　with　terror。　Those　must　be　the　orks。　There’s
so　many　of　them　and　every　one　of　them　is　huge！
“Eight　hundred　metres。”　Vidmir　said；　sighting　in　on　the　enemy　with　the　targeter　clipped　to　the
side　of　his　lasgun；　his　calm　voice　barely　audible　above　the　sound　of　approaching　thunder　as　the
greenskins　charged　ever　closer。　“Keep　yourselves　cold　and　sharp。　No　firing　until　they　reach　the　kill
zone。”
“Don’t　fire　until　you　see　the　reds　of　their　eyes；”　Kell　snickered；　as　if　he　had　found　some　grim
humour　in　the　situation　that　eluded　Larn。
“Six　hundred　metres。”　Vidmir　said；　ignoring　him。
“Remember　to　aim　high；　new　fish；”　Repzik　said。　“Don’t　worry　about　the　gretchin　—　they’re　no
threat。　It’s　the　orks　you　want　to　hit。　We　open　up　with　single　shots　at　first　—　continuous　volley　fire。
Oh；　and　new　fish？　You　might　want　to　release　the　safety　catch　on　your　lasgun。　You’ll　find　killing
orks　is　easier　that　way。”
Fumbling　at　his　lasgun　in　embarrassment　as　he　realised　the　Vardan　was　right；　Larn　switched　the
firing　control　from　safe　to　“single　shot”。　Then；　remembering　his　training　and　the　words　of　The
Imperial　Infantryman’s　Uplifting　Primer；　he　silently　recited　the　Litany　of　the　Lasgun　in　his　mind。
Bringer　of　death；　speak　your　name；
For　you　are　my　life；　and　the　foe’s　death。
“Four　hundred　metres；”　Vidmir　said。　“Prepare　to　fire。”
The　greenskins　were　closing。　Looking　past　the　scuttling　ranks　of　gretchin；　Larn　could　see　the
orks　more　clearly　now。　Close　enough　to　see　sloping　brows　and　baleful　eyes；　while　thousands　of
jutting　jaws　and　mouths　filled　with　murderous　tusks　seemed　to　smile　towards　him　with　eager　and
savage　intent。　With　every　passing　second　the　orks　were　coming　closer。　As　he　watched　them
charging　towards　the　trench；　Larn　felt　himself　gripped　by　an　almost　overpowering　urge　to　turn　and
flee。　He　wanted　to　hide。　To　ran　away　as　far　and　fast　as　he　could　and　never　look　back。　Something
deep　inside　of　him　—　some　mysterious　reservoir　of　inner　strength　he　had　never　known　before　—
stopped　him。　Despite　all　his　fears；　the　dryness　of　his　mouth；　the　trembling　of　his　hands　that　he　hoped
the　others　could　not　see；　despite　all　that　he　stood　his　ground。
“Three　hundred　and　fifty　metres！”　Vidmir　shouted；　while　Larn　could　hear　the　distant　popping
sound　of　mortars　being　fired　behind　them。　“Three　hundred　metres！　On　my　mark！　Fire！”
In　the　same　instant　every　Guardsman　on　the　line　opened　fire；　sending　a　bright　fusillade　of　lasfire
burning　through　the　air　towards　the　orks。　With　it　came　a　sudden　flurry　of　airbursts　as　dozens　of
falling　mortar　and　grenade　launcher　rounds　exploded　in　mid…air　in　a　deadly　hail　of　shrapnel。　Then
came　the　blinding　flash　of　lascannon　beams；　the　rat…a…tat　crack　of　autocannons；　the　flare　of　frag
missiles　streaking　towards　their　targets。　A　withering　torrent　of　fire　that　tore　into　the　charging　orks；
decimating　them。　Through　it　all；　as　the　Vardans　in　the　trench　beside　him　ceaselessly　worked　the
triggers　of　their　lasguns　to　send　more　greenskins　screaming　to　xenos　hell；　Larn　fired　with　them。
He　fired　without　pause；　as　merciless　as　the　others。　Over　and　over　again；　his　fears　abating　with
every　shot；　the　terrors　that　had　once　assailed　him　replaced　by　a　growing　sense　of　exultation　as　he
saw　the　green…skins　die。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life；　Larn　knew　the　savage　joy　of　killing。　For　the
first　time；　seeing　orks　fall　wounded　and　dying　to　be　trampled　under　the　heedless　boot　heels　of　their
fellows；　he　knew　the　value　of　hate。　Seeing　the　enemy　die；　he　felt　no　sorrow　for　them；　no　sadness；　no
remorse　for　their　deaths。　They　were　xenos。　They　were　the　alien。　The　unclean。　They　were　monsters；
every　one　of　them。
Monsters。
With　a　sudden　insight；　he　finally　understood　the　wisdoms　of　the　Imperium。　He　understood　the
teachings　he　had　received　in　the　scholarium；　in　the　sermons　of　the　preachers；　in　basic　training。　He
understood　why　Man　made　war　upon　the　xenos。　In　the　midst　of　that　war；　he　felt　no　pity　for　them。
A　good　soldier　feels　nothing　but　hate。
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Then；　through　the　heat　and　noise　of　battle；　Larn　saw　something　that　brought　all　his　fears　rushing
back　to　him。　Incredibly；　despite　all　the　casualties　inflicted　by　the　Guardsmen’s　fire；　the　greenskins’
charge　had　not　wavered。　Though　the　torrent　of　fire　continued　from　the　Vardans’　positions；　the　orks
kept　on　coming。　They　seemed　unstoppable。　Abruptly；　Larn　found　himself　uncomfortably　aware　just
how　much　he　wanted　to　avoid　having　to　face　an　ork　in　hand…to…hand　combat。
“One　hundred　and　twenty　metres！”　he　heard　Vidmir　yell　through　the　din。　“Change　cells　and
switch　to　rapid　fire！”
“They’re　getting　closer！”　Larn　said；　his　hands　clumsy　with　desperation　as　he　struggled　to　change
the　cell　in　his　lasgun。　“Shouldn’t　we　fix　bayonets　—　just　in　case？”
“Hardly；　new　fish。”　Repzik　said；　his　cell　already　changed　and　firing　with　the　rest。　“If　this　battle
gets　to　bayonet　range　we’ve　as　good　as　lost　it。　Now；　shut　up　and　start　shooting！”
Out　in　no…man’s　land　the　charging　orks　came　ever　closer。　By　now　most　of　the　gretchin　were
dead；　winnowed　away　by　blast　and　shrapnel。　Though　the　ranks　of　the　orks　had　also　been　thinned；
from　where　Larn　stood　there　looked　to　be　thousands　of　them　left。　All　bearing　down　across　the
battered　landscape　of　no…man’s　land　in　a　relentless　and　barbaric　tide　hell　bent　on　slaughter。
There’s　no　stopping　them；　Larn　thought。　We’re　going　to　be　overrun！
He　saw　orks　armed　with　short　bulbous…headed　sticks　running　at　the　head　of　the　mob；　the　sticks
covered　in　a　lethal　profusion　of　spikes；　blades　and　flanges。　At　first　he　took　the　weapons　in　their
hands　to　be　some　form　of　primitive　mace　or　club。　Until　he　saw　the　front　rank　of　orks　suddenly　throw
the　same　“clubs”　to　land　in　the　frozen　mud　before　the　trenches；　each　one　exploding　in　a　shower　of
shrapnel。　Instinctively；　seeing　one　of　the　stick…grenades　land　a　few　metres　from　his　trench；　Larn
ducked　his　head　to　avoid　the　deadly　fragments　whistling　through　the　air　above　it。　An　action　that
drew　a　terse　reprimand　for　Repzik。
“Damnation；　new　fish。　Keep　your　fool　head　up　and　keep　on　shooting！”　Repzik　yelled。　“They’re
trying　to　make　us　keep　our　heads　down　so　they　can　get　in　close。”
Doing　as　he　was　told；　Larn　resumed　firing。　Only　to　look　on　in　horror　with　the　rest　of　the　men　as；
flying　through　the　air　so　slowly　it　might　almost　have　been　moving　in　slow　motion；　another　of　the
stick　grenades　hit　the　parapet　and　bounced　inside　their　trench。
“Stikk　bomb！”　Vidmir　screamed。　“Bail　out！”
Rushing　to　evacuate　the　trench　with　the　others；　Larn　scrambled　over　the　trench　wall　behind　him；
stumbling　over　his　own　two　feet　as　he　made　it　to　ground　level　and　turned　to　run　for　cover。　He
tripped；　his　body　already　falling　towards　the　ground　as　the　blast　of　the　stikk　bomb　ripped　through
the　air　behind　him。　He　felt　a　pain　in　his　shoulder　and　a　sudden　pressure　in　his　ears。　Then；　he　hit　the
ground　and　everything　went　black。
He　became　aware　of　a　ringing　in　his　ears；　his　face　cold　against　the　hard　frozen　mud　beneath　him。
Through　the　haze　of　returning　consciousness；　he　heard　men　screaming　and　shouting；　the　sound　of
lasguns　being　fired；　the　bestial　roars　and　bellows　of　what　could　have　only　been　orks。　The　noises　of　a
battle　going　on　all　around　him。
Starting　abruptly　awake；　with　a　surge　of　fear　Larn　lifted　his　head　from　the　mud　and　looked　about
him　to　try　and　gain　his　bearings。　He　was　lying　face　down　on　the　ground；　the　pain　in　his　shoulder
having　diminished　to　nothing　more　than　a　distant　ache；　while　on　every　side　around　him　Guardsmen
and　orks　fought　in　brutal　combat。　He　saw　an　ork　shot　point…blank　in　the　face；　its　feral　inhuman
features　burned　away　in　the　blink　of　an　eye　by　a　lasgun　on　full　burst。　He　saw　a　Guardsman　in　the
uniform　of　the　Jumael　14th　die　screaming　as　another　ork　disembowelled　him　with　the　blade　of　a
great　gore…stained　axe。　He　saw　men　and　orks　fighting；　their　feet　slipping　and　stumbling　over　the
bodies　of　their　fallen　comrades　beneath　them；　the　details　of　which　side　was　winning　or　losing
unclear　in　the　fog　and　haze　of　combat。　He　saw　blood　and　he　saw　slaughter。　He　saw　savagery　from
human　and　alien　alike。　His　eyes　opened；　he　saw　the　reality　of　war　once　all　the　noble　pretensions
were　stripped　away。
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Then；　as　the　appalling　spectacle　continued　to　unfold　around　him；　Larn’s　heart　began　to　beat
wildly　in　his　chest　as　a　dreadful　thought　suddenly　occurred　to　him。
Where　is　my　lasgun；　he　thought；　looking　about　him　in　panic。　Sweet　Emperor；　I　must　have　lost　it
when　I　fell。
Feeling　suddenly　naked；　Larn　began　scrabbling　frantically　among　the　fallen　bodies　lying　nearby
in　search　of　a　weapon。　No　sooner　had　he　started　than　he　all　but　fell　over　a　gretchin　searching　among
the　bodies　for　reasons　of　its　own。　For　a　second　they　stood　face…to…face；　the　creature　was　as
astonished　to　see　Larn　as　he　was　to　see　it。　Then；　noticing　a　sly　smile　come　over　the　gretchin’s　face
as　it　made　to　lift　its　gun　and　point　it　at　him；　Larn　leapt　screaming　towards　it。
Knocking　the　gun　from　the　gretchin’s　hands　before　it　could　shoot；　Larn　made　to　grab　for　it
himself；　only　for　the　gun　to　skip　away　from　both　of　them　as　the　force　of　their　impact　sent　them
falling　to　the　ground。　Pushing　himself　on　top　of　the　creature；　desperately　trying　to　hold　it　off　with
one　hand　as　it　clawed　and　bit　at　him；　Larn　felt　the　fingers　of　his　free　hand　brush　a　hard　object　lying
on　the　ground　beside　him　and　he　grabbed　it。　As　he　raised　the　object　and　brought　it　crashing　down
into　the　gretchin’s　face；　Larn　became　dimly　aware　he　was　holding　his　own　helmet　but　he　was　past
caring。　In　a　frenzy　born　of　self…preservation；　he　raised　the　helmet　and　smashed　it　down　into　the
gretchin’s　face　again　and　again。　Repeatedly　smashing　the　creature　in　the　face　until　the　helmet　in　his
hand　was　slick　with　black　ichor。　Then；　finally　realising　the　gretchin　had　stopped　moving　long　ago；
Larn　paused　to　catch　his　breath。　By　then；　there　was　no　trace　left　of　the　smile　he　had　seen　from　the
gretchin　when　it　had　tried　to　kill　him。　Below　him；　the　gretchin’s　face　had　been　reduced　to　a　battered
shapeless　pulp。　The　creature　was　dead。　It　could　no　longer　hurt　him。
Hearing　the　chilling　sound　of　an　alien　battlecry；　Larn　looked　up　from　the　dead　body　beneath　him
to　see　a　group　of　a　dozen　orks　charging　towards　him。　For　a　moment　he　almost　turned；　whether　to　run
away　or　scramble　after　the　gretchin’s　fallen　gun　to　defend　himself　he　did　not　know。　Only　to　realise
that　no　matter　what　he　did　now　it　would　make　no　difference。　The　orks　were　too　close。　He　was　as
good　as　dead　already。
This　is　it；　he　thought；　his　panic　abruptly　displaced　by　an　unnerving　sense　of　calm。　I　am　going　to
die　here。　I　am　a　dead　man　and　there　is　nothing　anyone　can　do　to　save　me。
“Forward！”　he　heard　a　voice　yell　as　a　shotgun　boomed　behind　him　and　the　face　of　the　foremost
ork　disappeared　in　an　explosion　of　gore。　“Vardans；　by　my　mark！　Advance　and　rapid　fire！”
Amazed；　Larn　saw　a　battle…scarred　sergeant　in　a　grey…black　greatcoat　stride　past　him　leading　a
ragtag　band　of　Vardans　in　a　counter…charge　against　the　orks。　Moving　at　a　slow　walk；　firing　from　the
hip　with　shotguns；　lasguns　and　flamers　blazing；　they　advanced　towards　the　oncoming　orks；　taking　a
gruesome　toll　of　the　enemy　with　every　step　towards　them。　While　before　them　orks　screamed　and
died；　the　sergeant　led　his　men　forward　with　bullets　and　lasbeams　flying　all　around　him；　his　pace
never　faltering；　his　voice　a　clear　beacon　of　authority　among　the　confusion　of　battle。　Watching　the
sergeant　lead　his　men　from　the　front；　his　every　gesture　calm　and　unafraid；　Larn　found　himself
wondering　if　one　of　the　long…dead　saints　of　the　Imperium　had　somehow　regained　human　form　and
now　walked　among　them。　The　sergeant　seemed　immortal。　Unkillable。　Like　a　hero　from　the　tales
they　told　in　the　scholarium。
A　legend；　leading　his　men　to　victory。
“Forward！”　the　sergeant　yelled；　the　counterattack　gaining　momentum　as　every　man　still　alive　in
the　trenches　gathered　to