Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第14章

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Over。”
“I　can　see　movement　on　the　ork　side；”　one　of　the　other　Guardsmen　said；　standing　looking　over
the　trench　parapet。　“All　this　killing　must　have　got　their　blood　up。　They’re　getting　ready　for　an
attack。”　Then；　while　Larn　was　still　wondering　if　he　had　really　heard　the　word　“ork”；　he　saw　the　man
turn　away　from　the　parapet　to　look　towards　him。
“Assuming　that　uniform　you’re　wearing　is　not　just　for　show；　new　fish；　you　might　want　to　stand
up　and　get　your　lasgun　ready。　There’s　going　to　be　shooting。”
Pulling　himself　to　his　feet；　Larn　unslung　his　lasgun；　stepping　forward　as　the　other　Guardsmen
moved　sideways　to　make　space　for　him　on　the　trench’s　firing　step。　Then；　as　he　checked　his　lasgun
and　made　ready　to　put　it　to　his　shoulder；　he　saw　something　that　caused　him　to　wonder　if　his　first
combat　drop　might　have　gone　even　more　badly　wrong　than　he　could　have　thought。　As；　from　the
corner　of　his　eye；　he　spotted　a　bullet…riddled　wooden　sign　erected　behind　and　slightly　to　one　side　of
the　trench。　A　sign　whose　ironic　greeting　gave　him　pause　to　wonder　if　he　really　was　where　he
thought　he　was　at　all。
A　sign　that　said：
Welcome　to　Broucheroc。
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CHAPTER　SIX
12：09　hours　Central　Broucheroc　Time
Questions　of　Interstellar　Geography　and　Other　Revelations　—　A　Bad　Day　in　Hell　—　The　Waaagh！
—　A　Baptism　of　Fire　—　Hand…To…Hand　against　the　Enemy　—　An　Opinion　as　to　the　Best　Method　of
Killing　a　Gretchin
“They’re　getting　ready　to　move　all　right；”　the　Guardsman　said　next　to　him；　spitting　a　wad　of　greasy
phlegm　over　the　trench　parapet。　“They’ll　hit　us　hard　this　time；　and　in　numbers。　It’s　the　blood　that
does　it；　you　see。　Our　blood；　I　mean。　Human　blood。　The　sight　and　smell　of　it　always　makes　’em　more
willing　and　eager　for　a　fight。　Though；　Emperor　knows；　your　average　ork　is　usually　pretty　eager　to
begin　with。”
His　name　was　Repzik：　Larn　could　see　the　faded　letters　of　the　name　stencilled　on　the　tunic　of　the
man’s　uniform　under　his　greatcoat。　Standing　beside　him　on　the　firing　step；　Larn　followed　the
direction　of　his　eyes　to　look　into　the　landscape　he　now　knew　as　no…man’s　land。
No　matter　how　intently　he　stared　across　the　bleak　fields　of　frozen　mud　before　them　he　could　see
no　movement；　nor　for　that　matter　any　other　sign　of　the　enemy。　Ahead；　no…man’s　land　seemed　as　flat；
featureless　and　devoid　of　life　as　it　had　when　he　had　emerged　from　the　lander　to　his　first　view　of　it
barely　ten　minutes　ago。　The　only　difference　now　was　the　addition　of　the　burning　shell　of　the　lander
itself　and　with　it　the　bodies　of　his　company　strewn　haphazard　and　bloody　across　the　frozen
landscape。　Abruptly；　as　he　looked　out　at　the　remains　of　men　he　had　known　as　friends　and　comrades；
Larn　felt　the　beginnings　of　tears　stinging　wetly　at　the　corners　of　his　eyes。
Jenks　is　dead；　he　thought。　And　Hallan；　Vorrans；　Lieutenant　Winters；　even　Sergeant　Ferres。　I
don’t　see　Leden。　Perhaps　he　is　still　alive　somewhere。　But　nearly　every　man　I　came　here　with　from
Jumael　is　lying　dead　out　there　in　no…man’s　land。　All　of　them　slaughtered　within　minutes　of　landing；
without　even　having　fired　a　shot。
“It’s　a　pity　about　your　comrades；”　Repzik　said；　his　voice　almost　kindly　as　Larn　clenched　his　eyes
to　try　and　stop　the　other　men　in　the　trench　from　seeing　his　tears。　“But　they’re　dead　and　you　ain’t。
What　you　need　to　start　thinking　about　now　is　how　you’re　going　to　stop　yourself　from　joining　them。
The　orks　are　coming；　new　fish。　If　you　want　to　live　you’re　going　to　have　to　keep　yourself　hard　and
tight。”
“Orks？”　Larn　said；　trying　to　concentrate　his　mind　on　the　practical　in　an　effort　to　lay　his　grief
aside。　“You　said　‘orks’？　I　didn’t　know　there　were　any　orks　on　Seltura　VII？”
“Could　be　that’s　true；”　Repzik　said；　as　beside　him　one　of　the　other　Guardsmen　looked　to　the　sky
in　silent　exasperation。　“Fact　is；　you’d　have　to　ask　somebody　who’s　actually　been　there。　Here　in
Broucheroc　though　we　generally　have　more　orks　than　we　know　what　to　do　with。”
“Wait；”　asked　Larn；　confused；　“are　you　telling　me　this　planet　isn’t　Seltura　VII？”
“Well；　I　wasn’t　specifically　commenting　on　it；　new　fish；”　Repzik　said。　“But　since　you　ask；　you’d
be　right　enough。　This　place　isn’t　Seltura　VII　—　wherever　in　hell　that　is。”
Stunned；　for　a　moment　Larn　wondered　if　he　had　somehow　misunderstood　the　man’s　meaning。
Then；　he　looked　out　again　at　the　treeless　landscape　and　was　struck　by　all　the　troubling
inconsistencies　between　what　he　had　been　told　to　expect　on　Seltura　VII　and　the　stark　brutal　realities
of　the　world　he　saw　before　him。　They　had　made　the　drop　three　weeks　early。　There　were　no　forests。　It
was　winter　rather　than　summer。　The　war　here　was　against　orks；　not　PDF　rebels。　A　catalogue　of　facts
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that；　with　a　dawning　horror　born　of　slow　realisation；　pushed　him　inexorably　toward　a　sudden　and
shocking　conclusion。
Holy　Throne；　he　thought。　They　sent　us　to　the　wrong　planet！
“I　shouldn’t　be　here；”　he　said　aloud。
“It’s　funny　how　everyone　tends　to　think　that　when　they’re　waiting　for　an　attack　to　begin；”　said
Repzik。　“I　wouldn’t　worry　about　it；　new　fish。　Once　the　orks　get　here　you’ll　soon　find　yourself
feeling　right　at　home。”
“No；　you　don’t　understand；”　Larn　said。　“There　has　been　a　terrible　mistake。　My　company　was
supposed　to　be　going　to　the　Seltura　system。　To　a　world　called　Seltura　VII；　to　put　down　a　mutiny
among　the　local　PDF。　Something　must　have　gone　wrong　because　I’m　on　the　wrong　planet。”
“So？　What　is　that　to　me？”　Repzik　said；　his　eyes　as　he　looked　at　Larn　seemed　little　warmer　than
the　landscape　around　them。　“You　are　on　the　wrong　planet。　You　are　in　the　wrong　system。　Not　to
mention　probably　the　wrong　war。　Get　used　to　it；　new　fish。　If　that　is　the　worst　thing　that　happens　to
you　today；　you　will　have　been　lucky。”
“But　you　don’t　understand—”
“No。　It　is　you　who　does　not　understand；　new　fish。　This　is　Broucheroc。　We　are　surrounded　by　ten
million　orks。　And　right　now　some　of　those　orks　—　maybe　only　a　few　thousand　or　so；　if　we　are　lucky
—　are　getting　ready　to　attack　us。　They　don’t　care　what　planet　you　think　you　should　be　on。　They
don’t　care　that　you　think　you’re　in　the　wrong　place；　that　you’re　wet　behind　the　ears；　or　that　you’re
probably　not　even　old　enough　to　shave。　All　they　care　about　is　killing　you。　So　if　you　know　what　is
good　for　you；　new　fish；　you　will　put　all　this　crap　aside　and　start　worrying　about　killing　them
instead。”
Shocked　at　the　man’s　outburst　Larn　said　nothing；　his　reply　dying　on　his　tongue　as　he　saw　Repzik
turn　away　from　him　to　gaze　darkly　into　no…man’s　land　once　more。　As　though　by　some　sixth　sense
the　other　Guardsmen　in　the　trench　had　already　done　the　same；　all　of　them　staring　hard　into　no…man’s
land　as　though　watching　something　happening　out　there　of　which　Larn　was　entirely　unaware。　No
matter　how　hard　Larn　tried；　he　could　see　nothing。　Nothing　except　grey…black　mud　and　desolation。
Frustrated；　wary　of　asking　the　others　what　they　were　looking　at　for　fear　of　drawing　another
angry　outburst；　Larn　turned　to　glance　around　him。　Behind　him；　hidden　from　his　sight　when　he　had
first　landed　by　a　gentle　sloping　of　the　ground；　was　a　series　of　firing　trenches　and　foxholes。　All　of
them　led　down　towards　sandbag　emplacements　that　covered　the　entrances　to　a　number　of
underground　dugouts　set　among　the　shattered　husks　of　buildings　at　the　outskirts　of　the　city。　Now　his
eyes　had　become　accustomed　to　the　relentless　grey　of　the　landscape；　Larn　could　see　other　firing
trenches　around　and　to　the　side　of　their　trench　—　their　parapets　cunningly　camouflaged　to　look　no
different　from　the　countless　chunks　of　crumbling　half…buried　plascrete　and　other　detritus　that　lay
scattered　across　this　wasteland。　From　time　to　time　a　Guardsman　would　suddenly　emerge　from　one　of
the　trenches　to　run　half…crouched；　zigzagging　from　one　piece　of　cover　to　the　next　until　he　reached
the　safety　of　either　another　trench　or　the　entrance　to　one　of　the　dugouts。　Behind　them；　in　the
distance；　the　main　body　of　the　city　stood　brooding　across　the　horizon　as　though　watching　their　lives
and　labours　with　disdain。　A　city　of　ruined　and　battle…scarred　buildings　set　against　a　grey　and
uncaring　sky。
This　is　Broucheroc；　Larn　reminded　himself。　That　is　what　th