Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第17章

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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　advance　beside　him。　“Keep　on　firing。　Forward　and　advance！”
Following　the　sergeant’s　lead　the　advance　continued；　the　constant　fire　of　the　Vardan　guns　and
the　slow　measured　pace　of　their　progress　seemed　every　bit　as　relentless　and　unstoppable　as　had　the
orks’　charge　earlier。　Until；　wilting　before　the　remorseless　ferocity　of　the　Vardans’　attack；　the　orks
did　something　which　Larn　had　never　thought　he　would　live　to　see。
They　turned　and　ran。
Watching　the　surviving　orks　run　back　towards　their　lines；　Larn　slowly　became　aware　of　a　brief
hush　falling　across　the　battlefield　as　the　Vardans’　advance　halted　and　they　stopped　firing。　Soon；　as　it
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became　plain　the　orks’　attack　was　ended；　new　sounds　broke　the　silence：　the　cries　of　wounded　men；
the　shouts　of　their　comrades　calling　for　a　medic；　the　noise　of　nervous　laughter　and　disbelieving
oaths　as　other　men　found　they　were　still　very　much　alive。　Hearing　those　sounds；　Larn　felt　the
tension　abruptly　leave　him　as　the　realisation　hit　him　that　he　had　survived。　Still　kneeling　over　the
body　of　the　dead　gretchin；　he　looked　down　at　the　thing’s　rained　face　in　with　sudden　queasiness；
afraid　he　was　going　to　vomit。　Then；　he　saw　a　shadow　fall　across　him　as　a　nearby　Guardsman　came
to　stand　beside　him。
“You　must　be　a　new　fish？”　a　cynical　voice　asked　him。　“One　of　the　new　groxlings　to　the
slaughter　they　sent　us　in　the　lander？　I　think　this　belongs　to　you。”
Looking　up；　Larn　found　himself　staring　at　an　ugly　dwarfish　Vardan　with　a　shaven　head　and　a
mouthful　of　stained　and　crooked　teeth。　The　Vardan　was　holding　a　lasgun　in　each　hand；　one　of　which
Larn　recognised　sheepishly　as　his　own　gun　—　the　same　weapon　he　had　lost　earlier。
“Here；　new　fish；”　the　rant　said；　giving　him　a　sardonic　broken…toothed　smile　as　he　tossed　the
lasgun　towards　him。　“Next　time　you　need　to　kill　a　gretch；　you　might　try　using　this。”
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CHAPTER　SEVEN
13：39　hours　Central　Broucheroc　Time
The　Field　Station　—　Lessons　in　Futility；　Parts　One　&　Two　—　Friends　&　Heroes　Awaiting　Disposal
—　Welcome　to　the　902ND　Vardan　—　Corporal　Vladek　and　the　Distribution　of　Resources　—
Meeting　Sergeant　Chelkar　and　an　Addition　to　Davir’s　Woes
Pausing　for　a　moment　to　catch　his　breath　while　he　waited　for　the　stretcher　bearers　to　bring　another
patient；　Surgeon…Major　Martus　Volpenz　was　surprised　to　realise　how　inured　he　had　become　to　the
sound　of　men　screaming。　Around　him；　the　walls　of　the　apothecarium　field　station　reverberated　with
it　constantly。　He　could　hear　men　shouting；　begging；　moaning；　shrieking；　muttering　profane　oaths
and　whispering　half…remembered　prayers。　Not　for　the　first　time；　ever　mindful　that　it　was　his　calling
to　alleviate　the　pain　of　others；　the　surgeon…major　looked　about　him　at　the　place　where　he　practised
his　craft　and　felt　despair。
To　a　man　less　accustomed　to　it；　the　dimly　lit　interior　of　the　field　station’s　main　operating　theatre
might　have　been　mistaken　for　a　scene　from　hell。　Along　one　wall　of　the　station；　hundreds　of　severely
wounded　men　lay　in　litters　stacked　four　men　high　on　a　ser