Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第24章

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“Fine；　Scholar；”　Davir　had　shrugged。　“I　think　you’re　wasting　your　time；　but　you　tell　him　all
about　it　then。　While　you’re　at　it；　you　might　as　well　tell　him　how　to　go　about　brushing　his　teeth　and
wiping　his　backside。　After　all；　I　wouldn’t　like　to　see　the　consequences　if　the　new　fish　here　somehow
got　those　two　vital　functions　mixed　up。　Whatever　you　do；　do　it　from　the　firing　step。　It　is　still　your
turn　to　stand　watch。　And　remember：　just　because　we　have　to　nursemaid　a　war　virgin　doesn’t　mean
the　orks　have　forgotten　they　want　to　kill　us。”
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“You　see　them？”　Scholar　said　a　few　minutes　later；　standing　pointing　into　no…man’s　land　from　the
firing　step　next　to　Larn　while　Davir　and　the　others　sat　playing　a　card　game　on　the　trench　floor　below
them。　“That　dark　grey　ragged　line　about　eight　hundred　metres　away？　That’s　the　ork　lines。”
Looking　through　the　field　glasses　Scholar　had　lent　him；　Larn　followed　the　direction　of　the　tall
man’s　pointing　finger　to　stare　into　the　wasteland　before　them。　There。　He　saw　it。　A　sinuous　line　of
ditches　that　ran　the　entire　length　of　the　sector　on　the　other　side　of　no…man’s　land。　Watching　it；　from
time　to　time　he　saw　a　gretchin　or　ork　head　suddenly　come　into　view。　Only　for　the　head　to　then
swiftly　disappear　as　its　owner　dropped　out　of　sight　below　the　parapets　on　the　ork　side　once　more。
“I　don’t　understand　how　I　didn’t　see　it　before；”　Larn　said。　“Having　the　field　glasses　helps。　But　it
seems　so　clear　now。　How　could　I　have　missed　it？”
“It　is　a　question　of　perception。”　Scholar　said。　“You　have　noticed　how　grey　the　landscape　is？　The
mud；　the　rocks；　the　sky；　even　the　buildings？　When　a　person　first　arrives　here　the　details　of　the　world
about　them　can　easily　be　lost　in　the　same　monotonous　tone　of　grey。　But　there　are　subtle　differences。
Differences　you　become　slowly　aware　of　the　longer　you　spend　in　this　city。　You　have　heard　how
some　jungle…worlders　have　forty　different　words　for　green？　In　reality　of　course　those　forty　words
correspond　to　different　shades　of　green。　Shades　which　would　all　look　the　same　to　us。　But　to　them；
their　perceptions　heightened　by　living　their　entire　lives　in　a　green　environment；　the　difference
between　each　shade　is　as　obvious　as　the　difference　between　black　and　white。　It　is　the　same　here　in
Broucheroc。　Believe　me；　you’ll　be　amazed　how　acute　you　become　to　the　palette　of　greys　once
you’ve　been　in　this　city　a　few　months。”
“Of　course；”　he　continued；　delighted　to　finally　have　an　audience　willing　to　hear　a　lecture；
“normally　you　wouldn’t　be　able　to　miss　the　ork　lines　if　you　tried。　There’d　be　an　array　of　makeshift
walls；　dirt　ramparts　and　bosspoles　stretching　from　one　side　of　the　sector　to　the　other。　Or　piles　of
burned…out　vehicles　and　corpses　used　in　place　of　sandbags。　The　details　differ　from　sector　to　sector。
Up　to　a　month　ago　we　were　stationed　in　Sector　1…11。　There；　the　orks　used　these　large　jury…rigged
barricades　that　they　would　just　smash　their　way　through　whenever　they　attacked　us。　Then　they
would　rebuild　them；　smashing　their　way　through　them　again　whenever　there　was　a　major　assault；
and　so　on。　You　see；　the　orks　don’t　follow　a　centralised　command　structure　as　we　do。　Granted；　when
their　Warbosses　are　not　busy　fighting　it　out　amongst　each　other；　they　are　usually　united　behind　a
single　Warlord。　But　when　it　comes　to　the　disposition　of　any　particular　ork　sector；　the　local　Warboss
is　free　to　do　as　he　wants。　And；　as　it　happens；　this　particular　boss　seems　to　have　taken　a　leaf　out　of
our　book　—　ordering　his　followers　to　dig　camouflaged　underground　dugouts；　foxholes　and　trenches
rather　than　the　usual　ostentatious　fortress。　It　could　be　he　is　brighter　than　the　usual　ork　leader。　Then
again；　perhaps　he’s　just　aping　our　tactics　without　any　kind　of　clear　plan　in　mind。　Really；　it　can　be
hard　to　tell　with　orks。　Even　after　ten　years　here；　I　still　find　it　difficult　to　tell　the　difference　between　a
stupid　ork　and　a　clever　one。”
“You　have　been　here　ten　years　as　well？”　Larn　said。　“I　could　barely　believe　it　when　Repzik　said
he　had　been　here　that　long。”
“We　all　have；”　Scholar　said。　“Me；　Davir；　Bulaven；　Vladek；　Chelkar；　Svenk；　Kell。　All　the　men　in
the　company　have。　The　ones　from　Vardan；　anyhow。　Of　course；　there　are　plenty　of　replacements　like
you　and　Zeebers　who　have　been　here　considerably　less　time。”
“Zeebers　isn’t　from　Vardan？”
“Him？　No；　as　I　say；　he　is　a　replacement。　Joined　us　about　two　months　ago；　give　or　take。”
“What　about　the　rest　of　the　regiment？　Are　there　many　replacements　among　them　as　well？”
“The　rest？　You　misunderstand　me；　new　fish；”　Scholar　said　sadly。　“Company　Alpha　is　the
Vardan　902nd。　We’re　all　that’s　left　among　the　Vardans　here。　The　others　are　dead。”
“You　mean　your　regiment　was　wiped　out？”　Larn　said　horrified。　“Out　of　an　entire　regiment；　only
two　hundred　men　are　still　alive？”
“Worse　than　that；　new　fish。　There　were　three　Vardan　regiments　when　we　first　set　down　in
Broucheroc。　But　over　time　we　suffered　heavy　losses。　We　lost　the　Vardan　722nd　in　our　first　week
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here；　wiped　out　when　General　HQ　ordered　one　of　their　now　famous　all…out　assaults　on　the　ork　lines。
The　survivors　were　amalgamated　into　the　Vardan　831st；　who　in　turn　eventually　became　part　of　the
902nd。　Then；　over　the　years；　there　were　more　casualties　and　the　number　of　companies　in　the　902nd
were　reduced　and　amalgamated。　Until；　now；　only　Company　Alpha　is　left。　At　last　count　I　believe　our
current　fighting　strength　is　something　in　the　order　of　two　hundred　and　forty…four　men；　perhaps　threequarters
of　whom　are　from　Vardan。　Something　like　one　hundred　and　eighty　or　so　Vardans　then；　left
from　the　more　than　six　thousand　men　who　first　made　planetfall　in　this　city　ten　years　ago。　Really　it　is
not　so　different　from　your　situation　with　your　own　former　company。　It　is　a　matter　of　attrition；　you
see。　It’s　the　same　for　ever　other　Guard　regiment　in　this　city。　Of　course；　having　been　on　the　frontlines
so　long；　we’ve　had　it　worse　than　most。　I　doubt　there’s　a　regiment　left　in　this　city　that　is　at　any　more
than　thirty　per　cent　of　its　original　strength。　This　is　Broucheroc：　here；　everything　is　a　matter　of
attrition。　But　then；　given　the　name　of　the　place；　it　is　hardly　surprising。”
“The　name？”　Larn　asked；　still　stunned　by　the　thought　that　the　men　he　saw　about　him　were　all
that　was　left　from　six　thousand　Guardsmen。
“Yes。　A　while　back　we　spent　a　month　dug　in　at　an　old　bombed…out　building　that　turned　out　to　be
a　storage　facility　for　some　of　the　city’s　oldest　archives。　I　managed　to　read　some　of　them　before
Davir　and　the　rest　used　them　for　toilet　paper。　In　the　days　before　it　became　a　city　the　name　of　this
place　was　Butcher’s　Rock；　or　Bouchers　Roc　in　the　local　planetary　dialect。　Over　time；　as　the　city
grew；　its　name　was　corrupted　to　the　pronunciation　we　know　now。　Broo…sher…rok。　As　for　the　origin
of　the　name；　apparently　the　first　settlement　to　be　founded　here　served　as　the　centre　for　the　planet’s
meat　trade。　Of　course　it　still　does；　in　a　manner　of　speaking。”
“Still　does？”　Larn　said。　“I　don’t　understand　what　you　mean。”
“He　means　that　this　whole　damned　city　is　one　big　meat　grinder；　new　fish；”　Davir　growled　from
the　bottom　of　the　trench。　“And　we　are　the　meat。”
“You　should　tell　the　new　fish　about　the　promethium；　Scholar；”　Bulaven　said　from　beside　him。
“It　is　better　if　he　knows　what　we　are　fighting　for。”
“Ah　yes。　The　promethium；”　Scholar　said；　taking　the　field　glasses　back　from　Larn　and　placing
them　in　a　case　on　his　belt。　“That　is　what　the　battle　here　is　about；　more　or　less。”　Then；　nodding
towards　Davir；　he　added：　“Of　course；　I’m　sure　if　you　asked　Davir　he　would　tell　you　the　war　here　is
only　about　survival。　Which　would　be　right　as　well。　But　you　cannot　understand　the　broader　issues　of
strategy　here　without　knowing　something　about　the　promethium。”
“Strategy；　my　broad　Vardan　arse；”　Davir　said。　“What　does　strategy　mean　to　us？　You　think　a　man
cares　about　strategy　when　he　feels　an　ork　blade　go　into　his　belly？　You　and　Bulaven　are　fooling
yourselves；　Scholar。　What；　you　think　if　it　wasn’t　for　the　promethium　the　orks　would　just　go　away？　If
that　were　the　case　I’d　have　found　some　way　of　giving　it　to　them　myself　by　now；　never　mind