Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第39章

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Something　deep　inside　him　refused　to　let　him　move。
They　have　all　been　in　this　place　too　long；　he　thought　at　last。　That’s　what　it　is。　That　is　why　they
see　dark　motives　in　everything　and　can’t　accept　the　fact　of　miracles。　Really；　it　is　not　even　a　matter　of
forgiving　them。　I　should　feel　sorry　for　them。　Not　angry。
Then；　just　as　he　had　all　but　finally　summoned　the　will　to　swallow　his　pride　and　move；　Larn
heard　the　sound　of　a　shrill　whistle　that　seemed　to　come　from　the　direction　of　the　dugouts。
“Ach；　at　last；”　Davir　said；　as　around　him　the　other　men　began　to　stand　and　collect　their　weapons。
“It’s　about　time。　I　have　been　getting　so　hungry　sitting　here　I　was　beginning　to　think　about　eating
Scholar’s　boots。”
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“Really？”　said　Scholar　mildly；　checking　to　see　if　he　still　had　his　book　with　him。　“And　there　was
perhaps　some　special　reasons　you　were　considering　eating　my　boots　rather　than　your　own；　Davir？”
“What；　you　think　I　should　eat　my　own　boots　and　risk　getting　frostbite？”　Davir　said。　“No　thank
you；　Scholar。　Besides；　you　have　such　big　feet　there　would　be　plenty　of　boot　to　go　around。　Happily
though；　we　seem　to　have　averted　that　particular　catastrophe。　Time　to　get　to　the　barracks　and　see
what　culinary　pleasures　are　awaiting　us。”
“Come　on　then；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　standing　over　Larn。　“If　you　are　last　to　the　mess　line
there　won’t　be　much　left　for　you。”
“You　mean　it　is　meal　time？”　Larn　asked。
“A　meal；　yes；”　Bulaven　said。　“And　a　two…hour　rest…period　as　well。　They　rotate　us　off　the　line　in
groups　of　ten　fireteams　at　a　time。　One　whistle　means　it　is　Barracks　Dugout　One’s　turn。　Our　turn。
Now；　come　on；　new　fish。　The　food　will　be　getting　cold。”
“Yes；　come　on；　new　fish；”　Davir　said。　“Believe　me；　you　think　your　day　has　been　bad　enough　so
far？　Well；　you　haven’t　tasted　Trooper　Skench’s　cooking　yet。”
After　so　long　in　the　cold　of　the　trench；　the　interior　of　Barracks　Dugout　One　seemed　warm　and
inviting　to　him　now。　So　inviting；　in　fact；　that　Larn　found　he　barely　even　noticed　the　stifling　stench　of
smoke　and　stale　sweat　that　permeated　the　air　of　the　dugout。　Inside；　a　line　of　Guardsmen　had　already
formed　up　by　the　time　they　arrived。　Waiting；　with　mess　tins　in　their　hands；　as　a　lanky　rat…faced
Vardan　trooper　with　only　one　arm　dolefully　served　out　portions　of　gruel　from　a　battered　and　gigantic
pot　from　on　top　of　the　stove。
“Ah；　the　inestimable　Skench；”　Davir　purred　as　he　reached　the　head　of　the　line。　“Tell　me；　good
friend　Skench　—　what　delightful　delicacy　are　you　attempting　to　poison　us　with　today？”
“Hhh。　It’s　gruel；　Davir；”　Skench　said　sourly。　“Why？　What　does　it　look　like？”
“Between　you　and　me；　I　wasn’t　entirely　sure；”　Davir　said　as　he　watched　Skench　ladle　a　steaming
dollop　into　his　mess　tin。　“Gruel；　you　say？　And　you　have　followed　your　normal　recipe；　I　take　it？
Sawdust；　spittle；　and　whatever　dubious　organic　refuse　you　could　lay　your　hands　on？”
“Pretty　much；”　said　Skench；　humourlessly。　“Though　you　can　be　sure　I　made　certain　you　got　an
extra　helping　of　spit　in　yours。”
“Why　thank　you；　Skench；”　Davir　said；　favouring　the　one…armed　cook　with　his　most　irritating
smile。　“Really；　you　are　spoiling　me。　I　must　remember　to　write　to　Grand　Marshal　Kerchan　and
recommend　you　for　a　commendation。　If　you　got　a　nice　medal　it　would　give　you　something　extra　to
put　in　the　soup。”
“Hhh。　Always　the　funny　man；　Davir；”　Skench　muttered；　watching　Davir　walk　away。　Then；
turning　back　to　see　Larn　standing　next　in　line；　he　squinted　at　him　in　wary　hostility。
“I　haven’t　seen　you　before；”　Skench　said。　“You　a　new　fish？”
“Yes；”　said　Larn。
“Uh…huh。　You　got　something　funny　to　say　about　my　cooking；　new　fish？”
“Umm…　no。”
“Good；”　Skench　said；　dropping　a　ladleful　of　greasy　brown　gruel　into　Larn’s　tin；　then　nodding
towards　a　pile　of　ration　bars　lying　on　a　nearby　table。　“Make　sure　you　keep　it　that　way。　As　well　as　the
gruel　you　get　to　take　a　ration　bar。　One　bar；　mind；　new　fish。　I’ve　counted　them；　so　don’t　try　taking
two。　Oh；　and　if　tonight　you　should　have　the　runs；　don’t　do　what　the　rest　of　them　do　and　come　round
here　blaming　me。　There　ain’t　nothing　wrong　with　my　cooking。　We　clear　on　that？”
“Uhh…　yes。　We’re　clear。”
“Good。　Then　get　moving；　new　fish。　You’re　holding　up　the　line。　And　remember　what　I　told　you。
There　ain’t　nothing　wrong　with　my　cooking。”
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“This　is　disgusting。”　Larn　said。　“Really　disgusting；　I　mean。　I　thought　the　food　they　gave　us　in　basic
training　on　Jumael　was　bad　enough。　But　this　is　ten　times　worse。”
“Well；　I　did　warn　you；　new　fish；”　Davir　said；　as　he　shovelled　another　spoonful　of　gruel　into　his
own　mouth。　“Such　is　Skench’s　extraordinary　mastery　of　the　culinary　arts；　he　can　make　bad　food
taste　even　worse。”
Having　collected　his　ration　bar；　Larn　now　sat　with　Davir；　Bulaven　and　Scholar　among　the　bunks
inside　the　barracks。　Meanwhile；　still　occasionally　glowering　at　Larn　as　though　to　assure　him　his
feelings　of　hostility　had　not　waned；　Zeebers　sat　alone　and　apart　from　them　against　one　of　the　dugout
walls。　Though；　while　he　still　wondered　at　the　source　of　Zeebers’　strange　antagonism　towards　him；
Larn　found　he　was　more　directly　concerned　at　that　moment　with　the　small　white　shape　he　saw
wriggling　among　the　slop　in　his　mess　tin。
“There　is　some　kind　of　maggot　in　my　food；”　he　said。
“A　Tullan’s　worm…grub；”　Scholar　said。　“They　are　quite　plentiful　hereabouts；　new　fish。　And　an
excellent　source　of　protein。”
“They　add　to　the　flavour　as　well；”　Bulaven　said。　“But　make　sure　you　chew　up　your　food
properly。　If　the　grub　is　still　alive　when　you　swallow　it　they　can　lay　eggs　in　your　stomach。”
“Eggs？”
“Don’t　worry　about　it；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　replied。　“It’s　not　as　bad　as　it　sounds。　Gives　you　the
runs　for　a　couple　of　days；　that　is　all。　Course；　if　Skench　cooked　them　properly；　the　grubs　would　be
dead　by　the　time　they　got　to　us。”
“Sweet　Emperor；　I　can’t　believe　you　act　like　it　is　normal　to　eat　things　like　this；”　Larn　said。
“Normal？”　Davir　said；　mouth　open　to　reveal　a　mashed　lump　of　half…chewed　gruel。　“In　case　you
hadn’t　notice　you’re　in　the　Imperial　Guard；　new　fish。　And　in　the　Guard　you　eat　what　you　can　get。
Anyway；　you　think　this　is　bad　you　should’ve　seen　the　whipsaw　grabs　we　had　to　eat　on　Bandar
Majoris。”
“Actually；　I　seem　to　remember　they　e；　Davir；”　Scholar　said。　“Tasted　a　bit
like　ginny　fowl。”
“I’m　not　talking　about　how　they　tasted；　Scholar；”　Davir　said。　“I’m　talking　about　the　fact　they
were　as　big　as　your　leg　with　a　metre…long　tongue　covered　in　razor…sharp　barbs。　Not　to　mention　they
were　strong　enough　to　tear　a　man’s　arm　off。　And　if　you　want　know　how　we　know　that；　new　fish；　just
go　ask　Skench。”
“Don’t　listen　to　him。　He　is　just　fooling　with　you；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“It　was　an　ork　axe　that
did　for　Skench’s　arm　right　here　in　Broucheroc；　not　a　whipsaw　grub　on　Bandar　Majoris。　Though　we
did　lose　a　lot　of　men　to　those　grabs。”
“Do　you　remember　Commissar　Grisz？”　Scholar　said。　“Went　behind　a　bush　one　morning　to　see　to
his　daily　bowel　movement　only　to　find　he　was　squatting　over　a　whole　nest　of　the　damned　things。
You　could　have　heard　his　scream　halfway　across　the　planet。”
“Phah。　Good　riddance　to　bad　rubbish；”　Davir　said。　“Grisz　always　was　a　pain　in　the　arse。　No　pun
intended。”
“You　ask　me；”　Bulaven　said；　“the　thing　I　remember　most　from　Bandar　is　Davir　hunting　the
terranosaurs。”
“Ah　yes；”　Scholar　said。　“You　mean　the　wager。”
“Ach；　you’re　not　still　going　on　about　that；　Bulaven；”　Davir　scowled。　“Emperor　wept。　Once　a
man　wins　a　bet　against　you；　you　never　forgive　him。”
“You　should　have　seen　it；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　smiling。　“We’d　been　on　Bandar　a　week
maybe；　at　most。　It　is　a　jungle　planet　and　there　were　these　deathworlders。　Ach；　you　tell　it；　Scholar　—
you　always　do　a　better　job　of　it　than　me。”
“All　right；　then；”　Scholar　said；　leaning　intently　forward。　“Imagine　the　scene；　new　fish。　It　is
midday：　the　jungle　is　hot　and　humid。　We　have　come　back　into　camp　after　being　out　on　patrol　when
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we　smell　the　most　delicious　and　mouth…watering　aroma。　Following　our　noses　we　find　a　group　of
Catachans　are　roasting　a　metre…and…a…half　long　two…legged　lizard　on　an　open　spit。　N