Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第41章

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by　our　fingernails。　But　if　you　want　to　see　just　how　bad　things　here　could　get；　take　a　look　at　Sector　1…
13。”
“1…13？”　the　general　said。　“What　are　you　talking　about　Drezlen？　The　situation　map　says　Sector　1…
13　is　blue。”
“Yes；　sir。　And　what　is　more；　it　is　the　only　sector　that　has　yet　to　be　attacked。　And　I　ask　you；
leaving　aside　for　a　moment　the　fact　that　our　enemies　are　orks；　what　does　that　suggest　to　you？”
“You　don’t　mean？”　the　general　blustered。　“But　that　is　impossible；　colonel…”
“Ordinarily　I　would　agree；　sir。　But　there　seems　to　be　a　pattern　here。　And；　given　that　pattern；　we
have　to　ask　why　would　the　orks　launch　a　major　offensive　against　every　sector　to　the　side　of　it　and
leave　Sector　1…13　unmolested？　Unless　what　we　are　seeing　on　the　situation　map　are　only　the　opening
moves　of　a　larger　assault　intended　to　tie　up　our　forces　and　allow　the　orks　a　clear　ran　at　their　real
target。　Imagine　it；　general：　if　the　orks　were　to　launch　a　full…scale　assault　on　Sector　1…13　now；　there
would　be　precious　little　we　could　do　to　stop　them　achieving　a　sector…wide　breakthrough。”
“But　if　that　happened；　our　forces　in　other　sectors　would　have　to　retreat　or　risk　being　cut　off。　It
could　turn　into　a　rout。　No。　It　is　just　not　possible；　Drezlen。　They　are　orks。　Savages。　They　are　not
clever　enough　to　have…”
For　a　moment；　turning　to　gaze　intently　at　the　pict…display　before　him　the　general　fell　quiet。
Watching　the　old　man’s　troubled　face　as　he　silently　wrestled　with　all　he　had　heard；　Colonel　Drezlen
felt　a　sudden　sympathy　for　him。　General　Pronan　was　an　old　school　solider；　thoroughly　indoctrinated
by　his　forty　years　in　the　Guard　in　the　belief　that　all　aliens　were　little　better　than　animals。　The　idea　he
might　have　been　outmanoeuvred　by　them；　and　by　orks　for　that　matter；　would　be　hard　for　him　to
swallow　but　it　was　a　matter　of　evidence。　Slowly；　Drezlen　saw　a　grim　look　of　resolve　come　over　the
general’s　face。　He　had　made　his　decision。
“All　right；　then；”　the　general　said　at　last。　“Let　us　assume　for　the　sake　of　argument　your　theory　is
correct。　Can　we　reinforce　Sector　1…13？”
“No；　sir。　As　I　say；　all　our　forces　are　tied　up　fighting　off　the　orks　in　other　sectors。”
“What　about　our　forces　already　inside　Sector　1…13？　Who　do　we　have　stationed　there？”
“Company　Alpha；　the　902nd　Vardan　Rifles；　commanded　by　Sergeant　Eugin　Chelkar。”
“A　single　company？”　the　general’s　voice　was　a　dry　whisper。　“Commanded　by　a　sergeant？　That’s
all　we　have？　But；　Holy　Throne；　if　you　are　right　and　the　attack　comes—”
“Yes；　sir。”　Colonel　Drezlen　said。　“If　that　happens；　then　two　hundred　and　something　Guardsmen
are　all　that　stands　between　us　and　this　entire　map　going　green。”
He　dreamed　of　home。　He　dreamed　of　spring：　the　earth　of　the　fields　wet　and　rich　as　the　seeds　were
planted。　He　dreamed　of　summer：　the　sky　blue　and　endless　overhead　as　rows　of　golden　wheat　grew
ripe　below　it。　He　dreamed　of　autumn：　the　same　sky　now　thick　with　lazy　smoke　from　the　burning　of
the　stubble　after　the　harvesting　was　done。　He　dreamed　of　winter：　the　fields　dizzyingly　empty；　the
ground　hard　with　frost。　He　dreamed；　his　dreams　a　jumbled　montage　of　people；　places；　memories；
recollections。
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He　dreamed　of　home。
He　dreamed　of　the　days　of　his　youth。　Of　the　change　of　the　seasons。　Of　happiness；　peace　and
contentment。
And　then；　he　awoke　to　hell　once　more。
Starting　awake　at　the　sound　of　an　explosion　overheard；　for　an　instant　Larn　had　no　idea　where　he
was。　Gazing　blearily　about　him　in　confusion；　he　recognised　the　dugout　and　realised　he　must　have
fallen　asleep　on　one　of　the　bunks　while　the　others　were　talking。　Then；　he　heard　another　explosion
much　louder　than　the　first　and　looked　up　to　see　a　thin　trickle　of　soil　fall　downwards　through　the　gap
between　two　of　the　wooden　planks　that　made　up　the　dugout’s　inner　ceiling。
“That　was　a　close　one；”　he　heard　Bulaven’s　voice　say　calmly。　“I　wouldn’t　like　to　be　above
ground　in　the　middle　of　this　one。”
Becoming　fully　awake；　Larn　realised　he　had　inadvertently　fallen　asleep　on　top　of　his　mess　tin。
Wiping　away　a　chunk　of　congealed　gruel　that　had　stuck　to　his　uniform；　he　turned　to　see　the　Vardans
were　still　gathered　nearby。　Bulaven　sat　in　one　bunk　rubbing　dubbing　into　his　boots；　Scholar　sat　in
another　reading　his　book；　while；　incredibly；　despite　the　now　continuous　roar　of　explosions
overheard；　Davir　lay　in　another　bunk　sound　asleep。
“Ah；　you　are　awake；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　gesturing　up　with　his　thumb　toward　the　ceiling　at
the　sound　of　more　explosions　overhead。　“I　can’t　say　I　am　surprised。　They　are　making　enough　noise
up　there　to　wake　the　dead。”
“They　are　shelling　us　again？”　Larn　asked。　“Our　own　side；　I　mean？”
“Hmm？　Oh　no；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“It　is　the　orks　this　time。　If　you　listen　closely　you　can
hear　the　difference；　ork　shells　have　a　duller　sound　to　them　when　they　explode。　Still；　you　needn’t
worry。　These　dugouts　are　built　to　last。　We　should　be　quite　safe　so　long　as　we　are　in　here。”
“Unless；　of　course；　a　shell　scores　a　direct　hit　on　the　dugout’s　ventilation　chimney。”　Scholar
raised　his　eyes　from　his　book。　“Even　if　the　shell　doesn’t　break　through　it；　the　chimney　is　still　likely
to　funnel　the　explosion　down　here。”
“True；”　Bulaven　said。　“Ach；　but　that　hardly　ever　happens；　new　fish。　You　needn’t　worry　about
that。　Anyway；　this　bombardment　won’t　last　long。　The　orks　have　no　staying　power　when　it　comes　to
these　things；　you　see。　Chances　are　whichever　ork　is　in　charge　of　their　big　guns　has　become
overexcited　for　some　reason　and　has　decided　to　let　off　a　few　rounds　in　celebration。　Trust　me；　new
fish；　in　ten　minutes’　time　or　so　it　will　all　be　over。”
“How　long　has　it　been　now；”　Larn　asked；　listening　to　the　muffled　thud　and　whump　of　shells　striking
the　ground　above　the　dugout。
“About　an　hour；　I’d　say；”　Bulaven　shrugged；　now　busy　cleaning　the　trigger　mechanism　of　his
heavy　flamer。　“Maybe　three…quarters。　Looks　like　the　orks　must　be　very　excited。　Still；　I　wouldn’t
worry　too　much　about　it。　Don’t　let　it　ruin　your　barracks　time；　new　fish。　They　are　bound　to　get　tired
of　shelling　us　sooner　or　later。”
Finding　himself　far　from　reassured；　Larn　looked　upward　to　see　another　trickle　of　soil　falling
from　the　gaps　between　the　wooden　planks　of　the　ceiling。　Remembering　a　dream　of　tattered　crones
standing　around　his　grave　as　shovelfuls　of　earth　hit　his　face；　Larn　felt　an　involuntary　shiver　ran
through　him。　Those　explosions　sound　close；　he　thought。　What　if　one　of　the　shells　hits　the　dugout
entrance　and　we　are　trapped　down　here？　Would　anyone　on　the　surface　be　able　to　dig　us　out？　Would
they　even　try？　Sweet　Emperor；　it　might　be　better　if　what　Scholar　talked　about　happened　instead　and
a　shell　hit　the　ventilation　chimney。　At　least　then　it　would　be　quick。　You　would　be　dead　before　you
knew　it。　Not　buried　alive　in　this　tomb　of　a　dugout；　waiting　for　your　air　to　run　out　or　to　slowly　die　of
thirst　and　starvation。
Abruptly；　realising　his　nerves　were　beginning　to　shred　at　the　constant　sound　of　explosions　and
the　thought　of　what　those　explosions　might　cause；　Larn　begin　to　scan　the　interior　of　the　dugout　in
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search　of　something　—　anything　—　to　take　his　mind　from　what　was　going　on　above　them。　Around
him；　the　dugout　had　become　crowded　with　men　who　had　taken　refuge　from　the　shelling。　Among
them　he　saw　Sergeant　Chelkar；　Medical　Officer　Svenk；　and　some　of　the　men　from　Repzik’s
fireteam。　While　the　din　of　explosions　continued　overhead；　here　life　inside　the　dugout　seemed　to　be
proceeding　just　as　it　had　before　the　shelling　started。　He　saw　Vardans　eating；　talking；　laughing；
drinking　recaf；　some　of　them　even　trying　to　sleep　like　Davir。　Then；　Larn　noticed　Zeebers　was　still
sitting　alone　against　one　of　the　dugout　walls；　idly　tossing　a　knife　around　in　his　hand　to　catch　first　the
blade；　then　the　hilt。
Watching　Zeebers　playing　with　his　knife；　Larn　felt　a　sudden　urge　to　have　the　answer　to　a
question　that　had　been　gnawing　at　him　ever　since　he　had　first　met　the　man。
“Bulaven？”　he　asked。　“Before；　remember　when　you　told　me　that　I　shouldn’t　worry　too　much　at
the　things　Davir　said？　That　it　was　just　his　way？”
“Of　course　I　remember；　new　fish。”　Bulaven　said。　“Why　do　you　bring　it　up？”
“Well；　I