Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第44章

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fireteam　as　they　made　ready　to　repel　the　assault。
“Five　hundred　metres；”　Scholar　said；　already　squinting　at　the　oncoming　orks　through　a　targeter
by　the　time　Larn　threw　himself　into　the　trench　and　took　his　place　on　the　firing　step　beside　Bulaven。
“Remember；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“When　you　hear　the　order　to　fall　back；　you　grab　a　spare
fuel　canister　and　stay　close　to　me。”
“Yes；　new　fish；”　Davir　said　from　across　him。　“And　while　you’re　at　it；　don’t　go　losing　your
lasgun　again。　I　will　let　you　into　a　secret：　your　helmet　is　for　protecting　your　head；　not　for　the　hitting
of　gretchin。　Now；　get　ready；　puppy。　Time　to　show　the　orks　your　claws。”
“Four　hundred　metres；”　Scholar　said。
Remembering　this　time　to　click　off　the　safety　catch；　Larn　hurriedly　ran　through　his　pre…battle
ritual；　silently　reciting　the　Litany　of　the　Lasgun　in　his　mind　before　adding　a　quick　prayer　to　the
Emperor　for　good　measure。　Beside　him　he　saw　Davir；　Scholar　and　Zeebers　sighting　in　on　the　orks；
while　to　the　side　of　them　Bulaven　checked　the　pump　pressure　on　his　flamer。　Then；　from　behind　him；
he　heard　the　sound　of　mortars　being　fired　and　knew　the　battle　was　about　to　begin　in　earnest。
“Three　hundred　metres；”　Scholar　yelled。　“On　my　mark…　fire！”
Lasbeams。　Mortars。　Auto…cannon　rounds。　Frag　missiles。　From　all　across　the　line　the　Vardans　opened
up　with　everything　they　had。　All　the　while；　as　Davir；　Scholar　and　Zeebers　fired　their　lasguns　from
the　side　of　him　Larn　fired　with　them；　remembering　to　aim　high　for　the　orks　as　Repzik　had　once　told
him。　And　through　it　all；　the　orks　kept　coming。
There　are　more　of　them　this　time；　Larn　thought。　Ten　times　more　at　least　than　when　I　was　in　the
trench　with　Repzik。　Sweet　Emperor！　And　we　barely　managed　to　hold　out　then！
“One　hundred　and　twenty　metres；”　Scholar　said；　the　orks　having　seemed　to　cover　the　intervening
distance　between　them　with　impossible　swiftness。　“Change　magazines　and　switch　to　rapid　fire。”
The　orks　came　closer。　Some　of　them　were　already　gruesomely　wounded　by　the　Vardans’
remorseless　hail　of　fire；　all　of　them　were　red…eyed　and　eager　in　an　apparently　endless　barbaric　tide。
“Fifty　metres；”　Scholar’s　voice　counted　down　calmly。　“Forty　metres。　Thirty。”
“Any　time　now　would　be　good；　fatman；”　Davir　said　to　Bulaven。　“Are　you　actually　going　to　use
that　damn　flamer；　or　just　wait　until　the　orks　get　close　enough　for　you　to　try　and　fart　them　to　death
instead？”
In　response；　Bulaven　lifted　the　nozzle　of　the　flamer；　extending　himself　to　his　full　height　to　point
the　barrel　over　the　trench　parapet　and　unleash　an　expanding　cone　of　yellow…black　fire　towards　the
closest　enemy　group。　Screaming；　the　orks　disappeared　in　a　burning　agonised　haze　while　Bulaven
sprayed　bright　fire　at　their　comrades　around　them。　Soon；　all　Larn　could　see　directly　ahead　of　him
was　a　rising　curtain　of　flame　while　the　air　grew　thick　with　smoke　and　the　sickly　odour　of　burning
Xenos　flesh。
“Shoot　to　the　sides；　new　fish！”　Davir　yelled。　“Bulaven　can　deal　with　the　orks　ahead　of　us　—　it’s
our　job　to　stop　the　others　flanking　round　them！”
Following　Davir’s　lead；　Larn　began　to　shoot　at　the　orks　charging　towards　them　from　the　right　of
the　curtain　of　fire　created　by　the　flamer　while　Scholar　and　Zeebers　shot　at　those　on　the　left。　For　an
instant；　seeing　the　carnage　inflicted　on　the　orks；　Larn　thought　he　could　see　the　beginnings　of　the
greenskins’　charge　starting　to　falter。　We　are　winning；　he　thought；　exultant。　We　have　beaten　them。
There　is　no　way　for　the　orks　to　get　past　the　flamer。
And　then；　abruptly；　the　tongue　of　fire　jetting　from　the　flamer　spluttered　and　died。
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“Canister’s　empty；”　Bulaven　said；　hands　already　at　the　fuel　line。　“Reloading。”
“Grenades；”　Davir　yelled；　his　own　hands　at　the　grenades　on　his　belt。
While　Bulaven　transferred　the　fuel　line　from　one　canister　to　another；　the　others　threw　two
grenades　each　towards　the　orks。　By　the　time　the　last　of　the　grenades　had　exploded；　the　line　was
attached　and　Bulaven’s　flamer　was　once　more　spewing　fire。　More　orks　died　but　it　seemed　to　make
no　difference。　As　though　they　had　been　given　fresh　impetus　by　the　brief　cessation　in　the　flamer’s
attentions；　the　horde　of　orks　crashed　relentlessly　nearer；　some　enveloped　from　head…to…toe　in　flame
and　yet　still　they　kept　coming。　Thirty　metres　became　twenty…five。　Twenty…five　became　twenty。
Twenty…
“Fall　back！”　Davir　yelled。　“The　bastards　are　right　on　top　of　us。　Scholar；　arm　the　demolition
charge。　The　rest　of　you　fall　back。”
The　retreat　began。
Scrambling　over　the　rear　trench　wall　with　his　lasgun　slung　across　his　shoulder　and　dragging　the
heavy　weight　of　a　spare　flamer　canister　behind　him；　Larn　began　to　run　for　the　dugout　emplacement
while　Scholar　threw　the　demolition　charge　at　the　advancing　orks。
“Faster；　new　fish。”　Scholar　ran　past　Larn；　his　long　legs　eating　up　the　distance。　“It’s　only　a　four
second　delay！”
Suddenly；　Larn　heard　a　tremendous　explosion　behind　him　as　clods　of　earth　flew　past　his　head。
For　a　moment；　caught　at　the　furthest　edge　of　the　blast；　he　stumbled　and　almost　fell　forward；　only　to
be　saved　as　the　weight　of　the　canister　served　as　an　accidental　counterweight　behind　him。　Then；　as　he
tried　to　heft　the　canister　on　to　his　shoulder　and　pick　up　pace；　he　felt　a　painful　blow　at　the　back　of　his
head；　the　jarring　force　of　it　sending　him　spinning　towards　the　ground。
Landing　in　the　frozen　mud；　Larn　felt　a　warm　wetness　spreading　across　his　scalp。　Putting　his
hand　to　his　head；　when　he　brought　it　away　again　he　saw　red　blood　staining　his　fingers。　He　saw　his
helmet　lying　upside　down　on　the　ground　before　him　—　a　large　dent　left　in　its　side　by　whatever
unknown　missile　had　knocked　it　from　his　head。　Incongruously；　as　he　rose　shakily　to　his　feet；　he
wondered　what　would　have　happened　to　him　if　he　had　fastened　his　helmet　strap　instead　of　leaving　it
loose。　Then；　the　guttural　bellow　of　an　alien　war　cry　behind　him　put　the　thought　abruptly　from　his
mind。
Whirling　to　look；　Larn　saw　an　ork　charging　towards　him　with　an　enormous　pistol　in　one　hand
and　a　broad…bladed　cleaver　in　the　other。　The　creature　was　huge：　its　body　inhumanly　and
disproportionately　muscled。　Larn　saw　a　jutting　jaw；　yellowed；　sickle…shaped　tusks；　a　line　of　three
severed　human　heads　hanging　like　grotesque　spectators　from　a　trophy　harness　above　the　monster’s
shoulders。　He　heard　a　bullet　scream　past　him　as　the　pistol　fired。　As　though　of　its　own　volition　his
lasgun　responded；　the　first　lasblast　flying　wide　over　the　ork’s　shoulder　to　hit　one　of　the　trophies。
Steadying　himself；　Larn　fired　again；　hitting　his　enemy　in　the　chest。　Unfazed；　the　ork　did　not　miss
a　step。　Larn　shot　at　it　again；　firing　off　a　rapid　series　of　blasts　that　hit　the　creature　in　the　neck；　the
shoulder；　the　chest　again；　then　the　face。　Until　finally；　just　as　Larn　began　to　fear　coming　within　reach
of　its　jagged　blade；　the　ork　gave　a　last　enraged　bellow；　collapsed；　and　died。　Though　whatever　brief
sense　of　elation　Larn　felt　at　his　victory　quickly　evaporated　as　he　saw　more　greenskins　come
charging　towards　him　in　the　dead　ork’s　wake。
“Get　a　move　on；　new　fish！”　he　heard　a　voice　yell　behind　him　as　a　hand　grabbed　his　shoulder。
“Damnation！　Are　you　trying　to　take　on　the　whole　damn　ork　mob　on　your　own？”
It　was　Davir。　Firing　his　lasgun　one…handed　towards　the　approaching　orks；　Davir　began　to　tug
Larn　in　the　direction　of　the　dugouts。　Realising　he　had　dropped　the　flamer　canister　when　he　had
fallen；　his　head　still　groggy　from　the　blow；　for　a　moment　Larn　tried　to　resist　as　his　eyes　scanned
around　in　search　of　the　canister。
“It　is　too　late　for　that；　new　fish。”　Davir　shouted；　pulling　hard　now　at　his　shoulder。　“Leave　it。　I
need　that　canister　right　where　it　is。”
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Giving　in；　Larn　turned　to　flee　with　Davir　at　his　side；　catching　a　last　sight　of　the　fallen　canister
lost　among　the　legs　of　the　screaming　phalanx　of　oncoming　orks。　Then；　turning　briefly　back　as　they
ran　towards　the　emplacements；　Davir　fired　a　snap　shot　toward　it　—　the　lasbeam　ruptured　the
canister’s　body　and　it　exploded　in　a　plume　of　orange　flame；　incinerating　the　orks　around　it　and
buying　him　and　Larn　time　enough　to　reach　their　destination。
“You　see　there；　new　fish？”　Davir　said　as　the　outstr