Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第15部分

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anteroom　outside。　Holding　a　data…slate　the　aide　advanced　to　the　table　to　hand　it　to　Colonel　Vlin；
before　saluting　and　smartly　turning　on　his　heel　to　march　away。　Pressing　the　display　stud　to　bring　up
the　report　stored　on　the　data…slate；　Vlin　studied　it　for　a　full　minute。　Then；　his　face　visibly　growing
pale；　he　raised　his　eyes　to　look　uneasily　toward　the　Grand　Marshal。
“What　is　it；　Vlin？”　Kerchan　asked　as；　from　further　down　the　table；　the　magos’　briefing　continued
inexorably。
“I　have　just　received　the　latest　estimates　from　the　Office　of　Strategic　Analysis；　your　excellency；”
Vlin　said；　a　wavering　tone　of　uncertainty　in　his　voice。　“But　there　must　be　some　mistake—”
“Let　me　see　it；”　the　Grand　Marshal　said；　holding　his　hand　out　for　Vlin　to　give　him　the　data…slate。
For　a　moment；　as　though　unsure　whether　he　should　surrender　it；　Vlin　hesitated。　Then；　the　habits
of　obedience　engrained　by　fifteen　years　in　the　Grand　Marshal’s　service　proving　too　strong　to　resist；
he　reluctantly　complied。　Curious　as　to　what　could　have　so　unnerved　his　adjutant；　Kerchan　took　the
data…slate　and　skimmed　through　the　report　to　see　for　himself。　At　first　glance　it　seemed　no　more　than
Vlin　had　said：　another　dry　analysis　of　facts　and　figures　from　the　number　crunchers　in　the　OSA。　At
least　until　the　Grand　Marshal　happened　to　look　at　the　report’s　conclusions。
“Damnation！”　he　roared。
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Incensed；　before　he　even　knew　what　he　was　doing　the　Grand　Marshal　had　thrown　the　data…slate
away　in　a　rage；　flinging　it　across　the　room　to　smash　against　the　wall　in　a　crash　of　breaking　plexiglass
as　its　display　screen　shattered。　Stunned　by　his　outburst；　mouths　gaping　open　in　idiot　expressions　of
surprise；　the　men　around　the　table　sat　frozen　in　shock。　Even　Magos　Garan　was　not　immune；　his
mechadendrites　becoming　suddenly　motionless；　he　paused　in　his　report　and　stood　gazing　at　Kerchan
as　though　unsure　how　best　to　react。　All　of　them　silently　staring　at　the　Grand　Marshal　with　wary
expressions　whose　combined　meanings　were　almost　palpably　clear。
They　think　I　have　turned　into　a　madman；　Kerchan　thought；　the　storm　of　his　anger　having
subsided　immediately　he　had　vented　his　rage　against　the　helpless　data…slate。　The　old　man　is　losing　it。
That　is　what　they　are　all　telling　themselves。
“Leave　me；”　he　said　quietly；　his　face　a　mask；　his　mind　feeling　suddenly　tired　and　no　longer
willing　to　see　the　looks　in　their　eyes。　“Leave　me；”　he　directed。　“All　of　you。　Get　out　of　here　now。”
Cowed；　heads　bent　so　as　not　to　meet　his　gaze；　the　members　of　the　General　Staff　stood；　bowed　at
him；　and　filed　from　the　room　in　uneasy　silence。　All　except　Vlin。　Treading　cautiously　over　to　the
fallen　data…slate　while　the　others　went　to　the　door；　the　adjutant　picked　it　up　and　made　to　take　it　with
him。
“Leave　it；　Vlin；”　the　Grand　Marshal　said。　“Put　it　on　the　table；　and　then　get　out　with　the　rest　of
them。”
Soon；　he　was　alone。　The　mammoth　expanse　of　the　briefing　room　seemed　desolate　and　empty
about　him　now　it　was　deserted；　Grand　Marshal　Kerchan　began　to　wonder　if　he　perhaps　should　have
held　himself　better　in　check。　Generals　were　by　their　nature　inveterate　gossips。　Within　the　hour　news
of　his　outburst　would　be　known　throughout　General　Headquarters；　by　tomorrow　it　would　likely　be
known　across　the　city。　In　these　trying　times　even　a　Grand　Marshal　must　be　careful。　Whatever　the
rules　and　regulations　of　the　Imperial　Guard　might　say　to　the　contrary；　as　the　commanding　officer　of
a　besieged　city　his　position　was　precarious。　Idle　gossip　about　the　data…slate　incident　could　easily
lead　to　discussions　about　the　state　of　his　mental　health；　discussions　that　in　turn　might　undermine　his
authority；　creating　fertile　soil　in　which　the　twin　ugly　flowers　of　dissent　and　mutiny　could　grow。　He
was　not　afraid。　Experience　had　taught　him　there　was　always　one　sure　way　for　a　Grand　Marshal　to
maintain　order。
It　is　time　for　another　purge；　he　thought。　Tonight；　I　will　tell　Vlin　to　contact　the　Commissariat　and
have　them　send　over　a　list　of　anyone　above　the　rank　of　major　they　suspect　of　disloyalty。　A　few　show
trials　and　shootings　should　nip　any　problems　in　the　bud　in　that　regard。　And　while　we’re　at　it；　I　will
tell　Vlin　to　add　Dushan　to　the　list。　Yes；　another　purge。　That　is　exactly　what　is　needing　here。
Calm　and　satisfied　now；　he　turned　his　attention　back　to　the　object　that　had　originally　provoked
his　displeasure。　Lifting　the　data…slate　from　its　position　on　the　table　where　Vlin　had　left　it；　the　Grand
Marshal　looked　again　at　the　words　and　graphs　of　the　report　still　visible　on　the　shattered　surface　of　its
display　screen。　The　findings　of　the　report　were　bleak。　Based　on　current　estimates　of　ork　birth…rates
and　the　rate　of　attrition　of　men　and　materiel　inside　the　city；　it　concluded　Broucheroc　could　only
survive　another　six　months　at　most。
Six　months；　the　Grand　Marshal　thought　grimly。　I　shall　have　to　remember　to　tell　Vlin　to　add　the
name　of　whatever　traitor　compiled　this　report　to　the　list　as　well。　Imagine　claiming　this　city　has　only
six　months　left　to　live；　when　any　fool　knows　the　siege　is　on　the　verge　of　crumbling　and　victory　is
within　our　grasp。
Mentally　making　another　note　to　himself　to　have　the　report　suppressed；　Kerchan　tossed　the　dataslate
away　and　sat　in　silence　for　several　minutes。　Feeling　weighed　down　by　the　heavy　burden　of
responsibility　on　his　shoulders；　his　brooding　mood　of　earlier　returned。　I　am　assailed　on　all　sides　by
troubles；　he　thought。　Bad　enough　after　a　long　and　glorious　career　for　a　man　to　find　himself　shunted
to　a　sideshow　war　on　a　planet　of　no　importance。　Worse；　to　then　he　condemned　to　a　long　siege　with
no　prospect　of　relief　from　other　sources。　But　it　does　not　matter。　The　genius　that　won　me　my　battles
in　the　past　has　not　deserted　me。　I　am　still　a　great　leader；　and　my　plan　is　sound。　Soon；　I　will　break
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this　siege　and　reclaim　this　planet　for　the　Emperor。　And；　when　I　do；　the　fools　among　the　Lord
Generals　Militant　responsible　for　sidelining　me　to　this　awful　place　will　find　themselves　embarrassed
to　see　me　celebrated　and　revered　for　all　my　victories。　I　am　the　Grand　Marshal　Tirnas　Kerchan。　I　am
still　in　control　of　my　own　destiny。　I　will　win　this　war。　And；　soon　enough；　I　will　be　able　to　add　the
name　“Hero　of　Broucheroc”　to　all　my　different　titles。　I　will　not　allow　matters　here　to　go　any　other
way。
Then；　noticing　a　single　page　sitting　alone　among　the　flotsam　spread　of　maps　and　documents
lying　across　the　table；　the　Grand　Marshal　saw　something　there　that　excited　his　interest。　It　was　the
latest　edition　of　The　Veritas；　the　city’s　twice…daily　newsletter　and；　as　so　often　in　the　past　when　he
felt　weighed　down　by　all　his　troubles；　the　Grand　Marshal　turned　to　the　newsletter　in　the　hope　of
comfort。
Orks　Defeated　in　Sector　1…13；　the　headline　read。　Jumael　14th　Victorious！
Yes；　he　thought；　reading　the　story　written　below　it。　It　doesn’t　matter　what　the　others　say；　here　is
the　proof　that　I　was　right　all　along。　The　proof　of　impending　victory　and　the　proof　my　battle　plans
are　sound。　We　are　winning　victories。　We　are　defeating　the　orks。　We　are　winning　this　war。
It　says　so　right　here　in　the　news。
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CHAPTER　ELEVEN
17：54　Central　Broucheroc　Time
Boy　and　the　Taking　of　Broucheroc’s　Children　—　Trench　Repairs　Parts　1；　2　&　3　—　Questions　as　to
the　Whys　and　Wherefores　of　Survival　—　A　Reappraisal　of　the　Tale　of　his　Fathers
His　name　was　Boy。　Granted；　his　Ma　had　given　him　another　name　but　she　had　been　dead　for　more
than　three　something　years　now　and　he　had　been　so　young　he　could　no　longer　remember　what　it　was
she　had　called　him。　Instead；　he　had　taken　the　name　the　auxies　used　for　him　when　they　tried　to　catch
him　to　take　him　to　the　machine…men　and　their　big　making…places。　“Come　here；　boy；”　they　would
say。　“We　don’t　want　to　hurt　you；　boy；”　their　voices　breathless　from　running；　their　stupid　faces　red
and　panting；　trying　to　chase　him　as　he　danced　away　from　them　across　the　rubble。　Some　of　them；　the
clever　ones　he　guessed；　would　even　try　to　trick　him。　“We　have　food；　boy；”　they’d　say。　“Come　down
here　and　we　will　share　some　with　you。”　But　they　could　never　fool　him。　He　was　Boy；　and　he　lived
wild　and　swift　and　free　in　the　ruins　of　this　city。　Try　as　they　might；　the　auxies　and　the　machine…men
would　never　get　him。
Now；　the　cloak　he　had　made　from　rat　skins　and　scavenged　sacking…cloth　wrapped　tight　about
him　to　keep　out　the　cold；　Boy　crouched　hidden　in　a　hollow　in　the　rubble　waiting　to　see　if　one　of　the
children　of　Cap’n　Rat　would　take　his　bait。　The　pickings　had　been　good　this　week；　with　Cap’n　Rat
sending　at　least　one　of　his　children　along　each　day　for　Boy　to　kill　and　eat。　In　return　Boy　had　done
right　by　the　Cap’n　just　liked　he’d　promised　him：　forsaking　all　other　gods　and　praying　to　Cap’n　Rat
over　each　of　his　kills。　As　far　as　agreements　went　Boy　reckoned　it　had　been　a　pretty　good　one。　Only
problem　was；　despite　the　fact　he　had　been　waiting　in　the　same　place　for　hours　now；　so　far　today　the
Cap’n　didn’t　seem　in　any　great　hurry　to　live　up　to　his　end　of　the　bargain。
Then；　at　last；　Boy　saw　signs　of　progress。　Tempted　from　his　burrow　by　the　promise　of　easy
pickings；　a　rat　emerged　from　a　nearby　hole　in　the　rubble　and　moved　quickly　across　the　rocks
towards　the　bait。　Until；　coming　to　the　small　piece　of　greasy　flesh　Boy　had　set　out　as　a　lure；　the　rat
paused　with　whiskers　twitching　warily　as　though　some　inner　instinct　had　alerted　it　to　danger。
Too　late　to　be　twitching　with　your　whiskers　now；　Brother　Rat；　Boy　thought；　a　feral　smile　playing
across　his　cracked　lips　as　he　aimed　his　slingshot　and　loosed　the　taut　string　to　let　fly　with　a　two…inch
metal　nail。　Shouldn’t　oughta　have　been　so　greedy；　coming　out　in　the　open　in　the　suntime　like　that。
Flying　fast　and　true　the　nail　took　the　rat　square　in　the　back　of　the　neck；　stabbing　through　its　spine
and　into　the　skull。　On　his　feet　and　moving　before　the　nail　had　even　hit　its　target；　Boy　jumped　from
cover　to　race　scampering　across　the　rabble　to　retrieve　his　prize。　Grabbing　the　dead　rat　by　the　tail；　he
turned　and　ran　back　to　find　refuge　again　in　his　hiding　place。　Then；　pulling　the　nail　free　and　daubing
two　smears　of　the　rat’s　blood　across　his　cheeks；　he　knelt　to　send　a　silent　prayer　of　thanksgiving　to
his　unseen　benefactor。
Praise’m；　Cap’n　Rat；　he　thought　as　he　looked　down　at　the　body　of　his　catch　and　considered　its
worth。　Praise’m　for　making　so　many　of　your　children。　Praise’m　for　making　them　big　and　fat。　And
praise’m　for　sending　them　to　me　so　I　don’t　starve。
It　was　a　good　rat；　fine　and　sleek；　with　the　kind　of　big　meaty　haunches　he　knew　would　make　for
tasty　eatings。　Nor　did　the　value　of　the　rat　to　Boy　end　there。　He　could　make　clothing　from　its　pelt；
sewing　thread　from　its　sinews；　needles　and　traphooks　from　its　bones；　teeth；　and　claws。　No　part　of　the
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rat’s　body　would　go　wasted。　By　virtue　of　the　survival　skills　he　had　learned　first　by　watching　his
mother　and　then　on　his　own　after　her　death；　Boy　could　find　a　use　for　anything。
Abruptly；　he　found　himself　thinking　of　how　things　used　to　be　when　his　Ma　was　still　alive。　He
remembered　the　cellar　where　they　used　to　live；　her　kind　and　careworn　face；　the　soft　lullabies　she
would　sing　to　drift　him　off　to　sleep。　He　remembered　sitting　on　her　knee　as　she　told　him　the　reasons
they　must　stay　in　hiding。　“They　say　we　must　give　up　our　children；”　she　had　told　them。　“The
generals。　They　say　children　are　a　distraction　in　wartime；　that　the　people　of　Broucheroc　must　all
serve　in　the　auxiliaries　while　their　children　are　cared　for　in　the　orphanariums。　But　I　don’t　believe
them。　I　think　they　want　to　give　the　children　over　to　the　Adeptus　Mechanicus　—　the　machine…men　—
so　they　can　train　them　to　be　workers　in　the　manufactoriums；　the　big　dangerous　making…places。　But　I
won’t　let　them　do　it；　my　baby　boy。　I　won’t　let　them　take　you。　No　matter　what　happens；　you　can
always　know　your　Ma　will　keep　you　safe。”
His　heart　growing　heavy；　Boy　remembered　other　things　as　well。　He　remembered　the　sound　of
thunder　rolling　across　the　ground　above　their　heads　one　night　while　they　crouched　huddled　in　the
cellar。　He　remembered　the　cave…in　and　his　mother’s　body　lying　crushed　among　the　rubble。　He
remembered　her　eyes　staring　at　him；　cold　and　dead　from　a　face　covered　in　a　thick　layer　of　dust。　He
remembered　crying　for　hours；　scared　and　lonely；　not　understanding　how　it　was　she　could　have　left
him。　Then；　his　own　eyes　stinging　wetly　at　the　corners；　Boy　found　he　didn’t　want　to　have　anything
more　to　do　with　remembering　for　a　while。
Sucking　a　breath　of　air　and　rubbing　the　back　of　his　hand　across　his　face　to　clear　his　eyes；　Boy
decided　it　was　time　to　head　back　to　his　warren　and　get　to　eating　Brother　Rat。　Too　smart　to　just　head
there　directly　in　case　anyone　was　looking；　he　took　the　long　way；　cutting　a　twisting　path　through　the
maze　of　shattered　buildings　and　mounds　of　rubble　all　around　him。　Then；　as　he　crossed　near　the
summit　of　one　of　the　mounds；　he　noticed　something　that　gave　him　pause。　A　smell；　almost。
Something　gathering　on　the　wind…
For　a　moment；　feeling　a　sudden　chill　at　the　base　of　his　spine；　Boy　stood　looking　out　toward　the
east。　Before　him　the　city　seemed　quiet；　its　deserted　streets　appearing　every　bit　as　dead　and　lifeless　as
the　mined　burnt…out　buildings　that　surrounded　them　on　every　turn。　Boy　was　not　fooled。　After　three
something　years　living　alone　among　the　rubble　now　he　had　developed　a　sixth　sense　when　it　came　to
the　city　and　its　ways。　A　sense　that；　right　here　and　now；　told　him　he　had　best　be　wary。
Oughta　be　getting　myself　back　underground　and　staying　there　a　while；　he　thought　as　he　finally
turned　to　make　for　home。　There’s　trouble　brewing：　the　wind　says　it　clear　and　loud。　A　bad　day　is
coming；　and　like　as　not　a　lots　of　peoples　is　gonna　die…
“What　was　life　like　where　you　were　born？”　Larn　asked　Bulaven；　lifting　another　shovelful　of　earth
onto　the　blade　of　his　entrenching　tool　as　the　big　man　stood　beside　him。　“On　your　homeworld；　I
mean？”
“On　Vardan？”　Bulaven　said；　pausing　in　his　work　long　enough　to　wipe　the　sweat　from　his
chapped　brow　before　it　could　freeze。　“It　was　good　enough　I　suppose；　new　fish。　Certainly；　there　are　a
lot　of　worse　planets　a　man　could　be　from。”
They　were　standing　in　the　trench　with　shovels　in　their　hands；　Davir　and　Scholar　beside　them
while　Zeebers　stood　on　the　firing　step　on　watch；　trying　to　repair　the　damage　done　to　the　trench　in　the
course　of　the　shelling。　Returning　to　their　trench　in　the　aftermath　of　the　bombardment；　the　fireteam
had　arrived　to　find　the　explosion　of　a　nearby　shell　had　caused　part　of　the　trench’s　rear　wall　to
collapse；　half…burying　the　trench　interior　in　clods　of　frozen　earth。　Now；　after　half　an　hour　of
backbreaking　labour　the　trench　floor　was　mostly　cleared；　the　excess　earth　having　been　piled　out　of
the　way　into　another　corner　of　the　trench。
“Personally；　I　would　say　you　are　doing　our　homeworld　a　grave　disservice；　Bulaven。”　Davir　said；
sitting　on　the　end　of　his　shovel　and　watching　them　as　they　moved　the　last　of　the　fallen　earth。
“Frankly；　my　own　recollections　suggest　Vardan　was　every　bit　as　much　a　stinking　hellhole　as
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Broucheroc。　Granted；　we　didn’t　have　all　these　orks　to　contend　with　there。　I’m　sure　I　don’t　remember
having　to　do　so　much　digging　back　home　though。”
“I　don’t　seem　to　have　noticed　you　doing　too　much　digging　here　either。”　Bulaven　said。　“Most　of
the　time　in　fact　you　have　been　standing　there　and　leaving　all　the　work　to　others。”
“Phah。　It　is　a　simply　a　matter　of　maintaining　a　proper　division　of　labour；”　Davir　said。　“Each　man
performs　the　task　to　which　he　is　best　suited。　Which；　in　this　case；　means　that　you；　Scholar；　and　the
new　fish　do　the　don…keywork　while　I　oversee　your　labours　in　a　supervisory　capacity。　Besides；
someone　must　watch　to　make　sure　the　new　fish　can　tell　one　end　of　a　spade　from　the　other。”
“Not　to　mention　your　vital　role　in　keeping　us　all　warm；”　Larn　said；　so　annoyed　now　at　the　ugly
dwarf’s　constant　insults　that　he　found　himself　responding　in　kind　without　even　thinking。　“Emperor
knows；　if　it　wasn’t　for　all　your　hot　air　spewing　about　this　trench　we　might　have　frozen　to　death　long
ago。”
For　a　moment；　shocked　at　his　response；　the　others　looked　at　him　in　silence。　Then；　abruptly；
Scholar　and　Bulaven　broke　into　surprised　laughter。　Even　Davir’s　face　briefly　cracked　into　a
grudging　smile。　Only　Zeebers　seemed　unmoved；　scowling　down　at　Larn　from　the　firing　step　with
the　same　hostile　expressions　he　always　wore。
“Hah！　Hot　air！”　Bulaven　said；　laughing。　“That’s　a　good　one。　The　new　fish　may　not　have　been
here　very　long；　Davir；　but　you　have　to　admit　he　got　your　number　fast　enough！”
“Yar；　yar；　yar。　Keep　on　laughing；　pigbrain；”　Davir　said；　his　gruff　demeanour　abruptly　restored　as
he　turned　to　look　at　Larn　in　tight…lipped　derision。　“So；　it　seems　our　little　puppy　has　claws。　Very
good；　new　fish。　Well　done。　You　made　a　joke。　Ha；　ha；　you　are　very　funny。　But　don’t　let　your　head　get
too　big　now。　The　orks　like　nothing　better　than　to　see　a　new　fish　with　a　big　head。　It　gives　them　more
of　a　target　to　aim　at。”
The　repairs　continued。　Having　finally　cleared　the　trench　of　earth；　they　laid　down　their　shovels。　Then；
as　Larn　watched　them；　Bulaven　and　Scholar　picked　up　an　oblong　sheet　of　metal　lying　across　the
trench　floor　and　pressed　it　against　the　ragged　hole　in　the　trench　wall；　holding　upright　it　as　Davir　took
a　wooden　prop　and　used　his　shovel　to　hammer　the　prop　in　place　to　keep　the　sheet　in　position。
“There；”　Davir　said；　checking　the　hole　was　fully　covered　and　putting　his　weight　against　the　prop
to　make　sure　it　was　tight。　“That　should　hold　it　long　enough　for　us　to　finish　the　repairs。”
“What　now？”　Larn　asked。　“We　have　cleared　the　floor。　How　do　we　repair　the　hole　itself？”
“How？”　said　Davir。　“Well；　first　thing；　you　pick　up　your　shovel　again；　new　fish。　You　see　that　pile
of　earth　over　there？”　he　said；　pointing　towards　the　clods　of　frozen　earth　they　had　already　moved
over　to　the　corner　of　the　trench。　“The　pile　you　just　moved？　Well　now；　you　take　your　shovel　and
move　it　back　over　here。　Then；　you　use　it　to　fill　in　the　original　hole。　I　know；　I　know；　you　needn’t　say
it。　With　all　this　endless　excitement；　who　can　believe　that　anyone　ever　told　you　that　life　in　the　Guard
might　be　boring？”
“I　don’t　understand　how　this　is　supposed　to　work；”　Larn　said　later；　his　hands　blistered　through　his
gloves　and　his　back　aching　from　using　the　shovel　as　they　refilled　the　hole　in　the　trench　wall　with
soil。　“Even　after　we　have　filled　the　hole　in；　won’t　the　wall　just　collapsed　again　the　moment　we　take
the　prop　away？”
“We　don’t　take　the　prop　away；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　shovelling　beside　him。　“Not　at　first；
anyway。　First；　we　fill　in　the　hole。　Next；　we　wet　the　soil。　Then；　we　tamp　it　all　down　and　leave　it　to
freeze　for　a　while。　Then；　after　a　couple　of　hours；　we　finally　remove　the　prop　and　the　wall　will　be　as
good　as　new。　Trust　me；　new　fish；　it　always　works。　You　wouldn’t　believe　how　many　times　we’ve　had
to　repair　this　trench　since　we　first　dug　it。”
“Wet　it？”　Larn　asked。　“Don’t　we　need　a　bucket　then　to　fetch　more　water？　We　haven’t　got　much
left　in　our　canteens。”
80
“Bucket？　Canteens？”　Bulaven　said；　pausing　in　his　labours　to　look　at　Larn　with　raised　eyebrows。
“We　are　repairing　a　trench　wall；　new　fish。　We　don’t　use　drinking　water　for　that。”
“But　then；　what　do　we　use？”　Larn　asked；　beg