Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第14部分

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bundled　in　ragged　layers　of　civilian　dress　pushing　an　empty　handcart　across　the　frozen　ground
towards　him。　Noticing　the　faded　insignia　of　the　Departmento　Munitorium　on　the　khaki…green
armbands　they　wore　on　their　sleeves；　Larn　realised　they　must　be　militia　auxiliaries　levied　from
among　the　local　population。　Wheeling　the　cart　past　him；　they　halted　beside　the　line　of　corpse　and
wearily　began　to　lift　them　into　the　cart。　Until　at　last；　as　their　labours　revealed　the　face　of　a　corpse
hidden　deeper　in　the　pile；　Larn　saw　something　that　made　him　cry　out　and　race　towards　them。
“Wait！”　he　yelled。
Startled；　cringing　away　as　though　afraid　he　might　hurt　them；　the　women　stopped　their　work。
Then；　seeing　Larn　standing　by　the　pile　to　peer　down　at　the　face　of　a　corpse；　one　of　the　women　spoke
to　him　in　a　voice　made　dull　and　lifeless　with　fatigue。
“You　knew　him？”　she　said。　“One　of　the　dead　men？”
“Yes；”　Larn　said。　“I　knew　him。　He　was　a　friend。　A　comrade。”
It　was　Leden。　His　face　slack　and　pale；　his　body　covered　in　gruesome　and　horrendous　wounds；　he
lay　at　the　centre　of　the　pile　with　dead　eyes　staring　up　at　the　foreboding　sky　overhead。　Having　not
seen　Leden　die　during　their　mad　flight　across　no…man’s　land；　Larn　had　harboured　the　hope　the
simple…minded　farmboy　might　have　made　it　to　the　Vardan　lines　and　survived　just　as　he　had。　Now
that　hope　was　dashed。　Looking　down　at　Leden’s　face；　Larn　realised　his　last　living　link　with　his
homeworld　had　been　severed。　He　was　truly　alone　now。　More　alone　than　he　could　have　ever　thought
possible。　Alone；　on　a　strange　new　world　that　seemed　entirely　given　over　to　randomness；　brutality
and　madness。
“He　was　a　hero；”　the　old　woman　said。
“A　hero？”
Unsure　of　her　meaning；　Larn　looked　at　her　in　confusion。　For　a　moment；　her　eyes　dim　and
uncomprehending　with　exhaustion；　she　returned　his　gaze　in　silence。　Then；　barely　more　animated
than　the　dead　bodies　before　her；　she　tiredly　shrugged　and　spoke　once　more。
“They　are　heroes；”　she　said　in　a　listless　voice；　as　though　reciting　a　speech　she　had　heard　a
thousand　times　herself。　“They　all　are：　all　the　Guardsmen　who　die　here。　They　are　martyrs。　By　giving
their　blood　to　defend　this　place　they　have　made　the　soil　of　this　city　into　sacred　ground。　Broucheroc
is　a　holy　and　impregnable　fortress。　The　orks　will　never　take　it。　We　will　break　their　assault　here。
Then；　we　will　push　them　back　and　reclaim　this　entire　planet。”
“So　the　commissars　tell　us；”　she　added；　without　conviction。
Returning　to　their　work　the　women　made　to　lift　Leden　from　the　pile。　Finding　him　held　fast　and
stuck　to　the　other　bodies　by　frozen　and　congealed　blood；　one　of　the　women　took　a　pry　bar　from　the
side　of　the　cart。　Sickened　to　his　stomach；　Larn　watched　her　slide　the　bar　under　Leden’s　body　and　put
her　weight　on　it；　the　corpse　rising　with　a　crack　of　splintered　ice　as　her　sisters　pulled　it　free　and
tossed　it　on　the　cart。　Then；　two　of　them　pushing　down　the　handles　of　the　cart　while　the　others　stood
by　the　side　to　stop　its　contents　from　falling　out；　the　old　women　began　to　wheel　away　the　bodies　they
had　collected。
“What　will　you　do　with　them？”　Larn　called　out　after　them；　not　altogether　sure　he　wanted　to
know　the　answer。
“They　will　be　buried；”　the　women　he　had　spoken　to　earlier　said。　“Like　heroes　should　be。　Buried；
up　on　the　hill　past　the　old　plasteel　works　on　the　Grennady　Plass。　Heroes’　Hill；　it　is　called。　Or　at　least
that　is　what　they　tell　us；”　she　shrugged　again。　“We　just　transport　the　bodies。　Others　deal　with　their
disposal。”
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With　that　she　turned　back　to　the　burden　of　the　cart；　pushing　it　away　with　the　other　women　in　the
direction　of　the　outskirts　of　the　city。　As　he　watched　them　go；　Larn　belatedly　tried　to　remember　one
of　the　prayers　he　had　been　taught　as　a　child。　A　prayer　to　ease　the　passage　of　the　departed　souls　of　his
comrades　into　the　afterlife　as　they　went　to　join　their　Emperor　in　paradise。　His　mind　was　a　blank；　his
heart　so　sick　with　grief　it　felt　dull　and　empty。　All　his　prayers　had　left　him。
“Take　off　your　jacket　and　pull　back　your　tunic；”　he　heard　a　voice　say　behind　him。
Turning；　Larn　found　himself　face…to…face　with　a　gaunt　Vardan　medic　wearing　a　blood…splattered
greatcoat　and　carrying　a　satchel　slung　across　his　shoulder。
“If　you　want　me　to　treat　that　shoulder　wound　I　will　have　to　be　able　to　see　it；”　the　medic　said；
opening　his　satchel。
Looking　at　his　own　left　shoulder；　much　to　his　surprise　Larn　noticed　a　small　bloodstained　hole　in
the　epaulette　of　his　jacket。　Dimly　remembering　the　sudden　pain　he　had　felt　there　when　the　ork　bomb
had　exploded　in　the　trench　behind　him；　he　did　as　the　medic　had　asked；　removing　his　jacket　and
pulling　down　his　tunic　shirt　to　allow　him　access　to　the　wound。
“Hmm。　The　good　news　is　you’ll　live；”　the　medic　said；　prodding　at　the　wound　while　Larn
shivered　in　the　cold。　“Looks　like　you　were　winged　by　a　piece　of　shrapnel。　Took　a　little　bit　of　flesh
with　it；　but　it　doesn’t　look　as　though　the　bone　is　broken。”
Taking　a　sachet　of　white　powder　from　inside　his　bag　the　medic　poured　it　liberally　on　the　wound
and　pressed　a　gauze　pad　over　the　hole；　applying　half…a…dozen　pieces　of　adhesive　tape　to　hold　the
dressing　in　place。
“You　didn’t　realise　you　had　a　hole　in　you；　I　take　it？”　he　said。　Then；　seeing　Larn　nod；　he
continued。　“Probably　shock。　Get　yourself　some　recaf。　Food　too；　if　you　can　find　it。　It’ll　help　you　get
yourself　together。　Though　I　warn　you；　you　probably　won’t　thank　me　for　that　advice　in　an　hour’s
time。　Once　you　get　your　feeling　back；　chances　are　you’ll　find　that　wound　aches　like　a　bitch。　You
have　morphia？”
“Four　phials；”　said　Larn。　“In　my　med…pack。”
“Good。　Let　me　see　it；”　the　medic　said。　Then；　when　he　saw　Larn　hesitate；　he　held　out　his　hand　in
command。　“Kit　inspection。　As　company　medical　officer；　it　is　my　job　to　make　sure　you　are　properly
equipped。”
Pulling　the　slim　oblong　wooden　case　of　the　med…pack　he　had　been　issued　with　on　Jumael　from
his　belt；　Larn　handed　it　over。　Breaking　the　seals　on　the　box　lid　the　medic　slid　it　open　and　checked
the　contents。
“Morphia。　Vein　clamps。　Sterilising　fluid。　Synth…skin　canister。　Wherever　you’re　from　they
obviously　don’t　believe　in　sending　their　sons　under　equipped　to　war。　Still；　my　need　is　greater　than
yours。　I’m　going　to　have　to　requisition　some　of　your　supplies。”
“But　you　can’t　just　help　yourself　to　my　med…pack；”　Larn　said　in　outrage。　“The　regulations　say—
”
“The　regulations　say　a　lot　of　things；　new　fish；”　the　medic　replied；　taking　a　handful　of　items　from
inside　the　med…pack　and　dropping　them　into　his　satchel。　“Though　you　can　be　sure　whichever　genius
wrote　them　never　troubled　himself　actually　finding　out　if　they　worked　in　practice。　Anyway；　I’m
leaving　you　with　half　of　the　gauze；　morphia；　and　clamps。　Plus；　you　get　to　keep　the　insect　repellent。
Given　the　climate；　there’s　not　much　call　for　it　hereabouts。”
“But　if　I　should　get　seriously　wounded—”
“Then　you’ll　need　a　medic。　Just　scream　loudly　and　I’ll　come　running。”
Tossing　the　depleted　med…pack　back　to　him；　the　medic　closed　his　satchel　before　looking　at　Larn
once　more。
“Now；”　he　said；　“seeing　as　you’re　standing　about　here　on　your　own；　I　take　it　you’ve　not　been
assigned　to　duties　yet？”
“No…　I…　my　company　was　destroyed　and…”
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“Go　see　Corporal　Vladek；”　the　medic　said。　“He’ll　sort　you　out。　Tell　him　Medical　Officer　Svenk
sent　you。”
“Corporal　Vladek？”
“Over　there；”　the　medic　said；　pointing　to　one　of　the　dugout　entrances　as　he　turned　to　walk　away。
“Barracks　Dugout　One。　Vladek　is　our　quartermaster　—　the　biggest　scavenger；　thief；　pack　rat；　and　all
round　scrounger　in　the　sector。　You’ll　know　him　when　you　see　him。　Oh；　and　a　word　to　the　wise；　new
fish。　Don’t　drink　any　more　than　two　cups　of　Vladek’s　recaf。　Or　else；　next　thing　you　know　you　could
be　charging　the　ork　lines　on　your　own　in　a　one…man　assault。”
Walking　down　the　rough　earthen　steps　underground　into　the　dugout；　Larn　was　greeted　with　a　warm
blast　of　air　thick　with　the　smell　of　smoke　and　the　odour　of　stale　sweat。　Eyes　watering　at　the　stench
of　it；　he　stepped　past　a　couple　of　Guardsmen　playing　dice　just　inside　the　doorway　and　made　his　way
into　the　barracks。　Inside；　he　saw　two　lines　of　rusting　metal　bunks　arranged　either　side　of　an　iron
stove　at　the　centre　of　the　room　where　a　group　of　Vardans　sat　talking；　eating；　or　cleaning　their
weapons。　For　a　moment；　Larn　considered　asking　them　if　any　of　them　had　seen　Corporal　Vladek。
Then；　seeing　a　flabby　unshaven　Vardan　in　a　stained　undershirt　sitting　alone　at　a　table　in　a　corner　of
the　room；　Larn　remembered　the　medic’s　description　and　knew　he　had　found　his　man。
Crammed　on　ramshackle　shelves　and　in　alcoves　cut　directly　into　the　earth　of　the　wall　behind　the
corporal　was　a　treasure　trove　of　scavenged　equipment。　Larn　could　see　lasgun　power　packs；　frag
grenades；　boxes　of　dry　rations；　shotgun　shells；　bayonets　and　knives　of　all　shapes　and　sizes；　spades；
picks；　hand　axes；　lanterns；　uniforms；　helmets；　flak　jackets；　even　a　large　metal　claw　that　could　only
have　come　from　the　arm　of　a　dead　ork。　Meanwhile；　on　the　table　and　the　floor　around　him　were　a
number　of　standard　issue　Guardsmen’s　field　rucksacks；　the　contents　of　which　the　corporal　was
currently　busy　digging　through　with　the　grim　enthusiasm　of　a　bandit　chieftain　surveying　his　latest
spoils。
“Corporal　Vladek？”　Larn　asked；　approaching　the　table。　“Medical　Officer　Svenk　said　I　should
come　see　you。”
“Ah；　more　cannon　fodder；”　the　corporal　said；　pushing　the　rucksacks　aside　to　clear　a　space　as　he
looked　up　at　Larn　with　the　glint　of　a　smile　in　his　red…rimmed　eyes。　“Always　good　to　see　some　new
grist　for　the　mill。　Welcome　to　the　902nd　Vardan；　new　fish。　Find　yourself　a　chair。　You　would　like
some　recaf？　I　have　some　brewing。”
Turning　to　the　battered　pot　of　recaf　perched　precariously　on　a　small　hotplate　beside　him；　the
corporal　produced　a　pair　of　enamel　cups　and　filled　them　to　the　brim　with　black　steaming　liquid。　He
noticed　Larn　staring　darkly　down　at　one　of　the　rucksacks　still　left　on　the　table。
“Here　we　go。　Two　cups　of　Vladek’s　special　recaf；　nice　and　hot；”　the　corporal　said。　“Sadly；　we
have　to　make　do　with　a　ground…up　concoction　of　local　roots　and　tubers　rather　than　the　real　thing。
Even　the　Emperor　himself　would　be　hard　pressed　to　find　any　real　recaf　in　this　hellhole；　and　we　all
know　he　can　work　miracles。　To　give　it　a　bit　more　kick　I　mix　in　a　tenth　of　a　dose　of　powdered　stimms
which；　incidentally；　works　wonders　for　the　flavour。　But　I　see　you　seem　to　be　interested　in　one　of　my
latest　acquisitions；　new　fish。　Though；　from　the　expression　on　your　face；　I　have　a　feeling　you’re　not
about　to　make　me　an　offer。”
“This　rucksack；”　Larn　said；　feeling　dead　inside　as　he　looked　at　the　words　Jumael　14th　stamped
on　the　side。　“It　could　have　belonged　to　one　of　my　friends。”
“I　wouldn’t　be　surprised；”　Vladek　said；　then　gestured　at　the　pile　of　rucksacks　lying　on　the　floor
beside　him。　“If　not　this　one；　then　perhaps　one　of　these　other　packs　did。　So？　What　of　it？　It　is　not　as
though　this　equipment　is　likely　to　be　of　help　to　its　previous　owners　anymore。　While　it　could　mean
the　difference　between　life　and　death　for　someone　still　living　on　the　line。　It　is　a　simple　matter　of　the
fair　and　logical　d