Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第22部分

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the　big　man　was　gesturing　frantically　to　him。　Seeing　him；　Larn　half…ran；　half…stumbled　towards　him；
all　but　collapsing　into　Bulaven’s　outstretched　arms　as　he　finally　reached　the　safety　of　the
emplacement。　Then；　hurriedly；　Bulaven　helped　Larn　down　the　steps　into　the　dugout　while　another
grim…faced　Vardan　slammed　the　door　closed　behind　them。
“…new　fish…”　Bulaven　said；　the　words　mostly　drowned　out　by　the　ringing　in　Larn’s　ears；
“…close　one…　thought…　los…　you…”
“…new　fish…”　Bulaven　said　again；　what　few　words　Larn　could　understand　were　dim　and
muffled；　as　though　the　big　man’s　voice　was　a　dying　whisper　echoing　down　the　length　of　a　long
tunnel；　“…are…　ou…　all…　right…”
“…new　fish…”　Bulaven’s　face　was　painted　with　concern　as　Larn　felt　a　sudden　weakness　and　the
world　about　him　grew　dark　and　distant。
“…new　fish…”
And　then；　everything　went　black。
He　awoke　to　darkness　and　the　smell　of　earth。　Opening　his　eyes；　Larn　looked　up　to　see　a　slim
rectangle　of　cold　grey　sky　above　him　surrounded　on　all　sides　by　dark　walls　of　soil。　As　he　tried　to
stand；　he　found　his　limbs　would　not　answer　him。　He　could　not　move；　the　fact　of　his　paralysis
accepted　with　a　curious　sense　of　detachment　and　calm　resignation。　Abruptly；　he　saw　four　bent　and
ragged　figures　appear　overheard　to　peer　down　at　him　as　though　from　a　dizzying　height。　Seeing　the
lines　and　creases　on　each　ancient　wizened　face；　he　recognised　them　at　once。　They　were　the　old
women　he　had　seen　carting　corpses　away　after　the　battle。　Then；　looking　down　at　him　with　tired
disinterest；　the　women　began　to　speak；　each　one　taking　up　where　the　other　had　left　off　as　though
performing　some　ritual　they　had　enacted　a　thousand　times　already。
“He　was　a　hero；”　the　first　old　women　said　as　Larn　slowly　began　to　understand　something　was
terribly　wrong　here。　“They　all　are；　all　the　Guardsmen　who　die　here。”
“They　are　martyrs；”　one　of　her　sisters　said　beside　her。　“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　third　one　said。　“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；”　the　fourth　one　added；　without　conviction。
Turning　away；　the　rustling　noise　made　by　their　tattered　layers　of　clothing　not　unlike　the
flutterings　of　the　black　wings　of　crows；　the　women　disappeared　from　his　sight　again。　Lying　on　his
back　still　looking　up　at　the　rectangle　of　grey　sky　above　him；　Larn　felt　his　previous　sense　of　calm
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replaced　by　a　sudden　presentiment　of　terror。　There　is　something　wrong　here；　he　thought。　They　are
talking　as　though　I　were　dead。　Are　they　blind？　Can’t　they　see　I　am　still　alive。　He　made　to　speak；　to
call　out　and　tell　them　to　come　back　and　help　him　up　out　of　this　strange　pit　he　found　himself　lying　in
but　the　words　would　not　come。　His　mouth　and　tongue　were　as　paralysed　as　every　other　part　of　his
body。　Then；　Larn　heard　a　scratching　sound　as　though　somewhere　a　shovel　had　been　pushed　into　a
mound　of　earth；　and　knew　all　his　horrified　premonitions　of　a　moment　earlier　were　about　to　be　made
reality。
This　is　not　a　pit；　he　thought；　his　mind　frantic　with　despair。　It　is　a　grave！　And　they　are　about　to
bury　me　alive！
“Grieve　not　for　this　departed　soul；”　he　heard　a　stern　and　even　voice　say　from　above　as　the　first
shovelful　of　earth　fell　towards　him。　“Man　born　of　woman　was　not　made　to　be　eternal。　And；　insofar
as　he　was　given　life　by　the　Immortal　Emperor；　so　it　is　by　His　will　that　Man　should　die。”
Feeling　the　earth　strike　his　face；　Larn　tried　to　struggle　to　his　feet。　To　scream。　To　shout。　To　cry
out。　It　was　hopeless。　He　could　not　move。
“For　though　the　soul　may　be　immortal；　the　body　was　made　to　pass　from　this　world；”　the　voice
smoothly　continued。　“And　let　the　flesh　of　the　remains　of　Man　be　given　over　to　the　processes　of
decay；　for　only　the　Emperor　is　undying。”
Helpless；　Larn　found　himself　blinded　as　another　shovelful　of　earth　landed　on　his　face。　Then；　as
fragments　of　soil　dribbled　into　his　mouth　and　nostrils；　he　felt　more　earth　hit　his　body；　the　weight　of
it　growing　slowly　more　intolerable　as；　one　remorseless　shovelful　at　a　time；　the　unseen　grave　diggers
went　about　their　work。　Soon；　his　lungs　crushed　under　the　weight　of　the　soil　on　his　chest；　his　mouth
and　nose　choked　from　the　soil　inside　them；　he　could　no　longer　breathe。　Mute　and　blind　now；　his
heart　growing　feeble；　in　the　throes　of　his　last　desperate　paroxysms　of　helpless　terror　the　final　thing
he　heard　was　the　words　of　the　calm　and　pitiless　voice　droning　endlessly　on　above　him。
“Ashes　to　ashes；”　the　voice　said；　uncaring。　“Dust　to　dust。　A　life　is　over。　Let　the　body　of　this　man
be　given　to　the　earth。”
“There。　You　see　now　I　was　right；”　he　heard　Davir　say。　“I　told　you　all　he　wasn’t　dead。　Naturally　I
defer　to　your　medical　judgement　in　such　matters；　Svenk；　but　I　understand　it　is　exceedingly　rare　to
find　a　dead　man　who　is　still　breathing。”
Groggily　opening　his　eyes；　Larn　was　briefly　confused　to　find　he　was　lying　on　his　back　on　the
floor　of　an　unfamiliar　dugout　with　the　gaunt　figure　of　Medical　Officer　Svenk　kneeling　over　him。　For
a　moment　he　wondered　what　had　happened　to　the　open　grave　and　the　weight　of　earth　on　top　of　his
chest。　It　must　have　been　a　nightmare；　he　thought。　Then；　becoming　aware　of　a　pungent　odour　making
his　eyes　water；　he　realised　Svenk　had　broken　open　a　vial　of　smelling　salts　and　was　wafting　them
under　his　nose。　Weakly　pushing　the　vial　away　Larn　tried　to　stand；　only　for　Svenk　to　place　a　firm
hand　on　his　chest　to　stop　him。
“Not　just　yet；　new　fish；”　he　said；　raising　a　hand　to　hold　three　fingers　up　in　front　of　Larn’s　face。
“How　many　fingers　do　you　see？”
“Three；”　Larn　said；　noticing　Bulaven　kneeling　on　the　other　side　of　him　and　looking　down　at　his
face　with　an　expression　of　concern。
“We　thought　we　had　lost　you　there　for　a　moment；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said。　“When　you　collapsed
I　was　sure　a　near　miss　from　one　of　the　shells　must　have　liquefied　your　insides。　The　blast　does　that
sometimes；　even　if　the　shrapnel　does　not　hit　you。　I　am　glad　to　see　you　are　still　all　right　though。”
“How　many　now？”　Svenk　asked；　changing　the　number　of　raised　fingers　and　holding　them　in
front　of　Larn　once　more。
“Two。”
“Good；”　Svenk　said。　“You　can　remember　your　name？”
“Larn。　Arvin　Larn。”
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“And　where　do　you　come　from；　Larn？”
“From？　Outside…　there　was　shelling…”
“True。　But　I　mean　where　is　your　homeworld；　Larn？　Where　were　you　born？”
“Jumael；”　Larn　replied。　“Jumael　IV。”
“Excellent；”　Svenk　said；　his　face　at　last　cracking　into　a　smile。　“Let　me　extend　my　warmest
congratulations　to　you；　new　fish。　You　are　hereby　pronounced　fit　for　duty　and　free　from　concussion。
Should　you　find　yourself　experiencing　any　sudden　dizziness　or　nausea　over　the　next　twelve　hours；
please　take　two　glasses　of　water　and　call　me　in　the　morning。　Oh；　and　as　for　that　headache　you　are　no
doubt　feeling　at　the　moment？　Don’t　worry；　it　is　a　good　sign。　It　means　you　are　still　alive。”
“The　warmth　of　your　bedside　manner　is　most　extraordinary；　Svenk；”　Davir　said；　suddenly
appearing　to　stand　over　the　medic’s　shoulder　and　gaze　down　at　Larn。　“Remarkable；　even。　Really；
you　are　a　credit　to　your　profession。”
“Thank　you；　Davir；”　Svenk　replied；　putting　the　loop　of　his　satchel　strap　over　his　shoulder　once
more　as　he　made　to　stand。　“I　always　find　such　unsolicited　testimonials　deeply　moving。　Now；　if　you
will　excuse　me；　I　had　better　go　and　check　the　other　dugouts　for　casualties。　Given　the　thoroughness
of　the　bombardment　our　own　side　are　currently　subjecting　us　to；　chances　are　there　are　others
elsewhere　who　may　be　in　more　need　of　my　talents。　Though　I　warn　you；　new　fish；”　he　added；　looking
down　with　mock　seriousness　at　Larn。　“While　getting　injured　twice　in　one　day　is　scarcely　unheard　of
hereabouts；　it　does　suggest　a　certain　carelessness　about　your　own　well…being。　Come　to　me　again
today；　and　I　may　be　forced　to　start　charging　you　for　my　services。”
With　that　Svenk　turned　on　his　heel　and　walked　briskly　away；　headed　for　the　doorway　at　the　far
end　of　the　dugout。　As　he　watched　the　medic　open　the　door　and　start　up　the　stairs　towards　the
surface；　Larn　became　abruptly　aware　of　the　muffled　sounds　of　explosions　as　shells　struck　the　earth
overhead。　We　are　still　being　bombarded；　he　thought；　the　fog　of　his　mind　slowly　clearing　as　he　came
more　back　to　himself。　And　Medical　Officer　Svenk　is　about　to　go　out　in　the　middle　of　it　in　search　of
wounded　men　in　need　of　treatment。　Unbelievable。　Whatever　the　strangeness　of　his　manner；　he　is
either　insane　or　the　bravest　man　I　have　ever　seen。
“You　still　do　not　look　too　well；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　still　kneeling　beside　Larn　and　frowning
at　him　with　concern。　“Your　face　is　very　pale。”
“So？”　said　Davir。　“For　all　we　know　that　is　his　normal　colour　when　he　has　just　had　the　shit
knocked　out　of　him。　Anyway；　you　heard　what　Svenk　said；　Bulaven：　the　new　fish　is　perfectly　fine。
Now；　stopping　clucking　over　him　like　some　idiot　mother　hen　and　get　him　to　his　feet。　If　the　new　fish
isn’t　dying　he　has　no　right　to　be　taking　up　valuable　space　by　lying　there　like　that。”
“Come　on　then；　new　fish；”　Bulaven　said；　helping　him　stand　up　as　Larn　looked　for　the　first　time
at　the　interior　of　the　dugout　around　them。　“Careful　now。　If　you　feel　like　your　knees　are　about　to　go；
just　put　your　weight　on　me。”
Inside；　the　dugout　was　smaller　than　the　one　he　had　been　in　before：　perhaps　a　third　of　the　size　at
most　of　the　barracks　dugout　where　he　had　first　met　Sergeant　Chelkar　and　Corporal　Vladek。　Looking
through　the　crowd　of　a　dozen　or　so　Guardsmen　standing　near　him　Larn　saw　a　table　in　the　corner
covered　in　communications　equipment。　In　a　chair　beside　it　an　unshaven　and　harried…looking　Vardan
corporal　sat　holding　a　pair　of　headphones　to　his　ear　with　one　hand；　while　pressing　down　the　“send”
button　of　the　vox…corn　before　him　with　the　other。
“Yes；　I　understand　that；　captain；”　the　corporal　said；　talking　into　the　vox…com。　“But　regardless　of
what　your　situation　maps　may　say；　I　assure　you　we　are　still　in　possession　of　sector　1…13。”
“That　is　Corporal　Grishen；”　said　Bulaven　once　he　had　seen　Larn　watching　the　man。　“Our　comms
officer。　Right　now　he　is　talking　to　the　commander　of　the　artillery　battery　that　is　shelling　us。”
“What？　You　mean　they　know　they　are　shooting　at　us？”　Larn　asked　in　disbelief。
“I　wouldn’t　sound　so　surprised；　new　fish；”　said　Davir。　“This　is　Broucheroc；　after　all。　Here；　such
snafus　are　not　uncommon。　You　have　heard　the　expression　by　now；　I　take　it？　Snafu？　I　tell　you：　there
could　be　no　better　term　for　describing　this　whole　damn　war。”
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“It　is　usually　a　question　of　parts；　I　understand；”　Scholar　said　as　he　came　over　to　join　them。　“The
cause　of　these　incidents　when　our　own　artillery　suddenly　starts　shooting　at　us；　I　mean。　Old　parts
wear　out；　the　new　ones　are　incorrectly　calibrated；　or　else　they　have　been　recycled　and　refurbished　so
many　times　as　to　be　all　but　useless。　Whatever　the　cause　though；　I’m　sure　once　the　battery
commander　has　become　aware　of　our　situation　the　shelling　will　stop。”
“Phah。　More　groundless　optimism；”　Davir　spat。　“Rea