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he’s　taken　the　bait。”
“Quiet；”　Davir　hissed。　“You　are　putting　me　off。”　Then；　exhaling　slowly；　he　pulled　the　trigger；
producing　a　single　sharp　crack　as　the　lasgun　fired。
“You　got　him！”　Bulaven　said；　passing　the　field　glasses　to　Larn　with　a　smile　of　exultation。　“Look；
new　fish。　You　see　that？　He　got　him。”
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“Of　course　I　got　him；”　Davir　said。　Then；　as　he　clicked　the　firing　control　switch　on　his　lasgun　to
safe；　the　wolfish　smile　returned。　“Though　it　was　a　remarkably　fine　shot；　even　if　I　do　say　so　myself。”
Gazing　through　the　field　glasses　Larn　looked　toward　the　shell　crater；　at　first　unable　to　distinguish
any　sign　of　the　gretchin　in　the　grey　landscape。　Then；　he　saw　it：　a　small　red　stain　lying　across　a　grey
rock　at　the　lip　of　the　crater。　Abruptly；　adjusting　the　magnification　of　the　field　glasses　to　take　a　closer
look；　Larn　realised　he　had　been　mistaken。　What　he　thought　was　a　rock　was　in　fact　the　gretchin’s
head；　the　red　stain　being　the　contents　of　the　creature’s　brains　as　they　oozed　through　the　hole　in　its
ruptured　skull　and　dribbled　towards　the　ground。　The　creature　was　dead；　the　only　sign　of　its　passing　a
smear　of　red　against　the　all…encompassing　greyness　of　the　world　around　it。　A　bright　splash　of　colour
in　the　midst　of　a　wasteland。
“Did　you　see　how　Zeebers　did　it；　new　fish？”　Bulaven　asked　him。　“Did　you　see　how　he　kept
crouched　and　ran　zigzag　from　one　trench　to　the　next；　so　he　wouldn’t　give　the　gretch　too　much　of　a
target？”
“Yes；　I　saw　it；”　Larn　said；　sensing　some　unwelcome　portent　in　the　concern　evident　in　the　big
man’s　manner。　It　was　almost　as　though　Bulaven　was　warning　him　about　something。　“But；　why　do
you　ask？”
“Why　do　you　think；　new　fish？”　Davir　grunted。　“Because；　now　Zeebers　has　been　kind　enough　to
show　you　how　it　is　done；　next　time　we　have　a　sniper　it　is　your　turn　to　act　as　bait。”
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CHAPTER　TEN
16：33　hours　Central　Broucheroc　Time
A　Daily　Dose　of　Hell　—　Further　Musings　on　the　Frontline　—　Friendly　Fire　—　Intimations　of　an
Unwelcome　Burial　—　Another　Consultation　with　Medical　Officer　Svenk　—　Corporal　Grishen　and
Certain　Failures　in　Communications　—　Sergeant　Chelkar　Finds　a　Way　to　Make　his　Point
“Battery；　make　ready！”　he　heard　Sergeant　Dumat’s　voice　shouting　in　his　earpiece。　“Gun　crews
remove　camo…covers　and　make　ready　to　open　the　breech！”
As　though　an　army　of　quiescent　insects　had　been　provoked　into　action；　in　an　instant　the　artillery
park　became　a　nest　of　activity。　Everywhere；　gun　crews　rushed　to　their　posts　to　pull　away
camouflaged　tarpaulins　and　make　ready　for　firing。　Watching　as　the　camo…covers　were　discarded　to
reveal　the　huge　and　gleaming　bores　of　the　dozen　Hellbreaker　class　cannons　under　his　command；
Captain　Alvard　Valerius　Meran　allowed　himself　a　moment　of　pleasure　as　he　saw　the　extra　firing
drills　he　had　ordered　for　his　men　had　worked。　There　was　no　sign　of　slackness；　ill　discipline　or
confusion　in　the　workings　of　the　gun　crews。　The　entire　battery　operated　with　all　the　smooth
efficiency　of　a　single；　finely　tuned；　well…oiled　machine。
“Load　ordnance。”　Sergeant　Dumat　yelled；　the　strident　tones　of　the　command　carried　to　the　ears
of　every　man　in　the　battery　through　the　comm…beads　inside　the　ear…protectors　they　wore　to　protect
them　from　the　sound　of　their　guns。　“High　explosive　rounds。”
Standing　in　the　shadow　of　the　burnt…out　building　that　served　as　his　de　facto　headquarters；
Captain　Meran　watched　the　four…man　loading　teams　attached　to　each　gun　crew　as　they　hurried　to
disappear　into　the　tarpaulin…covered　ammunition　stacks　beside　each　gun。　A　moment　later　they
emerged　once　more；　each　loading　team　gently　cradling　the　shining　and　deadly　weight　of　a　metre
long　high　explosive　shell　between　them。　Then；　carrying　them　to　their　guns；　the　loaders　lifted　their
shells　into　the　open　breeches　for　the　other　members　of　the　guns　crews　to　ram　them　home。
“Load　propellant。”
Again；　delighting　at　every　well…trained　movement　and　flawless　action；　Meran　watched　as　the
loading　teams　returned　to　the　stacks　to　fetch　the　heavy　barrel…sized　cylindrical　sacks　of　cordite　that
served　as　propellant　for　the　cannons。　Grunting　under　the　weight；　taking　even　more　care　with　the
volatile　cordite　than　they　had　with　the　shells；　the　loading　teams　lifted　the　sacks　into　the　guns’
breeches；　then　retreated　to　their　positions　beside　the　ammunition　stacks　once　more。
“Close　breeches。　Set　firing　trajectories　as　follows。　Horizontal　traverse：　five　degrees　twenty…six
minutes。　Repeat：　zero　five　degrees　two　six　minutes。　Vertical　elevation：　seventy…eight　degrees　thirtyone
minutes。　Repeat：　seven　eight　degrees　three　one　minutes。　Windage：　zero　point　five　degrees。
Repeat：　zero　point　five　degrees。”
And　so　the　sergeant’s　voice　went　on；　repeating　the　bearings　again　as　the　gun　crews　worked　the
wheels　and　gearings　of　their　guns’　aiming　systems　to　adjust　the　Hellbreakers　to　the　proper
trajectories。　Until；　their　preparations　at　last　completed；　the　gun　crews　stepped　back　from　their　guns
and　awaited　the　firing　instruction。
Yes；　Captain　Meran　thought。　Just　like　a　machine。　Really；　that　was　a　most　excellent　display　of
gunmanship。　It　is　a　shame　no　one　from　Battery　Command　was　here　to　see　it。　If　they　had　been；　they
would　have　been　sure　to　have　given　me　a　commendation。
63
Briefly；　he　wondered　whether　he　should　order　an　extra　ration　of　recaf　for　the　gun　crews　by　way
of　a　reward。　Just　as　swiftly　he　abandoned　the　idea。　It　might　set　a　dangerous　precedent　to　give　the
men　any　additional　reward　for　simply　doing　their　duty。　No；　it　would　be　pleasure　enough　that　they
could　all　go　to　their　beds　tonight　knowing　they　had　performed　their　duties　with　admirable　dispatch。
Then；　noticing　his　men　looking　towards　him　with　expectant　faces　as　they　awaited　the　order　to　fire；
Meran　made　an　elaborate　show　of　taking　his　pocket　chronometer　from　its　chain　and　opening　it　to
check　the　time。　16：30　hours　exactly；　he　thought　with　a　smile；　hand　going　to　the　comm…stud　at　the
collar　of　his　uniform　as　he　make　ready　to　vox　the　command　to　Sergeant　Dumat　to　give　the　order　to
let　loose　the　guns。
Time　to　give　the　orks　their　daily　dose　of　hell。
Perhaps　half　an　hour　had　passed　since　they　had　killed　the　sniper。　Half　an　hour。　Yet　still；　having
returned　to　the　trench　in　the　wake　of　acting　as　bait；　Zeebers　sat　sullenly　in　a　corner　glaring
murderously　at　Davir　and　the　others。　Most　of　all；　he　glared　at　Larn：　his　eyes　full　to　the　brim　with
hatred　and　loathing。　Not　for　the　first　time；　Larn　found　himself　wondering　how　it　was　the　man　had
taken　so　badly　against　him　for　no　apparent　reason。　Though；　given　Zeebers’　current　demeanour；　he
thought　better　of　asking　him　outright　why　he　hated　him。
Elsewhere　in　the　trench；　the　others　had　resumed　the　same　positions　they　had　occupied　before　the
sniper’s　opening　shot。　Davir　had　his　back　against　the　spare　flamer　canisters　and　was　wrapped　dozing
in　an　extra　greatcoat　once　more。　Scholar　had　returned　to　his　book。　Bulaven　was　still　on　the　firing
step；　gazing　out　into　no…man’s　land　on　watch　with　Larn　beside　him。　Now；　with　the　passing　of　the
brief　excitement　caused　by　the　sniper；　the　big　man　had　fallen　as　quiet　as　the　others。
So　much　has　changed；　Larn　thought；　finding　the　brooding　silence　of　the　past　half…hour　had　at
least　given　him　time　to　think。　A　few　hours　ago　I　was　with　Jenks　and　the　others；　getting　ready　to
make　our　first　planetary　drop　and　wondering　what　to　expect。　Even　in　our　worst　nightmares　none　of
us　could　have　thought　of　this。　Certainly；　Jenks　wouldn’t　have　expected　to　die　in　his　chair　without
even　leaving　the　lander。　Any　more　than　Sergeant　Ferres　would　have　expected　to　he　killed　by　a
misfiring　explosive　bolt。　The　same　goes　for　Hallan；　Vorrans　and　Leden。　It　is　like　I　remember　that
old　preacher　saying　one　time。　You　never　know　what　the　shape　of　your　death　is　going　to　be　until　it
has　got　you。　And；　by　then；　it　is　already　too　late　to　do　anything　about　it。
Sobered　by　the　thought；　shivering　against　the　cold；　Larn　looked　out　into　no…man’s　land　and　tried
to　make　some　sense　of　how　it　was　he　had　come　to　be　there。　Try　as　he　might　he　could　see　no　sense　in
it。　No　sense　in　the　mistake　that　had　brought　him　to　this　place。　No　sense　in　the　deaths　of　his　friends
and　comrades。　No　sense　to　the