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and　comrades。　No　sense　to　the　fact　that　it　seemed　his　life　was　now　under　a　fifteen…hour　sentence　of
death。　He　could　see　no　sense　in　it。　No　sense　at　all。
Turning　to　glance　down　at　the　others　from　his　position　on　the　firing　step；　Larn　noticed　he　could
just　about　see　the　faded　gold　leaf　lettering　of　the　title　on　the　cracked　leather　cover　of　the　timeworn
and　battered　book　that　Scholar　was　reading。　Under　The　Eagle；　the　book’s　title　read。　Glorious
Accounts　of　Valour　from　the　Annals　of　the　Imperial　Guard。　Larn　had　heard　the　book　mentioned　in
basic　training。　It　was　a　compilation　of　stirring　accounts　of　the　brave　actions　and　past　successes　of
just　a　few　of　the　many　millions　of　different　regiments　of　the　Emperor’s　armies。
Watching　Scholar　as　he　read　the　book；　Larn　saw　the　man’s　face　break　into　an　occasional　smile
from　time　to　time　as　though　in　sarcastic　amusement　at　some　passage　he　had　seen　there。　Again；　Larn
found　himself　wondering　about　Scholar’s　background。　Davir　had　mentioned　something　about　him
no　longer　being　in　the　scholarium。　Could　it　be　that　Scholar　had　once　been　a　student　in　some　place　of
higher　learning！　He　certainly　had　the　disposition　for　it；　and　he　seemed　better　informed　than　any　of
the　other　men　in　the　trench。　If　he　really　was　a　scholar；　what　was　he　doing　serving　in　a　forward　firing
position　on　the　frontlines？　It　was　a　mystery。　As　much　of　a　mystery　as　everything　else　about　the
behaviour　and　motivations　of　the　men　around　him。
64
With　a　sudden　sadness　born　of　isolation；　Larn　realised　he　understood　nothing　about　the　men　who
shared　the　trench　with　him。　Nor　for　that　matter　did　he　understand　any　of　the　other　men　he　had　met
so　far　in　Broucheroc。　Corporal　Vladek；　Medical　Officer　Svenk；　Sergeant　Chelkar；　Vidmir；　Davir；
Zeebers；　poor　dead　Repzik　—　none　of　them　seemed　remotely　like　any　of　the　people　he　had　known
before　he　had　come　to　this　planet。　By　turns　they　were　gruff；　sardonic；　cynical；　world…weary；
intimidating；　not　to　say　largely　contemptuous　of　all　the　institutions　and　traditions　Larn　had　been
raised　to　cherish。　Even　with　Bulaven；　the　most　sympathetic　and　friendly　of　the　Vardans；　Larn　could
sense　a　certain　reserve　as　though　the　big　man　was　wary　of　getting　to　know　him　too　well。　It　was　more
than　that。　More　than　any　remoteness　of　manner　or　lack　of　empathy。　These　men　seemed　entirely
unknowable　to　him：　almost　as　alien　in　their　own　way　as　the　orks。　It　was　as　though　some　strange　and
entirely　new　species　of　Man；　far　removed　from　Larn’s　understanding；　had　been　given　life　by　this
place。
A　new　species；　he　thought　with　a　shiver　that　owed　nothing　whatsoever　to　the　coldness　of　the　air。
A　new　species；　forged　in　hell　and　nurtured　on　the　fields　of　slaughter。
“You　seem　caught　up　in　your　troubles；　new　fish。”　Bulaven　said　beside　him；　the　sound　of　his
voice　after　so　much　silence　making　Larn　jump。　“As　though　the　weight　of　this　entire　world　was　on
your　shoulders。　It　cannot　be　so　bad　as　that；　though。　A　centi…credit　for　your　thoughts？”
For　a　moment；　wondering　if　it　was　possible　to　give　words　to　all　the　confused　welter　of　thoughts
and　emotions　whirling　inside　him；　Larn　was　silent。　Then；　just　as　he　was　about　to　speak　in　answer　to
Bulaven’s　question；　they　heard　the　forboding　thunder　of　artillery　fire　in　the　distance　behind　them。
“Hmm。　Sounds　like　they’re　firing　the　HeeBees。”　Bulaven　said；　turning　to　look　toward　the　sound
of　firing。
“HeeBees？”　Larn　asked。
“Hellbreakers；”　said　Bulaven　distractedly。　“A　local　variant　on　the　Earthshaker；　just　bigger。　Now
please　be　quiet；　new　fish。　We　need　to　listen。”
From　far　away　Larn　began　to　hear　the　high…pitched　scream　of　artillery　shells　in　flight。　Moving
ever　closer；　the　sound　of　the　shells’　passage　high　in　the　air　above　them　grew　louder　by　the　instant。
Until；　by　the　time　the　noise　was　directly　overhead；　the　character　of　the　shells’　screaming　abruptly
changed；　reaching　a　terrifyingly　shrill　and　strident　crescendo　as　the　shells　began　their　final　deathdive
shriek。
“Incoming！”　Bulaven　yelled；　grabbing　Larn　by　the　collar　and　pulling　him　down　with　him　as　he
suddenly　leapt　towards　the　bottom　of　the　trench。
His　stomach　rebounding　hard　against　an　ammunition　box　as　he　landed　on　the　trench　floor；　Larn
found　he　was　not　alone　there。　Roused　by　Bulaven’s　warning　shout；　Davir　and　the　others　had　already
thrown　themselves　prostrate　at　the　trench　bottom；　hugging　the　ground　with　all　the　fervour　of　lovers
reunited　after　a　long　separation。　Finding　himself　face　down　among　a　heap　of　bodies　with　someone
else’s　boot　heel　jabbing　painfully　against　his　ear；　Larn　tried　to　rise；　only　to　find　it　was　impossible　to
even　move　so　long　as　Bulaven’s　not…inconsiderable　bulk　was　lying　on　top　of　him。　Though　any
questions　Larn　might　have　had　as　to　the　reasons　behind　his　comrades’　strange　behaviour　were
quickly　answered　as　the　screaming　of　shells　in　the　air　above　them　abruptly　ended；　replaced　by　the
roar　of　explosions　as　the　shells　began　to　fall　to　earth　all　around　their　trench。
“The　stupid　sons　of　bitches！”　Davir　yelled；　his　shouting　voice　barely　loud　enough　to　be　heard
above　the　din。　“That’s　the　third　time　this　month。”
His　body　shaking　as　the　ground　quaked　from　multiple　detonations；　Larn　closed　his　eyes　and
buried　his　face　in　the　mud；　his　lips　mumbling　a　litany　of　choked　and　terrified　devotions　as　he　prayed
for　salvation。　As　he　prayed；　his　mind　raced　with　desperate　and　outraged　questions。　How　can　this　be；
he　thought。　Bulaven　said　they　were　our　guns。　Why　is　our　own　side　shooting　at　us？　But　there　was　no
answer。　Only　more　explosions　and　flying　soil　as　the　bombardment　continued。
Then；　abruptly；　thankfully；　the　explosions　stopped。
65
“Move！　Move！　Move！　Out　of　the　trench！”　Davir　shouted。　“Quickly。　Before　the　bastards　finish
reloading！”
Scrambling　to　his　feet　as　the　others　leaped　up　and　over　the　rear　trench　wall；　Larn　followed　them。
Clearing　the　wall；　he　saw　they　had　already　sprinted　halfway　down　the　rise　towards　the　line　of
dugouts。　Running　desperately　to　catch　up；　for　a　moment　Larn　was　aware　of　nothing　more　than　the
rush　of　blood　in　his　ears　and　the　pounding　of　his　heart。　Then；　as　though　with　a　slow　dawning
realisation　akin　to　a　nightmare；　he　heard　the　deathdive　scream　of　falling　shells　once　more　and　knew
he　would　never　reach　the　dugouts　in　time。
Abruptly；　an　explosion　ripped　through　the　air　to　the　side　of　him；　knocking　him　to　the　ground　and
showering　him　with　falling　earth。　Finding　himself　on　his　back　and　covered　in　soil；　Larn　felt　a
sudden　fear　at　the　thought　he　had　been　buried　alive；　before　he　saw　the　grey　sky　overhead　and
realised　he　was　still　above　ground。　Spluttering　out　a　mouthful　of　earth　as　he　stumbled　to　his　feet
again；　he　spent　long　dangerous　instants　staggering　aimlessly　about　in　a　daze　as　more　explosions
wracked　the　ground　beneath　him。　Then；　relieved；　he　heard　the　sound　of　a　familiar　voice　shouting
through　the　haze　of　his　confusion。
“Here；　new　fish；”　he　heard　the　voice　yell。　“This　way！　Over　here！”
It　was　Bulaven。　Standing　sheltered　within　the　sandbag　walls　of　one　of　the　dugout　emplacements；
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