Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第25部分

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found　himself　confronted　by　defeatism　at　every　turn：　his　every　waking　moment　spent　in　the
company　of　dozens　of　mewling　incompetents；　all　of　them　with　their　pleas　of　extenuation　and　tales　of
woe。
The　Adeptus　Mechanicus　complained　about　not　having　enough　workers　or　raw　materials　for　the
manufactoriums。　The　Medical　Corps　complained　of　not　having　enough　surgeons　or　medicines　for
the　apothecariums。　The　militia　authorities　he　had　placed　in　command　of　the　civilian　infrastructure
complained　of　not　having　the　resources　to　provide　enough　food　or　clean　water　for　the　city’s
population。　Worst　of　all；　his　own　generals　complained　of　not　having　enough　men；　or　arms；　or
artillery　support；　or　any　other　damned　thing。　Complaint；　after　complaint；　after　damn　complaint。　All
the　while；　the　Grand　Marshal　knew　all　these　complaints　for　what　they　truly　were。　Excuses。　It　was
hardly　any　wonder　that　sometimes　he　felt　such　outrage　he　was　tempted　to　pick　out　one　of　his
generals　at　random　and　put　a　lasblast　through　his　head　just　as　an　example　to　the　others。
A　lasblast；　he　thought；　hand　straying　unconsciously　to　the　finely　filigreed　surface　of　the
ceremonial　laspistol　at　his　side。　Right　here　and　now。　That　really　would　put　the　fear　of　the　Emperor
into　them！
“Fifteen；　the　loss　of　38；964　working　man…hours　through　reason　of　power　shortages　in　Sectors　1…
42　through　1…47。”　the　magos　droned　relentlessly　on；　his　mechadendrites　still　attending　to　the
machines　of　his　body　as　though　with　a　life　of　their　own。　“Sixteen；　the　loss　of　a　manufactorium　to
explosion　in　Sector　1…26；　said　explosion　believed　to　have　been　caused　by　a　malfunction　in　an
incorrectly　fitted　power　conduit。　Seventeen…”
And　on　and　on　and　on。　Seeking　relief　from　the　depressing　tedium　of　the　Magos’　report；　hearing
the　sound　of　a　door　opening　behind　him　the　Grand　Marshal　turned　his　head　enough　to　the　side　to
watch　from　the　corner　of　his　eye　as　one　of　Vlin’s　aides　stepped　into　the　briefing　room　from　the
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；