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that were the case I’d have found some way of giving it to them myself by now； never mind all this
fantasising about killing generals。 You make things too complicated； Scholar。 The orks want to kill
us for one simple reason。 They are orks。 That is all there is to it。 Though by all means tell the new
fish about your grand theories。 I’m sure they’ll come in very handy next time the bullets start flying
and he finds himself face to face with a horde of screaming green…skins。 Though from what I’ve
seen already； you might be doing him more of a favour if you told him to tie a string around his belt
and tie the other end to his las…gun so he doesn’t lose it again。”
Grimacing in dismissive annoyance Davir returned his attention to the card game； leaving
Scholar to go on with his lecture。
“The promethium； new fish；” Scholar said。 “That’s why the orks are here and that’s what makes
the city important to both us and them。 Remember I told you this city started off as a centre for the
meat trade？ Well； that was thousands of years ago。 In more recent times Broucheroc became a
centre for the planet’s promethium industry。 Time was when this city was little more than one giant
refinery； where crude promethium would be brought from the drilling fields further south to be
refined into fuel。 Even though the pipelines that brought that crude here were cut long ago； this city
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is still rich in promethium。 Billions of barrels’ worth； stored in massive underground tanks
underlying most of the city。”
“But what do the orks want with it？” Larn asked him。
“Fuel；” Scholar said。 “Ten years ago； just as we first made landfall here； it looked like the orks
were going to conquer this entire planet。 Until they started to run out of fuel for their armour。 When
that happened they laid siege to Broucheroc； hoping to seize the city’s fuel reserves。 But we
managed to hold out； and without fuel the ork assault elsewhere on the planet simply ground to a
halt。 Ever since then it has been a stalemate； with us trapped inside the city and the orks outside it
trying to get in。 A stalemate that shows no sign of ending anytime soon。”
“But what about the Imperial forces in other parts of the planet？” Larn said。 “Or even Imperial
forces from off…world？ Why haven’t they tried to relieve the siege？”
“As for the Imperial forces elsewhere on this planet； it could be they have tried to relieve us；
new fish；” Scholar said。 “Certainly； if you asked General HQ they would tell you the city is on the
verge of being relieved。 However； seeing as they have been saying the same thing for ten years now；
no one much believes them anymore。 You will find that here in Broucheroc our commanders tell us
a lot of things。 That we are winning the war。 That the orks are leaderless and on the verge of
collapse。 That the big breakthrough they have been promising us for the last ten years is finally
imminent。 You will find that after a while hearing the same old things； day after day after day； you
simply learn not to listen。 For myself； I suspect that our brother Guardsmen in other parts of this
Emperor…forsaken world are in no better shape than we are。 Not that I can say definitely whether or
not this is the case you understand； given that the only part of this planet I’ve ever seen is
Broucheroc。 As theories go however； it seems no worse than any other。”
“But； of course； that doesn’t fully answer your question；” Scholar said； fully lost now in the flow
of his own erudition。 “As to why Imperial forces from off…world don’t intervene： I suspect the war
here is simply not important enough to justify a full…scale landing。 From time to time there are
smaller more isolated landings — by a lander say； or a single dropship — but nothing that could be
mistaken for anything even resembling a real attempt to break the siege。 Sometimes； as in the case
of you and your company； these landings turn out to be simple mistakes。 Other times； it is as though
some distant bureaucrat has finally decided to send us a few more troops or supplies in order to
reassure us we have not been forgotten。 For the most part； these occasional drops are as pointless
and ridiculous as every other aspect of life here in Broucheroc。 In the past we have been sent entire
pods full of supplies； only to find when we fight our way to them the boxes inside the pods are full
of the most useless things imaginable： paperclips； mosquito netting； laxatives； boot laces； and so
on。”
“Remember when they sent us an entire drop…pod full of prophylactics？” Davir said from
nearby。 “I never could decide whether they wanted us to use them as barrage balloons； or simply
thought the orks must have a fear of rubber。”
“A good example of what I was talking about；” Scholar said。 “But anyway； I think that pretty
much covers everything for now； new fish。 Do you have any questions？”
“Never mind his questions。” Zeebers said； suddenly looking up from his cards to gaze at Larn
with a sly and malignant smile。 “You didn’t quite cover everything for the new fish； Scholar。 There
is still one thing you forgot to tell him。”
“Forgot？” Scholar said。 “Really？ I don’t think there was anything else of importance…”
“Yes there is；” Zeebers said； staring hard at Larn now with cold malice。 “You forgot to tell him
why it was Davir said you’d be wasting your time telling the new fish anything。 Why all the things
you told him already are probably totally useless to him。 Why； come tomorrow； there’s likely only
going to be four men in this trench； not five。 Oh yes； I think you forgot to tell him something；
Scholar。 You forgot to tell him the single most important thing of them all。”
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For a moment Zeebers paused； the silence growing tense and ugly as he stared at Larn while the
others shifted uneasily in their positions as though suddenly uncomfortable。 Then； the corners of his
lips rising tightly in a gloating smile of victory； Zeebers smirked at Larn and spoke once more。
“You forgot to tell him about the fifteen hours。”
They were quiet at first。 Scholar and Bulaven looked down at the ground in apparent
embarrassment； while even Davir avoided Larn’s eyes as though feeling the same vague sense of
discomfort as the others。 Only Zeebers looked his way。 Staring back at him； Larn found himself
party to an unwelcome insight。 Zeebers hated him。 Though why； or for what reason； he could not
even begin to guess。
“What is this fifteen hours？” Larn said at last to break the silence。 “Repzik said something about
it just before the last attack。 And Corporal Vladek mentioned it as well。 He said he would issue me
e back to see him again in fifteen hours’ time。”
Long moments passed and no one answered。 Instead there was only more silence while Davir；
Scholar； and Bulaven looked uneasily at one another as though mentally drawing lots to decide
which of them would perform an unwelcome duty。 Until at length； still refusing to meet Larn’s eyes；
Davir finally spoke。
“Tell him； Scholar。”
In response Scholar fidgeted for a moment before； clearing his throat； he turned to face Larn
directly。
“It is a matter of statistics； new fish；” Scholar said with a pained expression。 “You must
understand that in many ways every marshal and general at headquarters is as much a bureaucrat as
the most pedantic scribe in the Administratum。 To them war is not just a thing of blood and death；
nor entirely a question of tactics and strategy。 To them； it is as much as anything a matter of
calculation。 A calculation based on casualty reports； rates of attrition； the numbers of units in the
field； estimates of the enemy’s strength； and so on； all the myriad facts and figures that； together；
can be used to establish a mathematics of slaughter。 Every day； from all over Broucheroc； these
figures are recorded； collated and sent to General Headquarters for the bean counters there to work
on them。 As for this fifteen hours that Zeebers mentioned； it is one of the products of these daily
calculations。”
“You are over complicating things again； Scholar；” Davir said。 “It does no good to sugar the pill
for the new fish。 He asked a direct question； you should answer him accordingly。”
“It is a matter of life expectancy； new fish；” Scholar sighed。 “Fifteen hours is the average length
of time a replacement Guardsman survives in Broucheroc after he has been posted to a combat unit
at the frontlines。”
“A replacement Guardsman？” Larn said； still unsure whether he fully understood what Scholar
had just told him。 “Like me； you mean？ Is that what you are telling me？ That’s how long you expect
me to survive here？ You think I am going to be dead inside fifteen hours？”
“Less than that； new fish；” Zeebers said； his tone smug and mocking。 “You must have been here
at least three hours by now。 Leaving you only twelve hours left。 Maybe less。 Why do you think
Vladek told you to return to him in fifteen hours？ He didn’t want to risk wasting a lot of good
equipment on a dead man。”
“Shut up； Zeebers；” Bulaven rumbled。 For a moment Zeebers glared back at him until； seeing
the angry expression on the big man’s face； he dropped his eyes to look down at the mud of the
trench floor in sullen silence。 “Tell him that isn’t the way it is； Scholar；” Bulaven began again； his
expression softening and his voice almost pleading。 “Explain it to him。 Tell him we have every faith
he will still be alive tomorrow。”
“What； you think we should lie to him？” Davir said to Bulaven。 “Zeebers here may be an evil
little shit with a big mouth； but at least he was telling the truth。 You think we should treat the new
fish like a child？ Tell him that everything will be all right？ That his kindly old uncles Davir； Scholar
57
and Bulaven will keep him safe from the mean and nasty orks？ Even after ten years of your fatheaded
stupidity； you never cease to amaze me； Bulaven。”
“It wouldn’t be lying； Davir；” Bulaven said sulkily。 “There is nothing wrong with giving a man
some hope。”
“Hope； my arse；” Davir spat。 “I keep telling you； fat…man： hope is a bitch with bloody claws。
You’d think after ten years in this damned hellhole you would have learned that lesson by now at
least。”
“All the same； Bulaven is not entirely wrong；” Scholar said； turning towards the others to join
the discussion。 “The new fish does indeed have some small cause for hope。 True。 General HQ may
have calculated the life expectancy of a replacement to be fifteen hours。 But that is only an average
figure。 Perhaps the new fish will be more fortunate。 He could survive longer。 He has already beaten
the odds once already by surviving that landing。”
“Phah。 Sometimes； Scholar； you can be as bad as Bulaven；” Davir said。 “But where he witters on
about hope and optimism； you act like you were still in the scholarium。 You would do better to
remind yourself we are in the real world here。 Your talk of odds and averages is all very well； but
this is Broucheroc。 It doesn’t matter that the new fish survived the landing。 Any more than it matters
whether or not you and Bulaven try to coddle him。 He is as good as a corpse already。 A dead man
walking。 Trust me； the orks will see to that。 There’s nothing they like better than a new fish； still wet
behind the ears and ready for the gutting。”
“All I am saying is that we are perhaps being too literal…minded when it comes to talking about
this figure fifteen hours；” Scholar said； all three of them so caught up in the heat of their argument
now that they ignored Larn as he stood there listening to them。 “It is not an absolute figure。 It is only
an average。 Why； for all we know； the new fish might end up surviving days； weeks； even years。”
“Years？” Davir said。 “You know you really are a wonder to me； Scholar。 I’ve never seen a man
talk so eloquently and at such length from his arse before。 You think the new fish is going to
manage to survive years in this place？ Next you will be telling me you expect Sector Command to
make Bulaven a general！ You obviously haven’t seen the new fish in action—”
“Stop it。” Larn said quietly； no longer willing to be talked about as though he were invisible。
“I’ve heard enough。 Stop calling me new fish。 My name is Larn。”