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“I’ve heard enough。 Stop calling me new fish。 My name is Larn。”
For a moment； as though surprised by the interruption； the other men in the trench simply
blinked and turned to look at him in silence。
“What？ You don’t like us calling you new fish； then？” Davir said after a time； sarcastically。 “We
have offended you perhaps？ Your feelings are hurt？”
“No；” said Larn； uncertainly。 “I… You don’t understand。 I just think you should use my name is
all。 My real name； I mean。 Larn。 Not new fish。”
“Really？” Davir said； gazing at him with cold eyes while Zeebers glared at him in hostility and
Scholar and Bulaven looked at him in sadness。 “Then； it is you who does not understand the facts of
life here； new fish。 You think I care what your name is？ I have enough baggage in my head already；
never mind learning something that will likely be written on a grave marker before the day is out。
You want me to remember your name？ Tell me it again in fifteen hours’ time。 By then； perhaps it
just may be worth knowing。”
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CHAPTER NINE
15：55 hours Central Broucheroc Time
A Figure Moving Closer Through No…Man’s Land — Standing Watch with Bulaven — Matters of
Gretchin and Human Marksmanship — A Splash of Colour Amidst the Wasteland — Lessons on
How Best to Act as Bait
He had been moving slowly now for hours。
Crawling on his belly； painted from head to hind claws in grey clay with the long kustom barrel
of his blasta wrapped in layers of grey sacking； he crept forward a centimetre at a time through the
frozen mud of what the humies called no…man’s land。 Slow； like a slaver hunting a squig with a
grabba stik； he moved an inch and then waited。 He moved an inch and then waited。 He moved an
inch then and waited。 Over and over again； always careful in case his prey was watching。
Suddenly； seeing a glint in the distance ahead of him； he stopped。 Sure one of the humies’
spotters must have seen him； he tensed； expecting at any moment to feel the pain from a lasbeam or
hear the sound of a shot； but neither of them came。 He remained motionless。 Until； as the minutes
passed and he became convinced he was none the worse for wear； his journey began again。 Moving
slowly； inch by inch； across the frozen mud toward his destination。
Finally； perhaps halfway across no…man’s land； he reached the lip of a shallow shell crater。 For a
moment he looked at it。 Then； responding to some inner instinct he could have never named； he
crawled inside。 Out of sight now； he moved more quickly； crawling up the opposite slope of the
crater to look through the sights of his blasta in search of a target。 At first； nothing。 Then he saw a
head in a fur…shrouded helmet peeking out of a hole in the ground some way away and he knew the
instinct had been right。 He had found his kill。
Breathing through his nose； careful not to make any sudden moves that might spook his prey； he
aimed at it through his sights； his finger tightening incrementally on the blasta’s trigger。 As he did；
he felt a warm sensation rush through his head as something like a clear and coherent thought
occurred to him。
If he made this shot； the boss would be pleased…
“You shouldn’t take it too much to heart what Davir said before； new fish；” Bulaven said。 “He
didn’t mean anything by it。 It is just his way is all。”
Bulaven was standing on watch on the firing step； looking out into no…man’s land with Larn
beside him。 Meanwhile； in the firing trench below them； the other men were mostly quiet。 Wrapped
in an extra greatcoat in place of a blanket； his muffler pulled forward to cover most of his face；
Davir lay dozing with his back against some spare flamer canisters。 Beside him； Scholar sat silently
reading from the tattered pages of a battered and obviously well…used book。 Only Zeebers was
making anything much in the way of noise。 Sitting on the trench floor； he could be seen sharpening
the blade of his entrenching tool with a whetstone； the low scraping sound of the stone running over
the metal added a malicious counterpoint to the occasional hostile glances he periodically made in
Larn’s direction。
“Yes； that is a good trick； new fish；” Bulaven said； noticing that Larn was looking at Zeebers。 “If
you sharpen the blade of your entrenching tool it makes a good weapon if you find yourself in handto…
hand with an ork。 Better than a bayonet； anyway。 Of course； you need to be careful you don’t
59
sharpen the edges of the spade head too fine。 Otherwise； it can split if you actually have to dig the
earth with it。”
“Does it happen a lot？” Larn asked him； giving an involuntary shiver as he remembered his
earlier encounter with the gretchin。 “Going hand…to…hand with the orks； I mean？”
“Not so much if we can help it；” Bulaven said； tapping the imposing bulk of the heavy flamer by
his side。 “For myself； when it comes to killing orks I prefer to use my friend here。 Sometimes
though； the orks get in close and it can’t be helped。 Then you just have to kill them with laspistols；
knives； spade heads： whatever comes to hand。 But you don’t need to worry too much about that；
new fish。 Stay close to me； Scholar and Davir； and you’ll be all right。”
“You will forgive me； Bulaven；” Larn said to the big man。 “But it didn’t sound too much like
that when you were talking before。”
“Ach； I told you： you shouldn’t worry about that； new fish；” Bulaven said。 “As I say； Davir
didn’t mean too much by it。 It is simply his manner to sound off from time to time； and you just
happened to get in his way。 Personally； I think it is because he is shortarse。 He likes to talk a lot to
make himself seem important。 Trust me； you should just put it from your mind as though it never
happened。”
“And the fifteen hours？” Larn said quietly。 “What about that？”
In reply Bulaven fell silent for a moment； his broad and kindly features abruptly given over to an
almost pensive brooding。 Until； at length； he spoke once more。
“Sometimes； it is better not to think too much on such things； new fish；” he sighed。 “Sometimes；
it is better just to have faith。”
“Faith？” Larn asked。 “You mean in the Emperor？”
“Yes。 No。 Perhaps；” Bulaven said； his words growing as slow and thoughtful as his expression。
“I don’t know； new fish。 I used to believe in so many things back when I first became a Guardsman。
I believed in the generals。 I believed in the commissars。 Most of all； I believed in the Emperor。 Now；
I certainly don’t believe in the first two anymore。 And as for the Emperor？ Sometimes it is hard to
see His grace among all this carnage。 But a man must have faith in something。 And so； yes； I still
believe in the Emperor。 I believe in Him。 And I believe in Sergeant Chelkar。 Those are the two
articles of my faith； such as they are。”
“But there is something else； new fish；” he continued。 “Something just as important as faith。
Hope。 Davir is wrong about that； you see。 A man must have hope； or he might as well not be alive。 It
is as important as the air we breathe。 So； no matter how bad things get； new fish — no matter how
bleak they seem — you must remember not to give up hope。 Trust me； if you can hold on to your
hope； everything will be all right。”
With that； Bulaven fell silent again and Larn found himself remembering his talk with his father
in the farmhouse cellar on his last night at home。 Trust to the Emperor； his father had told him then。
And； now； Bulaven had told him to trust to hope。 Though in his heart he knew them both to be good
pieces of advice； as he looked out at the desolate and foreboding landscape around him they seemed
of little comfort。
A single shot rang out； the sound of it unnaturally loud after the silence。 Acting on reflex Larn
jumped back from the firing step in search of cover； only to fall backwards into the trench to land on
top of Davir； causing the stocky runt to awaken in a flurry of profanities。
“Marshal Kerchan’s bloody arse！” Davir cursed as he pushed Larn away。 “Can’t a man get any
sleep around here without some idiot jumping on top of him with two boots first！ What； you have
mistaken me for your mother； new fish； and you wanted a cuddle？ Get the hell off me！”
“There was a shot； Davir；” Bulaven said； still standing on the firing step； head crouched to peer
cautiously over the trench parapet。 “From out in no…man’s land。 A sniper； I think。 That is what the
new fish was reacting to。”
60
“He can react to it all he wants so long as he doesn’t keep leaping on me；” Davir said； grabbing
his lasgun and stepping up to the firing step beside Bulaven to gaze wolfishly into no…man’s land。
“So。 A sniper； eh？ Scholar； hand me your field glasses and we will see if we can find him。”
Soon； Scholar and Zeebers had joined Davir and Bulaven on the firing step。 Then； handing the
field glasses to Davir； Scholar turned to look over his shoulder at Larn standing at the bottom of the
trench behind him。
“You should come up and watch this； new fish；” Scholar said。 “It is important you learn how to
deal with a sniper。”
Taking his place on the step next to Scholar； Larn watched as the other men stared intently into
no…man’s land； scanning for anything out of place。 Until； indicating a shell crater perhaps three
hundred metres away from their trench； Davir’s wolfish smile became a broad grin of delight。
“There；” he said。 “I see him。 Keep your heads down — the little gretch bastard is already
looking for his next shot。 He’s not the brightest of sparks； however。 He may have painted himself
grey to blend in with the mud； but apparently； nobody told him a sniper’s not supposed to fire twice
from the same position。”
As though in response another shot rang out； raising a clod of earth as the bullet struck the
ground three metres to the left of the trench。
“Ha！ He’s not much a shot either；” Davir said； handing the field glasses to Bulaven beside him。
“Really； I think we should consider sending a letter of complaint to the orks about the quality of the
gretchin they choose for sniper duty。 This one is so poor a marksman； killing him seems almost a
waste of a lasblast。”
“It is another one of the hazards here； new fish；” Scholar said to Larn。 “Every now and again the
orks will equip a particularly level…headed gretchin with a long rifle and send him out into no…man’s
land to act as a sniper。 Of course； gretchin are hardly renowned for their marksmanship； so mostly
they are just a nuisance。 But we have to take them out； all the same。 Which unfortunately means that
one of us here will have to act as bait。”
“I vote for the new fish；” Zeebers said； sneering at him。 “He is expendable； after all； and you
never known when a gretch might get lucky。”
“Very kind of you to volunteer him；” Davir said； his las…gun at his shoulder as he sighted in on
the shell crater。 “Especially since； if memory serves； it is actually your turn to act as sniper bait。
Now shut your stinkhole and get out there。 And make sure you give the gretch plenty of opportunity
to shoot at you。 I want a clear view of him so I can be sure of a clean kill。”
Muttering darkly under his breath； Zeebers grabbed his lasgun and put his hands on the top of
the trench wall to the side of him。 Then； giving Larn a last poisonous glare； he pulled himself up out
of the trench and jumped into the open。 The moment his feet hit the ground he was off and running；
zigzagging with his body half…crouched as he sprinted across open ground to the next nearest firing
trench and threw himself inside to safety。
“No；” said Davir； still peering through his sights towards the shell crater。 “He is still in cover。
Maybe our friend is smarter than we think。 Or perhaps he simply finds Zeebers to be a rather
scrawny and uninspiring target。 Either way； I haven’t got a shot yet。”
“Again； Zeebers！” Scholar yelled； waving toward the next trench。
Discontent clearly visible on every line of his face even from a distance； Zeebers leapt from the
trench again and ran zigzag once more toward the next trench in line。
“He’s moving；” Bulaven said； gazing through the field glasses towards the crater。 “Looks like
he’s taken the bait。”
“Quiet；” Davir hissed。 “You are putting me off。” Then； exhaling slowly； he pulled the trigg