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《Fifteen Hours（科幻战争）》
作者：＇英＇Mitchel Scanlon【完结】
Synopsis （英文书籍文案）
The stalwart troops of the Imperial Guard are the first line of defence against the nemerous foes of the Imperium。 Their heroisn and courage is renowned across the galaxy and their armoured might has crushed countless rebellions and invasions。 This action packed novel tells the story of a lone guardsman and his baptism of fire in a combat zone where the average expected lifespan is a mere fifteen hours。 Fighting hand…to…hand against the barbarous orks； he must draw upon all of his training if he is to live to see another dawn。 The horrors of war are only too real in this harrowing tale of carnage and valour！
It is about one soldiers misfortune when he signs up for the Imperial Gaurd。 Arivin Larn his given up his simple life of a farm boy to become a fighter in the Imperial Gaurd。 He isn't too far int his training when he gets called to his first mission。 However； ake planetfall； they realise that they're on the wrong planet and soon after that； all of them die to artilaary fire exept for Larn。 He finds his way to Imperial Gaurd lines。 He joins a new unit and fights for his life as the enemy draw closer and closer。 He was a farm boy with little to no fighting experience dropped off into one of the most deadliest killzones in the enitre galaxy。 Nobody believed he would surivive the first day and everyone in his ne a 15 hour life expectancy。
It is the 41st millennium。 For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on
the Golden Throne of Earth。 He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods； and master of a
million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies。 He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly
with power from the Dark Age of Technology。 He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom
a thousand souls are sacrificed every day； so that he may never truly die。
Yet even in his deathless state； the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance。 Mighty battlefleets
cross the daemon…infested miasma of the warp； the only route between distant stars； their way lit
by the Astronomican； the psychic manifestation of the Emperors will。 Vast armies give battle in
His name on uncounted worlds。 Greatest amongst his soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes； the Space
Marines； bio…engineered super…warriors。 Their comrades in arms are legion： the Imperial Guard
and countless planetary defence forces； the ever…vigilant Inquisition and the tech…priests of the
Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few。 But for all their multitudes； they are barely enough to
hold off the ever…present threat from aliens； heretics； mutants — and worse。
To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions。 It is to live in the cruellest and
most bloody regime imaginable。 These are the tales of those times。 Forget the power of
technology and science； for so much has been forgotten； never to be re…learned。 Forget the
promise of progress and understanding； for in the grim dark future there is only war。 There is no
peace amongst the stars； only an eternity of carnage and slaughter； and the laughter of thirsting
gods。
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The sky was dark； and he knew he was dying。
Alone and frightened； unable to stand or even move his legs； he lay on his back in the frozen
mud of no…man’s land。 Lay there helpless； his body shrouded in darkness； eyes gazing up at the
nighttime sky overhead as though trying to read some portent of his future in the cold distant stars。
Tonight； the stars kept their own counsel。 Tonight； the bleak and foreboding heavens held no
comfort。
How long has it been now； he thought。 How many hours？
Finding no answer to his question； he turned his head to look out at the scenery about him —
hoping at last to see some sign of rescue but there was nothing： no movement in the darkness； no
cause for hope。 Around him； the bleak expanses of no…man’s land lay still and silent。 A landscape
rendered featureless by the hand of night； painted black with threatening shadows； holding nothing
that spoke to his hopes or could even help him to find his bearings。 He was lost and alone；
abandoned to a world of darkness； with no prospect of help or salvation。 For a moment it seemed to
him he might as well be the last man left alive in the entire galaxy。 Then； the thought of it gave him
cause for fear and he quickly put it from his mind。
How long now； he thought again。 How many hours？
He had felt nothing when the bullet struck him。 No pain； no agony； nor even anguish； just a
strange and sudden numbness in his legs as he slid toward the ground。 At first； not understanding
what had happened； he had thought he had tripped。 Until； cursing himself for his clumsiness； he had
tried to rise only to find his legs curiously unresponsive。 It was then； as he felt the spreading warmth
of his own blood seeping across his belly； that he had realised his mistake。
In the hours since； unable to see the extent of his wounds in the darkness； he had used his
probing fingers to tell him what his eyes could not。 He had been hit at the base of the spine； the
bullet leaving a fist…sized hole at the front of his stomach as it exited his body。 Treating his wounds
to the best of his medical knowledge； he had stuffed them with gauze to stem the bleeding and
placed dressings over them。 Though there were phials of morphia in his Guard…issue med…pack and
he had learned the “Prayer of Relief from Torment” by heart； he had no need for them。 There was no
pain from his wounds — even when his probing fingers had slid past the knuckle into the ragged
hole in his stomach he had felt no physical discomfort。 He did not need to be possessed of any great
medical knowledge to know that was not a good sign。
Hoind again； unbidden。 How many hours？
There were other discomforts； though。 The chill of the cold night air biting at the exposed skin
of his face and neck； a terrible mind…wearying fatigue that made his thoughts seem dull and leaden：
the fear； the loneliness； the isolation。 Worst of all； there was the silence。 When first he had fallen
wounded； the night had thundered with all the cacophony of battle： the high…pitched whine of
lasguns； the crack of slugthrowers； the roar of explosions； the screams and cries of the wounded and
the dying。 Sounds that gradually subsided； growing slowly more distant before finally giving way to
silence。 He would never have thought a man could draw comfort from such sounds。 As terrifying as
the clamour of battle had been； the quiet that followed was worse。 It compounded his isolation；
leaving him alone with all his fears。 Here； in the darkness； fear had become his constant companion；
plaguing his heart without remorse or respite。
How long now？ The question would not leave him。 How many hours？
At times； the compulsion came over him to cry out。 To shout for help； to beg for mercy； to
scream； to yell； to pray — anything to break that dreadful silence。 Every time it came he fought it
5
with all his strength； biting his lip hard to stop the words from spilling out。 He knew that to make
even the slightest sound would only be to bring death upon him all the sooner。 For though his
comrades might hear him； so would the enemy。 Somewhere； out there on the other side of no…man’s
land； the enemy waited in their countless millions。 Waited； ever eager to fight； to maim； to kill。 No
matter how terrifying it was to be trapped alone and wounded in no…man’s land； the thought of being
found by the enemy was worse。 For what seemed like hours now； he had endured the silence。
Knowing that； as desperately as he might hope for rescue； he could do nothing to speed it on its way
towards him。
How long now； the thought pounded insistently in his head。 How many hours？
There was so little left to him now。 So little of real substance。 All the things that had once meant
so much — his family； his homeworld； his faith in the Emperor — now seemed dim and distant。
Even his memories were insubstantial； as though his past was fading away before his eyes as swiftly
as was his future。 His inner world； the world of his life which had once seemed so full and bright
with promise； had been diminished and reduced by circumstance。 He was left with only a few
simple choices： to cry out or keep his silence； to bleed to death or take his knife and end it quickly；
to stay awake or fall asleep。 At the moment； sleep seemed a tempting prospect。 He was tired and
bone…weary； fatigue pulling at his sluggish mind like an insistent friend； but he would not yield to it。
He knew if he fell asleep now he would likely never awaken。 Just as he knew that all these so…called
choices were simply illusions。 In the end； there was only one stark choice left to him now — to live
or to die — and he refused to die。
How long now； the question again； relentless。 How many hours？
But there was no answer。 Resigning himself to the thought that his fate was now in the hands of
others； he waited in the silence of no…man’s land。 Waited； hoping that somewhere out in the night
his comrades were already searching for him。 Waited； refusing to give in or fall asleep。 He waited；
caught between life and death。 His life a last fitful burning spark lo