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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。
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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。
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“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 his paralysis
accepted with a curious sense of detachment and calm resignation。 Abruptly； he saw four bent and
ragged figures appear overheard to peer down at him as though from a dizzying height。 Seeing the
lines and creases on each ancient wizened face； he recognised them at once。 They were the old
women he had seen carting corpses away after the battle。 Then； looking down at him with tired
disinterest； the women began to speak； each one taking up where the other had left off as though
performing some ritual they had enacted a thousand times already。
“He was a hero；” the first old women said as Larn slowly began to understand something was
terribly wrong here。 “They all are； all the Guardsmen who die here。”
“They are martyrs；” one of her sisters said beside her。 “By giving their blood to defend this place
they have made the soil of this city into sacred ground。”
“Broucheroc is a holy and impregnable fortress；” the third one said。 “The orks will never take it。
We will break their assault here。 Then； we will push them back and reclaim this entire planet。”
“So the commissars tell us；” the fourth one added； without conviction。
Turning away； the rustling noise made by their tattered layers of clothing not unlike the
flutterings of the black wings of crows； the women disappeared from his sight again。 Lying on his
back still looking up at the rectangle of grey sky above him； Larn felt his previous sense of calm
66
replaced by a sudden presentiment of terror。 There is something wrong here； he thought。 They are
talking as though I were dead。 Are they blind？ Can’t they see I am still alive。 He made to speak； to
call out and tell them to come back and help him up out of this strange pit he found himself lying in
but the words would not come。 His mouth and tongue were as paralysed as every other part of his
body。 Then； Larn heard a scratching sound as though somewhere a shovel had been pushed into a
mound of earth； and knew all his horrified premonitions of a moment earlier were ab