Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)- 第1部分

　　　


　　　
《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
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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