he’s taken the bait。”
“Quiet；” Davir hissed。 “You are putting me off。” Then； exhaling slowly； he pulled the trigger；
producing a single sharp crack as the lasgun fired。
“You got him！” Bulaven said； passing the field glasses to Larn with a smile of exultation。 “Look；
new fish。 You see that？ He got him。”
61
“Of course I got him；” Davir said。 Then； as he clicked the firing control switch on his lasgun to
safe； the wolfish smile returned。 “Though it was a remarkably fine shot； even if I do say so myself。”
Gazing through the field glasses Larn looked toward the shell crater； at first unable to distinguish
any sign of the gretchin in the grey landscape。 Then； he saw it： a small red stain lying across a grey
rock at the lip of the crater。 Abruptly； adjusting the magnification of the field glasses to take a closer
look； Larn realised he had been mistaken。 What he thought was a rock was in fact the gretchin’s
head； the red stain being the contents of the creature’s brains as they oozed through the hole in its
ruptured skull and dribbled towards the ground。 The creature was dead； the only sign of its passing a
smear of red against the all…encompassing greyness of the world around it。 A bright splash of colour
in the midst of a wasteland。
“Did you see how Zeebers did it； new fish？” Bulaven asked him。 “Did you see how he kept
crouched and ran zigzag from one trench to the next； so he wouldn’t give the gretch too much of a
target？”
“Yes； I saw it；” Larn said； sensing some unwelcome portent in the concern evident in the big
man’s manner。 It was almost as though Bulaven was warning him about something。 “But； why do
you ask？”
“Why do you think； new fish？” Davir grunted。 “Because； now Zeebers has been kind enough to
show you how it is done； next time we have a sniper it is your turn to act as bait。”
62
CHAPTER TEN
16：33 hours Central Broucheroc Time
A Daily Dose of Hell — Further Musings on the Frontline — Friendly Fire — Intimations of an
Unwelcome Burial — Another Consultation with Medical Officer Svenk — Corporal Grishen and
Certain Failures in Communications — Sergeant Chelkar Finds a Way to Make his Point
“Battery； make ready！” he heard Sergeant Dumat’s voice shouting in his earpiece。 “Gun crews
remove camo…covers and make ready to open the breech！”
As though an army of quiescent insects had been provoked into action； in an instant the artillery
park became a nest of activity。 Everywhere； gun crews rushed to their posts to pull away
camouflaged tarpaulins and make ready for firing。 Watching as the camo…covers were discarded to
reveal the huge and gleaming bores of the dozen Hellbreaker class cannons under his command；
Captain Alvard Valerius Meran allowed himself a moment of pleasure as he saw the extra firing
drills he had ordered for his men had worked。 There was no sign of slackness； ill discipline or
confusion in the workings of the gun crews。 The entire battery operated with all the smooth
efficiency of a single； finely tuned； well…oiled machine。
“Load ordnance。” Sergeant Dumat yelled； the strident tones of the command carried to the ears
of every man in the battery through the comm…beads inside the ear…protectors they wore to protect
them from the sound of their guns。 “High explosive rounds。”
Standing in the shadow of the burnt…out building that served as his de facto headquarters；
Captain Meran watched the four…man loading teams attached to each gun crew as they hurried to
disappear into the tarpaulin…covered ammunition stacks beside each gun。 A moment later they
emerged once more； each loading team gently cradling the shining and deadly weight of a metre
long high explosive shell between them。 Then； carrying them to their guns； the loaders lifted their
shells into the open breeches for the other members of the guns crews to ram them home。
“Load propellant。”
Again； delighting at every well…trained movement and flawless action； Meran watched as the
loading teams returned to the stacks to fetch the heavy barrel…sized cylindrical sacks of cordite that
served as propellant for the cannons。 Grunting under the weight； taking even more care with the
volatile cordite than they had with the shells； the loading teams lifted the sacks into the guns’
breeches； then retreated to their positions beside the ammunition stacks once more。
“Close breeches。 Set firing trajectories as follows。 Horizontal traverse： five degrees twenty…six
minutes。 Repeat： zero five degrees two six minutes。 Vertical elevation： seventy…eight degrees thirtyone
minutes。 Repeat： seven eight degrees three one minutes。 Windage： zero point five degrees。
Repeat： zero point five degrees。”
And so the sergeant’s voice went on； repeating the bearings again as the gun crews worked the
wheels and gearings of their guns’ aiming systems to adjust the Hellbreakers to the proper
trajectories。 Until； their preparations at last completed； the gun crews stepped back from their guns
and awaited the firing instruction。
Yes； Captain Meran thought。 Just like a machine。 Really； that was a most excellent display of
gunmanship。 It is a shame no one from Battery Command was here to see it。 If they had been； they
would have been sure to have given me a commendation。
63
Briefly； he wondered whether he should order an extra ration of recaf for the gun crews by way
of a reward。 Just as swiftly he abandoned the idea。 It might set a dangerous precedent to give the
men any additional reward for simply doing their duty。 No； it would be pleasure enough that they
could all go to their beds tonight knowing they had performed their duties with admirable dispatch。
Then； noticing his men looking towards him with expectant faces as they awaited the order to fire；
Meran made an elaborate show of taking his pocket chronometer from its chain and opening it to
check the time。 16：30 hours exactly； he thought with a smile； hand going to the comm…stud at the
collar of his uniform as he make ready to vox the command to Sergeant Dumat to give the order to
let loose the guns。
Time to give the orks their daily dose of hell。
Perhaps half an hour had passed since they had killed the sniper。 Half an hour。 Yet still； having
returned to the trench in the wake of acting as bait； Zeebers sat sullenly in a corner glaring
murderously at Davir and the others。 Most of all； he glared at Larn： his eyes full to the brim with
hatred and loathing。 Not for the first time； Larn found himself wondering how it was the man had
taken so badly against him for no apparent reason。 Though； given Zeebers’ current demeanour； he
thought better of asking him outright why he hated him。
Elsewhere in the trench； the others had resumed the same positions they had occupied before the
sniper’s opening shot。 Davir had his back against the spare flamer canisters and was wrapped dozing
in an extra greatcoat once more。 Scholar had returned to his book。 Bulaven was still on the firing
step； gazing out into no…man’s land on watch with Larn beside him。 Now； with the passing of the
brief excitement caused by the sniper； the big man had fallen as quiet as the others。
So much has changed； Larn thought； finding the brooding silence of the past half…hour had at
least given him time to think。 A few hours ago I was with Jenks and the others； getting ready to
make our first planetary drop and wondering what to expect。 Even in our worst nightmares none of
us could have thought of this。 Certainly； Jenks wouldn’t have expected to die in his chair without
even leaving the lander。 Any more than Sergeant Ferres would have expected to he killed by a
misfiring explosive bolt。 The same goes for Hallan； Vorrans and Leden。 It is like I remember that
old preacher saying one time。 You never know what the shape of your death is going to be until it
has got you。 And； by then； it is already too late to do anything about it。
Sobered by the thought； shivering against the cold； Larn looked out into no…man’s land and tried
to make some sense of how it was he had come to be there。 Try as he might he could see no sense in
it。 No sense in the mistake that had brought him to this place。 No sense in the deaths of his friends
and comrades。 No sense to the fact that it seemed his life was now under a fifteen…hour sentence of
death。 He could see no sense in it。 No sense at all。
Turning to glance down at the others from his position on the firing step； Larn noticed he could
just about see the faded gold leaf lettering of the title on the cracked leather cover of the timeworn
and battered book that Scholar was reading。 Under The Eagle； the book’s title read。 Glorious
Accounts of Valour from the Annals of the Imperial Guard。 Larn had heard the book mentioned in
basic training。 It was a compilation of stirring accounts of the brave actions and past successes of
just a few of the many millions of different regiments of the Emperor’s armies。
Watching Scholar as he read the book； Larn saw the man’s face break into an occasional smile
from time to time as though in sarcastic amusement at some passage he had seen there。 Again； Larn
found himself wondering about Scholar’s background。 Davir had mentioned something about him
no longer being in the scholarium