smoke and stale sweat that permeated the air of the dugout。 Inside； a line of Guardsmen had already
formed up by the time they arrived。 Waiting； with mess tins in their hands； as a lanky rat…faced
Vardan trooper with only one arm dolefully served out portions of gruel from a battered and gigantic
pot from on top of the stove。
“Ah； the inestimable Skench；” Davir purred as he reached the head of the line。 “Tell me； good
friend Skench — what delightful delicacy are you attempting to poison us with today？”
“Hhh。 It’s gruel； Davir；” Skench said sourly。 “Why？ What does it look like？”
“Between you and me； I wasn’t entirely sure；” Davir said as he watched Skench ladle a steaming
dollop into his mess tin。 “Gruel； you say？ And you have followed your normal recipe； I take it？
Sawdust； spittle； and whatever dubious organic refuse you could lay your hands on？”
“Pretty much；” said Skench； humourlessly。 “Though you can be sure I made certain you got an
extra helping of spit in yours。”
“Why thank you； Skench；” Davir said； favouring the one…armed cook with his most irritating
smile。 “Really； you are spoiling me。 I must remember to write to Grand Marshal Kerchan and
recommend you for a commendation。 If you got a nice medal it would give you something extra to
put in the soup。”
“Hhh。 Always the funny man； Davir；” Skench muttered； watching Davir walk away。 Then；
turning back to see Larn standing next in line； he squinted at him in wary hostility。
“I haven’t seen you before；” Skench said。 “You a new fish？”
“Yes；” said Larn。
“Uh…huh。 You got something funny to say about my cooking； new fish？”
“Umm… no。”
“Good；” Skench said； dropping a ladleful of greasy brown gruel into Larn’s tin； then nodding
towards a pile of ration bars lying on a nearby table。 “Make sure you keep it that way。 As well as the
gruel you get to take a ration bar。 One bar； mind； new fish。 I’ve counted them； so don’t try taking
two。 Oh； and if tonight you should have the runs； don’t do what the rest of them do and come round
here blaming me。 There ain’t nothing wrong with my cooking。 We clear on that？”
“Uhh… yes。 We’re clear。”
“Good。 Then get moving； new fish。 You’re holding up the line。 And remember what I told you。
There ain’t nothing wrong with my cooking。”
87
“This is disgusting。” Larn said。 “Really disgusting； I mean。 I thought the food they gave us in basic
training on Jumael was bad enough。 But this is ten times worse。”
“Well； I did warn you； new fish；” Davir said； as he shovelled another spoonful of gruel into his
own mouth。 “Such is Skench’s extraordinary mastery of the culinary arts； he can make bad food
taste even worse。”
Having collected his ration bar； Larn now sat with Davir； Bulaven and Scholar among the bunks
inside the barracks。 Meanwhile； still occasionally glowering at Larn as though to assure him his
feelings of hostility had not waned； Zeebers sat alone and apart from them against one of the dugout
walls。 Though； while he still wondered at the source of Zeebers’ strange antagonism towards him；
Larn found he was more directly concerned at that moment with the small white shape he saw
wriggling among the slop in his mess tin。
“There is some kind of maggot in my food；” he said。
“A Tullan’s worm…grub；” Scholar said。 “They are quite plentiful hereabouts； new fish。 And an
excellent source of protein。”
“They add to the flavour as well；” Bulaven said。 “But make sure you chew up your food
properly。 If the grub is still alive when you swallow it they can lay eggs in your stomach。”
“Eggs？”
“Don’t worry about it； new fish；” Bulaven replied。 “It’s not as bad as it sounds。 Gives you the
runs for a couple of days； that is all。 Course； if Skench cooked them properly； the grubs would be
dead by the time they got to us。”
“Sweet Emperor； I can’t believe you act like it is normal to eat things like this；” Larn said。
“Normal？” Davir said； mouth open to reveal a mashed lump of half…chewed gruel。 “In case you
hadn’t notice you’re in the Imperial Guard； new fish。 And in the Guard you eat what you can get。
Anyway； you think this is bad you should’ve seen the whipsaw grabs we had to eat on Bandar
Majoris。”
“Actually； I seem to remember they e； Davir；” Scholar said。 “Tasted a bit
like ginny fowl。”
“I’m not talking about how they tasted； Scholar；” Davir said。 “I’m talking about the fact they
were as big as your leg with a metre…long tongue covered in razor…sharp barbs。 Not to mention they
were strong enough to tear a man’s arm off。 And if you want know how we know that； new fish； just
go ask Skench。”
“Don’t listen to him。 He is just fooling with you； new fish；” Bulaven said。 “It was an ork axe that
did for Skench’s arm right here in Broucheroc； not a whipsaw grub on Bandar Majoris。 Though we
did lose a lot of men to those grabs。”
“Do you remember Commissar Grisz？” Scholar said。 “Went behind a bush one morning to see to
his daily bowel movement only to find he was squatting over a whole nest of the damned things。
You could have heard his scream halfway across the planet。”
“Phah。 Good riddance to bad rubbish；” Davir said。 “Grisz always was a pain in the arse。 No pun
intended。”
“You ask me；” Bulaven said； “the thing I remember most from Bandar is Davir hunting the
terranosaurs。”
“Ah yes；” Scholar said。 “You mean the wager。”
“Ach； you’re not still going on about that； Bulaven；” Davir scowled。 “Emperor wept。 Once a
man wins a bet against you； you never forgive him。”
“You should have seen it； new fish；” Bulaven said； smiling。 “We’d been on Bandar a week
maybe； at most。 It is a jungle planet and there were these deathworlders。 Ach； you tell it； Scholar —
you always do a better job of it than me。”
“All right； then；” Scholar said； leaning intently forward。 “Imagine the scene； new fish。 It is
midday： the jungle is hot and humid。 We have come back into camp after being out on patrol when
88
we smell the most delicious and mouth…watering aroma。 Following our noses we find a group of
Catachans are roasting a metre…and…a…half long two…legged lizard on an open spit。 Naturally； we
enquire whether we can join in their feast。 But； being Catachans； they refuse。 “Go catch your own
terranosaur；” they say。 Now； you thought that would have been the end of it。 But Davir refuses to let
matters rest。 Soon； he begins bragging to us that he is more than capable of capturing a terranosaur
just as the Catachans had。 And； before you could say small man； big mouth we have agreed to enter
into a wager with him on the matter。”
“He bet us he could hunt down a terranosaur； new fish；” Bulaven jumped in excitedly。 “He bet
us a hundred credits he could hunt one； kill it； and bring it home for dinner。”
“So；” Scholar continued； “armed with a lasgun； our intrepid； if diminutive； hunter goes alone
into the jungle in search of his prey。 Only to re…emerge two hours later； running back into camp in a
panic as though he had a daemon on his trail！”
“Ach； you and Bulaven can laugh all you like；” Davir said； holding a hand high above his head
like a fisherman describing the size of his catch。 “But nobody told me the one the Catchans killed
was only a baby； and that the adults were ten metres tall when full…grown。 Or； for that matter； that
they hunted in packs。 I tell you： I only got out of that damn stinking jungle by the skin of my teem。
And； besides； you have to admit I did what I said I’d do in the end。 I did kill a terranosaur and I did
bring it home for dinner。 About three of them； in fact。”
“Only because you bribed someone in comms to let you call in an artillery strike against them！”
Bulaven said； outraged。 “Then； after the batteries had been pounding that patch of jungle for an hour
straight； you got a search party together and brought back the remains of all the terranosaurs that had
been killed by the shellfire。 That doesn’t count； Davir。”
“Of course； it counts。 What； you think I should have dug a pit trap like some idiot deathworlder
and waited for one of the big dumb beasts to wander by and fall into it？ I keep telling you； Bulaven：
you should have been more specific about the conditions of the bet。 You didn’t say anything about
not being able to use artillery。”
The argument continued： Davir and Bulaven squabbling comically about the details of the
decade…old bet while Scholar attempted to act as arbiter。 As he listened to them； Larn became aware
of how different the three men’s manner had become since the whistle had blown and they had
come to the dugout。 Here； they did not seem as gruff and intimidating。 They seemed more relaxed。
More at ease with themselves and their surroundings。
Looking around； Larn saw it was the same everywhere。 All about him he could see Vardans
talking； joking and laughing amongst themselves； their faces animated； their gestures more free and
expansive。 It was almost as though here in the dugout； for the moment at least； there were no orks。
No constant threat of death。 No Broucheroc。 Here； the Vardans seemed almost like the people Larn
had known back home。 As though； momentarily released of the shadow of war and horror； they had
reverte