Wiping away a chunk of congealed gruel that had stuck to his uniform； he turned to see the Vardans
were still gathered nearby。 Bulaven sat in one bunk rubbing dubbing into his boots； Scholar sat in
another reading his book； while； incredibly； despite the now continuous roar of explosions
overheard； Davir lay in another bunk sound asleep。
“Ah； you are awake； new fish；” Bulaven said； gesturing up with his thumb toward the ceiling at
the sound of more explosions overhead。 “I can’t say I am surprised。 They are making enough noise
up there to wake the dead。”
“They are shelling us again？” Larn asked。 “Our own side； I mean？”
“Hmm？ Oh no； new fish；” Bulaven said。 “It is the orks this time。 If you listen closely you can
hear the difference； ork shells have a duller sound to them when they explode。 Still； you needn’t
worry。 These dugouts are built to last。 We should be quite safe so long as we are in here。”
“Unless； of course； a shell scores a direct hit on the dugout’s ventilation chimney。” Scholar
raised his eyes from his book。 “Even if the shell doesn’t break through it； the chimney is still likely
to funnel the explosion down here。”
“True；” Bulaven said。 “Ach； but that hardly ever happens； new fish。 You needn’t worry about
that。 Anyway； this bombardment won’t last long。 The orks have no staying power when it comes to
these things； you see。 Chances are whichever ork is in charge of their big guns has become
overexcited for some reason and has decided to let off a few rounds in celebration。 Trust me； new
fish； in ten minutes’ time or so it will all be over。”
“How long has it been now；” Larn asked； listening to the muffled thud and whump of shells striking
the ground above the dugout。
“About an hour； I’d say；” Bulaven shrugged； now busy cleaning the trigger mechanism of his
heavy flamer。 “Maybe three…quarters。 Looks like the orks must be very excited。 Still； I wouldn’t
worry too much about it。 Don’t let it ruin your barracks time； new fish。 They are bound to get tired
of shelling us sooner or later。”
Finding himself far from reassured； Larn looked upward to see another trickle of soil falling
from the gaps between the wooden planks of the ceiling。 Remembering a dream of tattered crones
standing around his grave as shovelfuls of earth hit his face； Larn felt an involuntary shiver ran
through him。 Those explosions sound close； he thought。 What if one of the shells hits the dugout
entrance and we are trapped down here？ Would anyone on the surface be able to dig us out？ Would
they even try？ Sweet Emperor； it might be better if what Scholar talked about happened instead and
a shell hit the ventilation chimney。 At least then it would be quick。 You would be dead before you
knew it。 Not buried alive in this tomb of a dugout； waiting for your air to run out or to slowly die of
thirst and starvation。
Abruptly； realising his nerves were beginning to shred at the constant sound of explosions and
the thought of what those explosions might cause； Larn begin to scan the interior of the dugout in
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search of something — anything — to take his mind from what was going on above them。 Around
him； the dugout had become crowded with men who had taken refuge from the shelling。 Among
them he saw Sergeant Chelkar； Medical Officer Svenk； and some of the men from Repzik’s
fireteam。 While the din of explosions continued overhead； here life inside the dugout seemed to be
proceeding just as it had before the shelling started。 He saw Vardans eating； talking； laughing；
drinking recaf； some of them even trying to sleep like Davir。 Then； Larn noticed Zeebers was still
sitting alone against one of the dugout walls； idly tossing a knife around in his hand to catch first the
blade； then the hilt。
Watching Zeebers playing with his knife； Larn felt a sudden urge to have the answer to a
question that had been gnawing at him ever since he had first met the man。
“Bulaven？” he asked。 “Before； remember when you told me that I shouldn’t worry too much at
the things Davir said？ That it was just his way？”
“Of course I remember； new fish。” Bulaven said。 “Why do you bring it up？”
“Well； I was wondering about Zeebers…” Abruptly Larn paused； uncertain how best to broach
the subject。
“Zeebers； new fish？ What about him？”
“I think he has noticed that Zeebers has been showing a certain hostility towards him； Bulaven；”
Scholar said； raising his eyes from his book once more to look at Larn。 “I am right； yes； new fish？
That is what you were about to ask？”
“Ah； I see；” said Bulaven。 “Well； there is no great secret there； new fish。 Zeebers just gets
nervous whenever there are any more than four men in our fireteam。”
“Nervous？” asked Larn。 “Why？”
“It is a matter of superstition with him；” Scholar said。 “Apparently； on Zeebers’ homeworld the
number four is considered lucky。 Then； when he first came to Broucheroc and joined us there were
only three men left in our fireteam … Bulaven； Davi； and myself。 Hence； Zeebers was the fourth man；
lucky number four to his mind； and he has convinced himself that is how he survived his first fifteen
hours — not to mention how he has survived ever since。 So； you see； whenever they send us a new
replacement and there are five men in the fireteam he tends to believe his luck has become
endangered somehow。 You remember before I said every man here has his own theory as to how he
survived where so many others have died？ Zeebers’ beliefs are but anomer example of the same
thing。”
“You see； new fish； no great mystery。” Bulaven said； before abruptly turning his head to look
over at another part of the dugout。 “Hmm； looks like something is brewing。”
Following the direction of Bulaven’s gaze； Larn saw Sergeant Chelkar standing deep in
conversation with Corporal Vladek by the quartermaster’s table in the corner of the barracks。 Then；
while Sergeant Chelkar walked away to talk to someone else； Vladek turned to open a wooden crate
beside him and； one…by…one； began to carefully pull out a number of heavy demolitions charges and
stack them on the table before him。 As he did； Larn noticed that Bulaven’s face had grown suddenly
uneasy as though the big man had seen something in Vladek’s actions to worry him。
“What is it； Bulaven？” he asked。 “What have you seen？”
“A bad sign； new fish。” Bulaven said。 “Between me and you； a very bad sign indeed。”
“We are at Alert Condition Red；” Chelkar said； his face grave as he addressed the Guardsmen
standing before him while overhead the sound of explosions continued。 “Sector Command says we
can expect an assault。 A big one； probably timed to begin the moment this bombardment ends。
Looks like the orks are going to hit us hard this time。 Leastways； harder than any of the other attacks
we’ve had to deal with today。”
A few minutes had passed and in the wake of his conversation aster； Sergeant
Chelkar had ordered the men in Barracks Dugout One to arm themselves and assemble around the
iron stove for an impromptu briefing。 Scholar； Bulaven； Davir； Zeebers； the other fireteams； even
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Vladek and the one…armed cook Skench； stood in their battle gear listening intently to Chelkar’s
words； their expressions every bit as grave and serious as their sergeant’s。 Looking about him； Larn
saw that the easy and relaxed manner with which these men had enjoyed their time in the barracks
was gone now。 They were soldiers once more。 Guardsmen。 They were ready for war。
“I won’t lie to you。” Chelkar said。 “Things look grim。 Every other sector in the area is under
heavy assault and all reserve units are tied up elsewhere。 Which means no there is no potential for
reinforcements — at least not for several hours。 Worse； Battery Command is already tasked to the
limit； so we can’t expert artillery support either。 We still have our own mortars； of course； and our
fire support teams but； other than that； we are on our own。
“Now for the good news。 Sector Command has made it clear that if we lose here there is the
danger of a major ork breakthrough into the city。 Accordingly； they have ordered that we are to hold
this sector at all costs。 Stand or die； they say。 No matter how many orks come at us or how hard they
hit us； we are to hold on until we are reinforced； the ork assault fails； or the Emperor descends to
fight alongside us — whichever one of those comes first。 We hold the line。 I don’t care if hell itself
comes calling。 We hold the line no matter what。 Not that we have much choice here anyway； you
understand。
You all know what happens if we retreat。 The commissars don’t even bother with a court martial
anymore： it’s just a bullet in the back of the head and a place on the corpse…pyres。 This is
Broucheroc： between the orks and our own commanders； there’s just nowhere else left for us to go。
As for our plan of defence； I have ordered Vladek to distribute four extra frag grenades to each
man and one demolition charge per fireteam。 Once the assault begins we will hold the forward firing
trenches for as long as possible； only retreating to the dugout emplacements when the situation there
becomes untenable。 Then； once we’re at the dugout emplacements we will make a stan