Fifteen Hours(科幻战争)-第8章

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conditions　normal。　All　systems　running　clean　and　smooth。　We　are　green　for　go；　Captain。　Request
permission　to　relay　the　order　to　launch　control　to　prepare　a　lander　for　planetary　descent。”
“Permission　denied；”　Strell　said。　“I　want　you　to　check　the　confirmation　codes　on　that　last
astropathic　message　again；　Number　One。　Then；　report　back　to　me。”
“Aye；　sir。　Understood；”　Gudarsen　replied；　before　bustling　energetically　away　with　what　seemed
to　his　captain　a　commendable　eagerness　to　follow　his　instructions。
Left　to　his　thoughts　once　more；　while　around　him　the　crew　of　the　command　bridge　went　about
their　duties；　Strell　again　turned　his　attention　to　the　planet　looming　ever　larger　through　the　viewing
portal。　As　he　did；　he　wondered　if　the　disquiet　he　felt　gazing　at　the　world　before　him　had　less　to　do
with　anything　sinister　in　the　appearance　of　the　planet　itself　and　more　to　do　with　his　puzzlement　at
the　orders　that　had　brought　them　to　it。　His　ship；　Inevitable　Victory；　had　been　en　route　with　escorts
and　another　thirty　troopships　to　the　Seltura　system　when　they　had　received　orders　to　break　convoy
and　proceed　here　alone。　It　had　been　only　a　small　detour　requiring　no　more　than　a　four　hour　jump
through　the　warp；　but　the　precise　nature　of　the　mission　they　had　come　here　to　perform　was　enough
to　have　the　Victory’s　captain　grinding　his　teeth　in　frustration。
A　single　company；　thought　Strell。　Why　in　the　name　of　the　Divine　would　Naval　Operations
Command　divert　an　entire　starship　just　to　drop　a　single　company　of　Imperial　Guardsmen　on　some
backwater；　Emperor…forsaken　world？
Aggravated　by　the　thought；　Strell　cast　an　ill…humoured　eye　over　the　printout　of　the　ship’s
transport　manifest　held　in　his　hand　until　he　came　to　the　listing　for　the　offending　company。　6th
Company；　the　14th　Jumael　Volunteers；　Company　Commander：　Lieutenant　Vinters。　There　was
nothing　out　of　the　ordinary　in　the　company’s　listing　on　the　manifest。　Nothing　to　explain　why　he　and
his　crew　had　been　diverted　from　their　duties　and　the　protection　of　the　convoy　to　ferry　two　hundred
men　to　a　planet　that；　in　galactic　terms；　might　as　well　be　in　the　middle　of　nowhere。
Perhaps　there　is　more　to　this　than　meets　the　eye；　thought　Strell　again。　Perhaps　the　manifest
listing　is　only　a　cover；　and　they　are　special　troops　on　a　secret　mission。　Why　else　would　we　have
been　sent　here？　The　only　other　reason　could　be　if　some　mistake　had　been　made　but　the　Imperium
does　not　make　mistakes。　Yes；　a　secret　mission。　It　is　the　only　explanation　that　makes　any　sense…
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Satisfied　at　last　that　he　had　found　the　answer；　Strell　turned　to　see　Gudarsen　hurrying　towards
him　once　more；　holding　the　text　of　the　astropathic　message　gripped　tightly　before　him。
“All　confirmation　codes　read　correct；　captain；”　Gudarsen　said。　“The　specifics　of　our　mission　are
confirmed。”
“Very　good。　You　have　my　permission　to　relay　instructions　to　Launch　Control　to　prepare　a　lander
for　launch。　Oh；　and　Number　One？　This　is　strictly　a　‘drop…and…depart’　mission。　Tell　Liaison　to　have
the　navigator　plot　a　new　course　for　Seltura　III。　Once　the　lander　has　dropped　its　passengers　planetside
and　returned　to　the　ship；　I　want　us　to　underway　within　the　hour。”
“Orders　received　and　understood；　captain；”　said　Gudarsen；　ending　with　a　standard　phrase　of
acknowledgement　as　he　hurried　away　to　carry　out　his　duties。　“The　Emperor　protects。”
“The　Emperor　protects；　Number　One；”　Strell　echoed；　already　turning　to　redirect　his　gaze
towards　the　planet　once　more　as　he　waited　for　the　lander　to　be　launched　so　he　could　watch　its
descent。
Yes；　he　thought。　A　secret　mission。　That’s　the　only　thing　it　could　he。　If　Operations　Command　has
decided　we　are　to　be　denied　information　as　to　the　nature　of　that　mission；　so　be　it。　It　is　like　they　used
to　teach　us　in　the　scholarium。　Then；　he　allowed　himself　a　small　smile　of　nostalgia　as　his　mind　turned
to　the　half…remembered　wisdoms　of　long　ago　days。　How　did　it　go　now；　he　thought。　Ah　yes；　it　was
something　like：
“Ours　is　not　to　reason　why。”
“Ours　is　but　to　do　and　die。”
“It　is　better　to　die　for　the　Emperor　than　live　for　yourself！”　the　vox…caster　screamed；　drowning　out　the
sound　of　trampling　feet　and　shouted　orders　as　the　men　of　6th　Company　ran　through　the　troopship’s
cramped　corridors　towards　the　launch　bay。　“The　blood　of　martyrs　is　the　seed　of　the　Imperium！　If
you　want　peace；　prepare　for　war！”
The　vox…caster　blared　on　through　the　bowels　of　the　troopship；　on　and　on　in　a　pre…recorded　loop
of　exhortations　to　duty；　as　Larn　ran　stumbling　with　the　others　under　the　weight　of　the　heavy　pack　on
his　back。　Barely　three　hours　had　passed　since　Sergeant　Ferres　had　at　last　relented　and　dismissed
them　from　training　to　return　to　their　quarters。　Three　hours　since；　exhausted；　Larn　had　finally　been
allowed　to　go　to　sleep。　Only　to　be　roused　blearily　from　his　slumbers　two　and　a　quarter　hours　later　by
the　wail　of　sirens　as　Sergeant　Ferres　had　ordered　the　men　of　the　platoon　from　their　bunks　and　told
them　to　make　ready　for　a　planetary　drop。
“Be　vigilant　and　be　strong！”　the　vox…caster　shrieked　ever　louder；　harsh　echoes　rebounding　from
loudspeakers　set　in　the　metal　walls　and　ceiling　all　around　them。　“The　Emperor　is　your　shield　and
protector！”
Now；　three　quarters　of　an　hour’s　worth　of　hurried　preparations　later；　Larn　found　himself　running
in　full　kit　as　he　and　the　rest　of　his　company　were　herded　like　sheep　through　the　troopship’s　maze　of
corridors。　Here　and　there　they　passed　naval　crewmen　who　paused　from　their　duties　long　enough　to
cheer　them　on；　offering　half…heard　words　of　encouragement　in　place　of　the　sardonic　laughter　that
had　greeted　their　earlier　training　exercises。　With　the　prospect　that　their　erstwhile　passengers　might
soon　be　seeing　combat；　it　seemed　the　normal　antipathy　between　the　Navy　and　the　Guard　had
abruptly　given　way　to　mutual　respect。　With　a　sudden　tremor　in　the　pit　of　his　stomach；　Larn　realised
he　was　about　to　go　to　war。
“You　shall　know　no　reward　other　than　the　Emperor’s　satisfaction！”　the　vox…caster　continued。
“You　shall　know　no　truth　other　than　that　which　the　servants　of　your　Emperor　tell　you！”
This　is　it；　Larn　thought。　After　all　the　training　and　briefings；　all　the　preparations；　the　moment　for
which　it　was　all　in　aid　of　is　here　at　last。　I　am　finally　going　to　war。　As　much　as　that　thought　filled　his
mind；　he　found　himself　distracted　as　a　second　thought　pushed　itself　insistently　to　the　fore。　Three
weeks；　he　thought。　Three　weeks；　maybe　four。　That　is　what　the　naval　officer　said　in　the　briefing　only
yesterday。　He　said　it　would　be　at　least　three　weeks　before　we　saw　any　action。　Confused；　Larn
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wondered　what　could　have　changed　in　the　meantime。　If　yesterday　they　were　still　three　weeks　from
combat；　how　was　it　today　they　were　about　to　make　their　first　drop？
“The　mind　of　the　Guardsman　has　no　place　for　questions；”　the　vox…caster　screamed　unnervingly。
“Doubt　is　a　vile　cancer　whose　symptoms　are　cowardice　and　fear；　steel　yourself　against　it。　There　is
room　for　but　three　things　in　the　mind　of　the　Guardsman：　obedience；　duty；　and　love　of　the　Emperor。”
Abruptly；　as　though　the　blaring　of　the　vox…caster　was　somehow　the　sound　of　his　own
conscience；　Larn　felt　a　sudden　shame。　He　thought　of　his　family　far　away　on　Jumael；　and　how　every
night　they　would　be　offering　a　prayer　for　his　safety　as　they　knelt　before　the　votive　picture　of　the
Emperor　above　the　fire　mantle。　He　thought　about　the　tale　his　father　had　told　him；　about　his　greatgrandfather
and　the　lottery。　He　thought　about　all　the　promises　he　had　made　his　Pa　about　doing　his
duty。　He　realised；　for　all　his　talk　and　promises　then；　how　close　he　had　coming　to　failing　them　at　the
very　first　hurdle。　It　did　not　matter　that　the　facts　given　him　in　yesterday’s　briefing　now　seemed　at
odds　with　today’s　reality。　He　was　a　Guardsman；　and　all　that　mattered　was　that　he　did　his　duty。
Putting　his　questions　aside　he　found　himself　comforted　by　the　memory　of　his　father’s　words　in　the
cellar；　his　recollection　of　his　father’s　voice　serving　as　a　kinder　and　more　gentle　counterpoint　to　the
vox…caster’s　wail　and　bombast。
“Trust　to　the　Emperor；”　his　father　had　told　him　with　tears　in　his　eyes。　“Trust　to　the　Emperor；　and
everything　will　be　all　right。”
Emerging　from　the　cramp　and　narrowness　of　the　corridor；　the　launch　bay　seemed　huge　as　Larn
followed　the　men　in　front　of　him　inside　it。　Ahead　he　saw　the　imposing　bulk　of　a　lander；　steam　rising
from　the　hydraulics　of　the　platform　it　rested　on　as　tech…adepts　scurried　around　it　like　mindful　ants
giving　succour　to　a　fallen　giant。　He　saw　adepts　manning　the　massive　fuel　lines　that　ran　from　a
recessed　spout　in　the　far　wall　of　the　launch　bay　to　the　lander’s　engines；　while　others　anointed　the
surfaces　of　the　lander　with　unguents；　burned　incense；　performed　blessings；　or　made　final
adjustments　to　the　lander’s　systems　with　the　diverse　instruments　of　holy　calibration。　All　the　while
the　lander　hummed　with　power；　the　thrumming　of　its　restive　engines　vibrating　through　the　metal
floor　of　the　launch　bay　towards　where　Larn　and　the　others　stood　gazing　at　it　uncertainly；　like　wary
travellers　unsure　whether　to　risk　waking　a　sleeping　tiger。
“Get　moving；　you　inbreeds！”　Sergeant　Ferres　yelled；　the　volume　of　the　continuing　vox…caster
broadcasts　around　them　having　been　diminished　enough　by　the　open　spaces　of　the　launch　bay　for
them　to　at　last　hear　their　sergeant’s　commands。　“A　man　might　almost　think　you　bumpkins　hadn’t
seen　a　lander　before。”
In　truth；　none　of　them　had：　their　journey　from　Jumael　to　the　orbiting　troopship　having　been
undertaken　inside　local　planetary　shuttles　of　much　less　startling　dimensions。　As　Larn　rushed　towards
the　lander　with　the　others　he　found　himself　in　awe　to　be　approaching　so　enormous　a　vehicle。　It　looks
like　it　could　hold　a　couple　of　thousand　men　at　least；　he　thought。　Not　to　mention　tanks　and　artillery
besides。　For　the　first　time　he　truly　appreciated　the　extraordinary　scale　of　the　troopship　he　had　been
travelling　within　for　the　last　twenty…nine　days。　Sweet　Emperor；　he　thought　in　amazement；　to　think
they　say　this　ship　carries　twenty　such　landers！
At　the　front　the　mouth　of　the　lander　lay　open；　the　primary　assault　ramp　stretching　towards　them
like　the　tongue　of　some　improb