Imperial Guard 01 - Fifteen Hours by Warhammer

Author:Warhammer [Warhammer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

55

For a moment Zeebers paused, the silence growing tense and ugly as he stared at Larn while the

others shifted uneasily in their positions as though suddenly uncomfortable. Then, the corners of his

lips rising tightly in a gloating smile of victory, Zeebers smirked at Larn and spoke once more.

“You forgot to tell him about the fifteen hours.”

They were quiet at first. Scholar and Bulaven looked down at the ground in apparent

embarrassment, while even Davir avoided Larn’s eyes as though feeling the same vague sense of

discomfort as the others. Only Zeebers looked his way. Staring back at him, Larn found himself

party to an unwelcome insight. Zeebers hated him. Though why, or for what reason, he could not

even begin to guess.

“What is this fifteen hours?” Larn said at last to break the silence. “Repzik said something about

it just before the last attack. And Corporal Vladek mentioned it as well. He said he would issue me

with more equipment if I came back to see him again in fifteen hours’ time.”

Long moments passed and no one answered. Instead there was only more silence while Davir,

Scholar, and Bulaven looked uneasily at one another as though mentally drawing lots to decide

which of them would perform an unwelcome duty. Until at length, still refusing to meet Larn’s eyes,

Davir finally spoke.

“Tell him, Scholar.”

In response Scholar fidgeted for a moment before, clearing his throat, he turned to face Larn

directly.

“It is a matter of statistics, new fish,” Scholar said with a pained expression. “You must

understand that in many ways every marshal and general at headquarters is as much a bureaucrat as

the most pedantic scribe in the Administratum. To them war is not just a thing of blood and death,

nor entirely a question of tactics and strategy. To them, it is as much as anything a matter of

calculation. A calculation based on casualty reports, rates of attrition, the numbers of units in the

field, estimates of the enemy’s strength, and so on, all the myriad facts and figures that, together,

can be used to establish a mathematics of slaughter. Every day, from all over Broucheroc, these

figures are recorded, collated and sent to General Headquarters for the bean counters there to work

on them. As for this fifteen hours that Zeebers mentioned, it is one of the products of these daily

calculations.”

“You are over complicating things again, Scholar,” Davir said. “It does no good to sugar the pill

for the new fish. He asked a direct question, you should answer him accordingly.”

“It is a matter of life expectancy, new fish,” Scholar sighed. “Fifteen hours is the average length

of time a replacement Guardsman survives in Broucheroc after he has been posted to a combat unit

at the frontlines.”

“A replacement Guardsman?” Larn said, still unsure whether he fully understood what Scholar

had just told him. “Like me, you mean? Is that what you are telling me? That’s how long you expect

me to survive here? You think I am going to be dead inside fifteen hours?”

“Less than that, new fish,” Zeebers said, his tone smug and mocking. “You must have been here

at least three hours by now.

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