“But if I should get seriously wounded—”
“Then you’ll need a medic. Just scream loudly and I’ll come running.”
Tossing the depleted med-pack back to him, the medic closed his satchel before looking at Larn once more.
“Now,” he said, “seeing as you’re standing about here on your own, I take it you’ve not been assigned to duties yet?”
“No… I… my company was destroyed and…”
“Go see Corporal Vladek,” the medic said. “He’ll sort you out. Tell him Medical Officer Svenk sent you.”
“Corporal Vladek?”
“Over there,” the medic said, pointing to one of the dugout entrances as he turned to walk away. “Barracks Dugout One. Vladek is our quartermaster — the biggest scavenger, thief, pack rat, and all round scrounger in the sector. You’ll know him when you see him. Oh, and a word to the wise, new fish. Don’t drink any more than two cups of Vladek’s recaf. Or else, next thing you know you could be charging the ork lines on your own in a one-man assault.”
Walking down the rough earthen steps underground into the dugout, Larn was greeted with a warm blast of air thick with the smell of smoke and the odour of stale sweat. Eyes watering at the stench of it, he stepped past a couple of Guardsmen playing dice just inside the doorway and made his way into the barracks. Inside, he saw two lines of rusting metal bunks arranged either side of an iron stove at the centre of the room where a group of Vardans sat talking, eating, or cleaning their weapons. For a moment, Larn considered asking them if any of them had seen Corporal Vladek. Then, seeing a flabby unshaven Vardan in a stained undershirt sitting alone at a table in a corner of the room, Larn remembered the medic’s description and knew he had found his man.
Crammed on ramshackle shelves and in alcoves cut directly into the earth of the wall behind the corporal was a treasure trove of scavenged equipment. Larn could see lasgun power packs, frag grenades, boxes of dry rations, shotgun shells, bayonets and knives of all shapes and sizes, spades, picks, hand axes, lanterns, uniforms, helmets, flak jackets, even a large metal claw that could only have come from the arm of a dead ork. Meanwhile, on the table and the floor around him were a number of standard issue Guardsmen’s field rucksacks, the contents of which the corporal was currently busy digging through with the grim enthusiasm of a bandit chieftain surveying his latest spoils.
“Corporal Vladek?” Larn asked, approaching the table. “Medical Officer Svenk said I should come see you.”
“Ah, more cannon fodder,” the corporal said, pushing the rucksacks aside to clear a space as he looked up at Larn with the glint of a smile in his red-rimmed eyes. “Always good to see some new grist for the mill. Welcome to the 902nd Vardan, new fish. Find yourself a chair. You would like some recaf? I have some brewing.”
Turning to the battered pot of recaf perched precariously on a small hotplate beside him, the corporal produced a pair of enamel cups and filled them to the brim with black steaming liquid. He noticed Larn staring darkly down at one of the rucksacks still left on the table.
“Here we go. Two cups of Vladek’s special recaf, nice and hot,” the corporal said. “Sadly, we have to make do with a ground-up concoction of local roots and tubers rather than the real thing. Even the Emperor himself would be hard pressed to find any real recaf in this hellhole, and we all know he can work miracles. To give it a bit more kick I mix in a tenth of a dose of powdered stimms which, incidentally, works wonders for the flavour. But I see you seem to be interested in one of my latest acquisitions, new fish. Though, from the expression on your face, I have a feeling you’re not about to make me an offer.”
“This rucksack,” Larn said, feeling dead inside as he looked at the words Jumael 14th stamped on the side. “It could have belonged to one of my friends.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Vladek said, then gestured at the pile of rucksacks lying on the floor beside him. “If not this one, then perhaps one of these other packs did. So? What of it? It is not as though this equipment is likely to be of help to its previous owners anymore. While it could mean the difference between life and death for someone still living on the line. It is a simple matter of the fair and logical distribution of resources, new fish. Which, in this case, means that the living get to keep the things the dead no longer have any use for. Besides, if I hadn’t had the foresight to liberate these packs from the bodies of the dead, someone else would have. You would have preferred I had let the militia auxiliaries get them so they could make us trade for the contents? This is Broucheroc, new fish. Forget all that nine-tenths rubbish. Here, possession is the whole of the law.”
“And if I was killed?” said Larn, angrily. “Would you loot my body as well?”
“In a heartbeat, new fish. Your lasgun, your bayonet, your pack, your boots, not to mention whatever medical supplies the esteemed Svenk was kind enough to leave you with. Anything that might be of use to us. But you needn’t feel so put upon. It is the same for everyone here, myself included. If I am killed tomorrow, I should expect to have my equipment stripped and re-allocated before my body even goes cold.”
“Not much likelihood of that happening,” Larn spat. “Not with you sitting warm and safe in here in this dugout while outside good men are dying!”
“Good men?” Vladek said, his voice low with menace as the warm facade of moments earlier abruptly faded. “Don’t talk to me about good men dying, new fish. In ten years in this stinking cesspit I’ve seen men — good and bad — die by their thousands. Some of them were friends of mine. Others weren’t. But any one of them was worth more than you and all your idiot recruit friends put together. You think just because I’m sitting here I don’t know what it is to fight? I was killing the Emperor’s enemies when you were still sucking greedily at your mother’s teat. How else do you think I ended up with a leg like this?”
Taking an enormous combat knife from the table before him Vladek smacked it down against his left leg for emphasis, the flat of the blade making a dull metallic noise through his trouser leg as it struck his knee.
“You have an augmetic leg?” Larn said, shocked.
“Augmetic? Phah. The chance would be a fine thing! Along with everything else bionics are in short supply hereabouts. This is a Mark 3 Non-Motive Prosthetic, Left Leg Model. I had to barter the salvaged parts from a knocked-out sentinel for it, never mind what it cost me to get the damned apothecary to fit it. Now, I think it’s time you sat down and stopped your mewling, new fish. Before I become so offended at your big mouth and flagrant disregard for my hospitality that I waste this good recaf by throwing it in your stupid snot-nosed face.”
Hearing someone laugh in another part of the dugout, Larn suddenly realised the other Vardans must have heard every word Vladek had said to him. His face burning with shame and embarrassment Larn took a chair and sat opposite the corporal with eyes lowered, unwilling to meet the other man’s gaze for fear his cheeks were still flaring scarlet.
“Drink your recaf, new fish,” the corporal said, the storm of his anger passing as abruptly as it had started. “We will begin again, you and I. Wipe the slate clean. I know it has been a hard day for you after all, and so I am willing to make allowances. It is not every day that a Guardsman finds he has been dropped on the wrong planet.”
“You know about that?” Larn said, stunned. “Did one of the men I was in the trench with tell you? Repzik said—”
“Repzik is dead, new fish,” Vladek said. “He died in the last attack. We talked about good men? Well, Repzik was one of the best. I knew him nearly twenty years, all told. From back on Vardan, even before we were drafted into the Guard together. The parts from the sentinel I used to buy this leg? It was Repzik who went into no-man’s land to get them for me. Like I said, a good man. But no, to answer your question, it wasn’t Repzik who told me about your misfortune. It was Kell. Though by then I had heard about it from other sources anyway.”
“Other sources? Who?”
The Navy. About half
an hour ago Sector Command forwarded us a message from an orbiting troopship, requesting that we inform the Guard company they’d just dropped that this planet wasn’t in fact Seltura VII. Apparently they forgot to tell you this, what with all the excitement of the drop and so forth. A regrettable oversight caused by a temporary failure in the lines of communication. Those were their exact words I believe. A S.N.A.F.U., as we call such things in these parts.”
“A S.N.A.F.U.?”
“Situation Normal All Fouled Up. An apt and well-used acronym here in Broucheroc. Though you can substitute other words for fouled if you so desire.”
“But if they have realised their mistake, does that mean I am being reassigned?” Larn asked, his heart grown suddenly hopeful.
“No, new fish. Frankly, the fact the troopship chose to relay the news of your company’s predicament at all was more by the way of an afterthought. The main purpose of their message was to demand to know what the hell we had done with their lander. I am told their response when they heard the lander had been shot down and would not be returning was unrepeatable. By now, they are likely already underway again and far from this planet.”
“So, I am stuck here,” Larn said glumly.
“You and the rest of us, new fish,” Vladek said, bending forward to delve through a boxful of grey-black coats sitting under the table. “Now, drink your recaf and we will see about getting you sorted. A new greatcoat in urban camouflage pattern would seem as good a place to start as any. It will help you blend in and make you less of a target, not to mention keeping you warm. This time of year it’s cold enough to have a man passing ice cubes every time he voids his bladder. I have one here that should fit you perfectly, give or take. No need to worry too much about the blood on the lapels. I am sure you will find it brushes off easily enough once it has had time to dry.”
Ten minutes later, courtesy of Corporal Vladek’s scavenged stores, Larn found himself the new owner of a greatcoat, a pair of woollen gloves, two frag grenades, a fur-covered helmet, a small lump of whetstone, and a comm-bead tuned to the local comm-link frequencies used by the Vardans. Then, as Larn finished the last bitter mouthful of ersatz recaf from his cup, Vladek asked to see his dog-tags and wrote his name and number on a clipboard beside him.
“That is it for now, new fish,” Vladek said. “You will need to come back here and see me again in fifteen hours’ time. Then I can issue you with some of the more valuable and sought-after pieces of equipment: hotshot power packs for your lasgun, extra frag grenades, a laspistol, smoke grenades, and so on.”
“Why fifteen hours?” Larn asked.
“Phah. You will learn soon enough in this place there are some questions it is better not to ask, new fish. That is one of them. Just come see me again in fifteen hours, and try not to think about it in the meantime. Oh, and new fish? I almost forgot. You will need one of these! ”
Removing a slim black copy of The Imperial Infantryman’s Uplifting Primer from a shelf behind him, Vladek offered it to Larn across the table.
“But I already have one, corporal,” Larn said. “I was issued with my copy of the Primer on my first day of basic training back on Jumael.”
“Congratulations, new fish,” Vladek said. “Now, you have two copies. You will need them, and it is better not to get caught short. You will find this little book to be a vital tool when it comes to the nitty-gritty of day-to-day living here in Broucheroc. The paper it is printed on is most absorbent.”
Handing him the book along with his dog-tags, Vladek turned to the hotplate to pour another steaming cup of recaf.
“Anyway, that’s enough equipment for you to be getting on with, new fish,” Vladek said, turning back towards Larn and nodding at something behind him. “Next, we should see about getting you fixed up with a fireteam. Fortunately here comes our company commander, right on cue.”
Seeing a figure in a greatcoat approaching through the corner of his eye, Larn stood bolt upright from his chair and saluted smartly. Only to find himself facing the same Vardan sergeant he had seen lead the counterattack against the orks earlier.
“Why is there a new fish saluting me, Vladek?” the sergeant said, stepping past Larn to take a cup of recaf from the corporal’s hand. “He has mistaken me for a general perhaps?”
“An entirely understandable mistake given your commanding presence and natural air of authority, sergeant,” Vladek said, smiling. “Then again, I had just told him you are our company commander. Perhaps he thinks that makes you a lieutenant.”
“A lieutenant? I am disappointed, Vladek. If I am going to be mistaken for an officer, I thought I would have rated colonel at least.” Then, the merest suggestion of a smile ghosting at his lips, the sergeant turned, back to Larn. “You can put your hand down by the way, trooper. Even if I was a lieutenant, we don’t hold much with saluting here. It only gives the orks something extra to aim at. I assume you have a name? Other than new fish I mean?”
“Trooper First Class Larn, Arvin A, reporting for duty, sergeant!” Larn said, his hand falling but his back still ramrod straight as he stood to attention. “Number: eight one five seven six dash—
“At ease, Larn,” the sergeant told him. “Save it for the parade ground. As I say, we don’t stand much on ceremony here. All right then. I take it you have already given your name and number to Corporal Vladek so he can forward them to General HQ?”
“Yes, sergeant.”
“Good. It may be that HQ will order you reassigned to duties elsewhere in the city. In the meantime standing orders on the disposition of new troops are clear. You were dropped into our sector: that means you belong to us. You are hereby seconded to the 902nd Vardan until further notice, Larn. Welcome to Company Alpha. My name is Chelkar. Until you are assigned elsewhere or HQ gets around to sending us a new lieutenant you will be taking your orders from me. We are clear?”
“Clear, sergeant.”
“How long since you took the eagle?”
“The eagle, sergeant?”
“I mean: how long is it since you were inducted into the Guard?”
“Four months, sergeant.”
“Four months? You are green then? You haven’t seen much action?”
“No. Today was my first engagement, sergeant.”
“Hmm. Well, you survived it at least. I suppose that shows us something.” For a moment, his eyes grown suddenly sad and distant, Chelkar fell silent. Certain he was being judged somehow by that silence, Larn felt a rising urge to defend his worth.
“You do not need to worry, sergeant,” he said. “I will not let anyone down. I am a Guardsman. I will do my duty.”
“I am sure you will, Larn.” Chelkar’s expression was grave. “But remember, part of that duty is for you to keep yourself alive so you can fight again tomorrow. To that end, you will do the following things. You will follow orders. You will keep your eyes and ears open. You will watch your comrades’ backs, just as they will watch yours. But most of all, there will be no heroics. No fool-hardiness. No unnecessary risks. This is Broucheroc, Larn. There are no heroes here: the orks keep killing them. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes, sergeant.”
“All right then,” Chelkar said, before turning to call out to one of the Guardsmen standing beside the stove. “Davir. Come over here and meet our new recruit.”
In response to Chelkar’s call, Larn saw a stocky diminutive Vardan move away from the stove and come walking towards them. With a sinking heart, he recognised him at once as the same ugly dwarfish Guardsman who had given him his lasgun back after the battle.
“Davir, this is Larn.”
“We have met already, sergeant. Hello, new fish.”
“Good,” said the sergeant. “Larn, I am assigning you to Fireteam Three under Davir’s command.”
“With all due respect, sergeant,” Davir said, “given the new fish’s lack of experience, wouldn’t it be better to assign him somewhere else until he finds his feet. Fireteam Three is a frontline
unit, after all.”
“This whole company is a frontline unit, Davir,” Chelkar said. “If you can think of anywhere I could send him in this entire sector where the orks wouldn’t be shooting at him, I’d be glad to hear of it. Besides, your fireteam is under strength. You need him and I am sure I can rely upon you to look after him and show him the ropes.”
“You are right of course, sergeant,” Davir said, grudgingly. “Come on then, new fish. Get your kit and follow me. We have orks to kill, you and I.”
Turning, Davir strode away at a surprisingly brisk stride, forcing Larn to hurry his own pace to catch up. Then, as Davir walked through the door at the end of the barracks and headed up the steps out of the dugout, from behind him Larn heard the Vardan muttering venomously to himself under his breath.
“Need him,” he heard Davir whisper to himself. “Need him, my Vardan arse! Like I need to be nursemaiding a damn new fish. As though having had to spend ten years in the company of that fat halfwit Bulaven wasn’t bad enough, now they’ve gone and saddled me with a war virgin just to add to my woes. Damnation!”
Reaching the head of the steps to emerge into the cold air outside, Davir turned to give Larn a withering glare as he waited for him to catch up.
“Come on, new fish. I haven’t got all day. Though I suppose I should thank the heavens for small mercies that you’ve managed to negotiate the stairs without losing your lasgun again. Not that I mean that as an invitation, mind. You lose that damned thing again, don’t expect me to go finding it for you. You want to go around confronting orks with no other weapons than what nature gave you, next time you’re on your own. I’ll leave you to it. Now, come on. Let’s get moving and when we’re heading for the trench, keep your damned fool head down. Not that I’ve got any qualms about seeing the orks blow your head off, you understand. I just don’t want to run the risk of the damned greenskins missing and hitting me instead.”
[Imperial Guard 01] - Fifteen Hours Page 9
