figure with a thick neck； brawny arms and a broad bearish build； Bulaven was the fireteam’s heavy
weapons specialist。 He also seemed the only man among the group to harbour anything in the way
of concern for the lives of his superiors。 “If you start killing generals； Davir； who would we have
left to give us orders？”
“You talk as though that is a bad thing； pigbrain；” Davir spat。 “It is thanks to those arseholes in
General HQ and their orders that we are in this mess to begin with！ Not that I expect us to suddenly
starting magically winning this war when they are all dead； you understand。 Killing them couldn’t
make it any worse。 At least doing it would give me some small moments of satisfaction。 Orders？
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Phah！ As though they ever achieved anything with all their damned orders other than making things
ten times worse。 You want to know about orders？ Ask Repzik。 If it hadn’t been for some fool
ordering Battery Command to withhold artillery support during the last attack； he’d probably still be
alive。 For that matter； what about our new friend here？ You all saw what happened to that lander
earlier。 Ask the new fish what he thinks of the orders that sent him halfway across the galaxy just to
make landfall on the wrong planet。”
Abruptly； the other men in the trench turned to look towards him。 Fully aware he must have
looked like a rabbit caught in the searchlights of an oncoming vehicle； Larn could only gawp back at
them； unsure of what to say。
“Perhaps he is still in shock？” Bulaven said； his tone solicitous。 “Is that it； new fish？ Are you in
shock？”
“Wetting his pants in fear more like；” Zeebers； the fourth man in the trench； said。 Thin and wiry；
of average build； Zeebers looked younger than the others： perhaps in his mid…twenties where Davir
and the rest were in their early to mid…thirties。 Red…haired； with a pitted and pockmarked face；
Zeebers looked nastily towards Larn and sneered at him。 “Look at him。 If his skin was any greyer
you wouldn’t be able to see him against the mud。 You ask me； he’s afraid if he says what he really
thinks some commissar will hear him and have him shot。”
“Hhh。 Not much to be worried about on that score。” Davir said。 “You hear me； new fish？ You
can speak freely。 Granted； time was we’d always be getting commissars coming to the line to lead
attacks and so forth。 Thankfully； our friends the orks soon put paid to that。 Any commissar who was
crazy enough to want to join a frontline combat unit got himself killed off long ago。 The commissars
left now tend to be those with a sharper instinct for their own survival。 Sharp enough to stay away
from the front at any rate。 So； come on； new fish。 You must have an opinion？ Let us hear it。”
“Yes； indeed；” said Scholar。 “I for one would be fascinated to know what you think。”
“Come on； new fish；” Zeebers said； his tone harsh and goading。 “What are you waiting for？
Gretch got your tongue？”
“Don’t rush him；” Bulaven said； more kindly。 “Like I say； I think he’s still in shock。 I’m sure
he’ll tell us in time。”
Faces expectant； the Guardsmen fell quiet as they waited for Larn to answer。 Uncomfortable；
painfully aware of the four pairs of eyes staring at him in silence； for a moment Larn could only sit
there with his mouth open； the words dying on his tongue before he could even say them。 Then；
thinking about all he had seen and heard in the last few hours； in a voice thick with misery he gave
them the only answer he had。
“I… I don’t understand any of this；” he said at last。 “None of it。 Nothing that has happened to
me so far today seems to make any sense。”
“What is there to understand； new fish？” Davir had said。 “We are stuck in this damned city。 We are
surrounded by millions of orks。 Every day they try to kill us。 We try not to let them succeed。 End of
story。”
“A concise summary granted； Davir；” Scholar had said next。 “Though you omitted to mention
the promethium。 And the stalemate。 Not to mention some of the wider parameters。”
“Fine； Scholar；” Davir had shrugged。 “I think you’re wasting your time； but you tell him all
about it then。 While you’re at it； you might as well tell him how to go about brushing his teeth and
wiping his backside。 After all； I wouldn’t like to see the consequences if the new fish here somehow
got those two vital functions mixed up。 Whatever you do； do it from the firing step。 It is still your
turn to stand watch。 And remember： just because we have to nursemaid a war virgin doesn’t mean
the orks have forgotten they want to kill us。”
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“You see them？” Scholar said a few minutes later； standing pointing into no…man’s land from the
firing step next to Larn while Davir and the others sat playing a card game on the trench floor below
them。 “That dark grey ragged line about eight hundred metres away？ That’s the ork lines。”
Looking through the field glasses Scholar had lent him； Larn followed the direction of the tall
man’s pointing finger to stare into the wasteland before them。 There。 He saw it。 A sinuous line of
ditches that ran the entire length of the sector on the other side of no…man’s land。 Watching it； from
time to time he saw a gretchin or ork head suddenly come into view。 Only for the head to then
swiftly disappear as its owner dropped out of sight below the parapets on the ork side once more。
“I don’t understand how I didn’t see it before；” Larn said。 “Having the field glasses helps。 But it
seems so clear now。 How could I have missed it？”
“It is a question of perception。” Scholar said。 “You have noticed how grey the landscape is？ The
mud； the rocks； the sky； even the buildings？ When a person first arrives here the details of the world
about them can easily be lost in the same monotonous tone of grey。 But there are subtle differences。
Differences you become slowly aware of the longer you spend in this city。 You have heard how
some jungle…worlders have forty different words for green？ In reality of course those forty words
correspond to different shades of green。 Shades which would all look the same to us。 But to them；
their perceptions heightened by living their entire lives in a green environment； the difference
between each shade is as obvious as the difference between black and white。 It is the same here in
Broucheroc。 Believe me； you’ll be amazed how acute you become to the palette of greys once
you’ve been in this city a few months。”
“Of course；” he continued； delighted to finally have an audience willing to hear a lecture；
“normally you wouldn’t be able to miss the ork lines if you tried。 There’d be an array of makeshift
walls； dirt ramparts and bosspoles stretching from one side of the sector to the other。 Or piles of
burned…out vehicles and corpses used in place of sandbags。 The details differ from sector to sector。
Up to a month ago we were stationed in Sector 1…11。 There； the orks used these large jury…rigged
barricades that they would just smash their way through whenever they attacked us。 Then they
would rebuild them； smashing their way through them again whenever there was a major assault；
and so on。 You see； the orks don’t follow a centralised command structure as we do。 Granted； when
their Warbosses are not busy fighting it out amongst each other； they are usually united behind a
single Warlord。 But when it comes to the disposition of any particular ork sector； the local Warboss
is free to do as he wants。 And； as it happens； this particular boss seems to have taken a leaf out of
our book — ordering his followers to dig camouflaged underground dugouts； foxholes and trenches
rather than the usual ostentatious fortress。 It could be he is brighter than the usual ork leader。 Then
again； perhaps he’s just aping our tactics without any kind of clear plan in mind。 Really； it can be
hard to tell with orks。 Even after ten years here； I still find it difficult to tell the difference between a
stupid ork and a clever one。”
“You have been here ten years as well？” Larn said。 “I could barely believe it when Repzik said
he had been here that long。”
“We all have；” Scholar said。 “Me； Davir； Bulaven； Vladek； Chelkar； Svenk； Kell。 All the men in
the company have。 The ones from Vardan； anyhow。 Of course； there are plenty of replacements like
you and Zeebers who have been here considerably less time。”
“Zeebers isn’t from Vardan？”
“Him？ No； as I say； he is a replacement。 Joined us about two months ago； give or take。”
“What about the rest of the regiment？ Are there many replacements among them as well？”
“The rest？ You misunderstand me； new fish；” Scholar said sadly。 “Company Alpha is the
Vardan 902nd。 We’re all that’s left among the Vardans here。 The others are dead。”
“You mean your regiment was wiped out？” Larn said horrified。 “Out of an entire regiment； only
two hundred men are still alive？”
“Worse than that； new fish。 There were three Vardan regiments when we first set down in
Broucheroc。 But over time we suffered heavy losses。 We lost the Vardan 722nd in our first week
54
here； wiped out when General HQ ordered one of their now famous all…out assaults on the ork lines。
The survivors were amalgamated into the Vardan 831st； who in turn eventually became part of the
902nd。 Then； over the years； there were more casualties and the number of companies in the 902nd
were reduced and amalgamated。 Until； now； only Company Alpha is left。 At last count I believe our
current fighting strength is something in the order of two hundred and forty…four men； perhaps threequarters
of whom are from Vardan。 Something like one hundred and eighty or so Vardans then； left
from the more than six thousand men who first made planetfall in this city ten years ago。 Really it is
not so different from your situation with your own former company。 It is a matter of attrition； you
see。 It’s the same for ever other Guard regiment in this city。 Of course； having been on the frontlines
so long； we’ve had it worse than most。 I doubt there’s a regiment left in this city that is at any more
than thirty per cent of its original strength。 This is Broucheroc： here； everything is a matter of
attrition。 But then； given the name of the place； it is hardly surprising。”
“T