attrition。 But then； given the name of the place； it is hardly surprising。”
“The name？” Larn asked； still stunned by the thought that the men he saw about him were all
that was left from six thousand Guardsmen。
“Yes。 A while back we spent a month dug in at an old bombed…out building that turned out to be
a storage facility for some of the city’s oldest archives。 I managed to read some of them before
Davir and the rest used them for toilet paper。 In the days before it became a city the name of this
place was Butcher’s Rock； or Bouchers Roc in the local planetary dialect。 Over time； as the city
grew； its name was corrupted to the pronunciation we know now。 Broo…sher…rok。 As for the origin
of the name； apparently the first settlement to be founded here served as the centre for the planet’s
meat trade。 Of course it still does； in a manner of speaking。”
“Still does？” Larn said。 “I don’t understand what you mean。”
“He means that this whole damned city is one big meat grinder； new fish；” Davir growled from
the bottom of the trench。 “And we are the meat。”
“You should tell the new fish about the promethium； Scholar；” Bulaven said from beside him。
“It is better if he knows what we are fighting for。”
“Ah yes。 The promethium；” Scholar said； taking the field glasses back from Larn and placing
them in a case on his belt。 “That is what the battle here is about； more or less。” Then； nodding
towards Davir； he added： “Of course； I’m sure if you asked Davir he would tell you the war here is
only about survival。 Which would be right as well。 But you cannot understand the broader issues of
strategy here without knowing something about the promethium。”
“Strategy； my broad Vardan arse；” Davir said。 “What does strategy mean to us？ You think a man
cares about strategy when he feels an ork blade go into his belly？ You and Bulaven are fooling
yourselves； Scholar。 What； you think if it wasn’t for the promethium the orks would just go away？ If
that were the case I’d have found some way of giving it to them myself by now； never mind all this
fantasising about killing generals。 You make things too complicated； Scholar。 The orks want to kill
us for one simple reason。 They are orks。 That is all there is to it。 Though by all means tell the new
fish about your grand theories。 I’m sure they’ll come in very handy next time the bullets start flying
and he finds himself face to face with a horde of screaming green…skins。 Though from what I’ve
seen already； you might be doing him more of a favour if you told him to tie a string around his belt
and tie the other end to his las…gun so he doesn’t lose it again。”
Grimacing in dismissive annoyance Davir returned his attention to the card game； leaving
Scholar to go on with his lecture。
“The promethium； new fish；” Scholar said。 “That’s why the orks are here and that’s what makes
the city important to both us and them。 Remember I told you this city started off as a centre for the
meat trade？ Well； that was thousands of years ago。 In more recent times Broucheroc became a
centre for the planet’s promethium industry。 Time was when this city was little more than one giant
refinery； where crude promethium would be brought from the drilling fields further south to be
refined into fuel。 Even though the pipelines that brought that crude here were cut long ago； this city
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is still rich in promethium。 Billions of barrels’ worth； stored in massive underground tanks
underlying most of the city。”
“But what do the orks want with it？” Larn asked him。
“Fuel；” Scholar said。 “Ten years ago； just as we first made landfall here； it looked like the orks
were going to conquer this entire planet。 Until they started to run out of fuel for their armour。 When
that happened they laid siege to Broucheroc； hoping to seize the city’s fuel reserves。 But we
managed to hold out； and without fuel the ork assault elsewhere on the planet simply ground to a
halt。 Ever since then it has been a stalemate； with us trapped inside the city and the orks outside it
trying to get in。 A stalemate that shows no sign of ending anytime soon。”
“But what about the Imperial forces in other parts of the planet？” Larn said。 “Or even Imperial
forces from off…world？ Why haven’t they tried to relieve the siege？”
“As for the Imperial forces elsewhere on this planet； it could be they have tried to relieve us；
new fish；” Scholar said。 “Certainly； if you asked General HQ they would tell you the city is on the
verge of being relieved。 However； seeing as they have been saying the same thing for ten years now；
no one much believes them anymore。 You will find that here in Broucheroc our commanders tell us
a lot of things。 That we are winning the war。 That the orks are leaderless and on the verge of
collapse。 That the big breakthrough they have been promising us for the last ten years is finally
imminent。 You will find that after a while hearing the same old things； day after day after day； you
simply learn not to listen。 For myself； I suspect that our brother Guardsmen in other parts of this
Emperor…forsaken world are in no better shape than we are。 Not that I can say definitely whether or
not this is the case you understand； given that the only part of this planet I’ve ever seen is
Broucheroc。 As theories go however； it seems no worse than any other。”
“But； of course； that doesn’t fully answer your question；” Scholar said； fully lost now in the flow
of his own erudition。 “As to why Imperial forces from off…world don’t intervene： I suspect the war
here is simply not important enough to justify a full…scale landing。 From time to time there are
smaller more isolated landings — by a lander say； or a single dropship — but nothing that could be
mistaken for anything even resembling a real attempt to break the siege。 Sometimes； as in the case
of you and your company； these landings turn out to be simple mistakes。 Other times； it is as though
some distant bureaucrat has finally decided to send us a few more troops or supplies in order to
reassure us we have not been forgotten。 For the most part； these occasional drops are as pointless
and ridiculous as every other aspect of life here in Broucheroc。 In the past we have been sent entire
pods full of supplies； only to find when we fight our way to them the boxes inside the pods are full
of the most useless things imaginable： paperclips； mosquito netting； laxatives； boot laces； and so
on。”
“Remember when they sent us an entire drop…pod full of prophylactics？” Davir said from
nearby。 “I never could decide whether they wanted us to use them as barrage balloons； or simply
thought the orks must have a fear of rubber。”
“A good example of what I was talking about；” Scholar said。 “But anyway； I think that pretty
much covers everything for now； new fish。 Do you have any questions？”
“Never mind his questions。” Zeebers said； suddenly looking up from his cards to gaze at Larn
with a sly and malignant smile。 “You didn’t quite cover everything for the new fish； Scholar。 There
is still one thing you forgot to tell him。”
“Forgot？” Scholar said。 “Really？ I don’t think there was anything else of importance…”
“Yes there is；” Zeebers said； staring hard at Larn now with cold malice。 “You forgot to tell him
why it was Davir said you’d be wasting your time telling the new fish anything。 Why all the things
you told him already are probably totally useless to him。 Why； come tomorrow； there’s likely only
going to be four men in this trench； not five。 Oh yes； I think you forgot to tell him something；
Scholar。 You forgot to tell him the single most important thing of them all。”
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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
e 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