Chapter 625: Position 39 (Part 1)
Standard Terra Calendar, 941.M41
Argiddon, Plains of Ashes, Position 39
“Obviously , my mother often said to me, if you can't change the status quo, then you have to adapt to the status quo, such as -"
"Such as immediately shut your dog mouth that can't spit out green teeth, pick up the engineer shovel and get closer Dig some soil and put it under your feet, it will make your feet feel better.”
Oh, my Majesty the Emperor.
As far as common sense is concerned, an introverted person is not suitable to be a commander. This is true. However, due to the rules of emergency mobilization during wartime, Hartmann Paul was honored to be assigned to an infantry squad. It only took half a month for him to gain command and be promoted from private to sergeant.
The unit they currently belong to is the 114th Infantry Regiment of Armageddon, which has a glorious history on the planet.
Of course, maybe the "they" in the previous sentence should not be added, because the 114th Infantry Regiment did not take these recruits who were native workers and citizens a month or two ago to heart, so As expected, they did not rush straight towards the greenskins with the large army, but guarded some insignificant places.
Hartman Paul could imagine the bad smiles on the faces of those bastards with military ranks.
Well, stay here as long as you stay, it was his hometown, and he didn't care if he could get a green-skinned tooth.
Of course, except for squatting in trenches.
Hartmann Paul looked unhappy when he thought of this.
Look at this big pit. It is along the river and collects rain. Now there is a shadow season unique to the planet. Many volcanoes begin to erupt and black clouds cover the sky. Not only does it lead to long-distance communication within the planet It became extremely difficult, and the collected sewage made the recruits' calves numb from the cold, and their feet were soaked like fermented flour.
And those veteran soldiers were huddled in the three-story warehouse by the bridge eating haese, their beards on the shiny carapace armor lapels dripping soup.
"Fuck it."
Subconsciously reaching out to touch the empty cigarette case on his helmet, Hartmann Paul helplessly said to Shechar on the left:
"Go , pick up another cigarette butt for me.”
Shechar, who had just turned seventeen, was digging the broken soil beside the trench with a sapper shovel. He was just a baker not long ago.
“Sir, this is the seventh time.”
Then, the recruit stepped hard with his frozen legs.
"Spare me."
"What about, Happy?"
The shoe repairman waved his hand.
“Corns?”
The guy who was shaving with a bayonet paid no attention to him.
No need to ask about the rest, Hartman knows that no one will convince him.
According to the usual practice, reverence and obedience to superiors are common sense in the Guards, but there is an exception here, because these bastards know that even if they don't hate him, he will only tolerate it as an introvert.
Sometimes he would also think about the common sense and routine of TM, and why it was so easy for others to use it, but it was difficult for him to use it.
Alas, the Emperor is above!
Hartmann had to pick up the cigarette butts by the warehouse window himself. The only advantage of climbing out of the trench was that his wet boots could dry a little, but he slipped when he climbed to the edge.
"Careful, sir!"
"Be careful."
Climbing out, Hartman took a deep breath, and the air here was different from the park where he was originally. It was different from the freshness. Now there is only the smell of burnt soot in the air.
No one can tell why.
He was originally a gardener, but he had been a boy scout for a period of time when he was a boy. Unexpectedly, when the mobilization order came, he would be directly recruited as a "non-commissioned officer reserve".
Good luck is always far away from him.
He still remembered the last order they received from these veteran soldiers, which was actually just two words - guard the bridge.
But what’s so important about this bridge? Happy, who has complex connections, once asked Hartman to be careful about the news that the greenskins might attack at any time, but according to their superiors, they are the attackers, and the greenskins are just a small trouble that is not much stronger than the hive gang.
Looking at the way those veteran soldiers drank and drank meat all day long, this seemed very convincing.
A cold wind carrying volcanic ash blew, and Hartman shrank his neck. The three-story warehouse built next to the bridge in front of him was once a grain purchasing station in this area. Of course, it's not so much an acquisition as a legal robbery covered by a fig leaf.
There were rumors that this warehouse was designed to military fortification standards in order to prevent peasants from rioting, but now it seems that only the roof of the building collapsed in an accidental shelling attack. This shows that this statement is true.
Quietly, Hartman crouched down by the window sill of the warehouse.
“Yo.”
A contemptuous voice sounded. Hartman looked up and found that the person winking at him was one of these veteran soldiers.
"If you think of this as a public toilet, then we'd better talk."
Well, maybe in the eyes of this group of Guards veterans, the intelligence level of their new recruits Only higher than Ogryn, discrimination is also considered the norm for this group of people.
Hartman ignored him, reached out and picked up a cigarette butt with one third of it left, and held it in his mouth.
“Oh, you have quite a personality.”
The veteran rubbed his stubbled chin.
"Well, if you want a cigarette, just ask, you're sneaky."
After saying that, he raised his left hand, hung the gun by the window sill, and began to fumble around with his hands. A greasy armed belt.
“Here.”
The veteran ripped off the cigarette butt from Hartman’s mouth and inserted a new cigarette.
".Thank you."
"Where."
The veteran smiled calmly.
“Do you want to be popular?”
“No, I have my own way.”
boom--------!
The explosion suddenly sounded, scaring Hartman to crawl directly to the ground.
While he was lying in the water gasping for air in an unsightly manner, Shechar shouted in an even more unsightly voice.
“Coming! Coming!”
“What’s coming?”
Hartmann stood upright, stretched out his hand at the edge of the trench and tightly grasped his deadly pistol. He rolled back into the trench covered in mud and water, and then raised his head slightly.
In the mist, a group of terrifying bipedal green beasts were seen, raising their knives and axes high, as if they were going to trample through the poor concrete bridge deck with their footsteps that shook the ground slightly.
This is the first time Hartman has seen green skins. It turns out to be scarier than he imagined, because in the combat manual issued, green skins should be thin, small and timid. Why are these things? But big and fierce?
“Be careful!”
Hartman pushed down Happy, who was holding the gun, and asked everyone to lower their heads. Not to mention that the greenskins only heard the sound of shooting. It's no joke that there are too many bullets.
But just then, another voice sounded.
“Don’t lie down!!”
A shout came from the other side of the warehouse. It was the veteran who handed Hartman a cigarette and was riding in front of the window sill.
"Let go! These bastards can't use long-range weapons with melee weapons!"
As if to prove his judgment, he fired the laser gun in his hand, which seemed very comfortable. .
But the greenskins were obviously not as simple as he said. The laser gun did not hit the target, but it angered the greenskins. They charged at the few throwaway guys at the front, and behind them were several large guns emitting black smoke.
“Holy shit!”
The veteran shrank back in a hurry, and then the window sill where he had been staying became a sieve.
(End of this chapter)