As Hartmann walked through the trenches, rats twitched at his feet, their rabbit-like feet hanging to the ground, their dusty fur riddled with lice.
A soldier screamed with a broken throat and fired randomly at the resting place he had dug under the fortifications in the fully automatic mode of the laser gun - it seemed that the big rats scared him, or maybe it was his nightmare. he.
The company commander in charge of the position quickly arrived at the scene, snatched the rifle from the hands of the screaming soldiers, and then gave the soldier an uppercut on the chin. There was a sound of bones breaking, and the man fell into the water. The ditch groaned.
Hartmann had no expression on his face and just said softly as he passed by the company commander:
"He's crushed, give him a break."
Since the beginning of the siege, Hartmann has seen many soldiers suffer from mental breakdown and even madness in brutal battles. After all, there are very few real professional soldiers. Most of them are temporary symptoms, with neither training nor intelligence. Prepare.
Faced with this situation, the officers had no good solution. In order to prevent panic from spreading, the most common method was to directly execute those soldiers who had suffered a mental breakdown.
Each group's standards are different.
In Hartman's mind, he could be forgiven as long as he didn't attack his own people with weapons.
But this man had just opened fire on his comrades.
Hartman couldn't keep him under any circumstances.
"yes--"
The company commander only hesitated for two seconds, then pulled out his pistol and shot the fallen soldier in the head, completely ending his pain and nightmare.
"Don't let those rats go. Wash them and they'll be meat."
He casually patted the company commander who looked confused,
Hartman turned and returned to his den. He didn't dare to have anyone in his house at night. He was afraid that as soon as he came out, he would find the soldiers collapsed and the greenskins rushing up.
Therefore, he slept in the trench at night - actually half awake and half asleep, in order to be ready for emergencies at any time.
So during the day, he needed to catch up on two hours of sleep.
Hartmann walked to the door of the command post in the third traffic trench. The door was covered with a protective layer of polyester fiber and an anti-gas curtain. Then he opened the heavy door, opened the curtain, and walked into the deep In a deep tunnel.
The officer's dugout was built opposite the school reviewers. The light inside was provided by sodium-burning lamps. The light was very cold, as white as frost. The floor was paved with intact mud boards. There were even some symbols of civilized society inside - —Shelves, books, icons, and coat racks.
Of course, these were all picked up on the battlefield.
When walking into the command tunnel, Hartman first noticed Elie Siti, a 16-year-old boy.
He has an easy-going personality and a simple mind. Because of his poor shooting accuracy, others call him "Blind Boy." However, Hartman knew that he had previously worked in a small broadcast station, so he made him his messenger and correspondent.
This is also his only entourage. The manpower is tight, and almost everyone who can go to the trenches has gone up. His regiment basically has no civilian or logistical personnel.
In fact, Hartman didn't like to stay with this child. The other person's age and his bright eyes reminded him of his lost hometown. But it might be for this reason that he kept the other person by his side. He couldn't explain clearly. .
"Stop standing, sit down."
Hartman sat down at his little camping table. Eli hesitated for a moment, then took the seat requested by the officer.
"You look as hungry as I thought you would."
As if planned, the cook brought two plates of food - fried pieces of egg white and rat meat, and a large piece of roasted hard starch.
While Hartman was already tucking into his meal, Eli was still staring at the plate.
"Eat quickly. It's not every day that you get the chance to eat the food rationed by an officer."
Eli nervously picked up his fork and ate. It was the best meal he had had in months. It reminded him of the days when he was an apprentice engineer at a radio station.
Not long after eating, he started devouring it.
Hartman smiled and admired it, and when the meal was over, it was time to get down to business.
"So what did the military dispatch say this morning?"
"I don't know, sir."
Eli said, taking out the communique packet and placing it on the table.
"I just brought it here. I never asked what was in it."
Hartman paused for a moment, taking a swig of steaming purified water, then reached for the package.
As Hartman unwrapped the plastic package and took out the printed document, the boy's mind wandered.
"I've been waiting all night for that thing to give me news."
Then, he pointed to a tactical communicator with a green light built into the mud wall.
"But it didn't tell me anything."
Hartmann glanced at the dispatch he had taken out of the package.
"Tsk tsk tsk, bad news, all bad news. The last power station cannot be defended, and several more colonels have been killed. The reinforcements still send "coming soon" messages from time to time, and our navy is still on track. Banquet, they have claimed to have killed the greenskin warlords more than thirty times with orbital bombardment... Where are the Space Marines? Why is there no news about them? They are not on vacation too, right? When will Armageddon become a reality? It’s a resort.”
After finishing his meal, Eli felt warm and comfortable all over his body. Although the commander seemed to have said something very bad just now, he was not worried at all.
"Sir."
Hartman looked up.
"What's up?"
"I think, um... I think it's time for the enemy to attack."
"how do you know……"
Eli was about to answer when the first wave of shells roared in.
boom----------!
Hartman almost jumped to his feet and overturned the table. His sudden movement, not the scream of the shell, made Eli jump in shock.
The commander of the 9th Infantry Regiment of Armageddon fumbled for his pistol, then hung the holster on his waist in an orderly manner, and then he grabbed the talker on the communicator under a pile of books.
"Attention all units! Arm, arm! Prepare to meet the enemy!"
He had expected that the greenskins would attack at night, but he had not expected that the greenskins would choose the time when they were most relaxed to launch a surprise attack.
These beasts have also grown up!
Just as the shell hit the trench, Hartmann rushed out of the gas curtain of the command post. A large cloud of dust fell from the top of the trench behind him, and the narrow passage was filled with the roar of soldiers.
Suddenly, a shell roared and hit the back wall of a trench lower than Hartmann's position, blasting a hole that could accommodate a motorcycle and knocking two panicked soldiers away.
In an instant, Hartmann was covered with mud and water. He grabbed his command sword and slowly crawled to the firing position at the top of the trench.
There was chaos and panic in the trenches. Soldiers scattered in all directions ran to their positions, screaming and yelling one after another.
"Damn! So many!"
