Hayes still remembered what happened when they first occupied this temporary camp covered with tracks. Those people used this place as a small stronghold. The second company of the first battalion was the first to attack here. At that time, there were still some rebels who had not evacuated. Finally, Surrendered to the Second Company.
But when Hayes and the others arrived, smoke was already billowing here. It turned out that those who surrendered had hidden weapons. When the people of the second company relaxed a little, they suddenly launched a riot and killed more than a dozen soldiers. In response, several Minutes later, the second company quickly returned fire with bayonets, opened fire, and used flamethrowers.
Hayes still remembers the screams and crying, everyone yelling like crazy, and the tent houses crackling in the fire.
The political commissar tried to stop this sabotage, but it was in vain. The people of the second company seemed to be possessed. They were furious and destroyed everything they saw.
It wasn't until half an hour later that it finally subsided, and all that was left were piles of smoking ashes. Only then did Hayes suddenly realize that this destruction was not just a crazy act in the flames of war, it was also huge. Catharsis under pressure.
There is no need for political commissars or priests to spread the word, everyone has already learned to hate.
This place is now very busy with people coming and going, and the air is filled with the smell of disinfectant and various pharmaceuticals.
Despite his large size and intimidating appearance, Hubry was actually afraid of injections, so Hayes had to take him to the field hospital himself.
It's said to be a hospital, but it's actually just a few simple tents.
Before he could even walk in, Hayes heard the rusty axle scream in protest. He turned to see a man leading four hunched servitors, all wrapped in tattered civilian clothes, pushing an empty cart. Walking towards him across the frozen ground.
The cart passed him, stopped next to the body, and began to wearily lift the body onto the cart.
Suddenly, Hayes ran towards them.
"Wait a moment!"
The man seemed startled, as if afraid he would hurt himself, and cowered away and stopped working.
Hayes stood next to a pile of corpses and stared down at a corpse. After the man saw his face clearly, he spoke to him, his voice dull and lifeless from fatigue.
"You know him?"
"Yes, I know him, a friend."
That was the body of Larry Haji, a 21-year-old young man and one of the few people in the company who knew music. He always carried a mouth organ with him, and Hayes had also studied with him.
According to Haji himself, his family was once a musical family serving the nobles of the Upper Nest, but it seems that in his great-grandfather's generation, because of a problem with a concert, he was punished and confiscated almost all of his property, leaving only Some musical skills were passed down, and their family has been making a living through street performance in Xiachao since then. Unfortunately, even those musical skills only had the harmonica in Haji's generation. His father was involved in a street fight. When he died in an accident, he also broke his ancestral violin.
Haji's biggest dream is to earn enough money, then go to a small music school to further his studies, or enter the national church choir, and regain his identity as an ancestral musician.
But now this idealistic man was just lying quietly in the shroud, his face was slack and pale, his body was covered with appalling wounds, and his eyes were staring as if he was looking at something.
Haji had once taught Hayes a piece of music but had not finished it, but now that hope was dashed.
Looking down at Haji's face, Hayes was growing tired of this war, a place where everyone seemed to have to be dominated by random cruelty and madness.
"He's a hero."
The man beside him suddenly spoke.
"A hero?"
Unsure of what the other man meant, Hayes looked at him in confusion.
For a moment, the man's eyes were dim and dull, and he was too tired to understand, and then he silently withdrew his gaze.
He shrugged tiredly and spoke again.
"They are heroes."
The man who carried the body spoke in a listless voice, as if he were reciting a speech he had heard a thousand times.
"They are all: all the Astra Militarum who died here, they were martyrs, and by giving their own blood to defend this place, they made the soil of this world a holy place, where heretics can never take it, and where it belongs forever to the Emperor. "
After a moment's pause, he added.
"This is what the political commissar told us."
But it was completely unconvincing to Hayes' ears.
"Yeah."
The boy squatted down and groped around Haji for a while, and sure enough he found a brass harmonica in the storage bag on his waist. Fortunately, it was not taken away.
Haji said that if one day he died, he hoped that Hayes could take away his harmonica. He did not want this thing to be burned with him, or buried, or fall into the hands of some greedy and boring person and exchange it for A few cigarettes.
Then, the servitors began to carry the corpses. Hayes stood aside and watched Haji stacked with others. Those soulless things seemed not to know what it meant to respect the dead and just moved them like cargo.
Hayes heard that these servitors were made of those rebels. He was not very sure. In short, he would avoid looking at these things carefully. He was afraid deep down.
Soon the bodies were loaded onto flatbed trolleys and they began to leave.
"What are you going to do with them?"
Suddenly, Hayes called after them, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.
"They will be buried."
The man replied tiredly.
"That's how heroes should be, buried in a mass grave with a monument, at least that's what they told me, I just transport the bodies and other people take care of their disposal."
After saying that, he turned around and continued to push the flatbed truck with the servitors panting.
As he watched them go, Hayes slowly tried to remember some prayer, or a prayer, that the neighborhood priest had taught him as a child, so that the dead souls of his comrades would be undisturbed and able to go to heaven and the throne with The Emperor rendezvous.
But for some reason, his mind went blank, and his heart was uncomfortable with sadness, feeling dull and empty.
All the prayers seemed to escape his mind.
Then he turned and walked toward the field hospital.
"Take off your armor and pull off your coat."
He heard a voice, and then saw the furry Habri sitting "obediently" on a small bench, shaking, and a man about fifty years old with a white armband of a medic on his shoulder standing next to him.
This man's name is Gotabilon, and he is a military doctor in the regiment, but Hashet said that this guy was most likely just a veterinarian in the past.
There are several active medical servitors around him, but ordinary soldiers are not willing to accept their treatment. At most, they can help deal with external injuries.
"Habry, if you want me to treat that wound, I have to be able to see it."
"I-"
Hubley shuddered, then looked at Hayes.
"Do you want an injection?"
"You furry monster, you've already taken bullets, and you still care about getting injections? They all say you were born to Ogryn. I don't think Ogryn is that timid."
(End of chapter)
