Chapter 102 Duran Farce (9)

"Hold your weapons, load your ammunition, and put on your helmet."

The officer took a deep breath. He wanted to smoke or take a sip of wine, but the current conditions did not allow it.

Raising his hand, he puffed away the dust on the brim of his hat. The air he just breathed in was filled with the pungent smell of gunpowder and rotting corpses, which made him cough uncontrollably. The dust that had not been bounced off fell one after another, and then

It stuck to his face and clothes, making him look dirty.

But he no longer had the mind to care about it. It was not the same as before. He was no longer the arrogant soldier of honor.

He checked his weapons, stuffed the pockets that had been turned out again, straightened his sleeves, then rubbed his right hand on his trouser leg, and carefully took out the pendant in his arms. The photo above is

A dignified lady and two naughty children.

The corners of his mouth curled up, and he wiped the photo in his palm over and over again, then kissed it gently, and carefully placed it back in his arms like an attendant placing a crown.

Then, he closed his eyes and continued to take deep breaths, brewing his courage as his chest rose and fell again and again.

I don't know how long it took, but he opened his eyes, turned around, and looked behind him.

Groups of soldiers were behind him. They were staying in the temporarily dug trenches like him, doing almost exactly the same thing as him: some of them were already his old subordinates, and these soldiers looked determined and tough.

Silent, and the others can hardly be called warriors. Their faces have deep grooves, or green stubble that has just grown out and has not yet been shaved off.

In the past, they would not have appeared here.

He sighed.

The officer walked to the front of the team and tidied up his appearance one last time. Although he was still covered in ashes, he looked as if he was going to receive a medal from the emperor.

He stood upright and looked at the army in front of him: soldiers, teenagers, old men, and even incomplete people, they made up this army: this could hardly be called a real army, but it was indeed

It is an army fighting for its homeland.

When he spoke, his tone was more sincere than anything he had ever heard in his life.

"Everyone."

"It is the greatest honor of my life to be able to fight side by side with you."

That’s all.

He turned around, and a moment later, he heard the harsh attack call, and countless war cries and roars echoed in the air, the strong wind, and the communication network in his ears.

He roared, roared, remained silent, raised his weapon, and was the first to rush out.

——————

The air is filled with blood and dust.

The officer did not run or yell. He embodied the qualities of a veteran. He gripped his weapon tightly, looking for places where he could cover himself among the countless wreckage and ruins, and moved forward step by step.

He stretched out his head and saw the battlefield in front of him. He recognized that this was once the most popular square in the city center. It was usually full of food stalls and roadside shops. His children especially wanted the dolls sold here. Every time after school,

, will pester him here for a long, long time.

But now, there are only ruins here. Gray sand and black steel bars are the only colors. The once magnificent statues and flowers are now in tatters and scattered among the piles of dirt and potholes.

At the end of them was his goal: a fortress, now in the hands of the invaders.

He was not far from there, maybe only a kilometer.

A kilometer that cannot be crossed.

He saw the corpses, those huddled, completely charred corpses of the Duran people. Thousands of them were scattered among the burning armored vehicles, announcing the [results] of the Duran army in the past hour.

.

And the number of these results is increasing all the time, because those temporarily recruited soldiers are not suitable for the battlefield at all: they walk ignorantly among the ruins, or charge with a roar of passion, and some are simply scared to death.

They were at a loss for what to do - but the result was the same. The roaring bombs hit the target one after another, and someone died almost every second.

Only those who lie down on the ground in time, find bunkers in time, and learn from the veterans in time can be considered as having tickets to the battlefield.

But their sacrifice was not meaningless. When the invaders were busy cleaning up the cannon fodder that might carry explosives, Duran's real killer move: tanks, aircraft fleets, and land-based armor began to appear in groups.

On the distant horizon, the last Duran artillery gritted its teeth and provided fire cover, but often after firing the first shot, they would be hit from the sky: Duran's sky no longer belongs to Duran.

people.

But despite this, the support has not stopped.

The Durans were bleeding, but there was nothing they could do but bleed.

The officer waited, and it didn't take long before he heard the second sharp whistle: that was the horn of the general attack.

Just like the newly born sun disc piercing the morning fog, in an instant, the entire battlefield was roaring.

Everyone was roaring, all the war beasts were roaring, all the land and air of Duran were roaring, and tens of thousands of Duran warriors rushed out from their hiding places, forming an army in an instant.

An unstoppable wave of attack, with countless roaring war engines mixed in with their ranks, like steep boulders in the ocean of destruction.

They roared, raged, and raged. They rushed toward the land occupied by the invaders. They rushed toward the densely packed trenches, barbed wire fences, and minefields. They rushed toward their own death, perhaps a meaningless death.

.

But they have no choice.

In the face of such violent waves, the fortress seemed to pause for a second, and then a torrential rain of artillery fire swept in, carefully ravaging every inch of land where the Duran people stood, and dozens of guns opened fire in unison, harvesting

Those who survived the bombardment.

The officer was running, roaring, and his voice was completely hoarse in the first moment after the charge. His face was tossed in rounds of dust, and explosions and screams continued to sound all around.

The remnants of his eyes could see everything next to him: the war engines that the Duran people were once proud of had all turned into burning torches, and the armies that once shook the world were reduced to piles of debris in a matter of seconds.

With melted blood, he saw those dead people, those who died under bullets, those who were shattered by landmines, and those who were twisted by barbed wire.

What he knows, what he doesn't know.

Corpses, corpses, corpses everywhere.

He was running, but seemed to have stopped. His mind was filled with chaos, making it difficult for him to recognize the situation and reality in front of him. Blood and death pierced his rationality, causing him to fall into a different world.

In the midst of such madness: What's going on? Where are their troops? Where are his comrades?

Why did everything end?

He opened his mouth, and his teeth were full of sand. Then, he suddenly felt something, raised his head suddenly, and found the target fortress: he was standing at its feet.

And on top of it, there were several vague black figures.

They look so tall.

Are those the guys who invaded them?

He thought, and then, a sharp stabbing pain suddenly penetrated his forehead.

The gunshot seemed to be an afterthought. When he heard the gunshot, he had already fallen to the ground. Blood and brains flowed into a stream on the ground, staining the completely torn amulet.

Those carefree smiling faces in the photo.

——————

"One minute ago, the enemy launched a small-scale attack on the landing area controlled by Morion. The number of people was probably between 30,000 and 50,000, using armored troops and artillery."

Zhuang Sen nodded and this message was ignored.

They are standing on the top of a huge fortress, which is almost the commanding height outside the Duran Palace. From its tower, you can directly observe the core area of ​​the Scarlet Fortress more than ten kilometers away: the tyrant of Duran is hiding inside.

Capturing this place means that Johnson's part of the plan has been completed. This is not easy: if it were not for the attack, the shield that had been covering the fortress suddenly disappeared, resulting in the imperial army's air superiority being maximized.

Depending on the evolution, the Dark Angels might have to dump hundreds of corpses here.

Obviously, this was the credit of the Second Knights who were responsible for seizing the shield generator area.

[Gale did a good job.]

Thinking of this, even the lion of Caliban couldn't help but nodded and admired it from the bottom of his heart.

[As for Morien, has he not opened up the situation yet? 】

Facing the Lord's question, Arachos just turned on the tactical holographic projection again, and the Scarlet Fortress and the land around it were clearly displayed: Jonson and his main force were in the west of the fortress, while Gale and his third

The two knights stayed in the north of the fortress. Under the attack led by Morgan himself, the control areas of the two teams were connected.

Across the Scarlet Fortress itself, to the east of the fortress, Morien and his knights were compressed into an extremely small area. Only a few fortresses were in their hands, and the Duran Legion surrounding them

The number of them has reached such a level that even the Primarch himself feels a bit intrusive.

[What did Morion say?]

"He said that he could completely hold the position, but he would pay some price. He hoped to urgently release a batch of reinforcements to his area. The battle losses of the first batch of airborne troops had exceeded half, and the Duran army at least still had

Ten million to thirty million people.”

【Let Kaos do it.】

Then, Zhuang Sen remained silent, looking at the projection, and at the core area of ​​the Scarlet Fortress, where the Space Wolves' attack route was either frustrated or twisted.

[At this rate, by the time they chop off that tyrant’s head, I will lose the entire Sixth Knights.]

The Primarch whispered, and then the abominable werewolf image appeared in his communicator.
To be continued...