"Obviously, my mom always said to me, if you can't change the status quo, then you have to adapt to the status quo, like-"
"For example, immediately close your mouth that can't spit out green-skinned teeth, pick up the engineering shovel and dig some soil nearby and put it under your feet. This will make your feet feel much better."
Oh, Your Majesty.
As far as common sense is concerned, it is true that an introverted person is not suitable to be a commander. However, due to the rules of emergency mobilization during wartime, Hartmann Paul was honored to be given the command of an infantry squad, and his military rank was determined by
The promotion from private to sergeant only took half a month.
The unit they currently belong to is the Armageddon 114th Infantry Regiment, 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 it stands to reason that they
They did not rush straight towards the greenskins with the large army, but instead guarded some insignificant places.
Hartman Paul could imagine the bad smiles on the faces of those assholes with military ranks.
Well, stay here as long as you stay, it's his hometown, and he doesn't care if he can 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 hole. It is along the river and collects rain. Now there is a shadow season unique to the planet. Many volcanoes have begun to erupt, and black clouds have covered the sky. Not only has long-distance communication within the planet become extremely difficult, convergence
The sewage also made these recruits' calves numb from the cold, and their feet were soaked like fermented flour.
And those old soldiers huddled in the three-story warehouse by the bridge, eating haese, the soup dripping down from their big beards on the lapels of their shiny carapace armor.
"Fuck it."
Subconsciously reaching out to touch the empty cigarette case on his helmet, Hartmann Paul helplessly said to Shechar on the left:
"Go and pick up another cigarette butt for me."
Sechar, who had just turned seventeen, was digging the broken soil beside the trench with a sapper shovel. Not long ago, he was just a baker.
"Sir, this is the seventh time."
Then, the recruits stepped hard on their feet with their frozen legs.
"forgive me."
"So, Happy?"
The shoe repairman waved his hand.
"corn?"
The guy who was shaving with a bayonet paid no attention to him.
There is no need to ask about the rest, Hartman knows that no one will convince him.
According to the usual practice, respect 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, the introverted him will only tolerate it.
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 be dried a little, but he slipped when he climbed to the edge.
"Careful, sir!"
"Be careful."
Hartman climbed out and took a deep breath. The air here was different from the freshness of the park where he was originally. Now the air only carried the smell of burnt soot.
No one can tell why.
He was originally a gardener, but he was 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 good about defending this bridge? The well-connected Happy 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 stronger than the hive gang.
A little trouble not getting there.
Judging from the way those old 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, this is not so much an acquisition as a legal robbery covered by a fig leaf.
There were rumors that this warehouse was designed according to military fortification standards in order to prevent peasants from rioting, but now it seems that the strength of the building, which only collapsed in an accidental shelling attack, proves that this statement is true.
Quietly, Hartmann bent over and squatted by the window sill of the warehouse.
"Yo."
A contemptuous voice sounded, and Hartmann looked up and found that the person blinking at him was one of these veteran soldiers.
"If you think this is a public toilet, then we'd better talk."
Well, perhaps in the eyes of these veterans of the Guards, the intelligence level of their recruits is only higher than that of Oglin, and discrimination is considered normal for this group of people.
Hartmann 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 so sneaky..."
After saying that, he raised his left hand, hung the gun on the window sill, and began to fumble with the greasy armed belt on his body.
"Give."
The veteran pulled the cigarette butt from Hartman's mouth and inserted a new cigarette.
"...Thanks."
"where."
The veteran smiled calmly.
"Want to be angry?"
"No, I have my own way..."
boom--------!
There was a sudden explosion, and Hartman was so frightened that he crawled to the ground.
Just as he lay in the water and gasped for air in an unseemly manner, Shechar shouted in an even more unsightly voice.
"I'm coming!"
"What's coming?"
Hartmann stood upright, stretched out his hand at the edge of the trench and tightly grasped his fatal pistol. He rolled back into the trench covered in mud and water, and then raised his head slightly.
In the mist, I saw a group of terrifying bipedal green beasts, holding their axes high, as if they were going to trample through the poor concrete bridge deck with their footsteps that shook the ground slightly.
This was Hartman's first time seeing greenskins, and it turned out to be scarier than he imagined, because in the combat manual issued, greenskins were supposed to be thin, small, and timid. Why were these greenskins so big and fierce?
"Pay attention to concealment!"
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, and it was no joke to have too many bullets.
But just then, another voice sounded.
"Don't lie down!!"
There was a shout from the other side of the warehouse, and it was the veteran who handed Hartman the cigarette riding in front of the window.
"Let's fight! These bastards have melee weapons but no long-range weapons!"
As if to prove his judgment, he fired the laser gun in his hand, looking very comfortable and contented.
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 rushed at the few throwaway guys at the front, and behind them were several large guns emitting black smoke.
"Holy shit!"
The veteran hurriedly shrank back, and then the window sill where he had been was turned into a sieve.