When he saw the simple letter of appointment, Hartman Paul could not believe that he had become a true leader - although his regiment was composed of broken down soldiers and young men over 14 who had temporary signs.
Their number is the 9th Infantry Regiment of Hades, which sounds pretty good, but in fact their equipment is very miserable. About half of the people can only use simple live ammunition weapons, and their heavy firepower is limited to two heavy bombs and a few logging guns.
Therefore, the soldiers often complain that they are "cannon fodder groups", but in fact, this is not as bad as the worries of hundreds of baby soldiers when they appeared in front of Hartman. He felt like he had become a nanny.
What's even more terrible is that the middle nest rail transit hub they were ordered to defend seemed to have signs of being attacked by the enemy in the near future. After six months of fierce battle, the bottom of the Hades Nest has basically fallen, and the remaining humans can only continue to resist in the middle nest with high walls.
However, not all places have guardrail protection, such as this transportation hub, but the advantage is that its location is relatively high and can form a certain degree of suppression.
Although the shadow season has passed, the darkness of the night sky in Amydodon is still bleak, just like the tattered military uniforms that everyone wears day after day.
Suddenly, the dawn sun slashed through the night sky like a dagger, and was as quiet as a knife cut a hole. The dull red light penetrated the black sky.
Finally, the sun rose, sprinkling a cold yellow-brown light into the continuous trenches.
The red stars are extremely huge, like roasted rotten fruits, and the light of dawn shines on the earth thousands of miles away.
Hartman Paul woke up, feeling extremely sore in his limbs and body.
He climbed out of the small nest he dug in the trench where he had temporarily rested, and his boots kissed the gray mud in the trench—the originally covered mud slab was gone.
He looked soft and sturdy after months of hard battles, now he looks as strong as a cow, with some fresh tattoos on his furry and wide arms, and his beard is thick and fluffy.
He stood up in a military uniform with a black strap and yawned.
In the trenches, under the sandbags, gabion walls and sharp rusty wire rolls, the soldiers also got up with drum beats.
Coughing, panting and gentle screams intertwined, like the sound of a wandering ghost in the early morning.
The matches were lit under the low and slanted wall: everyone was checking their weapons, and the artillery was also maintaining the old antiques, erasing the moisture on them - the firing device was repeatedly pulled out and pushed into the cannon chamber.
At the same time, the soldiers in charge of guarding at night began to sleep in their sleep.
The awakened soldiers walked out of the temporary resting place, lined up in the camp to receive their own food rations.
Although there are no specific regulations, the barracks also have their own rules. Veterans are always in the front row, while those baby soldiers are always in the end.
"Hello, sir!"
Amid the salute,
Hartman walked in the mud with difficulty, looking into the long and tortuous trenches, trying to see where the sleepy, pale and exhausted sentries came back.
Ten kilometers away, between the huge unloading platform and the front assembly plant, the lights were flashing on the huge communication line tower.
In the dark and secret corner of the guard post, the sentry standing in a camouflage cloak stood straight, carrying dry mud on his body.
Then, the sleepy sentries felt that they were being photographed. It turned out that the shift changers had arrived, so they joked with each other and exchanged cigarettes.
The evening sentry is a chore of Gui Jianchou, because it is too tired, but it is very important, because Greenskin's favorite is night attacks - those beasts have endless energy to use, no matter how day and night clubs can make some new tricks.
For example, they killed a guy two days ago, and the thing was about to sneak into the kitchen and pour manure into their food.
Looking at the sentries, Hartman felt like they were ghosts returning to the grave—or that they were all ghosts.
Under the chest wall of the trench, the Chef was burning coffee-like things in the shabby small plate on the furnace. A spicy smell immediately drifted into Hartman's nose, attracting his attention.
Of course, it is impossible to have coffee in this place. At most, there are only "coffee-like" things. Of course, only the God Emperor knows how far this thing is related to coffee.
"Split me a little bit of that thing."
The promoted Colonel Hartman quickly passed through the trenches and came to the chef. The old guy was in his fifties, thin and solid, not very healthy, with gauze wrapped in his left ear. He was picked up by Hartman from the ruins. It is said that he had a prominent position in the Middle Nest before.
Is the owner of a luxury hotel.
But now, go to hell of all status, everyone is the same.
"Okay, sir."
The old man nodded and handed Hartman a metal cup of bad deeds, his old eyes full of tiredness.
“How much more is there in the warehouse?”
Hartman pursed his lips, held the cup in his left hand, and enjoyed the warmth.
This old man is not only a kid, but also their logistics manager, because Hartman is completely unfamiliar with this.
"Not much, there are twenty boxes of protein blocks, and only five bags of starch in the body are left--"
Then his voice was interrupted.
In the orange sky, a team of red fighters roared across the trenches and flew northward.
Soon, the casting temple of the Mechanical God on the horizon spit out a lot of fire, and the interiors of these industrial cathedrals were burning with raging flames.
A second later, the dry wind heard a loud bombardment.
Hartman sipped his drink and watched the fighter fly away. The Void Shield of the Nest City can only cover the spire of the Nest City, so the Green Skin fighter bombed almost every day.
Everyone is used to it.
Back on the ground, I realized that the thing in the cup was really hard to drink.
Hartman can't help
Murmuring to the chef:
"What a good thing."
Shake your head,
Hartman lowered his voice and said to the old man of Chef:
“From the next meal, everyone’s ration is halved.”
"Ah? Sir, it has been reduced by half before. Everyone almost didn't eat me alive. This is reduced again... I'm afraid you won't see me make the next meal."
"Everyone is having fun, but they actually understand."
"Is there no supplies later?"
Hartman didn't answer, but just smiled coldly.
"Stop asking, do what you should do..."
Suddenly, he thought of something, let the other party get closer to him, and then said in an extremely low voice:
"At night, you secretly make some for the little kids and let their captains separate their time to get it."
"Understood."
After drinking coffee, he walked another kilometer along the winding trenches and saw a soldier awaken by a close-range laser gun hitting the sandbag, followed by screams and curses.
It turned out that someone was shooting the mice, and those mice that could not get rid of uncleanness were biting the plastic sealed box containing food with their lizard-like teeth.