Sergeant Heisenberg had lost count of how many magazines he had emptied. The R-1 in his hands was extraordinarily durable; even after firing so many rounds, it showed no sign of overheating or barrel burn.
It was just that he himself was almost at his limit. Spasms came in waves from the inside of his wounded left leg, pain surging up like an ocean, an agony almost beyond words.
"Hold on, Sergeant," one of the original crewmen of the Saint's Command said to him in a low voice. "It isn't time to die yet."
"Yeah—right."
Heisenberg answered through gritted teeth, "I should still have another dozen minutes in me. What about you? How are you holding up?"
The hard-faced soldier shook his head. "Less than one in ten of the people we can contact are still responding. There was no sign of this rebellion before it broke out. The Aquila-pattern has already confirmed the specifics. It's Chaos corruption, but the targets of the corruption seem to have been chosen completely at random."
He gave a mocking smile, the muscles on his filthy face shifting to reveal bloodied teeth. A bleak chill welled up in Heisenberg's heart—the Vostroyan 617th Firstborn Regiment he belonged to had decided after a brief discussion to launch a counterattack together with the 618th Regiment. They had died very quickly.
Ordinary clothing could not withstand the firepower of the R-1, while their Lasguns striking Aquila-pattern armor were basically polishing it for the enemy. Heisenberg should have died; if not for this group of Cadians who had suddenly appeared, the 617th Regiment might have been wiped out completely by now.
"Fucking hell."
A soldier beside that man said, "We got new armor and weapons, and in the end we have to turn blades on our own people. We