25th Combat Day (I, 7k)

I must admit, returning to the military felt strange to me. It wasn't simply about going back to being a sailor, or temporarily filling in for a fishing job on one of Banjo-1's fishing boats.

This is the military, and the military is definitely not a gentle place. No general wants to have a group of "gentle and kind" soldiers under his command. If someone really thinks that way, I will laugh at him very bluntly.

However, I believe there are no such idiots in the world.

Let's get back to the point.

I quickly adapted to the position the Lion El'Jonson had given me—sergeant major and one of the instructors in the recruit company—a typical tough job that was sure to be hated.

Aside from those born soldiers, no one likes having someone suddenly appear above them who can "bully" them at will, and who holds the power of life and death over them, with corporal punishment and humiliation being commonplace.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not the kind of instructor who enjoys making things difficult for new recruits, but a certain degree of cruelty is necessary. Soldiers who come out of my ranks must learn one thing before they even step onto the battlefield for the first time: war treats no one kindly.

If they can't learn this, I'd rather they die on the training field.

So, how well did I actually do?

As you can see, I still find it strange to be back in the military, but I've gotten used to my new role. Over the past month, I've exhausted the five hundred recruits assigned to me in several training grounds on the Edge of Reason.

These men and women from Caliban are of excellent quality and generally possess a strong will, but in my opinion, that is not enough; they still have a long way to go. I intend to do everything I can to teach them everything a former Doomsday Guard learned on the battlefield.

The Lion El'Jonson trusts me, and therefore I must repay that trust. Besides, this is also a way of being loyal to the Emperor.

However, I didn't expect the day of actual combat to come so soon.

Within the Imperium's training system, combat day is a crucial element. Regardless of your unit or whether you believe the rubbish training manual issued by the Departmento Munitorum, you are destined to experience this day.

Training is just training. Some people are elites and top performers before they step onto the battlefield, and they have won several medals for excellent training. But once they step onto the battlefield, they forget everything and can't even hold a gun properly.

So yes, the combat day is the real "ultimate test." If you pass this test, you're a true soldier.

You will learn how to survive a bombing, how to find joy in hardship, how to keep company with mosquito bites and piles of dead bodies—and, most importantly, you will learn one more thing.

Killing itself requires no method.

The Wild Bull rumbled loudly, and I was pretentiously strapped into my seat by two seatbelts, clutching a small silver badge of the Caliban Auxilia's "Squire Knights" in my hand.

Things have changed. The memories of the Doomsday Guard are still fresh in my mind, but I have joined a new unit. Amidst the violent shaking, I lit a cigarette.

It's the familiar "Loyalty" type, specially supplied by the Departmento Munitorum. The moment the smoke is inhaled into the lungs, it feels like being punched in the lungs with astonishing force.

I coughed and exhaled a smoke ring. The strange mix of awkwardness and practice caught the attention of my adjutant Kessler. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled a small metal box from a compartment in my Flak Armour, opened it, and showed me the hand-rolled cigarettes inside.

"Sir?"

"Keep it for yourself," I told him lazily. "And it's best to smoke only half a cigarette a day, Kessler. You need to learn to be frugal."

It's no fun squatting in a trench picking up cigarette butts when there's no smoke to be had.

I chuckled and shook my head, stubbed out my cigarette, and put it back in my pocket. The knee pads of the Flak Armour tormented my poor knees as they swayed, bringing waves of pain, but to be honest, I didn't care about them much anymore.

For the past month, I've forced myself to live and train with the new recruits. On the first day, I was exhausted, but by the second day, I was back to normal.

This will be very beneficial to what we are about to experience.

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, violent jolt. If it were just that, I wouldn't be so annoyed. But my recruits were also thrown around in their seats, feeling dizzy and disoriented.

They were different from me; they wore all six seatbelts, almost like hostages strapped to their chairs.

I frowned, unbuckled my seatbelt, stood up, and began to walk through the cramped rear cabin, braving the swaying.

A Wild Bull can only seat ten people. This outdated model has six hatches and a heavy logging truck mounted on top. It's not a tank, nor is it anything special. It can't compare to the Chimera that I'm already used to riding in.

However, since such an ancient relic can serve in the Squire Knights, a force directly under the Dark Angels, it must have something special about it. I haven't seen that special feature yet, but I have a general idea of what it is.

I walked towards the cockpit and knocked hard on the thick door. The observation window on the door opened, and a pair of green eyes stared at me from behind, then stammered a greeting.

"Sir! Sorry! We've encountered a deep ditch!"

I suppressed the urge to curse and yelled, "Stop calling me 'sir' all the time! Kola, what kind of driving are you two doing? By the Emperor's grace, we're just driving from the landing point to the camp!"

"I'm sorry, sir!"

I shook my head at him and knocked heavily on the hatch twice more. "Try to avoid those damn ditches, and keep the ride smooth!"

"Yes, sir!"

Oh well, it doesn't really matter that he didn't hear my first sentence at all.

I returned to my seat and put on my helmet, but the jolt I had just experienced lingered, bringing with it a sense of foreboding that hovered in my mind.

I'm not superstitious, not one of those who believe in omens, but I am, after all, a former Doomsday Guard. I've fought too many battles, which gives me a good understanding of the personalities of my old comrades who have gone through thick and thin with me.

Take this "Trench Killer" MK-21 combat shotgun in my hand, for example. It weighs four pounds, has a 25-round magazine, and can turn a person into fireworks with one shot. Its nickname is more intuitive than its model name in reflecting its purpose.

Then there's the Wild Bull vehicle sitting right under my butt.

As I've already mentioned, it's an old-fashioned machine, but it's inexpensive and can be fitted with additional armor or weapons at any time according to the commander's requirements, giving it an exceptionally valuable tactical capability—adaptability to different situations.

However, even the most primitive versions of the Wild Bull shouldn't have had their tracks subjected to such a bumpy ride on this plain, unless some idiot in the Second Company ahead of us fired a cannon and blew a crater.

Such a thing is absolutely impossible, because we are the vanguard of this armored force.

I squinted, grabbed the Trench Killer, stood up, and sent a simple tactical code to all the vehicle crews via the company's internal communications. Soon, the rumbling stopped abruptly.

My recruits exchanged glances and quickly realized what was happening. They unbuckled their seatbelts and, as if in training, swiftly and silently gripped their rifles and moved toward the nearest hatch, ready to fire as soon as it closed.

I went to the panoramic viewing window at the rear of the Wild Bull's cabin and began peering out through the heavy machinery. The world around me appeared as a sphere before my eyes, causing a slight dizziness.

The sky was a pale blue, the plains were empty, and there was a forest in the distance. Everything seemed normal, but I soon noticed something—it was too quiet here.

The peephole has a built-in sound capture component, which allows me to hear the chirping of insects and birds in the forest, although the process is very unpleasant, like putting two worms in my ear and letting them poop.

But this time, the two bugs peeping through the window didn't poop in my ears; they were as quiet as if they were dead.

Oh shit.

I pressed the right side of the helmet, switched the communication channel, and successfully verified my identity. After a brief beep, a voice from our destination rang in my ear.

"Sergeant Haide, what happened?" asked Company Commander Mabus, who had arrived at Camp 3 before us.

I quickly recounted what had happened.

"Understood. Prepare for battle. The gunboat is ready for takeoff," he replied curtly. "Let's meet these Xenos."

"Received," I said.

I took a deep breath, feeling a surge of envy I shouldn't have felt. The Squire Knights were truly rolling in money; they owned their own warships and could enjoy a range of tactical advantages, such as remote sensing mapping, before even landing.

After the general situation has been scouted, the well-trained scouts will move in small groups to establish camps and gather intelligence on the enemy. Following that, transport planes and armored units will enter, along with various heavy weapons such as gunboats and tanks.

My original unit didn't offer this kind of treatment.

"Prepare for battle." I switched the communication channel again and said to my recruits. "Follow the training, understand? The Emperor is watching you. Don't let Him down."

I received a tense response, which was fine; they had every right to be tense. I lowered my head and began to check on the Trench Killer's condition.

This is a brand new gun; I've only had it for about twenty days, so it's in excellent condition. I've prepared four magazines for it. In addition, I also have a short "Poison Needle" submachine gun, which is quietly resting on my waist.

The little thing itself is unremarkable in appearance, not much bigger than a pistol, and its power is not much stronger than a regular light gun, but it only has one firing mode: fully automatic.

Moreover, it has a very long magazine that is attached to its rear.

Did I ever say I ever used it to turn a traitor to dust? I mean, bit by bit, from head to toe.

You probably understand what my thinking is behind all this armament I've prepared for myself—but you're probably also wondering, what kind of enemy deserves such an extreme choice of weapons?

Okay, the answer is simple: Aeldari Corsair.

Skinny and dark-skinned, a bunch of bastards.

We received a distress signal three days ago from a galaxy called Minoris, near Banjo-1.

Their governor was convinced that his Agri World was being invaded by the Eldar, and although he provided no concrete evidence, three standard armored regiments of Squire Knights and seventy-five Dark Angels still arrived.

This is part of an agreement or oath that has been in place for tens of thousands of years. People live in peace and prosperity, paying their taxes. When danger strikes, they send out signals to call upon their protectors.

I've never experienced anything like this before, because the Doomsday Guard are always being reassigned, and we're often in the most dangerous battlefields.

Ah, speaking of which, I've encountered a nobleman from Ventrillia twice on different battlefields. They're much like us, always wandering around in hell.

The only difference is that we came under orders, while they paid to send themselves here.

They are a truly admirable bunch of lunatics.

I gripped my gun and calmly pressed a red button on the wall of the Wild Bull. The hatch at the bottom began to open, and before it was fully open, I raised my right hand, giving a tactical signal to the recruits in my vehicle to stay put.

We've been standing still for almost four minutes. Armored units don't rest on the main road. And those Xenos scum aren't stupid; they know the difference. I think they've probably guessed what's going on.

But that's alright, I understand their habits.

If possible, they would much rather drag us out of the armored vehicles and torture us to death one by one; such thoughts or ideas have a fatal attraction for them.

Therefore, I still possess a certain tactical advantage, enough to support me in undertaking a small adventure.

The bottom hatch made a soft bang.

I took out the half-smoked cigarette and lit it. I took a deep drag, then pretended to unbuckle my belt with my left hand and swayed over to the opening at the bottom.

The smell of earth filled my nostrils. I squinted, pretending to urinate, tugged at my pants with my left hand, and exhaled the smoke.

Then I pulled the trigger with my right hand.

The Trench Killer emitted a heavy thud, the flashes of fire flickered, and a scream erupted from the bottom hatch, like the agonizing scream of a corpse from hell. I remained unmoved and continued pulling the trigger until bits of flesh and bone flew across my face before I stopped.

There's something you need to know—they don't really like wearing armor. They're fast and deadly, yes, but they just don't like wearing armor.

Therefore, they deserved to die.

I gripped the gun and quickly retreated, making sure to pull up my pants and fasten my belt as I did so.

My recruits stared at me in disbelief, Kessler especially shocked, but being my adjutant, he reacted first—he started pulling the trigger, just like I did.

This incident saved us, but also dealt a devastating blow to the two dark figures who leaped out of the lower deck hatch. The smell of minced flesh and burning flesh filled the entire cabin. Two mangled corpses swayed and fell, and the rest of us, as if waking from a dream, immediately became alert.

I ignored them and went back to the peephole to continue observing. By then, some shadowy figures had appeared in the nearby forest.

"Come on, you bastards," I whispered, issuing the battle order over the communication channel.

Within twelve seconds, a deafening burst of gunfire erupted simultaneously; every gun and every cannon had fired.

The battle began. The new recruits riding in the Chimera could fire out through the observation ports, but our Wild Bull couldn't; it wasn't designed that way. Besides, lowering the hatch was clearly not a good idea.

I don't want my men to get hit by those poison guns from the Eldar; it's a fate worse than death.

Fortunately, I have another matter to attend to right now.

I tossed the Trench Killer to Kessler, ripped off my helmet and shoved it into his hand, pulled out the Poison Needle from my waistband, and jumped out of the hatch that had brought the attackers. As I suspected, the turbulence I'd just experienced wasn't natural; it was their doing.

I found some kind of Xenos placed circular device on the chassis and side tracks of the Wild Bull.

I don't know what they are, but they're definitely not good stuff. It was an unexpected discovery, but definitely not a pleasant surprise—damn, I almost ground my teeth to dust.

Although I knew all along that these sons of bitches were cunning and always liked to launch surprise attacks, how exactly did they manage to place these things and the ambush right under our feet without us even noticing?

I angrily climbed back, retrieved my helmet, closed the hatch, reported the situation, and issued orders—three minutes later, under the cover of artillery fire, we all left the armored vehicle.

The repair team began inspecting the situation, and I received very bad news.

Almost half of the armored vehicles in the entire recruit company were secretly fitted with Xenos devices. They couldn't remove them and could only identify them as explosives through inspection.

So the situation is now very clear: we've been ambushed. The Xenos somehow planted explosives on our armored vehicles and sent three of them to hide under my Wild Bull, presumably to launch a surprise attack.

They should have been assigned to every armored vehicle; I feel sorry for them.

Then, I quickly changed the order: abandon all armored vehicles that had been planted with explosives, and the remaining armored vehicles continued to advance at a slow speed to serve as cover for the rest of us. My order was quickly carried out, and the attack followed closely behind.

The first recruit to fall was named Harget, a perpetually exhausted man whose leg had been severed by some kind of sharp metal bullet.

He fell to the ground, the shadow of a Chimera looming over him. The gaps between the tracks were not shielded, so more bullets flew in, tearing him to pieces.

One of his intestines flew to my feet, followed by more bullets. Incredibly dense, they flew out from the gaps between tracks or vehicles, hitting my recruits with pinpoint accuracy.

"Take cover!" I yelled. "Turn around, auto-lock and fire! Driver, run over the forest!"

Two minutes later, we made contact with them. In this forest of Minoris II, we began our "close encounter." They looked thin and tall, almost like Shadow, barely recognizable.

They were laughing, their pale faces filled with smug satisfaction, as if they had already figured us out, their teeth gleaming behind their thin lips.

Their strategy is to rely on their speed to descend from the sky and launch a close-range attack in order to evade the firepower of our armored vehicles.

But they were unaware of my existence, nor did they know that I provided each of my new recruits with at least one powerful weapon— the Dark Angels had surplus weapons to do this, and they strongly encouraged their soldiers to do so.

Therefore, this scum realized something was wrong a minute after engaging us. I could see the bewilderment on some of their dead faces: What's going on? How come these humans aren't stupid?

I gripped the Trench Killer with a cold laugh and fired continuously into the woods. I didn't need to aim, because I couldn't possibly catch up to them with my naked eye, but I didn't need to.

They are very agile, but they only have one way to retreat, and all I need to do is fire at that path.

Four minutes after engaging the enemy, five vulture gunboats appeared overhead and, as I requested, began bombing the depths of the forest. Flames erupted, the ground trembled, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Two hours later, as it was getting dark, we arrived at Camp 3. I had set out with 500 men, but now only 329 remained.

Leading new recruits into an encounter with a group of Eldar and having so many survive—that should be a victory worth celebrating, shouldn't it?

At least that's what my superior, Mabus, thought. He came to the infirmary to congratulate me, but I just couldn't feel happy.

I even felt guilty.

Mabus seemed to have seen through my true emotions hidden behind my words of gratitude, so he changed the subject and brought up another matter.

"An officer wishes to see you, Haide."

I was taken aback.

He's already inside my tent—

I stood up quickly, not giving him a chance to continue.

The doctor who was examining me glared at me angrily and had to pull out the injection he hadn't finished giving me. Then, he slapped the gauze soaked in disinfectant on my back, making me stumble.

I gave him an apologetic smile, then quickly put on my uniform, tidied my appearance, and followed him into his tent. There, I saw a familiar face.

Karyl Lohars nodded to me. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Haide."

"Sir, no, sir?"

Wearing a black and red overcoat, he smiled at me and said, "Don't worry about how you address me, just call me Karyl, it's fine."

"Your Inquisitor, how could we possibly overstep our bounds like this?" my superior said, trembling with fear.

"Then just call me the Inquisitor —in any case, gentlemen, I have come on the orders of the Lion El'Jonson." As he spoke, he pulled out a rolled-up military order with his right hand.

Mabus reached out and took it, read it for a moment, then returned it, immediately giving an Aquila Salute. I followed suit, my mind racing. My superior didn't know who this man was, but I...

Okay, to be honest, I don't really know who he is.

But I know he must be a very senior Inquisitor, and a friend of the Lion El'Jonson; their conversation at the Foolish Fisherman's Home was just the kind of small talk that old friends would have.

He returned the greeting, then got straight to the point. "How is the current defensive strength of Camp Three? Is it still sufficient?"

"Absolutely plentiful, sir. The entire Second Company is already stationed here, the armored units are ready to depart at any time, our gunboats are patrolling back and forth in the sky, and reconnaissance teams are scouting the surrounding area."

"Very good." He nodded. "Now listen to me. The specific situation on Minoris II has been ascertained. We are indeed going to fight a group of Eldar."

"Based on past experience, their numbers are not large, and they will most likely retreat after realizing our strength. But they have already captured the planet's lord, Absia Farn, before we could."

"He is the thirty-first lord of the Fane Family, and wields considerable political power. Therefore, if possible, we hope he is alive."

"Understood, sir," Mabus said. "What should we do?"

Karyl Lohars smiled again, "We need a commando unit."

Thirty minutes later, he found me in my tent.

Thanks to my sergeant major status, I got a private tent like Mabus's. It wasn't big, but the conditions were good enough. My back still hurt; I wasn't sure if it was from falling backward to avoid the attack or from the doctor's pats.

I wanted to rest as early as possible so my head wouldn't hurt when I woke up tomorrow. But he came in, so I put on my coat, stood up from my cot, and stood at attention.

"At ease, Sergeant Haide," he said to me in a joking tone.

I couldn't help but laugh— Your the Emperor, if an officer in my old unit had spoken to his men like that, the mad colonel would have torn that person to pieces.

"I think you could tell I was talking nonsense just now, right?" he asked me again.

Isn't that obvious? Of course I could tell, and I'm sure my superior Mabus, could too, otherwise he wouldn't have maintained that bitter and resentful serious expression.

Honestly, is a noble family with considerable political power in dire need of saving?

If he's really that important, why would this burden fall on our shoulders? What about the seventy-five Dark Angels who came with us? I don't believe they landed on the dark side of the planet really to kill the Eldar.

I nodded.

"That makes things easier," he said with a smile. "The truth is actually quite simple, Sergeant. In short, Absia Farn did exist, and he, his wife, children, and half the civilians in the city were indeed captured."

"One of our purposes in coming here is to rescue them. The Dark Angels, who have already liberated three cities, and the local defense forces will launch a frontal attack on this Eldar Kabal, providing cover for us. However, this is not our primary objective."

"Sir, all I need to know is what the mission is." I took a deep breath and told him this.

He looked at me in surprise, then nodded gently. "Okay, the mission is to rescue Absia Farn, and, capture his wife."

I salute.