40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 642 25. Practical combat day (I, 7k)

I must admit, it feels weird to be back in the military. This isn't just a simple return to being a sailor, or a temporary replacement on one of Banjo-1's fishing boats.
This is the army, and the army 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 so, I will laugh at him very bluntly.

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

Let me get back to the point.
I quickly adapted to the position assigned to me by the Lion - sergeant major and one of the instructors of the recruit company. It was a standard tough job and would definitely be hated.

Except for those born soldiers, no one would like to have someone who can bully them at will, and this person holds the power of life and death over them, and corporal punishment and insults are commonplace.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not the kind of instructor who enjoys making trouble for new recruits, but a certain degree of cruelty is necessary. Soldiers who come out of my command must learn one thing before they step into the battlefield for the first time: war will not treat anyone kindly.

If they can't learn this, I would rather they die in the training ground.

So, how am I doing?

As you can see, I'm still feeling a bit weird about being back in the military, but I've gotten used to my new role. Over the past month, I've been working the five hundred new recruits assigned to me through exhaustion at the various drill grounds on the Edge of Reason.

These men and women from Caliban are of high quality and generally have strong wills, but in my opinion, this is not enough, and they still have a long way to go. I intend to do my best to teach them everything I, a former Doom Guardian, have learned on the battlefield.

The Lion trusts me, so I must return that trust. Besides, it is also a way of serving the Emperor.
But I didn’t expect the actual combat day to come so soon.

In the training system within the Empire, the combat day is a very important thing. No matter what unit you are in, believe it or not, you must go through this day.

Training is just training after all. Some people were elite and top-ranked before entering the battlefield, and they had won several medals for excellent training. However, once they entered the battlefield, they forgot everything and couldn't even hold their guns steadily.

So yes, the actual combat day is the real 'ultimate test'. If you can pass it, you will be a real soldier.

You will learn how to survive bombings, how to have fun in the midst of adversity, how to live with mosquito bites and piles of dead bodies - and you will learn the most important thing.

Killing itself requires no method.

The bull rumbled, and I was restrained in my seat in a pretentious manner by two safety belts, a small silver emblem of the Caliban Auxilia 'Squires' unit in my hand.

Things have changed and the Doomsday Guards are still before my eyes, but I have joined a new army. Amid the violent shaking, I lit a cigarette for myself.

It was still the familiar 'loyalty' type specially supplied by the Military Affairs Department. The moment the smoke was inhaled into the lungs, it felt like someone punched the lungs with an astonishing force.

I coughed and blew out smoke rings. The strange combination of unfamiliarity and familiarity attracted the attention of my adjutant Kessler. He hesitantly took out a small iron box from the interlayer of his bulletproof armor, 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 have to learn to be frugal."

It's not fun to squat in a trench picking up cigarette butts with no cigarettes to smoke.

I smiled and shook my head, stubbed out my cigarette, and put it back in my pocket. The knee pads of the bulletproof armor tortured my poor knees as they swayed, causing waves of pain, but to be honest, I didn't care much about them anymore.

For this month, I forced myself to live and train with the new recruits. I was exhausted like a dead dog on the first day, but on the second day, I was back to my old self.

This will be very helpful for what we are about to experience next.
My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden and violent jolt, which would not have annoyed me, but it also made my recruits fall dizzy in their seats.

They were different from me, they had all the seat belts on, six in total, almost like hostages tied to the chairs.
I frowned, unbuckled my seat belt, stood up, and walked in the crowded rear cabin despite the shaking.

A Bison can only seat ten people. This old-fashioned model has six hatches and a heavy-duty lumberjack mounted on the top. It is not a tank, nor is it a treasure. It is not as good as the Chimera that I have long been accustomed to.

However, since this antique can serve in the Squire Knights, a unit directly under the Dark Angels, it must have something special. I haven't seen that special point yet, but I have roughly guessed what it is.

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

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

I resisted the urge to curse and shouted, "Don't be so bossy, Cora, how are you two driving? For the Emperor's sake, we are only driving from the landing point to the camp!"

"I'm sorry, sir!"

I shook my head at him and banged on the hatch twice more. "Try to avoid those damn ditches and drive steadily!"

"As you command, sir!"

It didn't matter that he didn't hear my first sentence at all.

I returned to my seat and put on my helmet, but the bump had not completely gone away. It brought a sense of foreboding that lingered in my heart.

I'm not superstitious, and I'm not one of those people who believes in all kinds of 'omens', but I am a former Doomsday Guard after all, and I've fought in too many battles, which makes me understand the characters of those old guys who have been through life and death with me.

Take the 'Trench Killer' MK-21 combat shotgun in my hand for example. It weighs four pounds, has a large magazine of rounds, and can turn a person into fireworks with one shot. The nickname of this thing more intuitively reflects its purpose than its model.

Then there was the Bison armored vehicle sitting right under my butt.
As I mentioned, it's an old antique, but it's cheap and can be equipped with additional armor or weapons at any time according to the commander's requirements, which gives it an extremely valuable tactical ability - adapting to local conditions.

But even the most primitive versions of the Bison were not supposed to have their tracks subjected to the jolting that was going on in this flat country, unless some idiot in the Second Company, passing ahead of us, had fired a cannon and blew a hole in it.

And this will never happen because we are the vanguard of this armored force.

I squinted my eyes, grabbed the trench killer, stood up, and sent a simple tactical code to all the crews using the company's internal communication. Soon, the rumbling sound suddenly stopped.

My recruits looked at each other and quickly realized what was happening. They unbuckled their seat belts and quickly and silently approached the nearest hatch with their guns in hand, as if they were in training, ready to shoot as soon as the hatch was lowered.

I went to the panoramic window on the rear hatch of the Wild Bull and began to peer out through the heavy machinery. The world around me was reflected in my eyes like a ball, bringing a slight dizziness.
The slightly blue sky, the open plains, and the forest not far away. Everything seemed normal, but I soon noticed one thing - 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 this process is very uncomfortable, it is like putting two insects in my ears and letting them poop.
But this time, the two bugs peeking through the window didn't shit in my ears. They were so quiet that they looked like they were dead.

Oh shit.

I pressed the right side of the helmet and switched the communication channel. The identity verification was successful, and after a short beep, a voice from our destination sounded in my ears.

"Sergeant Hayed, what happened?" asked the company commander Mabus, who arrived at Camp No. 3 before us.

I quickly recounted the events.

"Understood. Get ready for battle. The gunship is preparing to take off." He replied briefly. "Let's meet these aliens."

"Got it," I said.

Gunboat I took a deep breath, feeling an inappropriate amount of envy. The squires were truly wealthy, they had their own warships, and could enjoy a host of other tactical advantages such as remote sensing and mapping before landing.

After the general situation has been explored, those well-trained scouts will act in small groups, set up camps, and scout the enemy situation. After that, transport planes and armored units will enter the field, as well as various heavy firepower, such as gunboats and tanks.

My previous unit didn't have this kind of treatment.

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

I got a nervous response, which was fine, they were supposed to be nervous. I lowered my head and began to check on the condition of the trench killer.

This is a new gun. I have only had it for 20 days, so it is in very good condition. I have prepared four magazines for it. In addition, I also have a short-length "Poison Needle" submachine gun, quietly sitting behind my waist.

The body of the little thing is unremarkable, not much bigger than a pistol, and its power is not much stronger than an ordinary light gun, but it has only one firing mode: fully automatic.

Also, it has a very long magazine attached to its rear.

Did I mention I once ground a traitor to dust with it? I mean, bit by bit, from head to legs.
You can probably see the idea behind the weapons I prepared for myself - but you might also be wondering, what kind of enemy deserves such extreme weapon choices?

Well, the answer is simple, Eldar Pirates.

Thin, dark, a bunch of bastards.

We received news three days ago that a distress signal was sent from a system called Minoris near Banjo-1.

Their governor was convinced that one of his agricultural worlds was being invaded by the Eldar, and although he did not provide any concrete evidence, three standard armored regiments of the Knights Squire and seventy-five Dark Angels came anyway.
This is part of a covenant or oath that has been in place for tens of thousands of years. People live peacefully and pay taxes. When they are in danger, they send out signals to call for their protectors.

I've never experienced anything like this before, because the Doom Guards are always being transferred around, and we often appear in the most dangerous battlefields.

Ah, speaking of which, I've run into a noble lord from Ventria twice on different battlefields. They're pretty much the same as us, always running around in Hell.

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

They are truly a group of respectable lunatics.

I held the gun and calmly pressed a red button on the wall of the Bison. The bottom hatch began to open, and before it was fully opened, I raised my right hand and made a tactical gesture to the recruits in the same car with me to stay alert.

We have been stopped for almost four minutes. Armored troops will not rest on the road. And those alien scum are not stupid. They know the difference. I think they have probably guessed something.
But it doesn't matter, I understand their habits.

If possible, they would rather drag us out of the armored vehicles and torture us to death one by one. This or similar thoughts have a fatal attraction to them.

Therefore, I still have a certain degree of tactical advantage, enough to support me to take a little adventure.

The bottom hatch opened with a soft bang.

I took out the half-smoked cigarette and lit it for myself. I took a deep puff, then pretended to unbuckle my belt with my left hand and staggered to the opening at the bottom. The smell of soil seeped into my nostrils, I squinted my eyes, pretended to pee, pulled my pants with my left hand, and spit out the cigarette.

Then I pulled the trigger with my right hand.

The trench killer made a heavy muffled sound, the flames leaped, and a scream came out from the opening of the bottom hatch, like the scream of a dead person in hell. I continued to pull the trigger indifferently until the pieces of flesh and bones flew across my face.

One thing 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.

So they deserved to die.

I stepped back quickly, gun in hand, while still pulling up my pants and fastening my belt.

My recruits stared at me in amazement, Kessler in particular was shocked, but he was my lieutenant after all, so he reacted before they did—he started pulling the trigger, just like me.

This incident saved us, but also brought a devastating blow to the two shadows that jumped out of the bottom hatch. The smell of minced meat and burnt flesh filled the entire cabin, and the two broken bodies staggered and fell. The remaining people woke up as if from a dream and immediately began to be alert.

I ignored them and went back to the peephole to continue watching. At this time, some shadowy figures appeared in the forest nearby.

Come on, bastards, I whispered, issuing combat orders on the communication channel.

Within twelve seconds, deafening gunfire broke out simultaneously, and every gun and every cannon had opened fire.

The battle began. The recruits riding in the Chimera could shoot out through the observation hole, but this was not the case with the Bull we were riding in. It did not have such a design. Besides, lowering the hatch was obviously not a good idea.

I don't want my people to be hit by the poison guns of the Eldar, that would be a living hell.

Fortunately, I have another matter to deal with now.

I threw the trench killer to Kessler, pulled off my helmet and stuffed it into his hand, pulled out the poison needle from my waist, and jumped out of the hatch that brought the attacker. As I expected, the bump just now was not caused by nature, but they were playing tricks.
I found some kind of circular device placed in an alien shape on the chassis and tracks on both sides of the Bison.

I don't know what they are, but I don't think they're good. It was an unexpected discovery, but it wasn't an unexpected one - damn, I nearly broke my teeth.

Although I have long known that these bastards are very cunning and always like to launch surprise attacks, how on earth did they arrange these things and ambushes under our feet without us even noticing?

I crawled back angrily, retrieved my helmet, closed the hatch, reported the situation, issued orders - three minutes later, under the cover of artillery fire, all of us left the armored vehicle.

The maintenance team started to check the situation and I got some very bad news.

Almost half of the armored vehicles in the entire recruit company were installed with alien devices without our knowledge. They were unable to remove them and could only find out through inspection that they were explosives.

So, the situation is now clear: we were ambushed, the aliens had somehow rigged explosives to our armored vehicle, and had sent three of them to hide under my Wild Bull, presumably to launch a surprise attack.
They should be on every armored vehicle, I feel sorry for them.

Then I quickly changed the order: abandon all armored vehicles that had been equipped with explosives, and the remaining armored vehicles continued to move forward, keeping a slow speed, serving as cover for the rest of us. My order was quickly executed, and the attack followed closely.

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

He just fell to the ground, the shadow cast by a Chimaira covering him, and the gap between the tracks was not blocked, so more bullets flew in and shattered him into pieces.

A piece of his intestines flew to my feet, and then more bullets. In a dense stream, they flew out from the gaps between tracks or vehicles, hitting my recruits accurately.

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

Two minutes later, we made contact. In this forest on Minoris II, we began to have 'close contact' with them. They looked thin and tall, almost like shadows, and difficult to identify.

They were smiling, with a look of smugness on their pale faces, as if they had already devoured us, their teeth gleaming behind their thin lips.

Their strategy was to rely on their speed to drop from the sky and launch close-range attacks to avoid the firepower of our armored vehicles.

But they don't know I exist, or that I give each of my recruits at least one powerful firearm - the Dark Angels have more than enough weapons to do this, and they strongly encourage their soldiers to do so.

So, within a minute of their engagement, these bastards realized something was wrong. I could see the confusion on some of their dead faces: What's going on? How come these humans aren't stupid?

I sneered, tightened my grip on the Trench Killer, and fired at the woods. I didn't need to aim, because I couldn't catch up with them with my naked eyes, but I didn't need to do that.

They were very agile, but they only had one way to retreat, and I just had to fire at that one way.
Four minutes after we made contact, five Vulture gunboats appeared above us and, as I requested, aimed their bombing at the depths of the forest. Flames rose, the ground shook, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

Two hours later, as it was getting dark, we arrived at Camp No. 3. I had led 500 people when we set out, but now there were only 329 left.

Leading the new recruits into an encounter with a group of Eldar and having so many of them survive should be a victory worth celebrating, right?
At least that's what my commander, Mabuse, thought, and he came to the infirmary to congratulate me, but I couldn't be happy at all.

I even felt guilty.

Mabuse seemed to see my true emotions hidden behind my words of thanks, so he changed the subject and talked about another matter.

"There's an officer who wants to see you, Sergeant Hayed."

I was taken aback.

"He is already in my tent—"

I stood up quickly without giving him a chance to continue.

The doctor who examined me looked at me angrily and had to pull out the injection that was not yet completed. Then he slapped the gauze stained with disinfectant on my back, causing me to stagger.

I smiled at him apologetically, then immediately put on my military uniform, tidied my appearance, and followed him into his tent. There, I saw a familiar face.

Caryl Rohals nodded to me. "Nice to see you again, Hayd."

"My Lord, no, sir?"

He was wearing a black and red coat and smiled at me: "Don't worry about the name, just call me Khalil."

"Your Honor, how could we overstep our bounds?" my superior said in fear and trepidation.

"Then just call me Inquisitor - in short, both of you, I come here on the orders of the Lion." As he spoke, he pulled out a rolled-up military order with his right hand.

Mabuse took it, read it for a moment, and returned it, immediately saluting with the Eagle. I followed his salute, but my mind was full of thoughts. My superiors didn't know who this person was, but I...
Well, to be honest, I actually have no idea who he is.

But I know that he must be a very senior inquisitor and a friend of the Lion. Their conversation in the stupid fisherman's house was just a casual chat between old friends.

He returned the greeting and then got straight to the point: "May I ask what is the current defense strength of Camp No. 3? Is it still sufficient?"

"Very sufficient, sir. All members of the Second Company are already stationed here, the armored forces are ready to go at any time, our gunboats are patrolling back and forth in the sky, and the reconnaissance team is exploring the surrounding area."

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

"Based on past experience, their number is not large, and they will most likely retreat after realizing our strength. But they have already captured the lord of this planet, Abusia Faan, before us."

"He is the 30th generation Lord of the Fain family and has considerable political power. Therefore, if possible, we hope to keep him alive."

"Understood, my Lord," said Mabuse. "What are we going to do?"

Caryl Lohals smiled again: "We need a commando team."

Thirty minutes later, he found me in my tent.

Thanks to my status as a sergeant major, I was given a private tent like Mabuse's. It wasn't big, but it was good enough. My back was still hurting, and I wasn't sure if it was from the fall to avoid the attack or the slap from the doctor.

I wanted to get to bed as early as possible so that I wouldn't have a headache when I got up early the next day. But he came in, so I put on my coat, stood up from the cot, and saluted.

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

I couldn't help but laugh - Emperor, if an officer in my former unit spoke to his subordinates like this, Colonel Madman would definitely eat that person alive.
"I think you can tell that I was talking nonsense just now?" he asked me again.

Isn't this nonsense? Of course I can hear it, and I believe my superior Mabus can hear it too, otherwise he wouldn't have kept that serious expression of deep hatred.

Seriously, a noble with considerable political power in desperate need of saving?

If he was so important, how could such a heavy burden fall on us? What about the seventy-five Dark Angels who came with us? I don't think they really landed on the dark side of the planet to kill the Eldar.

I nodded.

"Then that's easy," he said with a smile. "The truth is actually very simple, Sergeant Major. In short, Abusia Faan did exist, and he, his wife, children, and half of the civilians in the city were indeed captured."

"One of the purposes of our trip is to rescue them. The Dark Angels who have liberated three cities and the local defense forces will attack this Eldar conspiracy group head-on and cover us. However, our primary target is not him."

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

He looked at me in surprise, then nodded gently: "Okay, the mission is to save Abusia Faan and capture his wife."

I salute.

(End of this chapter)