God Emperor’s Angel of Death

Standard Tyler Calendar, 942.M41

Armageddon planet, main continent, Hades Nest

After 6 months of siege— —

When I saw that simple commission letter, Hartman Paul still couldn’t believe that he had become a leader in the true sense-even though his regiment was broken up. The remnants of defeated generals and the temporary signs of young people over 14 years old.

Their designation is the 9th Infantry Regiment of Hades, which sounds good, but in fact their equipment is very miserable. About half of the people can only use simple live ammunition weapons and heavy firepower. Limited to two heavy bombs and a few logging guns.

So the soldiers often complain that they are "cannon fodder", but in fact, this is not as bad as the hundreds of baby soldiers appeared in front of Hartman. He feels like he has become a nanny. Like.

What’s more terrible is that the Zhongchao rail transit hub they were ordered to defend seems to have been attacked by the enemy recently. After six months of fierce battle, the bottom of Hades’ nest has basically fallen. Now, the remaining humans can only continue to put up a desperate struggle in the middle nest with high walls.

But not all places are protected by retaining walls, such as this transportation hub, but the advantage is that it is relatively high and can form a certain degree of suppression.

Although the shadow season has passed, the darkness of Armageddon's night sky is still dull, just like the tattered military uniforms that everyone wears day after day.

Suddenly, the morning sun cuts through the night sky like a dagger, and is as quiet as a knife made a hole. The dull red rays of light penetrated the black sky.

Finally, the sun rose, casting a gloomy yellowish-brown light into the continuous trenches.

red stars are incomparable gigantic, just like roasted rotten fruits, rays of light at dawn illuminate the earth beyond a thousand li like lightning.

Hartman Paul woke up, feeling extremely sore in his limbs and body.

He crawled out of the small den he had dug in the trenches for temporary rest, his boots kissing the gray mud in the trenches—the fenders that had been covered there were gone.

He originally looked soft and collapsed. After months of hard fighting, he now looks as strong as a cow, with some fresh tattoos on his broad, furry arms, and a thick and fluffy beard.

He yawned and stood up in a military uniform with black straps.

In the trenches, under the sandbags, gabion walls and sharp rusty barbed wire rolls, the soldiers also got up to the sound of drums.

Coughing, panting, and soft crying are intertwined, like the sound of a ghost wandering in the morning.

The match is lit under the low sloping retaining wall: everyone is checking their weapons and wiping the moisture on them-the firing device is repeatedly pulled out and pushed into the barrel.

At the same time, the soldiers in charge of night vigilance began to sleep in their homing.

The soldiers who woke up walked out of the temporary resting place, lined up in the camp, and received their own food rations.

Although there are no specific rules, the barracks also have their own rules. The veterans are always in the front row, and the child soldiers are always at the end.

"Hello sir!"

Amidst the salute,

Hartman walked hard in the mud, looking at the long and winding In the trenches, I want to see where those sleepy-eyed, complexion pale, exhausted Sentinels come from.

Ten kilometers away, between the huge unloading platform and the front assembly plant, the lights flickered on the huge communication line tower.

In the dark and hidden corner of the guard post, Sentinel stood upright with a camouflage cloak, still carrying dry mud.

Then the sleepy Sentinel felt that they were being photographed. It turned out that it was the shift changer who came, so they joked with each other and exchanged cigarettes.

The night shift Sentinel is a chore for the Sorrowful Ghost, because it is too tired, but it is very important, because Greenskin’s favorite is the night attack—the wild beasts have endless strength. No matter day or night, there are always new tricks.

For example, two days ago they killed a guy who was about to sneak into the kitchen and pour dung in their food.

Looking at the Sentinel, Hartman felt like they were ghosts returning to the tomb—or all of them were ghosts.

Under the breast wall of the trench, the guy was burning coffee-like things on the shabby small plate on the fusion stove, and a pungent smell immediately floated into Hartman’s nose and aroused him. Attention.

Of course, this place is impossible to have coffee, at most there are only "coffee-like" things. Of course, how far this thing is related to coffee, then only Divine Sovereign knows.

"Cut me a little bit of that stuff."

The already promoted Colonel Hartman quickly walked through the trenches and came to the front of the guy. This Old Guy is more than 50 years old, and his body is thin and solid. , Is not healthy, and his left ear is wrapped in gauze. It was picked up by Hartman from the ruins. It is said that he had a prominent position in Zhongchao before.

is the boss of a luxury hotel.

But now, go to the hell of any status, everyone is the same.

"Okay, sir."

The old man, nodded, handed Hartman a crooked metal cup, his old eyes full of fatigue.

"How many things are left in the warehouse?"

Hartman pursed his lips, holding the cup in his left hand, enjoying the warm cup.

This old man is not only a clerk, but also their logistics supervisor, because Hartman is completely unfamiliar with this piece.

"Not much, there are still 20 boxes of protein chunks, and only five bags of corpse starch left—"

After that, his voice was interrupted,

In the orange sky, a team of crimson fighters screamed across the trenches and flew north.

Soon, the casting temple of the Mechanic Cult on the horizon spewed out heavy flames, and the inside of these industrial cathedrals was burning with raging flames.

One second later, there was a loud bombing noise from the dry wind.

Hartman sipped his drink and watched the fighter plane fly away. The Void Shield of the Nest Capital can only cover the spire of the Nest Capital, so the Greenskin Fighters will bombard almost daily.

Everyone is not surprised.

Back on the ground, I realized that the thing in the cup was really hard to drink,

Hartman couldn’t help it

Whisted the guy:

p>

"It's a TM good thing."

shook the head,

Hartman lowered his voice and said to the old man:

" From the next meal, everyone’s ration will be halved."

"Huh? Sir, it’s been halved before. Everyone almost didn’t eat me alive, so I’m afraid you will see it. It’s not time for me to make my next meal."

"Everyone is joking, but you all understand."

"Is there no supply afterwards?"

Hartman did not answer, but gave a cold smile.

"Stop asking, do what you should do..."

Suddenly, he thought of something, let the other person get closer to him, and then use a very low voice Said:

"In the evening, you secretly make something for those little ghosts, and let their Captain separate the time to get it."

"Understood."

After drinking the coffee, he walked another kilometer along the winding trenches and saw a soldier awakened by the loud sound of a short-range laser gun hitting a sandbag, and then came shouts and curses.

It turned out that someone was shooting the mice, and the mice that couldn't get rid of it were using their lizard-like teeth to bite the plastic sealed box containing the food.