The Emperor’s Angel of Death

“I'm not an Ogryn!”

Habry's cheeks puffed up, like an angry toad. He hated being called an Ogryn. In fact, he firmly believed he was a proper human, because the old couple who found him had always instilled that in him. Although they lived in a garbage dump, it didn't affect their purity as humans, and it was because of their teachings that Habry had a kind personality that didn't match his physique.

Recently, Habry had been very worried. He was very concerned about his foster parents, because they were very old, and he wondered if something might have happened to them after such a long time without his care.

Fortunately, Hashete often said that the battle was almost over, which made Habry feel a little better. He was also thinking that after the war, he would use the “allowance” he had saved up during this time—which was actually just saved rations and some small spoils of war—to buy his foster father a set of mechanical assistive legs, because he had injured his knee while scavenging in the past, making it difficult for him to move around.

“Alright, alright, I got it.”

After hesitating for a while, Habry finally overcame his fear. The doctor cut open his sleeve with scissors, and was surprised to discover a bloody little hole on his furry arm.

“Hmm, a small problem. Good thing you’re tough.”

Gotta Billion said, poking the wound, while Habry trembled in pain.

“Looks like you were grazed by a piece of shrapnel, taking off a bit of flesh, but it didn't hit the bone or blood vessels.”

As he spoke, he dipped a cotton swab in some disinfectant from a nearby tray and applied it to the wound. Then, he took out some white powder from a box, poured it on the wound, and pressed a gauze pad onto the hole, securing the dressing in place with half a dozen pieces of tape.

“Maybe you didn't even realize you had a hole in you? I guess your feeling will come back soon, and you'll probably find that the wound hurts like your balls have been cut off, so it's possible that your internal organs may also be injured. I don't have the equipment to be sure here, so it's best if you sit here for half an hour, so I can observe you.”

Then he turned to Hayes.

“Lucky Hayes, do you have any painkillers?”

Lucky Hayes, that's what everyone called him, but Hayes never thought he was lucky.

“Four small bottles, in my medical kit.”

“Good, let me see.”

When the medic saw Hayes hesitate, he held out his hand to signal.

“Kit inspection. As the company medic, my job is to make sure you're fully equipped.”

“Uncle Hashete said you'd take our first aid supplies.”

Having said that, Hayes still took the slender, rectangular medical kit from his belt and handed it over.

The doctor opened the metal buckle on the medical kit and rummaged through it, checking the contents.

“Hmm, that old geezer Hashete does know a lot. So he should have told you that my needs are greater than yours, especially in this damn underground. The number of wounded is ten times that of last week. I'll have to requisition some of your first aid supplies.”

“But you can't just take things from my medical kit.”

Hayes said angrily.

“Regulations say—”

“Regulations say a lot of things.”

Gotta Billion said, taking some things out of the medical kit and then returning the kit to Hayes.

“But we can all be sure that no matter which genius wrote them, they wouldn't bother to see if they work in practice. Anyway, I left you half. Medical resources can only save more people if they are concentrated. I believe you can understand this.”

Hayes certainly understood, so he just complained. He knew how severe the shortage of medicines was in the field hospital.

“But if I get seriously injured—”

“Then you need a medic. Just scream loudly and I'll run over.”

Hayes shook his head helplessly, then said to Habry:

“I'm going to prepare some food. You stay here and let the doctor observe you. After you're done, go to the company camp and find me.”

Then he left the field hospital and came to a temporary camp belonging to their company.

Lifting the tattered cloth, he was greeted by a warm air mixed with a strong smell of smoke and stale sweat. Hayes walked past several comrades playing dice on wooden planks, and then walked into the temporary kitchen in the back. Inside, he could see two rows of rusty metal bunks arranged on either side of the iron stove in the center of the camp. Some members of the Third Company were sitting there chatting, eating, or cleaning their weapons, while others were gathered in twos and threes, snorting some powder into their noses or greedily licking a colorful chip. The high-intensity underground combat had made many soldiers dependent on “special drugs,” but Hashete had always warned Hayes to stay away from this stuff. (Note: Drug abuse is very common in the Imperial Guard. There are many descriptions of this in Commissar Cain's stories. Don't imagine the Imperial Guard as a surreal armed force with high awareness. The basic tone of the Imperial Guard is that of a feudal army or a semi-feudal army. Occasionally, some special ones, such as the Krieg, are not representative.)

Cleaned equipment was piled on the rickety shelves and in the niches cut out of the rock walls. You could see lasgun power packs, fragmentation grenades, ration boxes, shotgun shells, bayonets and knives of various shapes and sizes, shovels, pickaxes, hatchets, lanterns, uniforms, flak armor, and even a burnt metal Aquila, possibly from a burned-down small chapel.

This was also a strange point. It seemed that these traitors were also worshiping the Emperor. Did they expect to be redeemed?

But the priests declared that they had been abandoned by the Emperor.

“Ah, Lucky Hayes.”

A sergeant saw Hayes and smiled, pushing aside a canvas backpack to make room for him to pass. A hint of a smile flashed in his red-rimmed eyes.

“Did your company finish the job? Want some booze? I have some brewed.”

Then he turned to look at a broken pot of wine teetering on a small stove next to him, took out a pair of enamel cups, and filled them with black, steaming liquid.

“Try it, our special beetle brew, nice and hot. Although it's made with underground beetles and some powdered tubers instead of real brewing stuff, it's pretty good. After all, even the Emperor himself would have a hard time finding any real ingredients in this hell. Although we all know He can create miracles. To make it more exciting, I mixed in a tenth of a dose of stimulant powder. By the way, it tastes amazing.”

Hayes nodded with a smile, took the cup handed to him, and walked to the side. He didn't plan to drink it, but he knew that Uncle Hashete liked this kind of “alcohol-like beverage” very much, so he put it aside to wait for him to return.

He sat on a stool made of unknown debris, lit the remaining fuel with a lighter, placed the black pot on the bonfire, and then picked up the kettle and poured the remaining water into it.

While waiting for the water to boil, he stretched out his hands to feel the rare warmth. But the underground wasn't completely without benefits. At least he didn't have to endure the biting cold wind on the surface of this planet.

Staring at the flames, Hayes had the illusion that the dead had reappeared beside him, Fizz, Jung—

They were just like in the past, laughing and joking with everyone as they prepared the unappetizing food. Suddenly, the flame flickered. Hayes blinked, and there was no one around him. The water had boiled. He stood up silently, and rummaged through the almost empty plank box for the last bag of corpse starch, pouring a quarter of it into the pot, and then stirring it with a wooden stick like a machine—

After all, this kind of food couldn't bring any expectation.