The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Standard Terra calendar, 941.m41

　　 Armageddon, Ash Plains, Position 39

　　 "Obviously, my mother often told me that if you can't change the status quo, then you have to adapt to the status quo, such as—"

　　 "For example, immediately close the dog's mouth that you can't spit out green teeth, pick up an engineer's shovel, and dig some soil to pad it under your feet. This will make your feet feel much better."

　　 Oh, the emperor is here.

As far as common sense is concerned, an introverted person is not suitable to be a commander. That’s right, but due to the rules of emergency mobilization in wartime, Hartman Paul is honored to have the command of an infantry squad. It took only half a month for the superior soldiers to be promoted to noncommissioned officers.

　　 Their current unit is the Armageddon 114 Infantry Regiment, which has a glorious history in the planet.

Of course, perhaps the "they" mentioned in the previous sentence should not be added, because the 114 Infantry Regiment simply did not take these recruits who were native workers and citizens a month or two ago in mind, so as it should be, they Instead of rushing straight towards the greenskin with the large forces, they guarded some insignificant places.

　　 Hartman Paul can imagine the gigantic smiles of those **** with military ranks.

　　Well, stay behind as you stay. He was originally his hometown, and he didn't care if he could get a green tooth.

　　 Of course, except for squatting in the trenches.

　　 Thinking of Hartman Paul here, he just looked upset.

Take a look at this big crater. It is also along the river and is collecting rain. Now there is a shadow season unique to the planet. Many volcanoes have begun to erupt and dark clouds have covered the sky. This not only makes the remote communication inside the planet extremely difficult and converges. The sewage also numbed the calves of these recruits, and their feet were soaked like flour and fermented.

　　 And those old soldiers shrank in the three-story warehouse by the bridge and ate the soup dripping from the beard on the greasy armor of the carapace.

　　 "Fuck it."

　　 subconsciously reached out and touched the empty cigarette case on the helmet, Hartman Paul reluctantly said to the left-handed Shechar:

　　 "Go, pick me up a cigarette butt."

　　 Shechar, who has just turned seventeen, is using an engineer shovel to dig up the debris on the edge of the trench. He was just a baker not long ago.

　　 "Sir, this is the seventh time."

　　 then stomped **** his feet with his frozen legs.

"forgive me."

　　 "Then, Hapi?"

　　 The shoe repairer waved his hand.

　　 "Corns?"

　　 The guy who is using a bayonet to shave his beard doesn’t have him at all.

　　 Don't ask the rest, Hartman knows that none of them are to convince him.

　　 According to the usual practice, awe and obedience to the superiors are the common sense of the guards, but there is an exception here, because these **** know that even if they are not a bird, he can only bear it if he is introverted.

　　Sometimes he would also think about the common sense routine of going to tm, and why others use it compliantly. Once he gets to it, he can’t do anything.

　　 Alas, the emperor is here!

　　 Hartman had to pick up the cigarette **** by the warehouse window himself, and the only advantage of climbing out of the trench was to make the wet boots slightly dry, but he slipped a bit when he climbed to the edge.

　　 "Be careful, sir!"

　　 "Be careful with your fart."

　　 Hartman who crawled out took a deep breath. The air here is different from the freshness of the park he was in. Now the air only smells like soot.

　　 No one can tell the reason.

　　 He was originally a gardener, but he was a boy scout when he was a teenager. He didn't expect that when the mobilization order came, he was directly used as a "non-commissioned officer reserve" and was given priority for recruitment.

　　 Good luck is always far away from him.

　　 He still remembered the last command they received from these old soldiers so far, which was actually just two words-Shouqiao.

　　 What's so good about this bridge? The complicated network of Harpy once made Hartman beware of the news that Greenskins might attack at any time, but according to their superiors, they are the offensive side, and Greenskins is just a small trouble that is better than the nest gang.

　　 It seems very convincing to see how those old soldiers look like Jiuchi Meat Grove all day long.

　　 A cold wind engulfed in volcanic ash blew, Hartman shrank his neck, and the three-story warehouse built by the bridge in front of him used to be the grain purchase station in this area.

　　 Of course, it's not so much an acquisition as a legal robbery covering a fig leaf.

　　 There were rumors that the warehouse was designed with military fortification standards in order to prevent peasants from violent actions, but now it seems that the strength of the roof only collapsed in an accidental shelling proves that this is true.

　　 Quietly, Hartman bent over and squatted by the window sill of the warehouse.

"Yo."

　　 A contemptuous voice sounded, and Hartman looked up and found that it was one of these old soldiers who blinked at him.

　　 "If you think of this as a public toilet, then we better talk about it."

　　Well, perhaps in the eyes of this group of guard veterans, the intelligence of their group of recruits is only higher than that of Oglin, and discrimination can be regarded as the normal state of this group of people.

　　 Hartman ignored him, reached out his hand and picked up one third of the cigarette butts, and held it in his mouth.

　　 "Oh, it's quite individual."

　　 The veteran rubbed his stubble chin.

　　 "Well, if you want a cigarette, just say it, sneaky..."

　　 After finishing, he raised his left hand, hung the gun on the window sill, and began to fumble for the greasy armed belt with both hands.

"give."

　　 The veteran tore off the cigarette **** from Hartman's mouth and inserted a new cigarette.

"...Thanks."

　　 "Where."

　　 The veteran smiled frankly.

　　 "Do you want fire?"

　　 "No, I have my own way..."

　　 Boom————————!

　　 The explosion sounded suddenly, and Hartman was scared to climb directly to the ground.

　　 Just as he was lying unsightly in the stagnant water and gasping for breath, Sechar yelled in his even more unsightly voice.

"I'm coming!"

　　 "What's coming?"

　　 Hartman was a fish, stretched out his hand in the trench and tightly held his deadly pistol~www.wuxiaspot.com~ Several rolls rolled back into the trench with muddy water, and then slightly raised his head.

　　 I saw a group of terrifying green beasts with two feet in the mist, holding up their swords and axes, as if they were about to step on the poor concrete bridge with their slightly trembling footsteps on the ground.

　　 This is the first time Hartman has seen Green Skins. It was more terrifying than he thought, because in the issued combat manual, Green Skins should be thin, small and timid things. Why are these big and fierce?

　　 "Be careful to hide!"

　　 Hartman pushed the Harpy with the gun down and asked everyone to lower their heads. Not to mention that the green-skin shooting was just a sound. It is no joke that there are too many bullets.

　　 But at this moment, another voice sounded.

　　 "Don't lie on your stomach!!!"

　　 There was a shout from the warehouse. It was the veteran who handed Hartman cigarettes riding in front of the window.

　　 "Let go of the fight! These **** have no range with melee weapons!"

　　 seems to be to prove his judgment. The laser gun in his hand fired at once, which seemed very comfortable.

　　 But Green Skins is obviously not as simple as what he said. The laser gun did not hit the target, but it angered the Green Skins. They rushed to the first few guys. After reaching out, there were several big guns with black smoke.

　　 "Fuck me!"

　　 The veteran hurriedly shrank back, and then the window sill he had stayed on before became a sieve.