The Emperor’s Angel of Death

  Chapter 674 Cannon fodder regiment

  Standard Terra calendar, 942.M41

  Amageddon planet, main continent, Hades nest

  After 6 months of siege—

When seeing that simple commission letter, Hartman Paul still couldn't believe that he had become a regiment commander in the true sense-although his regiment were all broken up and defeated and temporary signs of 14 Composed of teenagers over the age of.

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

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

Even worse, the Zhongchao rail transit hub that they were ordered to defend seems to have been attacked by the enemy recently. After six months of fierce battle, the bottom of the Hades Nest has basically fallen, and the remaining humans can only In the nest with high walls, continue to resist.

  But not all places are protected by retaining walls, such as this transportation hub, but the advantage is that its location is relatively high, which 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 dawn of the sun cut through the night sky like a dagger, and it was as quiet as a knife cut out, and the dull red light penetrated the black sky.

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

  The red star is huge, just like a roasted rotten fruit, the light of dawn shines on the earth thousands of miles away.

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

  He crawled out of the den where he temporarily rested in the trench dug, his boots kissed the gray mud in the trench—the fender that had been covered there was 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 was wearing a military uniform with a black band, and stood up yawning.

  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 cry 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 sleep.

  The soldiers who woke up came out of the temporary rest place, lined up in the camp, and received their 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!"

  In a salute,

  Hartman walked hard in the mud, looking into the long and winding trenches, wanting to see where the sleepy-eyed, pale, exhausted sentinels came 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, the sentry in the camouflage cloak stood upright, still carrying dry mud.

  After that, the sleepy sentinels 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 sentry is a chore for ghosts and sorrows, because it is too tired, but it is very important, because Greenskin’s favorite is the night attack-that group of beasts can use their inexhaustible strength, no matter the day or night, they can always make new things. Tricks.

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

  Looking at the sentinels, 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, arousing his attention.

  Of course, it is impossible to have coffee in this place. At most, there are only “coffee-like” things. Of course, how far this thing is related to coffee, then only the emperor knows.

   "Cut me a little bit of that stuff."

The already-promoted Colonel Hartman quickly walked through the trenches and came to the clerk. This old guy is over fifty. He is thin and solid, not very healthy, and his left ear is covered with gauze. Hartman picked it up from the rubble. It is said that he had a prominent position in Zhongchao before,

   is the owner of a luxury hotel.

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

   "Okay, sir."

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

   "How many things are still 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—"

   Then, his voice was interrupted,

  In the orange sky, a group of scarlet fighters screamed across the trenches and flew north.

   Soon, the casting temples of the Mechatronics 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 Nether Capital’s Void Shield can now only cover the spire of the Nest Capital, so the Greenskin Fighters will bombard almost daily.

  Everyone is not surprised.

   went back to the ground and realized that the thing in the cup was really hard to drink,

   Hartman can’t help

   murmured to the husband:

   "It's a TM good thing."

   shook his head,

  Hartman lowered his voice and said to the old man:

  "Everyone's ration will be cut in half from the next meal. UU看书www.uukānshu.com"

   "Huh? Sir, it's been reduced by half before. Everyone almost didn't eat me alive. I'm afraid you won't see me make the next meal."

   "Everyone is playing around, but they all understand."

  "Is there no supplies behind?"

   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 said in a very low voice:

   "In the evening, you secretly make a little 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 noise of a short-range laser gun hitting a sandbag, and then there were bursts of 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.

  (End of this chapter)