Zzt…
Bzzzt!
The suppression lasgun in Rod’s hands let out its distinctive hum.
The curtain of rain was instantly vaporized by high-energy laser fire, rising into a cloud of white mist.
Like predicting the arc of a high-flying projectile in an FPS game, he did not wait for those lunatics with rocket packs to land.
While those Greenskins were still shrieking in midair and adjusting their posture, Rod had already pulled the trigger.
Not controlled bursts.
A sweeping spray of fire.
The suppression lasgun empowered by Sergeant Hack’s work now revealed its vicious side.
Thick fan-shaped beams swept into the dense airborne formation like crimson blades of light.
“Waaah?!”
Several Stormboyz flying at the front did not even have time to finish shouting “Waaagh.”
The high-energy beams instantly pierced through their crude iron armor.
Even deadlier, the beams swept across the unstable rocket packs on their backs.
Boom!
Boom, boom!
Several dazzling fireballs erupted in midair.
The hit Boyz fell like green-headed flies swatted out of the air, trailing black smoke and burning fragments as they screamed down toward the ground.
In the corner of his vision, pale golden text leapt out.
[Killed Stormboy x3.
Experience gained]
[Skill Level Up: Lasgun Shooting LV2]
[Current Experience: 20/100]
Looks like all that anti-air prediction from playing War Thunder wasn’t wasted!
But that brief success was only a drop in the bucket.
“Fire!
Shoot them down!”
Rod’s comrades were stimulated by his “anti-air fire” and raised their lasguns, firing into the sky.
But there were too many enemies.
Those rocket-wearing Greenskins were like a storm of green hail.
And the main Ork force on the ground had also begun to push harder.
Battlewagon guns and countless large-caliber solid rounds swept along the trench line like plows, pinning most of the soldiers down so hard they could not raise their heads.
Thud!
Thud!
Heavy impacts rang out one after another.
Some unlucky Stormboyz lost control of their rocket packs and plunged headfirst into the mud.
With a crack, the sound of their necks snapping was clearly audible even amid the chaos of battle.
But many more Greenskins found their footing.
“Chop up da humies!”
They roared and drew heavy choppas from their backs.
Close combat erupted instantly.
But this was not an even fight.
“Aaaargh!”
An Astra Militarum soldier tried to parry with his bayonet, but the Stormboy only swung its choppa once.
The vast difference in strength sent the bayonet flying like a toothpick.
Immediately after, the heavy choppa fell and split the soldier open from head to shoulder.
Blood sprayed across the muddy trench wall.
Strength, size, savagery.
This was the logic of melee combat in the Warhammer universe.
Even trained mortals were still as fragile as paper before these “weapons” born for war.
Only a small number of exceptionally strong veterans, or experienced men like Platoon Leader Karl, could barely use the terrain to maneuver.
As for Rod, he stood at a bend in the trench.
This was an excellent firing position.
He did not go in with a bayonet.
That was not his strength.
He held the heavy suppression lasgun, braced against the sandbags, with the muzzle almost pressed into the faces of the Greenskins charging in.
Zzt!
Zzt!
Zzt!
At close range, the suppression lasgun’s power was terrifying.
Every shot opened a large charred hole in a Greenskin.
A Stormboy that had raised its blade and was about to cut down one of Rod’s comrades was hit in the side of the face.
Half its head instantly vanished, and a burnt stench filled the air.
The comrade who had narrowly escaped death was covered in blood.
He stared wide-eyed at Rod.
He did not even have time to say thank you.
Trembling, he picked up his gun and pulled the trigger at another charging Greenskin.
Survival now overrode all courtesy.
Click.
The lasgun in Rod’s hands suddenly went dark.
The high-capacity power cell had run dry.
Rod’s fingers moved quickly, pressing the latch and ejecting the scalding spent cell.
At that moment…
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Heavy footsteps accompanied by rough breathing approached from the communication trench on the right.
No time to reload!
Rod’s eye twitched.
He swung the still-smoking lasgun onto his back, letting the sling catch it, while his right hand moved to his waist.
The brick-like bolt pistol entered his grip.
Draw.
Raise.
Aim at the corner.
At that very instant…
A burly Stormboy, a head taller than ordinary Boyz, charged out.
It swung a bloodstained chainaxe in its hands, foul saliva spraying from its mouth.
“WAAA…”
Rod did not truly aim.
He felt as if the system had strengthened his intuition.
At a distance of less than five meters, the bolt pistol roared.
Bang!
The gunshot was deep and thunderous, completely drowning out the chaotic battle cries around him.
The enormous recoil traveled up his arm.
Rod felt as if his wrist had been struck hard by an iron hammer, sending sharp pain through it.
Damn!
This thing kicks hard!
But the effect was devastating.
The thick bolt round drilled precisely into the Greenskin’s broad chest.
The delayed fuse triggered.
Pfft…
Boom!
The Stormboy’s chest exploded as if a grenade had been stuffed inside it.
A basketball-sized hole appeared in the Greenskin’s upper body.
Chunks of flesh and ribs sprayed backward like buckshot, coating the dirt wall behind it.
The huge corpse swayed, then crashed to the ground.
[Killed Strong Stormboy x1]
[Skill Unlocked: Bolter Shooting LV1]
[Current Experience: 20/50]
Rod shook his numb wrist and bared his teeth as he glanced at the corpse on the ground.
So this is the value of bolt weapons…
Good thing I tightened my wrist earlier.
Otherwise, my elbow might have been ruined by one shot.
I’ll need to train harder from now on.
I have to become a strongman.
He quickly scanned his surroundings.
That sudden burst had been extremely fierce, but also extremely brief.
The battle cries inside the trench had thinned out.
The comrades who could still move were finishing off enemies.
Taking advantage of the opening, Rod quickly pulled the thickened high-capacity power cell from his field pack and skillfully slammed it into the lasgun’s port.
He raised the gun again and fired several more shots at Greenskins that were still twitching or trying to crawl up.
As several wisps of smoke rose, this section of trench finally fell completely quiet.
The muddy water beneath his feet had turned dark red.
It was impossible to tell what was water and what was blood.
Corpses were stacked together.
Some belonged to mortals in flak armor, others to Greenskins in ragged leather.
Some bodies were twisted together, still locked in the act of tearing at each other even in death.
[Skill Level Up: Lasgun Shooting LV3]
[Current Experience: 63/200]
Rod did not look at the corpses.
He stepped over a severed leg and returned to his defensive position.
At the bend…
Platoon Leader Karl was leaning against the wall.
A shocking deep cut had appeared across the chest of his flak armor.
His face was smeared with a sticky dark-red liquid, though whether it belonged to a Greenskin or himself was impossible to tell.
Hearing footsteps, the platoon leader sprang up almost by reflex.
The lasgun in his hands snapped up, the muzzle pointing straight at Rod.
But after seeing Rod’s face clearly, his tense body sagged.
“Hah…
hah…”
Platoon Leader Karl lowered the gun and gasped heavily, his chest rising and falling.
“Rod…”
“Good.
You’re alive.”
He did not say anything sentimental.
He simply wiped the blood from his face with force, then used the butt of his gun for support and stood up hard.
“Don’t just stand there!
Third Platoon!
Anyone who can still move, move!”
He turned and roared at the remaining soldiers who could still stand.
“Plug those gaps!
Don’t let the main body of those Greenskin bastards crawl up here!”
Rod said nothing and only nodded silently.
He walked to the firing slit and carefully set up the suppression lasgun.
Then he raised his head and looked out through the narrow gap.
His heart suddenly contracted.
That “green tide” was no longer distant scenery.
They were close.
So close he could see the terrified yet crazed expressions on the faces of the Gretchin at the very front, and the yellow stains on the teeth of the larger Orks.
The ground trembled like a tsunami.
Rod took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
He pulled out three standard frag grenades and placed them one by one in the most convenient position by his hand.
Suppression lasgun, bolt pistol, grenades…
He adjusted the positions of these heavy killing tools, then dragged over a heavy crate of spare ammunition.
At that moment, a warm current suddenly rose from his spine and flowed through his whole body.
[Attribute Awakened: Strength LV1]
[Current Experience: 5/50]
So this is the effect of training by carrying gear?
Rod felt the ammunition crate in his hands become slightly lighter, and his arms seemed stronger.
Looking at the dense green wave outside, a trace of ruthlessness flashed in Rod’s eyes.
He grabbed a grenade.
The heavy cast-iron feeling now seemed much lighter in his hand.
He bit off the pull ring with his teeth and spat it out.
This old-fashioned move was rough on the teeth, but at this moment, it felt especially ceremonial.
He silently counted one second in his heart.
Then, using that newborn strength, he twisted his waist and swung his arm in a full arc.
“Go!”
The grenade flew from his hand.
Before, this grenade would have gone thirty meters at most.
But this time, the black lump traced a shocking parabola through the air, flying high and far.
It actually sailed over a field of shell craters ahead and fell directly into the charging Ork frontline.