His vision was a blurred field of pale white.
His nose was filled with the strange smell of disinfectant mixed with blood.
Rod’s consciousness was like a bubble rising from the depths of the sea, still dazed from the lack of oxygen.
He instinctively raised a hand, wanting to rub his swollen temples, but felt a tight pulling sensation from his arm.
Looking down, he saw that his arms, which had been torn bloody from overloading his muscles, were now wrapped in thick bandages.
The blood that had seeped through had already dried into dark brown stains.
“Awake?”
A low voice sounded beside him.
Rod frowned and slowly turned his head.
What entered his sight was a large bearded face, its features wrinkled together like a bitter melon.
Griggs.
“Ugh…”
A dry grunt came from Rod’s throat.
“How long was I out?”
As he asked, he raised the hand that could still move and weakly pushed away that large face with obvious disgust.
Griggs did not care about the recruit’s rudeness.
He straightened up, and the bitter expression on his stubbled face seemed to ease a little.
“A day and a half.”
As he spoke, he turned and grabbed a wrinkled Imperial starch bar from a slightly rusty metal tray nearby.
“Here.
Eat something.”
Rod took it, struggled to tear open the packaging, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing in large bites without caring that it tasted like wax.
“Any news?”
Rod asked unclearly with his mouth full of food.
He was not asking about the weather, nor what was for dinner.
Griggs fell silent for a second.
This veteran with a face full of hard flesh naturally knew what the kid was asking about.
First, he shook his head.
Just as Rod’s heart was about to sink to the bottom, Griggs nodded again.
“They seem to have broken through.”
Griggs shifted on the stool he was sitting on, and the metal stool gave a groan under his weight.
“The pressure on our defense line dropped sharply.
Those Greenskins started running back like mad, but…”
He paused, pulled a handful of some unknown melon-seed-like plant seeds from his pocket, and tossed one into his mouth.
“I don’t know what the situation is over there right now.
You know how it is.
For an operation of that level, common soldiers like us don’t have the right to know the details.”
At this point, a sly smile appeared on Griggs’s face, like a fox that had stolen a chicken.
“But while you were asleep, I snuck over to the artillery position to get some food.
And while I was there…
I happened to sneak a glance at those artillerymen’s detection radar.”
He pointed toward the outside of the tent.
“In that direction, the artillery fire and movement haven’t stopped.
Energy reactions haven’t stopped either.
That means…”
He spat out a seed shell.
“They’re still fighting.
And if they’re still fighting, that means they’re not all dead yet.”
This was typical veteran logic.
As long as the gunfire had not stopped, someone was still resisting.
As long as someone was still resisting, there was still hope.
Even if that hope was as faint as a candle in the wind.
Rod listened and nodded silently.
Not all dead is good enough.
“What’s the plan next?”
Rod held the last bite of the starch bar in his mouth and asked unclearly.
“Keep squatting in this moldy trench?”
“No.”
Griggs shook his head and patted both hands on his knees.
“This time, we can take the initiative.”
When he said the words “take the initiative,” Griggs’s tone rose slightly.
Clearly, for Imperial Guard soldiers used to passively taking beatings, this was a rare phrase.
“Thanks to that elite assault group catching them by surprise…
and…”
As he spoke, his gaze fell on Rod, and his eyes became a little complicated.
“Thanks to that performance of yours earlier, which honestly didn’t look like something a human could pull off.”
“One man stunned those mad-dog Orks.
If you hadn’t stabilized that section of the line, forget taking the initiative.
We’d probably be digesting in some Nob’s stomach by now.”
“This is the first time in this damned place that we’ve held some strategic initiative.”
The moment Griggs finished speaking, Rod’s upper body shot forward like it had been launched by a spring.
“We can take the initiative?!”
His voice was urgent.
“Then can we save the assault team?
I mean…
since we can move now, can we go over there and help?”
Looking at Rod’s eyes full of expectation, Griggs’s gaze darkened.
As a squad leader and an old fox who had crawled out from piles of corpses, he understood the weight of reality better than anyone.
“What are you thinking?”
He shook his head, his tone carrying helpless bitterness.
“You know how few people we have.
Even if the Greenskins are in chaos, we’re still the weaker side in both manpower and combat power.
Their numbers are counted in tons.”
“This so-called initiative…
don’t think too much.
What the big shots above mean is to send a few small squads with enough guts out front to harass them.
Take a few potshots, blow up a few outposts, and disrupt the rhythm of their regrouping.”
Griggs looked up at the bloodstains on the tent ceiling, as if organizing his words.
“As for whether that can reduce some pressure on the other side…
maybe.
Maybe if we kill two more here, they’ll face two fewer over there.
The list of squads for this active operation happens to include our heavy weapons squad.”
His words were strained, not even enough to count as comfort.
It was like stabbing an elephant with a needle and hoping it would help someone fighting it on the other side.
But Rod’s reaction surprised Griggs.
“As long as I can kill Greenskins, that’s enough.”
The starch bar wrapper in Rod’s hand had been crushed into a tight ball.
He forcefully chewed the last scraps in his mouth, the crunching sound making it seem like he was not eating synthetic food, but the flesh and bones of those green monsters.
Before, Rod killed Greenskins to survive.
Back then, Greenskins were obstacles, problems, stones blocking his path to life.
But now…
Karl…
Reno…
And Warren, who always looked like a corpse…
Those familiar faces flashed through his mind.
Those comrades who had not been with him long, but had already entrusted their lives to each other.
Those brothers who had already become corpses lying in the mud.
That frustration, that anger with nowhere to go, had now transformed into the purest killing intent.
Greenskins were no longer “mobs” in a game.
They were enemies.
Enemies whose heads had to be twisted off one by one, whose bones had to be smashed apart.
If he could kill one more, even just one more, would that platoon leader who had not run away but treated him like a younger brother have just a little less pressure?
Maybe.
Even if it was only self-deception.
Rod took a deep breath, threw aside the dirty blanket covering him, and got out of bed.
The movement was urgent and tugged at his wounds.
A needle-like pain stabbed through his arms.
But that pain instead felt like a stimulant, clearing his still-foggy mind with terrifying speed.
“Hiss…”
He sucked in a cold breath, but did not stop moving.
His washed uniform, still carrying a faint smell of blood, had been folded at the head of the bed.
He grabbed it and quickly put it on.
“When do we leave?”
Rod asked while picking up his damaged flak armor and skillfully fastening the buckles.
Griggs looked at the recruit before him.
Maybe it was an illusion, but he felt that after sleeping for a day and a half, the kid’s eyes had become like a freshly sharpened blade.
“Heh.”
Griggs grinned.
He placed his hands on his waist and looked at Rod’s lively state, seemingly satisfied.
“Our Emperor’s Chosen sure is different once he wakes up.”
He made a joke that was not particularly funny.
“I saw you using that stubber like a toy earlier, and your aim was damn strange too.
For this mission, I originally planned to have you serve as an assistant gunner.
Now it seems better for you to become our squad’s main stubber gunner.
Any problem with that?”
Heavy weapon gunner.
The position most likely to draw enemy attention.
Rod’s hands paused while he was adjusting his belt.
He tilted his head, and there was no fear in his eyes.
“No problem.”
“But…”
He glanced over Griggs’s equipment.
“For such a big heavy weapons squad, we only have one stubber?
That thing hits hard, sure, but there’s not much technique to it, right?”
Griggs froze, then an exaggerated expression appeared on his big face, as if saying, You don’t know good stuff when you see it.
“Of course not!
You’re looking down on Seventh Company’s family fortune too much!”
He puffed out his chest, his tone full of pride.
“Besides that bullet-eating glutton, we also have a mortar and an assault cannon!”
At this point, he looked Rod up and down suspiciously.
“You keep asking questions…
but do you know how to use them?
Your file says you’re just a recruit who hasn’t been enlisted long.
You’re good with guns, sure, but those big boys require calculating trajectories and adjusting mils.”
Mortar.
Assault cannon.
Those were true heavy weapons.
As for whether he knew how to use them?
Rod was not worried.
With his golden finger that allowed him to grind proficiency as long as he touched something, even if he had to start from zero, all he needed was a few shells and he could become a skilled operator.
“I can learn.”
Rod answered cleanly.
Griggs looked at the kid’s confident expression, opened his mouth, then finally turned it into a soft laugh.
“Fine, fine.
Young people these days, their mouths are bigger than their backsides.”
He only treated it as the enthusiasm unique to young men and did not take it too seriously.
At worst, if Rod truly could not do it, they would waste a few training rounds.
Griggs waved a hand, signaling for Rod to follow.
“Come on.
Let’s draw ammunition.”
The two walked out of the tent one after another.
Just as they were about to reach the armory, Griggs suddenly stopped.
He turned his head slightly, his expression becoming a little strange, as if he were hesitating.
Seeing no one around, he lowered his voice.
“Right, there’s one more thing.”
“About that rumor everyone’s been discussing in private, the one saying you’re the ‘Emperor’s Chosen’…”