Bonus chapter.
~~~
On the pitch-black wasteland, a roughly modified vehicle crawled through the mud like a drunken boar, snorting and struggling forward.
Rod sat in the open truck bed at the back.
The metal bench beneath him was as hard as a frozen steak, and every bump precisely carried the vibration into his spine.
With one hand, he held the heavy stubber.
Its mount was locked onto the crooked armor plate welded to the edge of the truck bed, and the muzzle bobbed up and down with the vehicle’s movements.
By the occasional flash of lightning crossing the night sky, he studied the steel mount beneath him.
This thing had a loud name, the Achilles Ridgerunner.
In the chaotic model library of Warhammer 40K, this thing was usually associated with those Genestealer Cultists who had three arms and heads like lightbulbs.
But in truth, it was indeed a proper Imperial STC civilian vehicle, specially designed to adapt to the harsh terrain of frontier worlds.
The one under their backsides had clearly undergone the wildest kind of “field modification.”
The original four-wheel structure had been cut apart, and an extra pair of load-bearing wheels had been forcefully shoved in, raising the chassis high off the ground.
The truck bed had been brutally lengthened to fit a full heavy weapons squad and their pile of ammunition crates.
Around the driver’s cab, a ring of steel plates as thick as fingers had been added.
Old bullet pits could still be seen on them.
If this kind of “machine spirit blasphemy” were placed in front of a Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the priest might start smoking on the spot.
But on the front line?
To hell with STC standard templates.
As long as this piece of junk could move and deliver men and guns through the mud to the firing position, it was good equipment.
Compared with whether it could pass the Adeptus Mechanicus’s judgment, one’s life and practicality were clearly more important.
“Cough, cough…
I say…”
The hatch on the driver’s cab suddenly opened, and Griggs stuck out half his body.
Ignoring the rain beating down on his head, he held a half-soaked piece of parchment and shouted toward the truck bed.
“Those clerk-lords gave us some…
what was it…
‘Operational Guidelines for Flexible Defense and Active Harassment Tactics’…”
Like an old monk chanting scripture, he stumbled through the long, foul-smelling bureaucratic language written on the paper.
“…must maintain non-contact engagement…
adopt withdrawal when enemy intent is unclear…
counterattack after establishing superiority…
if the enemy withdraws, then…”
The heads of the people in the truck bed bobbed with the shaking vehicle.
Hammer had already opened his mouth and started drooling.
Even Old Ghost rolled his eyes and turned his head away.
Rod’s eyelids were fighting too.
Isn’t this just…
Once all that roundabout nonsense was translated, the core logic was so familiar it could not be more familiar.
Wasn’t this the classic sixteen-character formula for guerrilla warfare?
And these clerks had written it like absolute garbage, leaving out tons of key information.
If they really fought according to this kind of dogmatic scrap of paper, they would die without knowing how when facing Greenskins who never followed normal patterns.
These office sitters wanted to use this half-baked thing to teach a Chinese transmigrator?
“Haa…”
Rod could not help letting out a huge yawn.
Griggs stopped.
His red bull-like eyes glared over.
“What?
You got some high-level insight?”
Rod rubbed the tears from the corners of his eyes, shifted into a new position against the cold ammunition crate, and lazily waved a hand.
“Squad leader, stop chanting.
All that stuff written up there can actually be summed up in sixteen words.”
He cleared his throat and passed the sixteen-character formula to these soldiers of another world.
The truck bed was silent for a few seconds.
Griggs froze.
Hammer, who had been about to sleep, opened his eyes.
Even Old Ghost, who rarely showed any expression, turned his head and stared at Rod with a strange look.
Several of them chewed those lines over and over in their heads for a while.
The more they thought about it…
The clearer it became!
“Hahahahaha!”
Griggs slapped the wet metal roof of the cab and burst into laughter.
“I knew it!
Those clerks who speak nothing but dogshit and still think they’re strategic geniuses are useless!”
He casually tossed the paper out of the vehicle.
“Your summary is perfect!
It’s leagues better than those foot-binding cloth documents!”
“Not bad, Rod.
I thought you were just a sharpshooter with a bit of strength.
Didn’t expect this.
You’re a strategic thinker too?”
Strategic thinker.
That hat was a little too big.
The smile on Rod’s face stiffened, and cold sweat even seeped down his back.
“Cough, cough…
Not at all.”
He laughed dryly and quickly waved his hand in denial.
“I’m only standing on the shoulders of giants.
I heard it before from…
uh, from the elders in my village.
This definitely isn’t my original idea.”
He guiltily shifted his gaze away and looked out at the dark wilderness.
“What virtue or ability do I have to be compared to that…
that military god?”
Fortunately, Griggs did not dig into who that “military god” was.
He only assumed the kid was being modest, or that it was some rustic joke from a remote planet.
Everyone laughed for a while, and the topic soon shifted away.
After the conversation ended, the truck bed fell quiet again.
Everyone was tired.
The continuous fighting over the past few days, combined with these torturous road conditions, was rapidly draining everyone’s energy.
At first, they could still chat and joke around.
Later, even the noisiest Griggs stopped talking, withdrawing into the driver’s cab to rest his eyes.
Only the monotonous jolting and roaring of the vehicle remained.
No one knew how long passed.
“We’re here!
Dismount!”
With a screeching brake, the Achilles suddenly stopped.
This was a reverse slope between two hills.
The terrain was hidden, making it a natural hiding place.
No one wasted words.
Everyone jumped down quickly.
Under Griggs’s command, heavy ammunition crates were unloaded, camouflage nets were pulled open, and several simple firing positions rapidly took shape.
As the designated “laborer,” Rod took on almost sixty percent of the carrying work.
When the final ammunition crate was pushed into cover, the relieved Achilles let out a lighter engine roar.
“You lot hold here.
I’ll scout ahead!”
The driver shouted through the window, then drove the lighter truck like a ghost into the depths of the rain to scout the area.
The temporary position was established.
There was no fire here, since they were behind enemy lines.
“Rest while you can.”
Griggs leaned behind a sandbag and pulled his flak helmet over his face.
He seemed ready to fall asleep in the next second.
Hammer wrapped himself in a blanket and curled into a ball, snoring within seconds.
Even Old Ghost hugged his mortar and closed his eyes.
After all, they had spent half a day riding in that truck.
That kind of jolting burned even more energy than marching.
Only Rod remained.
He sat cross-legged on a relatively dry piece of canvas.
Even at a time like this, there was not the slightest sleepiness in those black eyes.
As long as the “stamina bar” was not empty, it was time to grind proficiency.
From the pile of equipment behind him, he took out the heavy bolt pistol and the disassembled heavy stubber parts.
Under the weak starlight, he began disassembling and maintaining the firearms.
Click, clack, ching.
The sound of parts colliding was especially clear in the quiet position.
He had already learned how to disassemble these two things back in the armory.
With the support of [Firearm Maintenance], even with his eyes closed, he could feel the position of every latch.
If not for the fear of gunfire exposing their location, he would have rushed out with a gun and started shooting tree stumps to grind [Shooting] experience.
For now…
He could only grind [Maintenance] first.
Once.
Twice.
Three times…
The number on the system panel ticked up slowly but steadily.
[Rapid Firearm Maintenance Experience +1]
[Rapid Firearm Maintenance Experience +1]
No one knew how long passed.
With the final crisp sound of the firing pin resetting…
[Ding!]
The voice only he could hear rang in his mind.
[Firearm Maintenance has increased to LV3]
[Current Experience: 7/200]
Rod exhaled in satisfaction.
But this still was not enough.
He stood, deeply inhaling the cold air filled with the smell of mud.
The next second…
He bent down, grabbed the loaded heavy stubber with both hands, and exerted force.
“Up!”
With a low grunt, he lifted the heavy machine gun directly over his head.
This weight was genuinely heavy.
But that was exactly what he wanted.
Squat.
Stand.
Squat.
Stand.
In this dark rainy night, behind enemy lines filled with danger, Rod began strength training.
The experience bar for [Strength] slowly moved.
This satisfying feeling of squeezing his body to its limit made him feel that he was still alive.
And…
Still growing stronger.