"The Legion Commander's full-scale counteroffensive has been ongoing for over half a month now."
"During this period, we've made rapid progress; the tide of battle has completely shifted."
"But recently, the rebels have managed to establish defensive positions."
As the 87th Regiment cleared a small city they'd just captured, Duncan sat inside a Leman Russ tank, recording the events while reflecting on the recent developments.
For at least half a month, the rebel forces had been in utter disarray, unable to mount any coordinated response to the offensive. Some fled in panic, others scattered, and some even strapped on explosives to carry out desperate suicide attacks.
But after two weeks, things started to change.
The rebels began to organize more effective defenses. Although their actions were still erratic on the larger scale, they regained some semblance of combat effectiveness on smaller battlefields.
Yet, for the ground forces, this posed no real threat.
Take, for instance, this small city that the 87th Regiment had attacked in collaboration with the 31st Regiment. Automated artillery and drone strikes had devastated the enemy, leaving the soldiers with little more than advancing and mopping up the remnants.
"My brother, I will let your ashes see the sky, but not yet. We cannot leave the Underhive for now."
Duncan wrote these final words in his journal and closed it. On the cover was the name "Albert."
Staring at the name, Duncan felt a pang of guilt. When Qin Mo had inquired about their needs, Duncan hadn't mentioned Albert's last wish. Guilt aside, he didn't believe he'd made the wrong decision. The counteroffensive was still in full swing; the Underhive war wasn't over.
There are priorities in life, and some things must wait.
"But I believe we will win," Duncan murmured to himself, placing the journal inside a small metal box under his seat. "Everyone thinks so. When the time comes, I'll personally fulfill your final wish."
The box, as hard as it was small, was a standard issue for storing personal belongings, designed to survive even the worst of battles.
"Commander, you need to see this!"
A knock on the tank's armor echoed through the air, accompanied by a voice calling out to Duncan. Without hesitation, he climbed out.
"You really need to see this," a captain said, holding up a piece of broken power armor.
Duncan reached out and took it, then connected the wire from the helmet's remains to his own. Instantly, the recording began to play inside his visor.
"This looks like the gang's headquarters... watch your step."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
"Your gang's hideout even has a bunker like this?"
The footage showed a soldier with a red mohawk, chatting with others—an infantry squad, moving through an underground bunker.
"Why aren't you wearing a helmet? Showing off that mohawk of yours?"
"No, I'm just afraid the Legion Commander won't see my face when he surveys the battlefield."
"..."
They advanced cautiously, exchanging banter as they explored room after room in the bunker, until they reached the deepest part.
When the flashlight mounted on the power armor shone into the darkness, they were met with the sight of a horde of mutants, packed together, swarming around the entrance to a sealed room.
The light caught the mutants' attention. The squad tried to retreat, but as they ran for the bunker's exit, the footage spiraled away, ending abruptly—the soldier's head clearly knocked off.
"What should we do?" the captain asked, eyes gleaming with expectation.
"Report it. Let the Legion Commander's guards handle it," Duncan replied flatly.
Disappointment flickered across the captain's face, but he couldn't hide his discontent. "With all due respect, sir, this is our chance for glory. Why don't we send in two companies and a pair of tanks to draw out and eliminate the mutants ourselves?"
"I want glory too, but do you know how many mutants are in there? Do you know if there's something even more dangerous in that room they're guarding?" Duncan said sternly. "We must avoid any chance of this situation spiraling out of control."
"Tonight, every soldier will copy the power armor's manual ten times, focusing specifically on the bio-sensing functions. Not only that, they will memorize it."
Without giving the captain a chance to argue further, Duncan turned and returned to his tank. Begrudgingly, the captain carried out the orders.
...
Two minutes later, as infantry and tanks secured the perimeter of the gang's headquarters, a transport craft transitioned from flight to hover mode overhead.
Among the regular troops, the Legion Commander's guards were known for their swift and reliable response, and this time, Grot arrived.
The sight of Grot's power armor sent a chill through the soldiers. His armor was smeared with blood, and he carried his favored weapon—a gravity hammer—clearly fresh from battle. The carnage had been recent, and Grot had reveled in it.
Yet when the soldiers saw his face, they relaxed. Unlike the grim and silent Gray, Grot was known to be approachable, even encouraging, often joking with his comrades after the fight.
"Come on, lads," Grot grinned, hefting his hammer. "I'll answer the call, but there's no way all of you couldn't handle a few mutants on your own."
Besides the infantry, there were two tanks standing by. The mutants were mindless, especially now with their leader dead, easy prey to be drawn out and slaughtered.
"Yes, there are many mutants inside, but the strange thing is they're all clustered around a single room," an officer explained.
"Oh? That's new." Grot nodded, intrigued. He hadn't been given the full details, only told that they needed help with mutants.
"Alright then, come with me," Grot said, shouldering his hammer. "This way, when it's done, you'll get a share of the credit too."
The officer's face lit up in delight. Grot was truly a generous man. If Gray had come, he would have stormed in silently, offering no opportunity to others.
The group wasted no time, entering the bunker and heading toward the underground shelter.
"I'll activate the gravity shield," Grot warned as they moved. "Stay clear of me once it's on."
Though Grot was happy to bring them along, he had no intention of letting them spoil his fun.
At the mention of the gravity shield, the soldiers planning to provide close support quickly backed off. None of them wanted to risk getting crushed by the field.
Leading the way, Grot used his bio-scanner, detecting all non-human entities in the area.
His HUD marked the enemies—two hundred and thirty-one mutants in total.
Observing the map, Grot noted the dense cluster of mutants blocking something, but whatever was in the room wasn't a living organism. If it were, it would have shown up on the scan.
Of course, there were always other possibilities.
"What in the world?" Grot turned to the others. "If things go south, run immediately. I've got the shield; you don't."
"Don't worry," one officer replied with a sigh. "If it weren't for the commander insisting you handle this, we'd have lured them out and blown them up by now."