After reaching the second trench, Zhang Ge was startled to realize: Good heavens, am I the elite?
The troops stationed here were not clad in carapace armor like him, but only in flak armor, most of which bore the same emblem, likely the crest of a local noble. Although they wore full-face respirators, it couldn't hide their subtle trembling and rapid breathing.
It seemed they were Planetary Defense Forces (PDF) conscripted from this planet and mixed into the ranks.
No wonder the Astra Militarum, who valued their positions more than human lives, had pulled Zhang Ge and his comrades from the first trench. If they had relied solely on the PDF to hold the line, another wave of daemon attacks would likely have crushed these "recruits," whose experience was limited to fighting gangs and civil wars.
It wasn't that he looked down on them, but it was rare to find a large force capable of withstanding casualty rates that could wipe out entire units in an instant. Even on the planet where Zhang Ge had lived in his previous life, which had been at war for thousands of years, only one such force had ever emerged. As for these PDF, who were little better than feudal noble retainers, it was uncertain whether they had the training standards of a modern professional army like the one Zhang Ge had known.
Fortunately, the local noble was quite wealthy, at least ensuring that each soldier had a lasgun. This simple, efficient weapon with its straight trajectory could be effectively used even by the PDF at engagement distances of up to a kilometer.
This allowed the chaotic situation brought on by the daemon attack to be brutally quelled, and the barrage of lasfire, heavy bolter rounds, and autocannon shells temporarily halted the tide of cultist charges, giving Zhang Ge and his comrades a brief respite while awaiting further orders.
As new orders were slow to arrive, Zhang Ge, bored, crouched down to observe the surroundings for a while before Dulless suddenly commanded:
"Into the bomb shelter."
This order was relayed from front to back, so no other friendly forces heard it. However, after spending some time in the shelter, Zhang Ge couldn't help but ask:
"Shouldn't we warn the other friendly forces?"
The semi-enclosed environment of the bomb shelter muffled the sounds from outside, turning them into a kind of background noise, allowing for direct communication within.
In the dim, flickering light of the hastily lit torch, Zhang Ge vaguely saw Dulless glance at him. After a few seconds of silence, he finally replied:
"Those cultists have daemons. Daemonic sorcery will rain down on the position like artillery shells, but unlike artillery, daemons will leave once they've killed enough."
To be precise, these were daemons of Slaanesh. Summoned by the cultists, these lesser daemons pursued eternal stimulation. But if banished from the material universe, it was uncertain when they would return.
Thus, in some lesser cultist groups lacking effective control, these lesser daemons often left on their own after deeming they had offered enough sacrifices or obtained sufficient stimulation.
As for their own situation: the Astra Militarum's regiments were fixed in their equipment. Infantry regiments were purely infantry, artillery regiments were purely artillery, and so on. This meant that as a standard infantry regiment, they lacked division or brigade-level heavy firepower.
With the situation so dire that PDF had to be mixed in as the main force and communications down, it was unrealistic to expect sufficient indirect heavy firepower or air and artillery support to counter enemy bombardment.
Thus, they had to sacrifice some to save others.
"Our lives must be preserved for more critical moments. If we all die needlessly like your previous unit, the entire planet will perish."
After Dulless finished speaking, a comrade next to Zhang Ge shifted closer and lightly patted his shoulder, pressing a small cross with a gray-white skull at its center into his palm. In a voice only the two of them could hear, he said:
"Goth saved me, thank you... You're a good man, but surviving is more important than doing good."
It took Zhang Ge a moment to understand what he meant—if dog tags were recovered intact, they could serve as proof of death. Compared to such casualties, greedy officials were more inclined to classify those without proof as "missing" and pocket the compensation themselves.
At least confirming a death would bring the family a decent compensation.
As they spoke, several squads of Astra Militarum infantry poured in from outside, some carrying heavy weapons like heavy bolters. However, their situation was far worse, with two or three squads of survivors barely outnumbering Zhang Ge's single squad.
In this oppressive atmosphere, no one felt like talking. In the silence, broken only by the sounds of checking weapons and equipment, the slaughter outside began.
Clusters of seemingly light, pinkish mist, but moving too fast for the eye to follow, descended from the sky. The energies of the Warp ravaged and tore at the fabric of reality, as if some grotesque living thing were devouring and chewing at the barrier between the Warp and the material universe.
The PDF on the front lines, fully focused on holding back the cultists, were instantly overwhelmed by disaster.
The sorcery, which preferred those with a presence in the Warp over inanimate objects, clung to any human flesh it touched, blending armor and body into a mass of metal fragments and flesh. Depending on the caster, these masses either rapidly withered, exploded, or even swelled and lunged at surviving comrades.
Those hit endured excruciating pain as their muscles, organs, and nerves were crushed inch by inch, their senses amplified several times over, before finally dying.
Combat experience, training, and defensive equipment were meaningless now. Faced with sudden sorcerous attacks, all they could do was pray to the Emperor.
But even the Emperor could not extend his light to everyone. Those struck were no longer among the living, regardless of their specific fate.
Amidst the screams, which could be heard even through the thick earth, Dulless stood up and approached his squad. Just as Zhang Ge thought he was about to boost morale, he instead said:
"If you encounter this situation after going up, the nearest person is responsible for ending their suffering. Now, fix bayonets."
His figure was distorted by the monomolecular bayonets fixed to the lasguns. As the last word left his lips, the roar of his chainsword filled the bomb shelter.