After advancing a few more trenches, Zhang Ge and his team came to a halt. It wasn't that he didn't want to continue forward, but realistically, a squad's control over an area is limited. It's impossible for a squad of a dozen or so people to control an entire front line.
If they pushed further, it might be considered deliberately seeking death.
Behind them, the reassuring dull thud of heavy bolters alternated between single shots and bursts. Feeling mentally drained, Zhang Ge watched as the PDF forces began to surge forward again. Instead of immediately climbing into the trench, he sat on a step, unscrewed his canteen, and took a sip.
He hadn't noticed it before, but now that he had a moment to rest… the heat here was unbearable.
Zhang Ge thought to himself as he removed his stifling helmet and set it aside. Suddenly, an idea struck him.
Wait, that's right. While carapace armor might not be much use against bolter rounds, it's highly effective against conventional weapons. This advanced armor, used by elite units like Kasrkin, Storm Troopers, and Grenadiers, can withstand most attacks that ordinary people might face.
Weapons like standard lasguns or autoguns would have little effect on the main protective parts. If he kept wearing the helmet and got shot in the head but the bullet was stopped, what then?
Moreover, not wearing a helmet isn't uncommon in the Astra Militarum. Many veterans and officers do it, and some regiments like the Catachans even go without armor in jungle terrain. It certainly wouldn't be considered suicidal.
With that in mind, Zhang Ge attached the helmet to his back and decided not to wear it again.
A nearby PDF soldier, taking a break to reload, noticed and asked, "The air quality here is terrible. Won't you have trouble breathing without a filter, sir?"
The air quality is bad, no wonder the stingy nobles were willing to issue respirators to every PDF soldier. But Zhang Ge, who had removed his helmet, didn't feel any difference in breathing here, aside from the thick, nauseating smell of blood that even the respirator couldn't filter out—probably tainted by the Warp.
However, the original owner of this body was likely a veteran, and it wouldn't be unusual for him to have had some minor body modifications, perhaps enhancements to the respiratory system.
So Zhang Ge replied, "On our planet, all adults are gathered together, exposed to poison gas, and only those with resilient respiratory systems survive."
After leaving the PDF soldier, who had never left his home planet, with a bit of shock, Zhang Ge stood up and followed his comrades as they began to return to their starting position.
For the current defensive line, suppressing the attack of these cultists, who lacked heavy weapons and demonic support, was relatively easy. The four of them encountered no further trouble on their way back.
This brief respite ended when they reached the bunker and encountered a man dressed as a Commissar.
Before they even arrived, they heard Dules' voice: "Are you saying that, without knowing the enemy's exact numbers, composition, equipment, deployment, and knowing they have the ability to summon demons, you want to send someone on a 'decapitation' mission?"
The Commissar responded calmly, "It's an entire squad, composed of elites from various units here. The unknown factors are precisely what they will be tasked with uncovering. This is a sacrifice for the Emperor, and their souls will find glory in the Golden Throne."
It seemed Dules held a fairly high rank, as a squad leader could argue with a Commissar, and the latter actually responded.
On the other hand, such a mission couldn't be ordered by force. Just imagine what might happen if anyone chosen harbored even a hint of resentment, especially in a place where the influence of Chaos was so strong.
Dules added with a touch of sarcasm, "Sacrifice? My men and I can die, but not in a meaningless way. They should be placed where they're most useful. Why don't *you* take on this 'glorious' task?"
"I am part of the squad."
As silence mingled with the sounds of gunfire and explosions, Zhang Ge stepped forward, his hair swaying in the dust kicked up by the firing of an autocannon. His gaze was resolute as he interjected, "I'll go… my brothers died at their hands."
Dules was about to speak, but the Commissar had already turned his attention to Zhang Ge and said first, "Good. What's your name, soldier?"
"Zhang Ge."
"Follow me. You're the last one. We'll depart as soon as we're ready."
As Zhang Ge passed Dules, the latter suddenly grabbed his arm, the strong grip halting his movement. Dules fumbled through his tactical vest, pulled out a few plasma pistol magazines, and retrieved some emergency medical supplies from his pouch, stuffing them into Zhang Ge's pack before releasing his arm.
For half a second, Zhang Ge and Dules locked eyes, but neither could find the words to say.
One didn't know what to say, and the other was struggling not to laugh.
Quickening his pace, Zhang Ge caught up with the Commissar and casually asked, "An entire squad? Who else is in it?"
"You, me, a Battle Sister, a psyker, an Ogryn, and a Ministorum Priest."
Quite the gathering of elites.
"An Ogryn? Are we not planning to infiltrate?"
"His throat was completely shattered and replaced with a mechanical one. He can't speak, but he's obedient."
In the midst of this casual conversation, during a lull in the fighting, Zhang Ge was led to the squad's assembly point.
The first thing he saw was a Chimera transport, painted entirely in bright red, with a pile of seemingly random junk welded to its exterior, making it barely recognizable. Zhang Ge felt a sense of unease.
"It was captured from the Orks. It's one of the few vehicles the regiment has," the Commissar explained as he opened the hatch.
Inside, there was a silver-haired Battle Sister, not wearing armor but wrapped in white bandages, even her eyes covered. Her body was covered in scars, and she held a glowing two-handed sword.
A psyker, pale as a corpse, with one hand holding a bolt pistol and the other a power sword, his limbs adorned with shackles that looked as if they had been violently broken.
An Ogryn, clad in heavy armor with only one eye visible, his massive weapon and shield taking up so much space they had to be placed diagonally, scratching his head in confusion.
A Ministorum Priest, with a massive melta gun at his side, his muscles bulging so much they strained against his robes. He stood nearly two meters tall, with a mace hanging at his waist.
Zhang Ge's expression was complicated as he glanced at the Commissar beside him, who had one eye replaced with a red cybernetic implant and was, relatively speaking, the most normal-looking of the group.
"Me? Why me?"
What could a plain old Astra Militarum veteran like me possibly have done to deserve this?