"Is that true? They don't give them smoke grenades?" Krivoruky asked in surprise, after which he almost dropped the memo into the trench mud.
"I heard that smoke grenades in regular regiments are only issued to sergeants," Tikhiy answered barely audibly.
- One person with smoke grenades for a squad of ten soldiers? - I asked, even a little shocked. - Somehow, it's strange. But it's still a recommendation and a necessary minimum. Our add-on has everything that's missing, probably they write them on separate worlds too and therefore soldiers there can receive both better and worse equipment.
The next meal was accompanied by a favorite topic for almost all the guardsmen. A discussion of the Memo, which was rarely updated and was full of controversial points, and was sometimes used by soldiers as toilet paper. So we, our squad, sat and discontentedly, even with some arrogance, highlighted what we considered wrong. Starting with the lack of smoke grenades, necessary in any offensive, and ending with criticism of a massive offensive, which was considered not the best tactic due to large losses. After all, if everyone waged war the way Krieg did, oh-oh-oh, then life would be good. Not for long, though.
And although I understood that the Memo was generally correct and that soldiers really should be valued, because if they run out, the war will be lost. However, again, on Krieg, they treated this differently, to put it mildly. And what scared me was that I understood this, but I myself was already grinning sarcastically when reading what went against the principles that the ideologists were hammering into me. I understood what they were doing to me, I even knew how they were doing it and had an idea why they were doing it, but sometimes I still couldn't resist it. They say the truth, the environment largely shapes the personality and either makes you change, or breaks you and spits you out of the system that you decided to go against.
By the way, about names, or rather strange nicknames. Technically, no one took names from the cadets, numbers will be assigned only after becoming a guardsman, that is, after completing all the training. However, due to many of our screw-ups, Kryzer has already given out call signs to many. Krivoruky got his because of problems with the standard for assembling and disassembling a lasgun. For some reason, Quiet was more withdrawn than the others and could not scream loudly so that he could be heard somehow from under the gas mask.
Well, my nickname was probably the most offensive and I got it, or rather the previous owner of the body got it, back in the first months of training. Flawed, that's what I was nicknamed not even by Kreizer, but by my comrades themselves, not because of a desire to somehow hurt, just... that's how it really was. Whatever was not standard, I was different. And although over time the training began to give results, but this stigma will probably stay with me until my next death or until I become a guardsman. And after the training on the surface, I did a huge amount of work on myself and although I did not become an exemplary cadet, I could call myself a normal, average guy. Average in the context of our "special" corps and even more "special" company, but still.
It was actually surprising. Because of me, our company went through so many collective punishments that it's hard to imagine how it happened that I wasn't eaten with the shit. Apparently, hazing on Krieg was impossible even in theory, as was any kind of fight in the barracks. It's understandable, because even for minor disciplinary offenses they punished incredibly harshly, and for a fight, what's more, for one strange bruise they could... oh, such knowledge is better not to leave Krieg, as well as information about how Krieg maintains the birth rate at such a high level, allowing it to send millions of soldiers to their deaths every year in all corners of the galaxy.
In addition, it was worth understanding that any fight is a potential death due to, for example, a broken head during an unsuccessful fall on your back. And what reason should there be for one of the cadets to deliberately and consciously take part in something that could end for both him and his comrade not just in death or disability, but in the fact that he will not be able to fulfill his highest goal? How and what should you do to anger a Kriegman so that he will do something like that? Therefore, fights in cadet corps are possible only at the very beginning due to stupidity and hormonal instability, but even this happened incredibly rarely.
One way or another, the break for food was over and our long-winded conversation came to an end. It was necessary to go to capture the next height, create the next fortifications, and then wait for the enemy to advance. Demining was done, but the first to go forward was still the equipment with huge buckets. We went forward after it.
This time our squad was given a mortar. Technically we were just infantry, but everyone was trained at the base. Every cadet was required to know the entire list of weapons, from plasma rifles to heavy bolters. After all, soldiers tend to die quickly, and machine gun and mortar nests are a priority target.
That's why today we have a special squad with experienced machine gunners, and tomorrow you're the machine gunner. And that's why at least fifty shots were fired per crew, and the number of shots per machine gun was equal to a thousand per crew. That was the annual lower limit, while individual cadets could fire many times more shots.
Krieg's vast industrial might allowed for such training, and the Krieg regiments themselves achieved great effectiveness on the battlefield thanks to it. However, some considered this impractical, believing that a thousand shots in total, often from a single lasgun, would be enough for a simple soldier, and the rest would take root with experience. And if it didn't, then not so many resources were spent on it.
Well, in such matters, everything was decided by the planetary governors themselves, who created these regiments. Well, the Imperium then decided which of them was more effective in certain situations. One way or another, any guardsman was a fairly universal and interchangeable unit that would not ask "Where's the fuse?" when he was given a flamethrower, a melta cannon, or assigned to a company of fire support. In this regard, despite its archaic tactics of a massive offensive, Krieg was an extremely professional army in every sense.
Here we are with the squad already took our position, quickly dug shelters for ourselves, placed a mortar, began to fortify ourselves with the help of bags. By the way, each KRIG man always carried with him at least five bags for sand or earth. Then we go deeper underground, just in case. The order was "take a position, establish fire control of the area and fortify." We fulfilled the first two points, and we could fortify ourselves endlessly until the next order.
"Contact," Crooked Hand's voice came over the vox. "Enemy."
We immediately took up defensive positions, and our sergeant was already exchanging information via a box-vox, a huge backpack that our squad carried around. Not all squads had such a thing, but we had a mortar. And a mortar, like artillery, is such a thing that it either fires half a minute after reconnaissance reports, or misses. And although Krieg had a lot of shells, the connection between reconnaissance and artillery was lightning fast, passing through one officer or moving directly.
- In our uniform, the cadet uniform. Yes sir. Repeat. - the sergeant repeated into the receiver, after which he began to listen attentively to the order. - Yes sir.
After that, the officer hung up and approached our crew, looked through his optics once more at the cadets who were moving towards us in marching formation. And then the order was given:
— Open fire on the enemy.
Frankly, I was shocked by such an order. There could be no "unknown" enemy on Krieg, the entire planet was under our control. And these "unknowns" wore our uniform. They were definitely cadets who either got lost or for some other reason ended up where they weren't supposed to be. However, despite all this understanding, my hands were already loading the mine.
A bang and the mine flew in an arc towards the enemy. A flash, dirt and dust rose into the air, after which the next mine immediately flew out. Another one, a second, a third. At some point, other mortar crews joined us, called "wanderers" and operating a little autonomously from the front, which was sometimes extremely necessary even for Krieg. After all, although the Krieg regiments fought in a monolithic formation, the strength of the Krieg doctrine lay in a constant and unstoppable offensive against the enemy in order to crush him at all costs.
And these wandering mortars were more mobile and faster, so if the enemy started to run, they did not give him a chance to gain a foothold on the next lines, despite the slowness of a massive offensive, which is a solid and unwieldy machine. Therefore, they opened fire a little earlier than us, because they needed to move and gain a foothold, which they did quite quickly.
After a while, machine guns began to rattle and somewhere from the rear, a tank that had driven into position began firing. In less than ten minutes, we had completely destroyed a detachment of "unknowns" numbering fifty-seven infantry units. The realization of what had happened made me shudder, because soon quartermasters carried bodies past us. These were definitely cadets, or rather... their remains, mangled by concentrated fire.
But the state of affect passed in a minute, because a new order came in. And the voice of Kreiser himself, broadcast with some delay, swept across the entire vox of our cadet corps. At that moment, it was heard by several tens of thousands of cadets, as well as thousands of experienced officers supervising the training process.
— The enemy is advancing from the west! I order you to stand in his way and not let him break through to the entrance to the AR-4125 factory sector!
- From the west? Damn it, he's coming from our flank. How did this happen? - Tikhiy whispered under his breath and no one heard him except me.
But Tikhiy was right, somehow the enemy ended up point-blank to us, and another cadet corps, which was to our left, was also divided somewhere, simulating a battle as part of a full-fledged regiment of more than two hundred thousand soldiers. By the way, it was also worth understanding that the Krieg Guards Corps consisted of regiments, which in turn could be of different sizes, but before sending to war, Krieg collected two hundred thousand people in one regiment, while the cadet corps were much smaller in personnel and could not be confused with the Guards Corps.
One way or another, our entire corps began to change positions. The enemy was already close, and we did not have even a minimal line of fortifications, because we were preparing to meet the enemy from the north, moving with the front in his direction. Our flanks had to be covered by the allies, so all our plans were destroyed and we had to quickly adapt to the rapidly changing situation.
"A tank column. Thirteen units of equipment, up to three hundred infantry, are moving straight towards us," Krivoruky reported, looking carefully through his optics at the horizon. "Our mortar can't do that..."
And then the shell exploded right in front of our fortifications, tearing apart reality with the terrible thunder of war. Crooked-Armed immediately fell on his back, dropping the optical device and covering the bloody gas mask with his hand. The shock wave also knocked down another soldier, who was also conducting surveillance.
— Prepare for defense! Mortar, aim! — the sergeant was already shouting. — We were ordered to hold the defense! Grenades, get ready!
I sent one mine after another, our mortar belched mines in response without stopping, and only thanks to the heights we had occupied, the enemy tanks could not level us to the ground. And although our mines could not hit the armored vehicles, they could hit the infantry following them.
Krivoruky didn't lie on the ground for long either, rising to his feet and clutching a lasgun in his hands. A piece of shrapnel had pierced his gas mask and was now sticking out of it. But even without one eye, he still took up a position and began preparing a grenade to throw. The enemy seemed to know that we had no anti-tank weapons, and also that we hadn't mined the flanks. And he went straight ahead, not fearing anything.
And soon the flashes of lasguns began to sound very close. Our mortar fired almost without stopping, finishing to use up all its ammunition. Defensive grenades flew down the slope, their fragments were capable of hitting a target even at a distance of two hundred meters, which is why they could only be thrown from cover.
Flesh was torn and the cadets screamed, ready to carry out the order given to them. And in all this madness, no one asked questions, as if it did not matter who they were attacking or defending themselves from. Everyone was ready to kill even their own comrades, because today he is your friend, and tomorrow chaos will take over his mind and body. The only thing that made sense in all this chaos was the atonement of one's own sin through death in the name of the Emperor.
And the heavy tank "Makhariy" roared menacingly, moving in the third line of the enemy's attack. With its tracks it tore the flesh of fallen cadets and belched streams of roaring flame. Its approach was already echoing with heat in our trench, predetermining our future. Despite its cheapness and simplicity, it was this tank that began to spread in Krieg, which, although it wanted to use the best, but the supplies simply could not cover the incredible losses in such equipment.
The Bane Blades were still in use by Krieg for a long time, being a favorite type of vehicle, but it was the "Maharius" that would soon completely replace all heavy vehicles based on the "Bane Blade" chassis. After all, the number of infantry was growing much faster than industrial power. And in such a dark hour, the Imperium could only reduce the cost of production. It remained only to hope that lasguns would not be replaced by spears with such an approach, but the Krieg men did not ask such questions, they did not care.
- FOR THE EMPEROR!!! - the cry of the stormtroopers rang out, rushing towards our fortifications.
Here and now it was decided which of the soldiers had been trained better. Krieg had no equal in the cruelty of its training, but its effectiveness was also off the charts. And during the inhumane exercises, commanders faced the cadets face to face, forcing them to fight to the death. Not just firing at their positions or simulating an enemy, but specifically forcing them to kill for the sake of victory.
Our mortar stopped firing, but I had already taken up a position and was ready to defend myself. It was dangerous to stick my head out, because every now and then we were suppressed by heavy machine guns of armored vehicles. Therefore, even sticking my head out was tantamount to death. But as soon as the cry rang out, I prepared for a fierce fight.
Sitting under the trench, I just waited for the enemy to appear in order to engage in bayonet combat.
"IN THE NAME OF E…" the cadet broke off mid-sentence and fell face down into the mud of the trench next to me.
I heard the clatter of boots and instantly pressed myself against the wall of the trench, simultaneously covering myself with the body of the fallen enemy. Grenades flew, streams of fire flew into the trench, heavy caliber thundered every now and then and I felt how more and more alien blood was pouring over me, and shrapnel pierced the fallen cadet's bulletproof vest through and through, knocking against my chest armor plate.
But even when I was deafened by the explosions and my hands shook with pain, my heart continued to beat. I was alive and, throwing off the burning corpse in a prone position, I raised my lasgun, opening fire on the enemies who had flown into the mortar crew's position. The power was set to minimum, and I aimed primarily at the legs.
There were many enemies and the only chance to survive or simply neutralize as many enemies as possible was to shoot at unprotected parts of the body. At full power from such a distance I could penetrate the armor of one and catch overheating. But shooting in bursts of five shots I hit the legs, forcing them to fall and scream in pain. Burnt flesh hit the nostrils, and I shot and shot, not even thinking that I was killing the same as me. Not asking myself why and why.
There was only the enemy and only him, because that's what my commander said.
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