mtl008 Chapter 429: Regroup and Advance in an Orderly Manner
Chapter 429: Regroup and Advance in an Orderly Manner
Even lying on its back, the knight mecha looked enormous, and its half-broken body was burning. Harold could even feel the transfer of the temperature.
"Fuck, Harold, grab your stuff and go put out the fire!"
The political commissar jumped out of the bomb crater and waved and shouted to the surviving soldiers around him to come for a hand. A dozen people came out from the broken positions, holding inert gas fire extinguishers that they got from somewhere.
But that thing could only put out small fires on the battlefield. When faced with a blazing knight mecha, they could only release gas from a distance, greatly reducing the efficiency of fire extinguishing.
The exposed cables on the mecha crackled and the thick black smoke seemed to tell everyone that there was nothing they could do. The combat servant jumped off the Lancer-type squire knight, grabbed the fire extinguisher and advanced forward despite the scorching heat.
The main structure of the Templar Knights is still good, and the cockpit was not damaged by the explosion. Their master must still have a chance of survival. If they let the son of their lord die, they would have no face to live in this world.
"Cockpit! Go open the cockpit!"
Hearing the other party's words, Harold moved as if possessed by a spirit. He didn't know whether he was shocked by the heroic appearance of the mecha, or he wanted to repay the favor of the squire knight for saving his life. Maybe... he also wanted to do his part.
Harold held his breath and pulled the bolt of the cockpit door, but the residual heat of the metal instantly burned his palm. When he landed with a cry of pain, he was completely suffocated by inhaling inert gas. If the political commissar had not been quick to pull him out, he would have become one of the jokes.
Just as his eyes were blurry and dazed, he heard a "bang" sound beside his ear. Then he looked up and saw a figure falling above the still burning mecha. The other party stood up in the flames, and several strange tentacles inserted into the gap in the armor.
"Pah, pah, pah" the electric current was released, and the engine that had been silent for a long time began to sound like it was running again. "Puff" a large amount of white gas was released from the body, and the raging flame was quickly extinguished.
When the war servants saw the Templar's autonomous fire-fighting system activated, they immediately realized that the body's program was still functioning, and at least confirmed that there was no major problem with the internal structure.
The man got off the plane, took out a circular saw from somewhere, and started sawing at the joint of the cabin door. In less than two minutes, there was a "bang" and the heavy cabin door fell to the ground. The pilot inside fell to the ground and gasped:
"Huh... Huh... I almost suffocated to death... Hahaha... Damn orcs should be proud, because you almost defeated the Son of Arryn and his Dawn Lancers!"
The driver, who had regained his life, laughed heartily and rushed forward to hug the stranger who had saved his life. Seeing those streamlined mechanical arms return under the red robe, he realized that this man must be one of Riza's technical priests.
"Thank you very much. I don't know your title, Father. The Ailin family sincerely invites you and hopes that you can go to the territory castle to accept the banquet."
"Rebos, inform your family to complete the recovery as soon as possible. The orcs will definitely come back for it."
"Ray... Yeah, okay." The Son of Arryn nodded somewhat stiffly and put his hands behind his back to signal his servants to act quickly.
Harold grinned at the stranger. He knew the technical priest of Riza, but he always felt that the one in front of him was a little different.
He only remembered that the technical priests were mostly responsible for repairs or replacements, and those who were unlucky were transformed into combat servants. It was impossible for them to use gel spray to heal their palms like now.
Harold's painful gasps stopped immediately. His grateful eyes could not cause any ripples on the indifferent face, and his constant words of thanks did not seem to require a response.
The man named Rebos left quickly after helping him and walked towards another soldier who needed help. Although the treatment spray followed after he raised the knife, the direct removal of the limbs still made him feel cold.
"Luckily it was just a burn..."
Those chariots, tanks and weapons seemed to have no concealment in his hands. Any equipment problems were quickly solved under his tentacle-like mechanical arms. They were dismantled, welded and assembled. By putting together two broken ones, they could become one good one.
"If I had this kind of robotic arm, wouldn't it be much easier to do farm work... Political Commissar?"
Harold was talking to himself with envy when he saw the political commissar next to him with a serious look on his face. He bit his lip, looked around, and immediately followed.
He then bent down and took off his military cap. His posture looked as humble as if he was reporting to a senior officer, and his usually loud voice turned into a soft voice.
The political commissar nodded repeatedly, then looked around again, and finally locked his eyes on him. Then he walked back under Harold's nervous gaze, pointed at his nose and regained his dignity and said:
"From now on, you will follow Rebos as his messenger and obey all his orders. Even if you are transformed into a combat servant, you must bear it without saying a word. I will go to check the casualties now, you hurry over."
The political commissar left after he finished speaking, leaving Harold shaking his head in confusion. In his heart, he didn't want to be transformed into a robot servant, as there was no money for being a robot servant. Even if he had money... he didn't want to become a walking corpse, so he had to go home.
"Re...Rebos...Commander...Master...Sir...Yes, hello, sir. The commissar asked me to be your messenger."
Rebs, who was treating the soldier, ignored him. Harold was bored and had to step forward and hold his comrade's hand tightly, trying to pass on his weak strength in this way.
"Harold, am I... am I going to die!"
"It's okay, Your Excellency is here, you won't have any..."
The two were both speechless, stunned by Rebos's behavior at the moment. They watched the robotic arm explore and entwine in the abdominal cavity, and then the slippery and sticky intestines were pulled out all at once.
"I'm dying!"
"Uh..ah, no no no."
Rebos punched the wounded man in the chin, hitting his vagus nerve complex hard and knocking him unconscious. Then the mechanical arm continued to explore and pulled out a piece of orc's tooth from the minced meat.
Just looking at the thumb-sized object, Harold felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. Looking at the bulletproof armor of the wounded man that was pierced, he felt that life was so fragile that it had no dignity at all.
Removal, spray, replacement, and suturing, Rebos actually only saved three people, and the rest had no chance of survival, and Harold also truly experienced an examination of the battlefield firsthand.
There were too many shattered bodies that could not be identified, and there were also many that were burnt, melted, and crushed. Those that were missing arms and legs were already extremely lucky, as they might be able to be equipped with pretty good robotic arms later.
As for myself, apart from some scratches, I was at most slightly mentally stimulated. Could this be considered as the protection bestowed by the Emperor of God?
Amidst the chaos, Harold knelt on the ground, took out the "Imperial Handbook" and began to study it carefully for the first time.
He was like a battlefield chaplain, thanking himself for the miracle while cheering on his comrades.
"Thank God..."
"Oh, you should thank the God-Emperor, but the one you should thank the most right now is Lord Rebos... But God-Emperor, please forgive me. God-Emperor, please forgive me."
The political commissar pulled up Harold who was kneeling on the ground, and then summoned all the remaining soldiers to Rebos. Only then did Harold realize to what extent the casualties of his company had been tragic in this battle.
"Brothers, our 119th Regiment fought brilliantly in this battle. You used your courage to build a wall that the orcs could not break through. Your tenacious spirit of resistance pushed back the repeated attacks of the aliens. You deserve praise and recognition!"
The political commissar standing on the scrapped tank delivered so-called inspiring words through the servo skull, but anyone present whose eyes were not injured could see how brutal the battle was.
Harold calculated the personnel configuration of the 119th Regiment during the march. An armored company had 15 Lemanus tanks and 5 Hydra tanks. Now after repairs, there are only 5 tanks left.
The reduction in personnel in the infantry company is even more obvious. During the pre-war deployment at the airport, dozens of 400-man columns seemed endless, but now there are only about people left, including some non-direct combatants.
Although the political commissar's words were very passionate, anyone with eyes that could still use them could see how powerful the 119th Regiment was when it first landed, and how pitiful it was in comparison after the current battle.
The most important and obvious thing is that he, the company political commissar, should not have been the one to make the post-war deployment...
"Yes, as you can see, the person standing here speaking today is a new person. That's right, our regimental commander is dead, and the commanders of the other companies and those lieutenant comrades did not survive...so the command power was passed down through the layers and handed over to me."
Hearing this, Harold clearly felt that the political commissar's tone had become much weaker. Yes, no matter how strong a man is, he needs to take a deep breath after the battle.
"However, there is also an advantage, that is, you are eligible for promotion...Private Harold Scott of the 13th Platoon, 6th Infantry Squad!"
"To!"
As a conditioned reflex, Harold straightened his chest and abdomen, and looked straight ahead.
"Next time when I call you sergeant, just agree to that. Do you understand me?"
"arrive..!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Understood! Sir!"
"Next, 17th Platoon, 2nd Infantry Squad..."
Harold felt a little dizzy. After the battle, he jumped two levels, which meant that his salary would increase again. He excitedly waited for the political commissar to finish his speech and quickly ran to the statistics department which was in name only.
In the ruined building, the clerk was compiling the data of the battle. His face was flushed and he was sweating all over. While typing, he kept mumbling why he was not the one who died.
There were also four or five private soldiers who had just been mobilized to work and were busy carrying documents. When they passed by him, several manuscripts fell to the ground. When he picked them up, he found that they were the "Regimental Flag Newspaper" that had not been distributed yet.
"God bless me, why the hell are all the commanders dead..."
This situation made Harold too embarrassed to speak, so he had no choice but to look down. He saw a painting of an orc soldier named Special Warfare Boy, saying that the other party might sneak into the camp and replace his fighting brothers.
There was also an article about soldier transformation, but he knew that it would be best to find a regimental doctor to add prosthetic limbs rather than deal with the technical priests of the monastery. After all, who knows if it would be more than just the arms that would be transformed after inhaling the anesthetic gas.
A chill ran up Harold's spine. Even if he had been tricked by this thing in the first place, if it had not been destroyed in front of him, which would have been a blow to morale and punishable by execution, he would have torn it to pieces.
"I hope Mr. Rebos will not transform me..."
"Hey! Have you become the communicator for that person from the monastery? That's perfect. You should go there now.
Put those damned "Regimental Flag" newspapers at the end, it's better to leave them to the orcs and let them read this kind of thing that only brainless people believe..."
Halfway through his words, the clerk shouted at the private, rolled his eyes, took a deep breath, shook his head, looked at Harold and said again:
That person is repairing our signal network. When it is finished, please let me know. We need to ask the regiment for new conscripts."
"Um..Okay, that..."
"Yes. Also, all the newly appointed lieutenants should count the damage to their weapons. If you don't hurry up and urge those bastards in the logistics department, you won't be able to come over even if you have a magazine."
"Yes, I suppose."
"Well, don't leave. Remember to contact the medical department to first settle the wounded and ensure that morale is stable. Then tell the transport department to transport the lightly wounded who are in stable condition to the rear.
What are you waiting for? Go ahead!" The clerk's words put Harold off his inquiry. He could only complete his responsibilities first and then find time to inquire.
He rode as fast as he could to the nearby communication station, and saw that the fortress housing the base station had been penetrated, with the complex components inside blown all over the ground.
But to Harold's surprise, the priests of the order lying on the ground did not look like they were killed in the explosion. Instead, they looked like they were poisoned, with their limbs twitching slightly and electronic blind sounds coming from them from time to time.
"Damn it, the signal is still disconnected. I think the base station at the regiment headquarters was destroyed by the orcs... Damn it, I'm afraid the regiment headquarters is also destroyed... Mr. Rebos, where do you think we should go next?"
Rebos turned off the switch and said quickly:
"Proceed according to your original plan."
Harold felt a chill in his heart, thinking that the fight had turned out like this halfway through, if he had followed the original plan... he would have died hundreds of times.