Chapter 627

Standard Tera calendar, 941.m41

Amegiddoton, ash plain, position 39

"Obviously, my mother often tells me that if I can't change the status quo, I have to adapt to the status quo, such as -"

"For example, immediately close the dog's mouth that you can't spit out green teeth, pick up the engineer shovel, dig some soil nearby and put it under your feet, which will make your feet feel much better."

Oh, the emperor is on.

As far as common sense is concerned, an introverted person is not suitable to be a commander, which is true. However, due to the rules of emergency mobilization in wartime, Hartman Paul was honored to have the command of an infantry squad, and the rank was promoted from a first-class soldier to a sergeant, which took only half a month.

At present, they belong to the 114 infantry regiment of amigiddoton, which has a glorious history in the mainland of the planet.

Of course, perhaps the "they" in the above sentence should not be added, because the 114 infantry regiment did not pay attention to the recruits who were local workers and citizens a month or two ago. Therefore, it is natural that they did not rush straight to the green skin with the large army, but guarded some unimportant places.

Hartman Paul can imagine the rotten smile on the faces of those bastards with military ranks.

Well, just stay. It's his hometown. He doesn't care if he can get a green tooth.

Of course, except for squatting in the trenches.

Hartman Paul looked unhappy at the thought.

Look at this big pit. It's along the river and collecting rain. Now it coincides with the unique shadow season of the planet. Many volcanoes begin to erupt, and black clouds cover the sky. It not only makes remote communication inside the planet extremely difficult, but also brings together sewage, which numbs the legs of these recruits. Needless to say, their feet are still soaked like flour fermentation.

And those old soldiers, huddled in the three storehouse on the side of the bridge, ate the soup dripping from the big beard on the lapel of the shiny shell and armor.

"Fuck."

Subconsciously, he reached out and touched the empty cigarette box on his helmet. Hartmann Paul reluctantly said to Xie chal:

"Go and get me another cigarette butt."

Shaichar, who has just turned 17, is digging the broken soil by the trench with an engineer shovel. He was just a baker not long ago.

"Sir, this is the seventh time."

Then step on your feet with your frozen legs.

"Spare me."

"So, harpy?"

The shoemaker waved his hand.

"Corns?"

The guy shaving with a bayonet didn't kill him at all.

Don't ask the rest. Hartmann knows that none of them are convinced by him.

According to the Convention, it is common sense for the guards to fear and obey their superiors, but there are exceptions here, because these bastards know that even if they don't bird him, he will only tolerate introverts.

Sometimes he will think, what common sense routine to TM, why others use it smoothly, and it will be difficult for him to do anything.

Alas, the emperor is on!

Hartman had to pick up the cigarette butt by the warehouse window himself. In addition, the only advantage of climbing out of the trench was to dry the wet boots a little, but he slipped when he climbed to the edge.

"Be careful, sir!"

"Be careful, fart."

Hartmann took a deep breath as he climbed out. The air here was different from the freshness of the park where he was originally located. Now the air was only smelling of soot.

No one can say why.

He was originally a gardener, but he was a boy scout for some time when he was a teenager. Unexpectedly, as soon as the mobilization order came down, he was directly recruited as a "Sergeant reserve".

Good luck is always far from him.

He remembered that the last order they had received from these old soldiers so far was actually two words - guarding the bridge.

But what is there to keep this bridge? Harpy, who has complex connections, once asked Hartman to be careful of the news that green skin may attack at any time, but according to his superiors, they are the attacker, and green skin is just a little trouble that is better than nest gangs.

It seems very convincing to see those old soldiers drinking and eating all day.

When a cold wind carrying volcanic ash blew, Hartmann shrunk his neck. In front of him, the three-story warehouse built by the bridge was once a grain purchasing station in this area.

Of course, it is not so much a takeover as a legal robbery covered with a fig leaf.

There was a rumor that the warehouse was designed according to the military fortification standard in order to prevent farmers from riot. Now it seems that the firmness of the roof only collapsed in a false shelling shows that this is true.

Quietly, Hartmann bent down and squatted on the windowsill of the warehouse.

"Yo."

A contemptuous voice sounded. Hartmann looked up and found that it was one of the old soldiers who winked at him.

"If you think of this as a public toilet, we'd better talk."

Well, perhaps in the view of these guard veterans, the intelligence of their new recruits is only higher than that of oglin, and discrimination is the norm of this group.

Hartman ignored him, reached out to pick up a cigarette and held it in his mouth.

"Oh, oh, quite a personality."

The veteran rubbed his stubble chin.

"Well, if you want a cigarette, just say it. It's sneaky..."

With that, he raised his left hand, hung his gun on the windowsill, and began to feel his hands up, covered with greasy armed belts.

"Here you are."

The veteran ripped off Hartmann's cigarette end and stuffed a new cigarette into it.

"... thanks."

"Where?"

The veteran smiled calmly.

"Do you want fire?"

"No, I have my own way..."

Boom!

The explosion suddenly sounded and scared Hartman to climb directly to the ground.

Just as he lay down in the water and gasped for breath, shaichar shouted in his more unsightly voice.

"Coming! Coming!"

"What's coming?"

Hartman, a fish, stretched out his hand at the edge of the trench and held his deadly pistol tightly. He rolled back to the trench with mud and water, and then looked up slightly.

In the mist, a group of terrible two legged green beasts were holding up their knives and axes, as if they were going to trample through the poor concrete bridge deck with their stamping ground and slightly trembling footsteps.

This is the first time Hartmann saw green skin. It was more terrible than he thought, because in the battle Manual issued, green skin should be thin, small and timid. Why are these big and fierce?

"Pay attention to concealment!"

Hartmann pressed the harpy with the gun down and asked everyone to bury their heads. Not to mention that the green shot was just listening. It was no joke that there were too many bullets.

But just then, another voice sounded.

"Don't lie down!"

There was a shout from the warehouse. The veteran who handed Hartman a cigarette rode in front of the window edge.

"Let go of the fight! These bastards have no range with melee weapons!"

As if to prove his judgment, the laser gun in his hand seemed very comfortable.

But the green skin was obviously not as simple as he said. The laser gun didn't hit the target, but it angered the green skins. They rushed to the first few guys and stretched out their hands. Behind them were several big guns with black smoke.

"Fuck!"

The veteran shrank back in a hurry, and then the windowsill where he had stayed became a sieve.