Chapter 147: Active Offensive
For Governor Gu’s request, Martins accepted without much hesitation.
After all, this was exactly the type of task they excelled at—or at least one of the things they excelled at.
While Star Warriors were powerful, their low numbers remained a critical disadvantage.
On any battlefield that reached a certain scale or intensity, deploying elite but limited Star Warriors in direct confrontations was an absurd tactic.
Even the Star Warriors themselves wouldn’t accept such an order.
No matter how tough the power armor was, it couldn’t withstand a direct hit from a 155 howitzer round.
As powerful as their bolters were, capable of punching through locally made “Challenger” tanks, they’d barely scratch the surface of the Starfleet’s Lion Tanks, let alone the Lion King Tanks on a top-tier battlefield.
They were meant to be the spearhead, not the hammer.
Taking advantage of the three-day period Gu Hang needed to assemble his troops for a counterattack, the five Phoenix Warriors would infiltrate enemy lines to locate and mark high-value strategic targets.
Accompanying them were twenty-eight warriors from the “Storm Squad.”
These soldiers, once elite Marines aboard the Quintet, had now been trained by Gu Hang to the T3 rank.
Individually, they were reliable enough to take down an average Greenskin in close combat without much difficulty.
They would follow the Phoenix Warriors’ temporary command, obeying orders and coordinating their actions.
Without much delay, the thirty-three-person unit departed under cover of night.
Their starting point was at the southernmost end of the north-south battle line.
To mask their movements, the 4th Infantry Regiment of the 7th Garrison Division stationed there launched a proactive assault.
In support, a battalion was allocated from the joint artillery positions in the rear.
Thirty artillery pieces advanced five kilometers, delivering a 20-round barrage toward the area of the upcoming infantry assault.
The first five rounds fired rapidly, with the remaining rounds spaced out every three to four minutes to maintain a steady bombardment rhythm.
The Greenskins were thrown into confusion by the barrage.
They had experienced shelling before, but typically only when they launched an attack and human troops called for artillery support.
In those cases, heavy fire would rain down on their approach or retreat routes.
The primary objective was to disrupt their advances and inflict casualties.
Alternatively, if they fired their own cannons, human forces would counterattack in response.
A barrage aimed at their own defensive line was rare, usually just an occasional shell or two.
But here, within an hour, six hundred heavy rounds fell upon a small area.
The Greenskins stationed there had never encountered anything like it.
The Greenskin commander, Bonegrit, hadn’t been killed in the bombardment.
His position, constructed atop a concrete structure’s ruins and further reinforced with scrap, was incredibly sturdy.
Only a direct hit could destroy it; mere fragments and shockwaves couldn’t penetrate.
But throughout the entire position, few fortifications matched this level of protection.
And given the suddenness of the barrage, casualties were bound to be severe.
Most of the casualties occurred early on, and those who survived eventually took cover in various fortified positions.
There were still some losses, but they were within tolerable limits.
Yet, despite understanding this, Bonegrit paced back and forth within his fortification, muttering various Greenskin curses in frustration.
He knew the humans hadn’t fired so fiercely just for show.
His green brain was clear-headed enough to realize that this was likely the prelude to a human assault.
However, he couldn’t rush out of the fortification to rally his troops, urging them to stay alert for the battle.
Artillery shells still rained down every few minutes, and leaving the fortification would risk death by bombardment.
Dying to a shell meant no chance to fight.
So, he could only swallow his anger and continue hiding.
But soon, the opportunity to fight came.
When the last barrage ceased, and no more shells fell within the next ten minutes, he began to hear gunfire and the sounds of battle.
His spirits lifted, and he led a few Greenskins out of the fortification.
He stepped onto the shell-scarred ground, with smoke and heat still lingering.
Looking toward the direction of the gunfire, he vaguely spotted the advancing humans in the not-too-distant distance.
The humans moved forward briskly, splitting into groups to clear each fortification and ruin they passed.
In Bonegrit’s memory, many of these locations were occupied by his own troops.
However, only a few locations seemed to be actively fighting.
In areas without fighting, the humans entered briefly before quickly moving on.
Bonegrit realized that his forces stationed in those places had likely been wiped out in the earlier bombardment.
Otherwise, they wouldn’t have let the humans approach so easily.
How many of his troops had died?
He didn’t know.
He shouted loudly, “Waaagh!! Lads! Get out here! The humans are charging at us! Now’s the time to show them what we’re made of! Don’t let them look down on us!”
“Waaagh!!”
The surrounding Greenskins echoed his war cry, emerging from their cover, with some even driving out an armed pickup truck that had survived the bombardment.
Another crew wheeled out a makeshift “cannon” made from scrap metal barrels.
But even with all these, Bonegrit noticed there were far fewer Greenskins than he had expected.
Half of them hadn’t emerged.
Those human big-bang-booms had indeed packed a punch.
But no matter!
Even with only half his men left, they’d still wipe out those humans daring to fight.
With his troops behind him, Bonegrit charged forward.
…
Observing the frontline, Lieutenant Laird Meshek shook his head.
He had once been a sergeant in Cordelia’s army.
Later, he joined Colonel Tadius’s recruitment drive, signing up as a commissar-in-training.
Following the Garbage Town reorganization, he was assigned as a commissar to the 4th Regiment of the 7th Garrison Division, and his rank was elevated to captain.
His rapid promotion was typical among Governor Gu’s long-serving troops.
The army’s expansion was swift, and as long as veteran soldiers remained loyal and ambitious, they could advance quickly.
When the rear command ordered them to fully support the Phoenix Battalion’s operation and Battalion Leader Martins instructed them to launch a covering assault, Meshek carried out his orders resolutely.
He knew their regiment commander was reluctant to undertake the task.
Even when adventurers were integrated into the regular army, and efforts were made to break up the private loyalties of adventurer-captains promoted to officers, those former adventurers’ instincts persisted.
They naturally resisted missions requiring substantial sacrifice, especially if it was to cover others’ actions.
But that was the difference between a soldier and an adventurer.
Under his strict orders, and by virtue of military command, the 4th Infantry Regiment launched the attack.
Before the battle began, soldiers and officers alike harbored trepidation.
The Greenskins had left a deep psychological scar on them in the past.
Even with hundreds of shells clearing the path ahead, the troops still approached with a sense of dread.
Meshek’s dissatisfaction stemmed from this attitude.
Fortunately, once the battle commenced, resistance from the Greenskins was minimal.
It was clear they’d been rattled by the bombardment, with many dying in their fortifications, leaving few able to mount a defense.
The remaining Greenskins demonstrated strong combat resolve.
In close-range shootouts, it often took the lives of two or three soldiers to kill one Greenskin.
If a Greenskin closed the distance, the troops weren’t like those in the Beast Slaughtering Group; despite having bayonets, they were often hesitant to engage in melee.
This wasn’t a matter of tactics or skills but rather morale and courage.
Still, with their superior numbers, the 4th Regiment broke through the Greenskins.
As it turned out, Greenskins would flee, too.
When three or five Greenskins peeked out of a fortification only to see hundreds of human soldiers aiming at them, they scattered.
Some were shot in the back, a fate most despised among the Greenskins.
Before long, a few Greenskins who managed to escape returned, bringing with them a group of over two hundred Greenskins.
They jeered at the retreating Greenskins, who, embarrassed by the taunts, charged back.
In the ensuing shootout, Greenskins and soldiers alike fell continuously.
The fight was brutal, with each fallen Greenskin costing the lives of two or three soldiers.
If the exchange continued at this rate, humanity would undoubtedly win.
Especially since they deployed rocket launchers and mortars, one armed pickup truck was obliterated halfway through its charge.
At most, around five hundred casualties would result.
This was the worst-case estimate.
In reality, as more Greenskins were killed, their threat would sharply decrease.
Their morale would break, and they’d turn and flee, just as they had earlier.
If they continued to push forward, humans wouldn’t suffer nearly as many losses.
But even so, it was the human soldiers who first faltered, unwilling to press on.
Seeing their comrades torn apart by Greenskins’ powerful firearms filled them with dread.
After suffering hundreds of casualties, they were on the verge of collapse.
Ryder Mescheko was furious.
He shouted angrily at the regiment commander beside him, “Look at these soldiers! What a disgrace!”
The commander of the 4th Regiment couldn’t find the words to respond.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t ordered his troops to hold the line and push forward, but what could he do when they couldn’t advance?
He didn’t dare to talk back; this officer in the red hat was a direct appointee from the Governor, essentially acting as a military supervisor.
Seeing his response, Mescheko was even more infuriated by his lack of initiative.
“To the front line! We’re going to the front! We need to set an example!”
He pulled out his handgun and grabbed the regiment commander.
The two of them, along with the guard company, began advancing to the front themselves.
Mescheko knew that, as a commander, his primary duty was to lead, not to place himself on the front line.
Even if he went up front, his combat skills weren’t significantly better than those of a regular soldier.
But this was an exceptional moment; there was nothing left to command.
What the soldiers lacked wasn’t strategy or tactics, but courage.
And so, senior officers needed to lead by example and take the initiative.
As he advanced with the guard company and the regiment commander, he encountered a unit retreating while fighting.
Mescheko was furious to the core; he found the company commander of the unit, grabbed him by the collar, and shouted angrily, “The order given to you was to advance! Advance! Keep advancing! Who allowed you to retreat?”
“I…” The company commander’s face went pale, and he couldn’t say a word.
Mescheko kicked him in the stomach, sending him to the ground, then pointed his handgun at the man’s head:
“Retreating without orders, cowardice in the face of the enemy, is considered desertion. As an officer, the punishment is even more severe!”
“No, no…” The company commander tried to explain, and the regiment commander standing beside Mescheko wanted to speak up to dissuade him.
But Mescheko didn’t care to listen and pulled the trigger immediately.
The bullet passed through the head of the officer who had just earned the rank of lieutenant, and his body slumped lifelessly.
Mescheko then shouted at the stunned political instructor standing nearby, “You’re now taking over command! Lead your company and follow me!”
The instructor snapped to his senses, nodded quickly, and hurriedly called out to his men.
Mescheko waved for the guard company to follow, then turned to the regiment commander beside him, saying, “For the Governor! We are destined to win! You can’t be the same as before! We’re soldiers, not scavengers digging through the garbage for scraps!”
“I… I understand.”
“Pick up your gun! Fight like a warrior!”
Watching the regiment commander reluctantly step forward, Mescheko picked up his radio and ordered every political instructor in the regiment to ensure their units maintained an aggressive stance, authorizing immediate execution for those who showed cowardice.
Then, Mescheko raised his handgun and fired into the sky, shouting to those around him, “Comrades! Charge with me!”
Under his strict orders and with him and the regiment commander personally leading the guard company into battle, the entire regiment’s morale finally shifted.
With the support of officers, especially the political instructors leading them, the units resumed their offensive stance.
As both sides drew closer, the battle quickly turned bloodier and more brutal.
The greenskins’ advantage in close combat became apparent, leading to higher casualties among the human soldiers; however, the humans still held an advantage in numbers and firepower, and their accuracy in close-range firefights was also superior.
Human soldiers continued to fall, and even officers died in action, but the greenskins fell at an even faster rate.
When the losses for the 4th Regiment reached 15%, with over two hundred soldiers down, only seventy or eighty greenskins remained.
Guli knew they were now cornered.
With the distance so close, retreat was no longer an option; however, the bloody battle had fully awakened his inner warrior.
His skin grew greener, and his body slightly increased in size in response to the battle.
“Waaagh!” he roared, leaping out from his cover and charging toward the nearest position held by human soldiers.
Inspired by his ferocity, all the remaining greenskins went into a berserk frenzy.
The final wave of assault had begun.
Guli, holding his massive rifle, fired six shots during his charge, killing five soldiers.
At the same time, his body was hit by at least a hundred bullets, with blood flowing from every part, nearly covering his green skin; one of his eyes had been blinded, but the remaining eye glared even more ferociously.
He broke into the infantry platoon’s position and instantly transformed into a slaughter machine on the battlefield.
The heavy blade in his hand whirled like a death cyclone, and in just a short time, he wiped out every soldier in that position.
The human soldiers, adhering to their tactics, had fixed bayonets to fight him up close as he approached.
However, they were no match in strength, resilience, or even agility; Guli took seven or eight bayonet stabs without showing any sign of fatigue, and he effortlessly slaughtered every soldier brave enough to fight him hand-to-hand.
When the courageous ones had all perished, those left had no will to fight.
After the sergeant-major was killed, a few remaining soldiers from the platoon fled in panic.
Even the company’s political instructor, who had come for support, was blasted in half by a single shot, causing the entire company to start breaking apart.
This triggered a chain reaction; the greenskins who had charged with Guli managed to rout a company at the front after suffering about twenty casualties.
Caught off guard, two neighboring companies also showed signs of faltering when faced with the terrifying charge of the greenskins.
Ryder Mescheko noticed this situation.
He would not allow a near-certain victory to slip away again.
He immediately led the guard company to block the gap and ordered nearby companies to join in closing it.
In his words, even if it cost lives, they could bury the remaining fifty greenskins under bodies.
Guli also saw the red-hat officer who was shouting incessantly and charged toward him, firing wildly with his reloaded rifle in Mescheko’s direction.
In moments, three or four soldiers around Mescheko had been blown apart, and the seemingly unstoppable greenskin leader charged directly at him.
Mescheko’s mind was unusually calm at this moment.
He knew he had made a mistake; he had forced the entire regiment’s morale up, yet he had come too close to the front line, where the enemy could reach him directly.
If he were to die here, the entire regiment’s morale could collapse.
If that happened, it would truly become a joke of hundreds being overwhelmed by a few dozen greenskins.
But it was a mistake he had to make.
This unit, recently reformed from adventurers, had not yet fully internalized military discipline, and morale was low.
If he hadn’t acted as he did earlier, they might not have even come this far in the fight.
He knew the odds were grim, but retreating was out of the question.
All he could do was pull out his handgun, standing still, his black coat fluttering in the wind.
He held his head high, firing bullets at the approaching greenskin.
Even in death, he would die standing.
He hoped that his death, or rather, his death stance, would inspire the soldiers around him.
The enemy was merely at their last gasp; if they could hold out a bit longer, they could kill them all.
The handgun rounds had limited effect on the greenskin, merely symbolic resistance.
But at that moment, a series of heavy gunshots rang from behind him.
Heavy footsteps quickly approached, and soon, someone rushed past his side.
It was a giant clad in red power armor.
The Emperor’s angel had arrived.
The gunfire up ahead was unmistakably from a bolter.
The explosive rounds flew, killing three greenskins behind Guli with one shot each.
For a veteran Space Marine, every shot within tens of meters hit its mark.
And the power of a bolter was nothing like the puny G9 rifle; a single shot was lethal against a greenskin.
However, the two explosive rounds aimed at Guli didn’t kill him.
The first he dodged at the last second—though it wasn’t that he could dodge bullets, but rather he anticipated the shot after seeing the Space Marine emerge from behind the red-hat officer.
The second hit him square in the right chest, creating a large hole, yet the berserk greenskin leader merely hesitated, showing no sign of weakness, and continued charging while howling.
Guli had never seen such a shrimp that looked about his own size, much less one encased in red armor.
But he sensed immediately that this was a formidable foe, and he felt thrilled at the chance to face such a powerful opponent!
He raised his heavy-backed blade high and slashed at the red-armored giant.
The charging Phoenix Marine twisted his waist, dodging the slash, and swiftly thrust his combat blade into Guli’s abdomen.
Using the momentum of his charge, he sliced through, causing a mixture of blood and entrails to spray out.
Yet Guli did not die! He even had enough strength to counterattack!
One of his hands grabbed the Marine’s arm and yanked hard while hooking his foot, managing to throw him to the ground.
Guli pressed down on him, grinning savagely as if he felt no pain from his abdominal wound.
One hand clamped onto the edge of the Marine
’s helmet while the other raised his heavy-backed blade as if he were about to decapitate this Phoenix.
But his blade never came down.
During the struggle, the fallen Phoenix had already stabbed his combat knife rapidly into Guli’s chest and neck multiple times, finally ending his life.
Pushing the corpse aside, the red-armored warrior stood up, surveying the battlefield; the fight was nearly over.