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Sergeant Latobis rubbed his fingers, laboriously smoothing out his stiff nails and bones as he reloaded his automatic rifle.
Then, the sergeant raised the dilapidated weapon to his face, a sensation like stuffing a frozen iron pipe into his clothes, but he had no time to care.
He stood up, stepped on an ammo crate, and extended his head and rifle barrel out of the trench. He didn't even need to aim; he found his next target, for the enemies to kill and snipe were simply everywhere.
"Bang! Bang-bang! Bang-bang-bang-bang..."
Latobis pulled the trigger, firing sporadically at first, but it quickly turned into a continuous deluge, for the scene before him made Latobis feel an involuntary terror. Only by frantically unleashing the deadly steel projectiles from his hands could he find a slight reprieve.
The automatic rifle continuously spat fire, its insane recoil repeatedly slamming into the sergeant's face, making his teeth ache as if they were being ripped out. The cheapest brass casings clattered to the ground with the violent gunshots, scattering throughout the trench.
The sergeant's sidearm was not a particularly refined or durable weapon. Every time it fired a bullet, it was accompanied by the loudest, most piercing sound—the radiator sizzling, ensuring that the untested weapon wouldn't explode its barrel from prolonged firing.
But Latobis could no longer hear. Although the gun in his hands was telling him with its frantic trembling how intense the sound was, he couldn't hear it anymore. Blood flowed from both his ears, and around him, dozens, even hundreds of times louder, was the roaring of battle.
This was a true trench, not the small ditch Latobis had previously garrisoned. This trench was over two meters deep, secured with piles of sandbags, and its perimeter was a circle after circle of barbed wire and landmines, crisscrossing like a spider sprawled on the ground.
Over five thousand soldiers held their ground in this enormous war grave. They wielded the most outdated weapons and bombs in the entire Empire, either peeking out from behind sandbags, firing at all costs, or scrambling back and forth in the muddy earth of the trench, transporting ammunition, or rushing to support places in worse condition. Under their feet lay haphazard drainage ditches and empty ammo crates.
At the very center of the trench, enclosing a somewhat irregular artillery position, were several concrete machine gun bunkers, incessantly spitting fire. They were the core of this trench that stretched for over ten kilometers, and the reason these thousands of people could hold on.
Latobis patted his ears, but still heard nothing: it was too noisy around him, too clamorous. Thousands of guns were firing simultaneously, dozens of cannons roared together, and tens of thousands of warriors, or rather, cannon fodder who couldn't be called warriors, were screaming, wailing, cursing, crying, struggling, vomiting...
This trench was resisting, just like this burning world. It roared, and it paid the price: unable to be cleared in time, the wet, muddy ground was now littered with lifeless corpses. Some were merely missing limbs, others were decapitated, and blood flowed freely, staining the entire trench a putrid, murky red.
After emptying his last bullet, Latobis shrank back into the trench. His calves were soft, trembling uncontrollably, just like his arms. He wanted to wipe his sweat, but his hand wouldn't lift, letting sweat beads run into his eyes, bringing a stinging, metallic pain.
But even so, Latobis reached into an nearby ammo crate, numbly counting bullets and loading them one by one. Everything was quiet, and logical. He couldn't even feel his arms doing these things, as if he were merely an observer.
He tried to take a deep breath, but inhaled an indescribable stench: the fishy smell of corpses, the urine of cowards, the acrid tang of gunpowder, the odor of earth, and the indescribable smell of war emanating from the air.
"Enemy attack!!"
Someone shrieked, and as if injected with the best adrenaline, Latobis practically leaped up, grabbing his gun once more.
Latobis once thought this trench was strong and noisy enough. After all, what more could he ask for? There were over five thousand people here, with cannons, machine guns, and ample supplies. He even thought he could stay here until he grew old and died.
But it wasn't until the fires of war truly reached here that Latobis remembered something: before, in that world called Shana, they clearly had a larger army, more terrifying heavy artillery, and more complete fortifications, yet they still collapsed, utterly defeated.
Why was that?
Because they were fighting against [Nature].
And humans, at least these humans, could absolutely not defeat [Nature].
The Ran-Dan began their attack again. Latobis could only hear a horn blowing on the distant horizon, a horn that inexplicably made one feel oppressed and terrified.
Then came the tremor.
What a tremor it was! It was as if a mountain was running, or tens of thousands of wild bison were stampeding together, even the pebbles and spent casings on the ground jumped wildly from the vibrations, constantly making crackling sounds.
Closer, even closer.
"...Gulp..."
Latobis swallowed, raising his gun. Through the scope, he could vaguely see a black tide sweeping in.
The Ran-Dan were here.
The Ran-Dan's attack was the mighty power of [Nature], a black tide, a collapsing mountain, wave after wave of terrifying, irresistible natural disaster.
First came the shrieks, terrifying howls that pierced the sky, a sound composed of countless human wails and the cries of other unknown creatures, tormenting everyone's eardrums over and over again: this alone was enough to break the weakest of them.
Then, the [Vanguard] of the Ran-Dan appeared.
A ragged army appeared in the sight of all defenders, or rather, it wasn't an army at all, but a thorough slave legion: stretching from one end of the sky to the other were all sorts of barely-clothed slaves. Some were humans, some even wore the same uniforms as Latobis, and the rest were bizarre aliens, some with three legs, five eyes, six arms, or more organs whose functions couldn't be discerned.
But one thing was the same: the expression on their faces, that look of numbness and despair, was enough to make even the bravest soldiers' backs run cold with sweat.
The Ran-Dan had used some unknown technology, perhaps some kind of sorcery, or perhaps some poison. In any case, those blasphemous aliens created something more terrifying than death.
"Open fire!"
No one knew who gave the order, perhaps an unknown officer, or perhaps just a panicked soldier's frantic shout, but the sound was quickly drowned out by a rain of gunfire.
All the soldiers were firing, all the soldiers were screaming, constantly churning saliva evaporating in the hot air where bullets flew. Only this could slightly relieve their fear and unease. In the very center of the camp, the cannons eagerly roared again.
The steel barrage was a merciless grinder. From tens of thousands of gun barrels and cannon mouths, those pathetic cannon fodder were torn to shreds, utterly annihilated. The few unfortunate survivors continued to advance numbly, until they stepped on the dense landmines, only to be blown to pieces.
Tens of thousands of cannon fodder were consumed in this way. No one grieved for their deaths. When Latobis reloaded his magazine again, all that remained before him were a few twisted lumps of flesh: those most unfortunate individuals had actually dodged the salvation of bullets and artillery fire, struggling to throw themselves onto the barbed wire. Dozens, hundreds, even thousands of living humans and aliens crushed and squeezed each other in the barbed wire. Their scarred bodies oozed crimson or various colored blood, mixing with the rotten flesh already hanging on the barbed wire, causing uncontrollable nausea.
Finally, Latobis raised his gun. Around him, countless others were doing the same. With another round of firing and volleys, the last struggle gradually ceased.
Latobis even believed he had done a good deed: he had sent these fellows to a quiet world, while he suffered here.
But just then, he heard the barbed wire groan under the strain: this meticulously laid death trap had withstood two waves of assault. Now, like the minefield before it, it had met its end.
And almost simultaneously, Latobis heard that horn sound again.
This time, it seemed particularly heavy.
Soon, another massive army appeared on the horizon.
Latobis reloaded his magazine again. He thought this would be another battle like before, but when his opponents appeared in his field of vision, he froze.
This was also a mixed army of slaves, but unlike the pathetic ones before, what appeared before Latobis this time were: terrifying alien creatures three to five meters tall, covered in scales; aliens with at least six arms, carrying six firearms, and a fearsome set of fangs; and even higher up, some grotesque floating creatures, also wielding firearms. At first glance, there was nothing unusual, but upon closer inspection...
Goddammit, they can fly!
At this moment, seeing tens of thousands of such demons and monsters rushing towards his trench, Latobis had only one thought.
It's over.
The trench was breached.
Thousands of monsters poured in, turning this defensive fortification into the purest hell.
The artillery positions fell silent after the flying aliens rushed in, only a chilling, grinding sound could be heard.
The machine gun bunkers, built of concrete and steel, held out the longest, until a squad of particularly crazed individuals burst forth from among the slaves. Their flamethrowers, like the grim reaper, turned one fortress after another into scorching graves reeking of fire and screams.
Latobis ran wildly in the trench, still clutching his gun, scurrying like a rat without direction or purpose. Behind him, earth-shattering screams and roars echoed, making him afraid to look back.
He turned corner after corner, colliding with countless others, trampling over those who had unfortunately fallen. His helmet was lost in the chaos, and his last pouch of ammunition from his waist had disappeared at some unknown time.
But he still clutched that gun.
"Here! Latobis! Here!"
He heard someone calling his name, then turned to see Tigre standing at the edge of the trench, waving to him: the second lieutenant's coat was gone, torn by something, revealing his innermost dark skin and chest hair.
So he knew my name after all. This fleeting thought was the first to cross Latobis's mind in the midst of the chaos.
Using almost his last ounce of strength and courage, Latobis ran over. Tigre pulled him, and the two stumbled out of the trench, covered in mud, water, and foul-smelling blood.
"Run... run quickly..."
Latobis could only hear this gasping sound.
They scrambled up, running desperately, the cold air burning their lungs like knives. Stones dug into the soles of their boots, and they could even hear their calf bones creaking, but they dared not stop.
They ran for an unknown duration, perhaps five kilometers, perhaps ten. They tumbled behind a rock, collapsing to the ground, limbs splayed, unable to run anymore.
For a few minutes, they just gasped, desperate, heaving breaths.
"Second Lieutenant... your letter..."
Latobis looked at the torn gash on Tigre's chest. He saw the family letter that Tigre treasured.
Tigre immediately felt for it, then felt again. He then rummaged through all his pockets, over and over, then slumped back down, head bowed, simply gasping for air.
"Maybe it got lost back there... It's fine... It's fine... The two of us being alive is better than anything."
"Let's wait a bit longer, see if anyone else runs out and can join us."
So, they waited a while, but no one came. Finally, they decided to continue their escape, and the two figures vanished into the bitter cold night of Sabis IV.
Latobis looked back at his brief dwelling: it was completely engulfed in flames, orange-red fire billowing with thick smoke, spreading all the way to the horizon.
At this moment, Latobis had only one thought.
After fighting for so long, from Shana to here.
He still didn't know what those [Ran-Dan] truly looked like.
Somewhere.
Several Dark Angels stood in an extremely gloomy room, a map laid out between them.
"A defensive line in sector D14 has just been breached."
"Any losses?"
"Just some mortals. After all, it's just an expendable outer defense line. No one should have gotten out."
The Dark Angel looking at the map nodded.
"Understood."
"Regardless, what we need to ensure is the smooth implementation of [the Plan]."
Then, no one paid any more attention to the matter.
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