Inside a fortified command post on the surface of Planditium, the atmosphere was oppressive. Officers and staff, clad in the iconic sky-blue armor of Ultramar, were swiftly packing star charts, data slates, and various confidential documents in an orderly silence. Metal cases clanged shut with dull thuds.
Soon, the new occupants of this command post arrived.
The door was pushed open, and a squad of Helldivers soldiers, wearing full black carapace armor, entered. Each of them looked identical, covered from head to toe in black carapace armor and gas masks, making one wonder how the Helldivers could quickly distinguish soldiers from officers on the battlefield.
The Helldivers leading the squad rendered a standard aquila salute to the highest-ranking Auxiliary Legion Commander in the command post. The Commander returned the salute with meticulous precision, but his eyes held complex emotions.
"We are here by superior orders to take over this command post," the Helldivers' voice came through the mask's speaker.
The Commander nodded, pointing to his busy subordinates around him: "In ten minutes, all important data will have been packed."
The Helldivers also nodded, about to turn and inspect the facilities, but stopped at the Commander's next words.
"Was it you who suggested to the Ultramarines' Lords that we make a full retreat?" the Commander asked.
"Yes," the Helldivers player admitted frankly. "The battle between the Tyranid Swarm and the Helldivers Legion will turn this planet into a veritable death world. You are not suited to remain here."
"So what? We won't thank you!" the Commander gritted his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides, making a grinding sound. "Planditium is the place where I was born and raised! I should be here, perishing with any enemy who dares to invade her!"
"Then you should hate the tyranid," the Helldivers' tone remained flat. "It is the large-scale invasion of these xenos that forces us to resort to such extreme measures. If it were just dealing with some cultists' unrest, sending a few hundred Helldivers to patrol the Lower Hive slums for a year or two would pretty much solve it; there would be no need for this."
The Commander said coldly: "So I just don't thank you… Oh my, Emperor, what the hell is that?!"
His eyes suddenly widened, staring intently at the doorway. A Tech-Priest in a red robe was using his multi-jointed mechanical arm to guide several Helldivers soldiers, who were laboriously carrying a crude metal cylinder flashing with red warning lights — it was unmistakably a tactical nuke.
"A tactical nuke," the Helldivers looked strangely at the flustered Commander, as if he had asked a superfluous question.
"I damn well know it's a tactical nuke!" the Commander finally swore, pointing at the deadly weapon of war, his voice changing pitch. "I'm asking what you're doing bringing a tactical nuke into the command post!"
"The Tyranid Swarm will definitely attempt decapitation tactics," the Helldivers said matter-of-factly. "If our regular defensive forces cannot withstand their decapitation units, we will activate this tactical nuke and perish with them."
The Tech-Priest, hearing their conversation, even interjected to reassure them: "Don't worry, Commander. There's no need to fear the tyranid accidentally detonating it underground; the nuke's detonation requirements are very high. If it doesn't receive the correct encrypted command, simply striking the outer casing will only detonate the external conventional explosives, and its power… well, it's just equivalent to a slightly larger high-explosive charge."
The Commander's facial muscles twitched violently twice. He watched as the Tech-Priest had already begun scanning the ground with a detector, seemingly looking for the best spot to dig a pit and bury the nuke.
He suddenly turned his head and roared at the staff officer behind him: "Are you finished packing?!"
The staff officer, who was watching the Helldivers begin their work in shock, snapped back to attention and quickly replied: "Reporting, sir! Everything is packed!"
The Commander waved his hand, giving his final order: "Planditium is yours… We're evacuating!"
On the scorched earth of the front line, in a hastily dug trench, the grim atmosphere was completely gone.
Two Helldivers, clad in black carapace armor, were squatting on the ground, using an ammo box as a table, intently playing a game of ancient Chinese chess. The pieces were improvised from spent casings and alien carapace fragments; though crude, the two were locked in a fierce, evenly matched game.
Around them, six other Helldivers from the same squad formed a circle, enthusiastically watching the match, occasionally offering tactical advice like, "Jump the horse! What kind of move is that for an elephant?!"
A footsteps, noticeably heavier than a normal person's, came from behind the position, and everyone simultaneously looked up.
Seeing the familiar figure of their squad leader, one of the spectating players was the first to greet him: "Hey, squad leader, you're back."
The squad leader didn't respond. His eyes, obscured by the gas mask, scanned the group: "Where are Eren and Zeke? Why aren't they here?"
"They're on sentry duty, one overt and one covert, over there," a player pointed to the corner of the trench.
"Very good, since you've placed sentries as I arranged," the squad leader's tone suddenly rose, filled with suppressed anger. "Then I'd like to ask, why did I go offline for just ten minutes to get some nutrient fluid, and when I logged back on, I found myself lying in the company headquarters?!"
Everyone looked at each other, and for a moment, silence reigned. Finally, a player named Flying Virtues stepped forward, cleared his throat twice, and attempted to explain.
"Ahem, squad leader, it's like this. Shortly after you went offline, someone snuck into our position. We saw him wearing civilian clothes, and he said he was delayed for some reason, left behind by the main force, and hoped I could take him to the evacuation rendezvous point. We thought he was a fellow human, so we let him come over."
"Who knew that as soon as this guy got close, a xeno 'popped' out of his stomach. That scene… honestly, it stunned us all, and we didn't react for a moment. After you went offline, squad leader, your body wouldn't move, so that xeno just pounced on you.
That's when we reacted and quickly started shooting, but… but because we're all noobs, our aim isn't very good, and we accidentally… shot you too, squad leader…"
The squad leader almost fainted from anger at these clowns.
"How many times have I said it?! This is a battlefield! A battlefield! Any approaching creature, as long as it doesn't have a name above its head and isn't an astartes, is an enemy! Open fire immediately!
Not to mention, command has already announced that Planditium has evacuated all mortals except for us!
You godddamn noobs!"
After a thorough dressing-down, looking at these greenhorns with their heads down and silent, the squad leader felt a deep weariness. He truly couldn't expect a group of Noobs whose total in-game time was less than a hundred hours to make the most correct judgments in such a high-pressure environment.
Just as his anger subsided slightly, and he was about to give a few more tactical instructions, a weak voice muttered from the crowd.
"But… he didn't have a white outline," a player quietly argued. "What if he really was a civilian left behind?"
The squad leader's anger, which had just begun to subside, roared back to life like a gallon of gasoline poured on a fire, erupting in a blaze once more.