Warhammer: Empire Reboot

“You said the same thing last time, and then we pulled three pieces of shrapnel out of your nail.”

Zabril placed the captured ammunition boxes on the ground.

"Distribute the grain first."

Marie did not move aside.

Her eyes were very red, clearly she hadn't slept well for several days.

“The eastern outpost has lost contact. Also, two more Mourning Guard squads have appeared at the mine today. Our men heard the cultists say that Seraphax is going to clear the Grey Ridge Mountains.”

Zabrel remained silent for a moment.

"Move the traps outside the entrance back another thirty meters, extinguish all fire sources, prepare to evacuate those who can walk, and carry those who cannot walk on stretchers."

Marie asked in a low voice, "Where else can we turn?"

No one can answer this question.

There are fewer and fewer hiding places in the mountains.

The Chaos Patrol is growing denser.

The Broken Horned Orcs can detect traces of human activity, while the Mourning Guard knows how to block escape routes.

For every small ambush that Zabril won, the Thousand Eyes Chapter would commit a few more troops. The enemy wasn't stupid; they were simply using sheer numbers to limit his operational space.

This was a resistance that could not be won.

Many people in the camp know this.

A twelve-year-old boy, holding a captured laser gun, stood not far away and listened for a long time before finally speaking.

"Lord Astartes, may we call for backup?"

Several people in the bunker looked up.

They had wanted to ask this question before, but no one dared to.

Zabril looked at the child.

The child continued, “You are the Emperor’s angel, so you must know how to find other angels. Just one team can drive away those traitors outside.”

Zabrel's fingers paused on the blaster grip.

Other angels.

Former brothers.

Dark Angel.

Perhaps they will eventually kill Chaos, or perhaps they will save some civilians along the way, but before that, they will lock him in the interrogation room and reopen old wounds from ten thousand years ago.

He is not afraid of death.

He feared that if he were taken away, these people would lose even one person who could organize their evacuation.

"The communication equipment is broken, the galaxy is blocked, and the signal can't get out," Zabril said.

This is part of the truth.

The child lowered his head.

“We rely on ourselves,” Zabril said. “The longer we live, the fewer people the enemy will take away.”

Some people started moving grain, some checked the stretchers, and some silently stuffed magazines into their worn-out shoulder straps.

Late at night, Zabril sat alone at the entrance of the passage, removing the burnt armor plates from the outer layer of his breastplate.

He only had seventeen explosive rounds left.

He couldn't tell how many more battles the power sword could last.

He concealed a phosphorescent bomb on his waist; it was his last weapon from the Destroyer Squad.

Using it could burn down an entire passage, or it could trap you and the civilians behind you in the toxic smoke.

He looked up at the dark sky outside the cave entrance.

The clouds over Kamas resembled stained iron-gray cloth, while the distant firelight from the sacrificial towers cast a dark red glow on the mountain ridges.

The communication channel was filled with static, occasionally interspersed with broadcasts from the Thousand Eyes Warband, repeatedly stating that those who surrendered would be pardoned, while those who hid would be executed throughout the region.

Zabrel listened for a while, then turned off the channel.

If Caliban's past sins allow him to live for another ten thousand years, then at least he can do one of the things Astartes should do here.

Protect humanity.

Even if it can't protect you for long.

At dawn, the sentry on the east side ran back to camp covered in blood.

"They're here."

“Cultists, lots of them. And horned orcs too. Gray-armored giants are behind them.”

Zabril fastened his helmet; the warning symbol at the crack in his breastplate was still flashing.

"Everyone move along Route 2. Combat teams, follow me to the front entrance. Demolition teams, prepare for the collapse."

Marie grabbed his arm: "Are you going to cover our retreat?"

"I can hold them off for a while."

People in the bunker began to move, cries were smothered, children were stuffed under stretchers, wounded men bit their swaddling cloths, and deserters of the defense forces hung the last few fragmentation mines on their waists.

Outside the cave entrance, the sounds of war drums and orc roars grew closer.

The Chaos Legion launched another attack with a large number of mutated orcs and traitorous mortals.

The situation is becoming increasingly critical.

The cultists dragged several mortars from the mine's defense depot and set them up behind the ravine. The shells flew over the black rock ridges of the Gray Ridge Mountains and slammed into the bunker entrance on both sides.

Debris fell, old concrete cracked, and the camouflage netting hidden in front of the cave entrance was blown away by the shockwave, revealing the obstacles pieced together from scrap steel plates and mine carts.

Zabril stood at the very front.

The power armor's sensors kept alarming, the red warning symbol at the crack in the chest armor was flashing faster and faster, and the output of the backpack's reactor was unstable.

But he still positioned himself in front of the cave entrance because the mortals behind him needed to see him.

As long as he's still standing, those people can continue to retreat.

"Demolition team, collapse the fake entrance on the left after the second round of shelling."

Marie was organizing the transfer of the wounded from the rear. Upon hearing the order, she immediately pushed the two young men to the side path.

"Do as he says, and don't look back."

The young man, pale-faced, dragged the mine cart loaded with explosives into the side tunnel.

Down the hillside, the cultists' ranks had already pressed forward.

In the front row were traitorous mortals wearing iron masks, holding old-fashioned automatic guns, chain blades, and laser rifles seized from the defense forces.

The middle section consists of horned orcs, whose bodies are more twisted than those of ordinary orcs, with bone horns protruding from their skulls and shoulders.

At the very back were several tall, gray-black figures. The Mourning Guard did not rush into battle, but observed from the shadows in the ravine.

They are very cautious.

Zabril could see that.

The enemy did not come to sweep through ordinary refugee camps, but to eliminate an Astartes that could repeatedly ambush patrols.

They first used mortals and orcs to test the trap, allowing the Mourning Guard to conserve their strength. Once he ran out of ammunition and his armor failed, they would send down the real heavy hammer.

Zabrel raised his explosive gun and aimed at the cult leader at the front who was holding a blasphemous flag.

A single shot pierced the helmet, the bomb exploded inside the skull, and the flag fell into the mud.

Laser beams and automatic bullets crisscrossed from the firing ports on both sides of the opening.

My aim is still not very good, but the enemy is so densely packed that even random shots can hit the target.

Several deserters from the defense force mounted old-fashioned heavy logging rifles on the back of the mine carts, the barrels glowing red-hot, and the bullets swept the cultists on the mountain path into a rolling mass of blood and flesh.

The first wave of attack was repelled.

Zabril quickly gave the order: "Reload, count the grenades, prepare the tripwire on the right."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the second round of artillery fire came down.

This time the shell went even further off course, clearly indicating that the shot that had taken out the calibration officer had had an effect.

Zabril seized the opportunity, rushed forward twenty meters from the cave entrance, stepped on the shattered rocks, and ran to the side of a fallen orc with a broken horn. He stuffed the last three fragmentation grenades from his waist into the orc's ammunition pouch.

As he turned to retreat, the third wave of attacks had already begun.

The cultists no longer crowded in the middle of the mountain path; instead, they split into several groups and climbed up through rock crevices and low slopes.

The horned orcs were driven to the front, with rough iron chains around their necks, while the cult overseers behind them used electric whips and potions to make them even more agitated.

Zabril pressed the detonator.

The orc's ammunition pouch just now exploded, and the flames engulfed half of the mountain path.

Several horned orcs were overturned by the explosion, and a group of cultists behind them were knocked down by the shrapnel.

He took advantage of the smoke and dust to rush into the enemy ranks.

There are seven rounds left in the bomb gun.

He no longer wastes his time on mortals.

Just as a cultist carrying a melting and cutting gun was about to activate the weapon, the operator was blown in two, the weapon rolled to the ground, and was kicked behind him by Zabril.

"Take it!"

A deserter from the defense force rushed out of the bunker, dragged away the melting and cutting gun, and was then pushed back into the cave entrance by Zabril.

"Don't stand next to me."

The man stumbled into the bunker, panting, and cried out, "Yes, sir!"

Zabril's power sword sliced ​​through the chest of a cult champion. The energy field flashed for a moment upon contact, slicing the breastplate in half but failing to penetrate it completely.