The booming sound of artillery woke Vareli from his sleep. He rubbed his sleepy face. Although he wanted to sleep a little longer, the sergeant who had already entered the barracks reminded him that there was no time to sleep.
"Everybody up! You pigs! Today your mission is to go to Position 4 to relieve E Company. They've been dug in there for three days, and I don't want to see you guys not even last three days! That would make the captain and me lose a lot of face! And the Commissar will be very displeased."
The sergeant struck the iron bed frame with a stick, creating enough noise to wake even the soundest sleeper.
Vareli didn't mind the noise. Compared to the booming artillery outside, the noise made by the sergeant was just a kitten meowing.
As a qualified Astra Militarum soldier, if you can't fall asleep in a trench with artillery fire as your lullaby, it only means you're still a greenhorn.
He slowly sat up, feeling every bone in his body protest, as if every muscle was screaming fatigue.
The air in the barracks was thick with the smell of sweat and gunpowder, mixed with the chill of the morning, making one shiver involuntarily.
He reached for the military canteen at the head of his bed, and the cold water slid down his throat, slightly awakening his groggy consciousness.
"Hurry up! Don't dawdle!" The sergeant's roar sounded again, accompanied by the grating sound of the stick hitting the bedpost.
Vareli glanced around. The other soldiers were also slowly climbing out of their beds, their faces full of reluctance and exhaustion.
Some cursed under their breath, while others silently organized their gear, as if accustomed to this day-in, day-out torment.
Vareli pulled on his heavy military boots, his fingers stiff as he tied the laces.
The artillery fire outside still hadn't stopped, like endless thunder, shaking the ground slightly.
He knew that today's mission wouldn't be easy.
Position 4 was one of the most dangerous sections of the front line. E Company had held it for three days, and now they were going to relieve these exhausted comrades.
"Vareli, stop daydreaming!" A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. It was his comrade Ivan, with his usual playful smile, though the exhaustion in his eyes couldn't be hidden. "Today's a good day, we're going to sunbathe at Position 4."
Vareli forced a bitter smile and didn't respond. He knew Ivan was just using humor to mask his inner tension. They both knew Position 4 was no good place; every inch of its land had been bombarded countless times, and the air was thick with the scent of death.
The sergeant's voice sounded again, interrupting the brief commotion in the barracks: "Check your gear! Ammunition, rations, canteens, not one less! I don't want to see anyone die on the position because they didn't bring enough power cells!"
Vareli looked down and checked his equipment: rifle, ammo pouches, grenades, everything was there.
His hand paused slightly as it touched the photo in his chest pocket.
It was the last family photo he took before leaving home, and the smiles in the picture now seemed so distant.
He took a deep breath and tucked the photo back into his pocket, as if doing so would give him a little more courage.
"Move out!" The sergeant's command was short and powerful.
Vareli slung his pack over his shoulder and followed the squad out of the barracks, but before leaving, he didn't forget to pack his blanket into his rucksack.
To hold the position for three days, a warm blanket would definitely come in handy.
The sky outside was gray, as if stained lead-colored by the smoke of gunpowder.
The sound of artillery still echoed in the distance, and occasionally a few shells landed closer, making the ground tremble slightly.
He looked up at the sky, silently praying that today would pass safely.
The squad advanced slowly through the muddy trenches, each step heavy and difficult.
Vareli could feel his heart rate accelerating, as if every artillery shell reminded him that death could come at any moment.
He gripped his rifle tightly, his fingertips slightly white.
"Don't be nervous, buddy," Ivan whispered in his ear, a hint of comfort in his voice. "We've been through worse."
Vareli nodded, though he knew Ivan's words couldn't truly alleviate his tension.
Position 4 ahead grew closer, and the sound of artillery became clearer.
He could see smoke billowing over the position, and occasionally a few flashes of light streaked across the sky, like the scythe of death swinging.
After about half an hour, Vareli, Ivan, and the soldiers of C Company successfully arrived at Position 4. The deputy company commander and a sergeant from E Company made a simple handover, and the latter quickly led the remaining men of E Company to withdraw.
It wasn't that E Company's captain was putting on airs; it was just that the highest-ranking officer left in E Company was this veteran sergeant.
Vareli knew this so clearly because C Company's captain, along with E Company's entire command staff, had been wiped out by an alien sniper, with only the deputy company commander surviving thanks to a shielded medal.
However, Vareli didn't pay much attention to that. He and Ivan simply found a decent firing position, placed their rucksacks in a nearby dugout, and tucked their power cells and grenades into the recesses in the trench wall. Then, he curled up completely beneath the firing position, avoiding exposing his head and other parts of his body.
Having already witnessed how brutal these aliens called Space Necrons were, Vareli clearly knew how suicidal it was to expose one's body outside of cover on the battlefield.
Vareli also didn't forget to take his blanket out of his rucksack and place it in a dry spot where it wouldn't get wet.
The environment of this planet was exceptionally harsh; it could be deadly hot during the day and freezing cold at night. To last three days here, a dry and warm blanket was absolutely essential.
"The brothers of C Company dug these trenches well, too bad they didn't pave them with quick-drying concrete," Ivan said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and tossing it to Vareli. "Looks like tonight's going to be a tough one."
Vareli didn't reply, simply lit the cigarette with his lighter, remaining silent.
Although there was a medic in the regiment, there was only one medic, and with half the regiment almost wiped out, the medic didn't have time to deal with fools who only had a cold from the cold. Precious medical resources had to be used to save the seriously wounded.
Though since arriving on this planet, Vareli hadn't seen many seriously wounded.
Fighting these metal aliens, one either turned into a pile of dust on the ground or suffered only minor injuries; there were rarely cases of very severe wounds.
But due to the intensity of the fighting and the high number of casualties in the regiment, the medics in the rear were still overwhelmed.
So Vareli clearly knew that if he wasn't careful, the medic would definitely not be in the mood or have the time to care for him. Therefore, to survive, he had to first learn to protect himself.
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