Chapter 125: Dog Takes Bug
The soldier, squinting and enjoying the blissful relief, had no idea what was pouncing on his face. He tried to cry for help, but his mouth was blocked by the monster's abdomen. He frantically reached up to pull the bug off his face, but he was a step too slow.
The small monster's slender tentacles had already pierced his eardrums, reaching his brain. The soldier instantly lost control of his body, convulsing and collapsing in his own filth. The still-conscious human, with twisted and terrified eyes, looked at the monster on his face. He saw its sharp mandibles opening and closing, and felt the tentacles stirring in his brain through his ear canals and nasal passages. "Mmmph... mmmph..."
The incapacitated human could only whimper futilely. But soon, he couldn't even whimper. His consciousness had been erased. These tentacles had already pierced his central nervous system, turning him into a puppet under the control of the Hive Mind.
The convulsions stopped. The Tyranid, not yet accustomed to its new "vehicle," began to try to control it to get up. After a few failed attempts, the "soldier" finally stood up, covered in filth, and walked, step by step, towards the open tent...
"Scrap it! What is this thing?!" The Colonel, who had received the news, pointed at the Tyranid between the two human corpses on the ground.
The accompanying Tech-Priest glanced at it and gave the answer, "A Genestealer familiar."
"Huh? I'm asking what this thing does? What does it want? How do we find them?!"
"A small Tyranid creature that can parasitize and manipulate a host through its tentacles, turning the host into a puppet. It can be defended against by wearing a gas mask, or by burning the ground with a flamer," the Tech-Priest replied, word for word.
Hearing this, the Colonel's face stiffened. From his expression and the throbbing veins on his forehead, it was clear that he was not at all pleased with the Tech-Priest's answer. "Where the hell am I going to get that much Promethium to burn the whole ground? Priest, hurry up and think of another way!"
The Tech-Priest glanced at the mindless brutes around him and sighed inwardly. He was tired of these guys who didn't like to use their brains. Did he have to ask such a simple question? But then he remembered the teachings of his idol, Magos Omega: We are the priests of the Omnissiah. We should use our knowledge and wisdom to guide the lost and loyal.
"You should thank Magos Omega. He has already generously bestowed upon you the solution." The priest then gave a command to the mechanical hound that was always by his side.
"Woof!"
The mechanical hound, with obvious signs of modification, upon hearing its master's command, immediately walked over to the Genestealer familiar's body and sniffed it. Then it began to search for its prey with the keen sense of smell granted to it by its bionic nose.
In a short while, this mechanical hound, named "Golden Legacy," stopped in front of a pile of items. After circling it a few times, it let out a warning bark and, at the same time, a laser shot out from the auxiliary limb on its back, marking the box that contained the Genestealer familiar.
"There, found it," the Tech-Priest said flatly.
"..."
The appearance of the Genestealer familiars had made the soldiers on the defensive line start to go to the latrine in groups. The internal affairs, which the Commissar had repeatedly ordered to be improved, had, under the soldiers' spontaneous "spring cleaning," become neat and tidy.
The mechanical hounds on the entire defensive line were all doing the same thing: searching the ground inch by inch with their bionic noses. After finding a target, they would start digging. The soil was torn apart by their metal claws, and the hidden creatures underground were dug out and bitten to death. After killing its prey, the hound would carry the dead Tyranid creature in its mouth and, with a light and happy gait, go to its masters to claim credit.
"Haha, well done, my little treasure! How many is that?"
"Who's counting these ugly things? Steel-jaw, come and get a pat on the head. Captain, why didn't that Magos Omega install a feeding function on Steel-jaw? Besides a pat on the head, I can't even reward him." The young soldier, petting the dog's head, had a look of regret. The captain, hearing this, wanted to give his little head another slap. If the cog-head in the regiment heard this, he would skin him alive. But he was currently holding a bug in his hand and couldn't spare a hand. He could only curse, "Don't just blurt out whatever comes to your mind! Is a person of that status someone you can just talk about?"
The young soldier pouted, aggrieved. He just wanted to feed Steel-jaw. He had no other meaning. The captain, seeing his expression, snorted, but sighed in his heart. This child should not be here. But besides here, he had nowhere else to go. If it weren't for a moment of weakness, this child would have been destroyed along with his family and his home planet in an orbital bombardment.
"You take Steel-jaw and continue to find the other hidden Genestealer familiars. Ever since this thing appeared, I've had to sleep with one eye open."
"Yes! I'll be sure to complete the mission!" the young soldier saluted happily. But his salute was too big, and the helmet, which was clearly a size too large, tilted to one side, looking very comical. The people who saw this laughed, which made the young soldier's face flush. He quickly straightened his helmet and shouted at those who were laughing at him, "If you... you laugh again, I'll have Steel-jaw bite you!"
The captain also suppressed his laughter and said, "Don't waste time. Get back to work. I'll go and check on the others. You be careful."
"Yes, sir."
Tossing the Genestealer familiar in his hand to the ground and crushing it with a stomp, the Astra Militarum captain turned and left. He was going to check on the progress of the others. By his calculations, another wave of bugs should be coming soon.
Looking at the captain's retreating back, the young soldier patted the large head that Steel-jaw had brought over and said with a sense of mission, "Let's go, Steel-jaw. Let's go and kill some bugs."
"Woof!"
To devote a portion of their manpower to eliminating the hidden threat of the Genestealer familiars was not an overreaction. The casualties caused by these small, parasitic Tyranid creatures were much higher than those caused by the Hormagaunts and Termagants. The defensive line that humanity had carefully arranged for years, even the outermost perimeter, was not something that could be breached by a low-intensity harassment. The交叉分布 fire net meant that the moment a Tyranid creature entered the firing range, it would be met with a combined attack of ion, kinetic, melta, and high-explosive weapons. Few Hormagaunts could break through the fire blockade. Even if they got close to the defensive line, there were packs of mechanical hounds waiting to hunt them.
The soldiers, firing from the high ground behind trenches and cover, were not easily hit. Even if they were unlucky enough to be injured by the living bullets or bone spurs fired by the Termagants' bio-weapons, as long as it wasn't a direct hit to the head, the soldiers, who had already been injected with the "detox," would basically survive. And the way of dying by being hit in the head was something the Astra Militarum could accept. Although it was unlucky, it was also a heroic death in battle.
But to be ambushed by a Genestealer familiar, to have your brain pierced and then be controlled and played with... this was a death that the grunts could not accept, neither physically nor psychologically. It was too pathetic. This had caused the spirits of the Astra Militarum to be very tense ever since the Genestealer familiars had appeared. So, to eliminate the Genestealer familiars was not just a matter of reducing unnecessary casualties, but also of the morale and spirit of the front-line soldiers.
Of course, not everyone thought so. To be precise, the soldiers who had been unlucky enough to be injured by the Termagants' bio-weapons did not think so. They were in so much pain that they would have been willing to sleep with a Genestealer familiar right now.
"Ah! Marco, you bastard!" the injured soldier cursed.
Fortunately, the attending doctor was focused on the surgery. He was "fully concentrating" on treating the patient's injuries and did not hear the patient's curses.
He stepped on the patient's arms with his two feet to hold him down and prevent him from escaping and struggling. He held a pair of forceps with both hands, tightly clamping the living Tyranid bullet that had already drilled into the patient's body. Then, with all his strength, he pulled. "It's out!" he shouted excitedly. With that, he got off the patient, walked to the side, picked up a medical device that others needed to carry on their backs with one hand, and with the other, picked up a flashlight connected to the medical device. He aimed it at the patient on the ground and turned on the switch of the medical energy field. In a short while, the soldier, noticing that he was no longer bleeding, looked at his wound in amazement. "That shot we took has this function too? I thought it was for detoxification."
The medic put down the medical device and explained, "Of course it's for detoxification. When you were brought in, you were about to die of poison. If I hadn't shined this on you, you would have gone to see the Emperor long ago."
"Then this?" The injured soldier, still lying on the ground, pointed to his already-closed wound.
"I heard from the Sororitas Hospitaller that the medicine, that nano-something, was originally for treating wounds. But Magos Omega added a detoxification function. This is good stuff that even the noble lords might not be able to use. Tsk, tsk. So generous, so willing to part with it."
"With this thing, even I can be a doctor!" The soldier turned his head and looked at the medical device beside Marco with a look of surprise.
Marco glanced at the idiot on the ground who wanted to usurp his position and said with contempt, "Don't dream. I can only use the medical device that the Sororitas Hospitaller have helped to debug, to shine this 'flashlight' on you. Didn't you see that I've covered all the buttons on it? It's just in case I accidentally touch something I shouldn't and shine you to death!"
"Err... then you'd better be careful—"
"How long are you going to lie there?"
"A little dizzy. Let me rest."
"Suit yourself."
"I say, Marco, where did the Colonel recruit you from?"
"I was rescued by the Colonel from pirates. They were originally going to sell me as a slave," Marco answered, bored.
"Hah, what bad luck. But where did you learn your medical skills?"
"Heh heh, it's a family tradition. Our family has been slaughtering livestock for the noble lords for generations," Marco said proudly, but was interrupted.
"Wait a minute! What did you just say your family did for generations?"
"Slaughtering livestock. What's wrong?"
"Is a doctor and a butcher the same damn thing?! You weren't by any chance kidnapped by pirates from some feudal world, were you?!"
"It was a feudal world. Unfortunately, I don't know where. Now, even if I want to go back and see, I can't find the place. And isn't a doctor and a butcher the same thing? Anyway, back there, if anyone broke a leg or got injured, they would all come to our family for treatment. I'll tell you, treating injuries is all about 'fast, accurate, and ruthless'! Like just now. If I had been a step slower, this flesh-eating worm would have drilled another inch into your body. If you were like the others, with their anesthetics and disinfectants, you would have had this bug drill into your brain long ago. Understand?"
"..."