Reinhard sat cross-legged in a relatively clean corner of the trench, his massive body making him look like a statue forcibly squeezed into the muddy ditch.
His fingers rapidly scrolled across the holographic screen of his tactical data-slate, recording the observation data he had gathered over the past month.
Just then, Pyro walked over, and the heavy thud of his boots made Reinhard look up.
"Sir, what are you doing?" Pyro asked curiously.
"Recording," Reinhard answered concisely, closing the data-slate screen and returning it to its slot.
His gaze fell on Pyro. The mortal soldier before him was clad in heavy armor, a massive metallic backpack strapped to his back, with a thick pipe connecting it to the Promethium flamethrower in his hands.
"What is this?"
"Just getting ready to burn these flora, you know," Pyro shrugged, kicking at the purple, vein-like, pulsating vines that had started creeping into the edge of the trench.
"You've seen how these things have been growing thicker and thicker over the past month. We can't control what's far away, but at least we should burn the ground beneath our feet clean."
"Is there any pattern or experience to this?" Reinhard inquired, his mind automatically classifying and analyzing the information.
"Is once a month too long? I've been here for a month and only now see you preparing to carry out this task."
"It's mainly a logistics issue, actually…" Pyro said helplessly. "If I could, I'd want to burn them every day. But Promethium fuel isn't delivered daily, and the quartermaster says we're using it too fast. It's not like I can spend my own money to buy Promethium to burn these worthless weeds."
Reinhard shook his head slightly, taking the latter half of Pyro's statement as the common complaint of a mortal soldier. Where would a mere trooper even acquire a strategic material like Promethium?
Gazing at the Squad Leader of the Helldivers, who always managed to bring him surprises, Reinhard fell silent for a moment before finally asking,
"Do you not find it strange? An Astartes spending the entire month drawing and writing, barely firing a shot, and leaving all the combat to you?"
Pyro paused, a flicker of joy lighting up his heart. A personal question unrelated to the war—could this be the chance to unlock a side quest related to this Space Marine?
He pondered carefully, then tested the waters: "Aren't the Scythes of the Emperor a successor chapter of the Ultramarines? I've heard the Ultramarines are fond of paperwork, codices, and data-tables, so this seems normal, doesn't it?"
"Theoretically so, but rather than cold doctrine, we of the Scythes of the Emperor are inclined to embrace the primal urge for war bequeathed by our gene-seed…"
Reinhard's explanation was abruptly cut short by a shrill, air-tearing whistle.
"Holy sh*t!" Pyro, hardened by years on the front line, instinctively leaped into the nearest bolt-hole. "Tyranid bombardment! The big one's coming! Take cover!"
Heavy spore bombs crashed around the defensive position. While they failed to directly hit the quickly reacting Space Marine and the Helldiver, the violent explosions and shockwaves successfully shattered the already crude trench, sending soil and debris flying everywhere.
"Sir, get ready," Pyro poked his head out of the bolt-hole, wiping mud from his visor, and said to Reinhard. "This time, you can't just deal with paperwork; you have to get onto the battlefield."
The Tyranid swarm practically demonstrated why Pyro said that.
A purple spore fog surged toward the position like a tsunami, and leading the vanguard of that fog was an Executioner, a beast the size of a small siege tank, lumbering forward. Its four massive bone-scythes flashed with a deadly, cold light in the mist.
The other players, experienced and having timely ducked into the bolt-holes, also rose to their feet. When they saw the scene, they weren't frightened at all; instead, their eyes lit up as if they had spotted rare loot.
"I'll strap the melta on; you guys cover me!"
"Get lost! I'll do it! I have more melta bombs!"
"A son trying to steal glory from his father? Audacious! I'll show who's your daddy!"
Why did you skip negotiations entirely and enter into a competition for executive rights so smoothly?
And do you really have to fight just to get an opportunity for a suicidal explosive attack?
Reinhard silently marveled once again at the distinct nature of the Helldiver collective.
"There is no need for such extreme measures as self-detonation." Reinhard intervened in the fervor of the soldiers. He stood up, his enormous body like a mountain, and stated with confidence, "Listen to my command. We can resolve this with minimal casualties."
"That won't work, Sir," Pyro immediately shook his head. "Some things…"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. At that instant, four swift, black blurs darted out of the side fog, leaping fiercely towards the two men!
They were four Tyranid Warriors! Reinhard's superhuman senses had not even registered how close they had gotten until the moment they launched their attack!
But this distance was still enough for a Space Marine.
Reinhard's left-hand bolter instantly roared, a single bolt shell precisely blowing apart the skull of the foremost Warrior.
At the same time, he drew his combat knife with his right hand, twisting his body at an angle a mortal could never manage.
The knife cut a lethal arc, severing the incoming claw of the second Warrior before plunging into its throat. In a flash of lightning, he kicked the third Warrior away, the bolter barking again, tearing the creature apart mid-air.
Three powerful Tyranid Warriors were resolved cleanly and efficiently in less than two seconds.
Reinhard turned to look at Pyro, fully prepared to see him torn to shreds. However, what he saw was Pyro extracting his tactical knife, the entire hilt having been buried deep in the head of a fourth, futilely struggling Warrior.
Pyro exerted himself to pull the tactical knife out, extinguishing the last spark of the Warrior's life. He shook off the brain matter and bodily fluids, then turned to Reinhard, his face full of awe.
"Whoa, that's it? Already taaken care of? Awesome, Sir! If it were me, I'd definitely be dead."
Reinhard's gaze, however, was fixed on Pyro's side. A deep gash, more than ten centimeters long, had been sliced open by the Warrior's bone blade, and blood was gushing out.
Logically, after suffering a severe external wound capable of exposing his internal organs, he should immediately be entering hemorrhagic shock, accompanied by blurred consciousness, dilated pupils, and a series of other life-threatening symptoms.
But Pyro stood before Reinhard as if nothing had happened, which once again made Reinhard seriously doubt the man's mortal status. He reminded him sternly, "You are wounded."
"It's fine, I took my meds. It suppresses everything from internal and external bleeding to abdominal swelling," Pyro said carelessly, even patting the armor near his wound. "Not about life or death, merely a scratch."
Just then, another tearing whistle sounded through the air. But Reinhard noticed that Pyro didn't even flinch this time, so he, too, remained standing without making any evasive maneuvers.
This batch of artillery shells was clearly fired by the Helldiver artillery unit. They landed precisely in front of the position and, instead of exploding, began to release the Helldiver's signature deep-green poison gas.
The Tyranid's purple spore mist began to tear and devour the Helldiver poison gas. When the Helldiver toxic fog finally gained the upper hand and replaced the Tyranid spores, Reinhard was surprised to find that his visibility had actually increased.
"We didn't intend it this way at first, but we later found that our gas is very effective at countering the Tyranid spore clouds," Pyro explained, his voice muffled behind the gas mask. "Anyway, we're all used to soaking in this toxic soup, so whatever."
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I was engrossed in reading the Guilliman fic that I forgot updating lol