Bidding farewell to that group of "epidemic prevention forces," Sicarius led the Second Company deeper into the defensive line, arriving at the artillery position located at the rear.
Before even stepping foot within the bounds of the battery, rhythmic tremors of the earth transmitted through the soles of their power armor, vibrating up through their entire bodies. Right on its heels came an unbroken, almost ceaseless roaring, as if a hundred thunders were detonating at once.
What met their eyes were rows of large-caliber field guns roaring madly. The tongues of fire spewing from the muzzles of these artillery pieces nearly formed a single continuous dragon of flame. The shell ejection mechanisms threw scalding casings into the mid-air like fountains, clattering as they fell to the ground to form mountains of brass.
This rate of fire was clearly abnormal; one could even call it insane.
Before Sicarius or the other Ultramarines could react, Techmarine Harkus of the Second Company, who had been following in the squad's ranks, suddenly let out a screech resembling corrupted binary code. Then, like an old father watching his child being abused, he charged out from the formation.
"Brother Harkus!" The tactical squad members beside him did not even have time to reach out and stop him before the Techmarine, laden with his servo-arm, plunged into the dust-choked artillery position.
He rushed up to a firing position where shells were being loaded furiously. Looking at the gun barrel—already glowing faintly red from overheating—his servo-arm waved in fury.
"Omnissiah above! What are you doing?! This is sacrilege! Unmitigated sacrilege!" Techmarine Harkus roared at the top of his lungs, his voice choked with heartache and anger. "Cease your actions at once! Cease fire immediately!"
A Helldiver gun captain, his face thoroughly smeared black with soot as he directed several other players operating the artillery piece, heard someone shouting in his ear and turned his head in confusion.
The deafening thunder of the guns was overwhelming; he could not hear what the other party was saying at all, so he could only yell at the top of his lungs: "Sir! What are you saying?! Louder! Can't hear you!"
The Techmarine trembled all over with rage. He connected directly to his external vocal grille, cranking the volume to its absolute maximum and unleashing a force as intimidating as a boltgun opening fire: "I said! Cease your actions! Let these sacred machines cool down!"
The Helldiver shrank his neck slightly from the sheer force of the sound wave, but then shook his head, answering with a resolute face: "Can't do that, sir! We absolutely cannot stop!"
"Why?!"
"If the gun stops for even a second, the fire coverage up front will have a gap! If there's a gap, before the Death Guard even move, our teammates from the front line will come back carrying knives to PK us into bloody mist!"
The Helldiver had a terrified look on his face, as though compared to the Chaos Space Marines on the opposite side, their own crazy teammates frightened them even more. "Those guys on the front line who've gone blood-blind fighting the zombies lose their minds and cuss out their own people—we don't dare mess with them!"
The Techmarine simply could not comprehend. He pointed at the gun barrel radiating dangerous heat and bellowed: "You are completely squandering the barrel's lifespan! I am more than familiar with this variant model of the Basilisk self-propelled artillery! According to standards, it can only guarantee a barrel life of 2,000 rounds if fired at a rate of 25 rounds per minute!"
Harkus looked at the muzzle brake that was nearly melting, heartbroken: "But the way you are doing it now—By the Emperor, you are firing at least fifty rounds a minute! Even if the barrel were forged from adamantium, with the way you're firing, it'll completely break down and suffer a barrel explosion before long!"
In the eyes of the Techmarine, this was outright murder, an abuse of the sacred Machine Spirit.
However, far from showing any guilt, that Helldiver puffed out his chest and slapped the scalding gun body with a proud face, ignoring the sizzling sound of his burning hand.
"My Lord, that's where you're wrong! This barrel was produced locally right here in Perditia—its main selling point is being durable!" The Helldiver gave a thumb-up, making a solemn guarantee. "According to our actual testing, let alone two thousand rounds, even if we fire like this, it can last for at least five thousand rounds before breaking down! Maybe even more!"
"Are you out of your mind?!" The Techmarine laughed out of sheer anger. His bionic eye swiftly scanned the barrel's material structure, and the data feedback indicated that it was just ordinary reinforced steel with nothing special about it whatsoever.
"I don't see anything special about the materials forged into this barrel either! A physical structure like this simply cannot withstand this kind of heat accumulation!"
"Well, there's nothing special about the material," the Helldiver chuckled, leaning in mysteriously as if sharing some secret recipe. "But we've got great Machine Spirits!"
Harkus widened his normal eye, questioning in utter disbelief: "Are you saying you can commune with the Machine Spirit? That's impossible!"
Harkus obviously would not believe such nonsense. As a Techmarine who had undergone advanced training on Mars, he knew full well how sacred and difficult communing with a Machine Spirit was.
It required decades of deep study, mastering complex binary prayers, and combining specific holy oils and rituals just to barely soothe the spirits of those ancient, temperamental war machines.
"Of course we can't—we're just grunts," the Helldiver gunner shrugged, taking it for granted. "But our Tech-Priests can do it easily. Especially for the stuff they built themselves—as long as they put a hand on it, they can shoot the breeze with the Machine Spirit."
"Preposterous! That is utterly—"
The Techmarine wanted to refute further, but right at that moment, a piercing screech of brakes cut him off.
A rugged, modified transport vehicle pulled to a halt beside the firing position in a cloud of swirling dust. Before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop, a Tech-Priest clad in red robes with a massive backpack on his spine leaped down from the truck bed.
He said nothing, merely waving his hand. Several Helldivers who had been waiting on the side immediately swarmed the transport like hungry wolves, unloading the high-explosive artillery shells loaded on the vehicle with extreme familiarity, then feeding them into the artillery piece's auto-loader via a conveyor belt.
That Tech-Priest did not spare a glance at the surrounding Astartes. His footsteps were light-footed and fast—as though demons were chasing him from behind—as he rushed hurriedly up to the artillery piece spewing blue smoke.
Under Harkus's horrified gaze, this Tech-Priest said nothing as he slammed his hand—one not covered in much metal armor—directly onto the scalding, red-hot gun barrel with a loud clack.
That was a high temperature capable of instantly roasting flesh!
Yet, the Tech-Priest showed no reaction of pain whatsoever. After merely a single second, he pulled his hand away, as if he had already finished reading all the data, and spoke to the gunner at a lightning-fast pace: "It can hold out for another half hour. After half an hour, this tube will definitely blow. Keep firing for now; I'll go snatch a new barrel from the warehouse and bring it over to swap out for you in half an hour."
Harkus had just opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the Tech-Priest had already turned and leaped back onto the transport vehicle.
As if noticing the Space Marine's intent to communicate, the Tech-Priest slammed the vehicle door to signal the driver to go while shouting out first at an extremely fast pace:
"Don't ask! No time! I still have to deliver shells and repair parts to three other artillery positions! The fire support for the front line can't stop for even a second, otherwise those assault troops are going to cuss out our mothers on the forums again! Say whatever you have to say after the war is over! See ya!"
Accompanying the roar of the engine, the transport vehicle fishtailed, kicking up dust once more as it sped wildly toward the next position.
It left only Harkus standing on the spot, watching the receding taillights, swallowing a bellyful of words right back down. In the end, he could only shout loudly at the rolling dust: "Fine! I'm Harkus! I'll remember you!"
The Techmarine looked at the beat-up vehicle disappearing into his line of sight, thinking silently to himself.
When the time comes, I'm definitely going to grab you and give you a thorough inspection—to see whether you're truly gifted and blessed by the Omnissiah, or just putting on a performance here!