On the brutal battlefields of the Astra Militarum, the value of junior non-commissioned officers far exceeds what appears on the surface.
Some regimental colonels are even willing to trade a company of new recruits for an old non-commissioned officer who has been through three reorganizations—because these battle-hardened veterans possess the ability to create miracles in desperate situations.
These old non-commissioned officers are the indispensable pillars on the battlefield, the most vibrant inheritors of the Imperial military tradition.
Every scar on them is proof of combat experience, and every decision embodies the wisdom of blood and fire.
Within the Astra Militarum, these junior non-commissioned officers are recognized as invaluable treasures.
Unlike officers who wear splendid sashes and clean uniforms but rarely go to the front lines, it is always these scarred old non-commissioned officers who truly command soldiers to charge and adapt to circumstances on the front lines.
The combat effectiveness of a regiment often depends on these grassroots backbone—even if there is only one experienced old non-commissioned officer, he can maintain the basic combat proficiency of the entire regiment.
These old veterans possess the most precious survival wisdom on the battlefield: they know how to maintain smooth communication amidst continuous gunfire, understand how to rationally distribute the last of their ammunition when supplies are cut off, and, more importantly, know how to help new recruits survive their first battle.
Therefore, when troops face dangerous missions or critical operations, Commanders always unhesitatingly entrust heavy responsibilities to these experienced non-commissioned officers leading the veterans.
Whether it is a suicide mission to assault xeno lairs or a desperate task to hold a doomed defensive line, battlefield experience proves that only these battle-hardened veterans can ensure the mission's completion.
In contrast, new recruits often die within fifteen minutes, not even reaching the average survival time of the Astra Militarum—this is the cruel reality of the battlefield.
It's just that Paul didn't have a regimental colonel willing to keep him.
When he was wounded for the last time, his entire regiment was wiped out, and Paul only survived by being buried under a pile of dead bodies.
In that encounter with the Necrons, the entire regiment was annihilated in just three hours.
When medics dug him out of the pile of corpses, his regimental designation had disappeared forever from the casualty list.
When medics dug him out of the pile of corpses, his regimental designation had disappeared forever from the casualty list.
The regimental banner that once flew on countless battlefields was now just charred fragments; his comrades, with whom he had spent day and night, had all become cold statistics.
The medics couldn't even confirm his identity until they scanned the service chip in his prosthetic limb, confirming he was the only survivor of that regiment.
Originally, he should have been assigned to a new unit, as per Astra Militarum custom, veterans like him would be immediately supplemented to combat units in urgent need of non-commissioned officers.
But fortunately, during Paul's time recuperating in the hospital, Alex had put Helson III and Kiev Star into the Warp, resolving the main target of this expedition.
With the sudden turn of the war, the Expeditionary Force no longer needed to maintain so many combat units.
So, after his recovery, Paul, having met the service year requirements, obtained the qualification for demobilization.
This unexpected stroke of luck meant he didn't have to step onto the battlefield again, but could return to his hometown with honor and scars.
This old veteran, who had struggled on the battlefield for ten years, could finally lay down his heavy Lasgun and bid farewell to his comrades who would forever remain on the battlefield.
Upon returning to Rostov II, he secured a public position in an enforcement agency under the Governors Office, serving as a community sheriff.
It was a very grassroots position, but for an ordinary Imperial citizen, a community sheriff was already a very important figure.
In the strict hierarchy of the Imperium, this position meant he could wear an enforcement badge, carry standard issue weapons, and even had the authority to requisition civilians to assist in enforcement during emergencies.
Paul was very satisfied with this position, especially since he received a set of Carapace Armor and a Mechanical Mastiff.
This meticulously crafted armor appeared much more refined than the gear he had worn on the battlefield, and the mechanically modified Mastiff was a perfect partner—its electronic eyes could see in the dark, its reinforced jaw could easily crush bones, and most importantly, it was a loyal good dog.
This was equipment that only legitimate Adeptus Arbites enforcement teams could obtain, and only Alex, this benevolent Governor, would issue such elite equipment to members of their planetary law enforcement department, who were not under the Adeptus Arbites.
In most worlds, this level of equipment would only be issued to elite units specifically for suppressing riots.
Now, the first thing Paul does every day is polish his Carapace Armor and weapons until they gleam, then put on all his gear, and take his obedient, loyal, and formidable-looking Mechanical Mastiff for community patrol.
He meticulously maintained this equipment, just as he treated his weapons on the battlefield.
This was not just a habit of an old veteran, but also because he knew that this equipment was essential for survival in critical moments.
The security situation in Paul's community was not too good; with the Governors Office's further conscription, most of the young and able-bodied men in the community had gone to the battlefield.
The young police officers who once patrolled the streets, and the able-bodied men who maintained order in the market, now all wore the uniform of the Astra Militarum and headed to distant battlefields.
Most adult women were also put into nearby factories to participate in labor production, working day and night to produce military supplies for the front lines.
The entire community seemed to have been drained of vitality, leaving only empty streets and unguarded shops.
Most of the remaining people in the community were elderly and children, which undoubtedly provided an opportunity for some criminals.
These social scum, sensing an opportunity, swarmed in like scavengers.
Burglary, preying on the vulnerable, extortion... various criminal activities emerged endlessly, even showing a trend of escalating.
The pensions of elderly living alone were forcibly "borrowed," the ration coupons of orphans and widows were openly snatched, and even the church's relief supplies were repeatedly stolen.
However, with Paul's arrival, these issues are currently improving.
This iron-blooded old veteran brought his battlefield demeanor to the community and immediately launched a thunderous operation.
He treated these criminals as he would xenos on the battlefield—no warnings, no negotiations, only relentless strikes.
Paul perfectly applied his battlefield tactical thinking to public security work, setting up ambush points by analyzing crime hot zones, using the Mechanical Mastiff's tracking ability to pinpoint targets, and then carrying out arrests with lightning speed.
Paul had and only had one way of dealing with these criminals: after catching them, he would beat them half to death, then send them to the nearby conscription office to be thrown into the disciplinary camp.
His mechanical prosthetic limb could easily crush a criminal's wrist, while his modified Mechanical Mastiff was specifically responsible for biting through the Achilles tendons of those who tried to escape.
Paul never wasted time on interrogations; he believed that the instructors in the disciplinary camp would "transform" these social scum into useful cannon fodder for the Imperium.
This greatly curbed local criminal activities, significantly reducing the criminal population.
Of course, there was one less-than-ideal aspect: the local criminal gangs had already come to view Paul as a thorn in their side.
Several remaining crime bosses conspired in the shadows, offering a hefty bounty for Paul's life.
But this old veteran, who had been through the Rostov Expedition, merely scoffed—the Necrons' Gauss Weapons couldn't take his life, so the threats of these street thugs were nothing but child's play in his eyes.
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