In Li Qingyu's scope, at a distance of fourteen hundred meters, where the forest met the plowed field, a "Chimera" APC appeared. Behind it, a column of five army trucks slowly crawled.
As soon as the S.P.O. soldiers began to pour out of the truck beds, Li Qingyu almost dropped his rifle from laughter.
More than a hundred fighters tumbled out haphazardly. Someone, damn it, even managed to trip and roll into a muddy furrow.
Shoulders slumped, heads hanging, they looked utterly lost – they could barely hold their weapons, as if they weighed a ton.
The day before, they had overindulged in Li Qingyu's rotgut, rich in fusel oils. Now, each was suffering from a terrible headache and weakness throughout their bodies, and on top of that, this spiteful Lieutenant Winchester had dragged them onto the battlefield. It was no wonder the soldiers' hearts were filled with malice.
At that moment, they wanted nothing more than to sleep and drink water. They certainly didn't want to fight.
Inside the "Chimera," Lieutenant Winchester, not daring to stick his nose out, commanded through the loudspeaker, sitting safely behind the armor: "You damn bastards! Who allowed you to get drunk yesterday?!" he roared. "If you don't complete the mission, you'll each get ten lashes upon return!"
The soldiers responded with heavy sighs and muffled grumbles, but they had no choice. Somehow putting on their helmets and adjusting their rifles, they listlessly formed into an attacking order.
The S.P.O. company consisted of ten squads. Eight of them were standard infantry: a commander with a submachine gun, a fire support trooper with a light machine gun and a belt of a hundred rounds, and the rest with auto-guns and a supply of fragmentation grenades.
Two squads were designated for heavy fire support. Each was armed with a 20mm heavy stabber. The gun body, mount, and ammunition were carried by different soldiers and assembled on position.
These 20mm "woodcutters" were fed belts of seventy-five rounds, could use various types of ammunition, and possessed some armor-piercing capability.
There were rumors that on other fronts, the Imperial Guard, using similar systems, managed to take down even traitor Astartes if they concentrated a continuous stream of fire on the target.
The remaining strength of the detachment consisted of the "Chimera" itself and a dozen noble bodyguards in the troop compartment.
The personal guard of House Winchester was fully armed: lasguns, laspistols, carapace armor, helmets with tactical masks made of reinforced plastic, and a solid supply of smoke and fragmentation grenades.
But these elite fighters, like the lieutenant himself, hid inside the vehicle. Winchester had no intention of risking his family guard without extreme necessity.
The S.P.O. column, stretched into a loose chain behind the "Chimera," began to move deeper into the forest.
They didn't go by the road, to avoid mines – the rebels had already worn that trick out.
Instead, the "Chimera" simply broke through trees with its hull, clearing a path straight to Old Man Sen's camp.
The APC's auspex was working at full capacity. On the gunner's screens, the layout of the rebel camp was visible as if on the palm of his hand.
"Sir, the enemy is directly ahead, distance fourteen hundred meters, in the camp. Permission to open fire?" the gunner reported to the lieutenant.
"How many are there? Have they noticed us?" Winchester asked.
"About five hundred. Judging by the movement of the markers, we've been detected. Some are trying to retreat to the rear slope of the mountain."
Hearing that his military "achievements" were trying to escape, Winchester roared, "Fire! Fire! Blast these scum to pieces! Full speed ahead, crush them!"
The driver, obeying the order, pressed the accelerator to the floor.
The "Chimera's" engine roared, and the multi-ton machine surged forward, breaking trees like dry matches under the weight of its hull and the power of its engine.
However, the driver thought the engine sound was somehow unhealthy – like the cough of a sick old man, and the hull vibration was stronger than usual.
But he wasn't a tech-priest and didn't have the same tender love for the machine as Sergeant Nie Guojin, so he simply decided: minor glitches.
The "Chimera" furiously charged forward, and its turreted gun began its grim song.
The 40mm auto-cannon pounded with a rhythmic bass: "Thump-thump-thump-thump!" Two-meter-long bursts of flame erupted from the barrel, hurling steel slugs forward.
The kinetic energy of the shells was monstrous – one hit could cut through several trees at once.
Thanks to the auspex data, the auto-cannon fired through a kilometer of forest with astonishing accuracy.
Rebels armed with melee weapons, attempting to retreat, turned into bloody mist, torn apart by the monstrous force of the shells right through the forest.
Those who had holed up in trenches, hoping to set an ambush, also did not escape the all-seeing eye of the instruments.
The gun barrel tilted slightly lower. A few short bursts – and the shells, piercing tree trunks and a layer of earth, turned the ambushers into mince right in their cover.
The roar of the auto-cannon did not cease, interspersed with the crackling of breaking trees. The "Chimera" advanced with inexorable might.
The rebels had already lost over a hundred men without even seeing the enemy.
In the ruthless universe of Warhammer 40k, the Imperial Guard often served merely as a backdrop, dying by the billions.
The S.P.O. were usually rated even lower than this backdrop.
But now, in the cleanup operation, even this demoralized S.P.O. company demonstrated overwhelming power.
The backward rebels paid with a hundred lives just for the right to look at the "Chimera."
Such is the power of the Imperium of Man. Such is the price of survival in this cruel universe.
After firing one hundred and fifty armor-piercing rounds, the gunner ceased firing and shouted: "Sir! Armor-piercing rounds are running low, two hundred and fifty high-explosive rounds remain. If we fire them at the trees, they might detonate prematurely. We'll have to stop firing."
Lieutenant Winchester coughed – the firing from the combat compartment left a caustic smell of burning.
"Damn it, turn on the ventilation! Do you want to suffocate me?!"
The gunner, mentally calling his commander a pampered fop, flicked the switches.
The fans whirred, drawing smoke through the gun barrel. Ten seconds later, when the white steam stopped billowing from the muzzle, the air cleared.
Deciding it was enough, the gunner turned off the system.
"Hey! What the hell did you turn it off for?" Winchester exclaimed. "Turn it back on, it stinks of machine oil!"
"Sir, we have a weak battery. We can't keep all the equipment on constantly. If the battery dies, the turret and auspex will stop."
The "Chimera" had many modifications. Some were equipped with lascannons and powerful generators that allowed electronics to be kept on for days.
But on this planet, a simplified export version was used. Even the main gun here was a primitive auto-cannon, and the battery pack was the cheapest and weakest.
Energy had to be conserved, directing it mainly to the turret drives and the auspex system. Therefore, the crew had developed a habit of saving charge.
"I don't care how much this fan eats!" Winchester roared. "Turn it on immediately, that's an order!"
The gunner, mentally calling the lieutenant an idiot, dared not disobey. He flicked the switch again, and the ventilation whirred laboriously, expelling the smell of oil through the barrel.