"I wanted to see if you were able to fix the mess that you created…." Tarphus winched at the reminder, then nodded as he went to salute, but the commissar just shook his head. "I am here to relay orders to your sergeant, but since you helped me out, I will have to request you and your squad's presence then. I require some guardsmen, and it seems that your squad can handle themselves." 

Tarphus could see his squad puff out their chest at that praise; he also felt pride. However, he knew something would go wrong, but he could not bring himself to go against this madman. 

Tarphus then nodded. "Sir, we would be glad to escort you, sir; however, we are new recruits. Therefore, it would do best if the veterans were part of your entourage. However, I would be honored to escort you to the sergeant." The commissar nodded; his disapproving glare still dominant on his face. Still, he seemed to be directing it towards the other squads. 

The old commissar then started walking towards a small bunker. Tarphus was told in passing about this. It was where the sergeants were gathering to receive and relay orders. Tarphus was amazed at the amount of fear and respect that the troops expressed towards the old commissar. 

His squad had the joy of escorting him to the bunker, but he was told to stay outside it as the commissar had to do his duty, which did not pertain to Tarphus. Tarphus did not or rather could not say anything against him, though it was only one time and it was so long ago, he still remembered the bite of that blade on his hip. 

The commissar then stepped into the bunker Tarphus then had his squad rest near the bunker door. Their wounds were mainly scratches, and bruises were taken care of to not become infected. It felt like a lifetime staying by that door. Tarphus felt anxious as he did not know what to do, so he tasked two of his squad to follow him while the rest were near the bunker. 

Tarphus then went to gather as much ammunition as they could carry; he had to hold his nose, as there was plenty of ammo found near the corpses of his allies. Unfortunately, however, the "ammo" of those accursed orcs were bolts, screws, or other small sharp things that rusted quickly in his hand. This caused him to spit on the corpse of that horrible thing.

When he returned, Tarphus saw the commissar waiting for him, tapping his foot impatiently. The ever-present disapproving glare found him and pierced through him. However, it lowered due to his staggering form. Tarphus and three of his squad carried back ammunition to the group. 

This got the commissar to nod in acknowledgment. This, on a subconscious level, filled Tarphus with pride though he mentally condemned his pride by looking at that damn blade. 

The commissar then spoke a raspy declaration. "High command has issued a tactical withdrawal of this trench. It has served its purpose, the artillery has been moved back, and the wounded are behind them. Hive Riven needs a few more hours to get the shuttles up; I'd say we have to hold out for three more waves. However, we only have two more trenches that can be used; that is where you lot come in." 

The commissar turns toward the squad with a solemn look in his eyes. "I will be brief; we need you lot to set up the mines and explosives to help scratch the next wave. This will allow our soldiers to rest. If you accept and do it acceptably, you will be rewarded with the privilege of guarding a munitions bunker with heavy ordnance."

Tarphus looked at his squad; they were battered and bruised. They so desperately needed the rest, even if it was only thirty minutes or an hour. Tarphus himself felt sore and ached everywhere, but he did not complain. Those who did die, his men bitched and moaned, but that was how they were; they got the job done. Tarphus saw how they nodded, resolve firmly in their eyes. He could only assume what they wanted by this. However, he would not, could not deny them.

The explosives were hard to arm, the mistakes were many, causing him to die many times. But he learned so much more than just arming the explosives. Through trial and error, he learned how to set it up to be on a timer, then motion-sensitive, then through the use of tripwires, then remotes. 

Tarphus was amazed at what he found tinkering with these mines. At the end of placing the mines, his squad was so tired, he had to get help carrying them to the promised bunker, where they collapsed. Tarphus then went to inspect the cash of weaponry so that his squad would be able to gather what they needed quickly; he got halfway through that task before he fell asleep.

Tarphus was shaken awake by the commissar, who still had his frown present. "Boy, get up; the orcs will come in sooner than later. You must get on the guns now, or else I will personally shoot you." 

The mirth in the commissar's eyes was palpable. Still, he did not show it, as always, his disapproving glare, much like a father disappointed that their children could not or would not follow their path. It hurt Tarphus more than he would ever admit, as he had been hit by that same glare more than once during his training. 

It caused him to feel regret, but he quickly shook it off. "Alright, sir, we will hold here. What will you do, sir?" Tarphus questioned solemnly. With a raspy voice, the commissar turned and replied, "I will oversee the troops on the line to ensure that there are no cowards. See to your duty squad captain, and I will see to mine." 

Tarphus looked at the heavy stubber. It looked like someone fused two long autoguns together; this did not help Tarphus with his confidence in this thing, as his gun jammed constantly, he shuttered at this thing. 

Then he heard it again, the sirens wail, artillery was still going strong pounding away at the enemy's position then he heard it. The guttural scream, "WAAAAAH!" Text appeared in front of Tarphus; he frowned but then again was relieved at the news.

The user has unlocked a hidden bonus, the user is now at a checkpoint, you will respawn at the start of the third wave.

Tarphus did not know how he had unlocked this 'hidden bonus' but would gladly take the checkpoint. He needed to get used to the new toys. He had more explosives in some of the crates, and in another, he had so much ammo. 

The last one had a strange hollow tube, but the rest in that box were tubes with little fins at the back. Then Tarphus remembered that they were rocket launchers. The gun emplacements were manned by his squad; though he learned that they were terrible at shooting it, they did not hit anything. So he tried his hand and got shot in the head; he then wanted to master this gun and started firing at the enemy targets. 

At first, he was inaccurate and did not prioritize correctly; that changed when an orc grenadier lobed a grenade into his bunker. This was easy and somewhat dare he say it fun, butchering those bastards that would never give him nor his squad any ground. Sure they had to make sure that the damn grenadiers and the jump pack orcs died first but then they could focus on supporting the line. 

The orcs started charging his bunker; some of them produced rocket launchers themselves. After the fifth time arriving at this point, Tarphus realized that a bunker was as much a death trap as the field, even more so as they could not duck dive or run for cover in this little thing. 

But Tarphus held, even when he thought he would go mad, his squad held; some were injured so much that they could not stand. So they were pulled back and away from the machinery to allow the medic to take care of them.

Then something horrible came into view, and he realized why he was given those rocket trucks full of the damn orcs. Most of the mines were detonated earlier to allow the soldiers time to gather ammunition and supplies, so he looked at the launcher and grabbed it. 

The reserves of his squad immediately took his place, saying, "Oh, now we get the big guns." Tarphus then learned how hard it is to use a rocket launcher; he did not know that backblast was a thing. Nevertheless, Tarphus managed to hit one of the trucks coming for his squad hundreds of deaths later. 

Later he managed to hit half the time, then a full eighty percent, he hit his cap of ninety percent. But, much to his dismay, Tarphus could not hit all of the trucks before they made it to the lines, and he could only watch helplessly as the orcs tore into his allies. 

His allies cut down the orcs and did their part. But there were so many too many that everyone was overwhelmed. He wept bitterly over this; he was tired and sore as the bastards kept coming, his eyes widened as a box on legs came to the fore with guns and saws mounted on it. 

His shock increased as more and more of these things came out into his line of sight. His surprise turned into rage as the first one made a beeline towards his bunker. The cannons on it blasted his tiny home, injuring the another of his squad. Then, with a snarl, he grabbed the launcher nearby him and aimed for that red tinpot.