Coughing, I took off my helmet and stood up to see the stormboyz descending. As fast as I could, I lifted my heavy bolter and began firing. The distance between us wasn't great, and the orks weren't trying to maneuver, so the burst ripped through at least a dozen of them. Many more were wounded—some lost only an arm or leg, while others were lucky to get away with grazing hits that left just scratches. I could have killed more, but the treacherous clink of the bolt gun's empty magazine hinted that I had run out of ammo.
"Damn it!" I cursed loudly, watching as one of the stormboyz, drooling everywhere, rushed at me with an axe already raised.
I had to use the now-useless heavy bolter as a shield, taking the ork's strike. The blow was so powerful that the axe buried itself deep in the bolter.
"Tin can! Die! Waaagh!" the beast roared, pressing down on me with even more force.
"Not today, scum!" I shouted back, shoving the bolter aside. The axe stuck inside it made the ork lose balance and stumble forward.
The stormboy didn't have time to turn around before my fist came crashing down on his head like a hammer, sending him sprawling on the ground. He tried to get up, but my heavy boot stomped on his neck, crushing the vertebrae. I raised my foot again, and in a split second, the ork's head burst like a watermelon.
Wasting no time, I pressed the button to drop my empty ammo pack and surveyed the scene. The situation wasn't great but not hopeless either. The stormboyz had managed to establish a foothold in a few points, but in most other places, hand-to-hand combat raged on. The auxilia were fending off the orks with bayonets, rifle butts, and entrenching tools. Meanwhile, the Astartes were either helping to hold critical defensive positions or launching counterattacks to drive the orks back.
My squad was finishing off the stormboyz who had tried to assault us. I turned my head, scanning the battlefield for Homn, the best after me and Rork when it came to handling heavy weapons. He showed signs of leadership potential, someone I could see as a future sergeant leading all the heavies.
"Homn, you're in command of the squad now. Relay to Rork that he's taking overall command. My helmet is trashed, and our men in the trenches need help. Until further orders, keep holding the orks back." Homn gave a quick nod and returned to firing.
I drew my chainsword from its scabbard and pulled out my bolt pistol, running towards the most brutal close-quarters melee. The enhanced body of an Astartes, combined with my power armor, allowed me to reach the fight in no time.
I saw a soldier trying to fend off an ork with a rifle butt, but a heavy strike from a long knife knocked the weapon from his hands. The bolt pistol barked, and the ork's head, raised high with the knife poised to strike, exploded, showering the area with blood and brain matter.
I moved on and saw several soldiers who had skewered a stormboy on their bayonets. The green bastard wasn't even thinking about dying yet, still swinging his axe wildly. One of the soldiers' arms gave out under the strain, and in that brief moment, the ork twisted and managed to chop off the man's head. The others couldn't hold the ork back any longer, even though his guts were spilling out, and with the insane glee of a deranged butcher, he kept trying to cut them down. A quick shot from the hip sent a bolt round into his wound, and it exploded inside, leaving a gaping hole.
"Follow me! There are more of these bastards ahead! Avenge your comrade!" I growled at the soldiers, not giving them a chance to doubt or, worse, feel fear.
The sight of a giant in power armor crushed any seeds of fear in their minds, and my words of vengeance, along with a brief glance at their fallen comrade's headless body, spurred the soldiers into action. Without wasting any more time, I led them forward.
What followed in the trenches could only be described as a massacre. An Astartes parried a knife strike with his bolter—though the blade was more like a machete. In his other hand, he held a bayonet, which he swiftly drove into the enemy's eye socket. A soldier struggled to break free from a chokehold, helplessly striking the ork until the sickening crack of his neck being snapped echoed out. But the ork didn't have time to enjoy his victory as a sapper's shovel, gripped by another soldier, crunched into its shoulder. The soldier yanked the shovel free and continued hacking at the ork, though the fight was interrupted by a crude grenade thrown into the trench, resembling a piece of plumbing. A couple of orks nearby tore an officer apart, yanking on his arms until a revolting crunch and the sound of tearing skin filled the air. The officer's killers followed him into death when a pair of soldiers switched their rifles to automatic fire and shot them almost point-blank.
One ork jumped into the trench, charging at the soldiers like a bull with its head lowered. The soldiers didn't have time to react, and the ork slammed into them like a cannonball. Knocked off their feet, the soldiers had no chance to resist, so all they could do was watch as the ork raised his axe. One of the soldiers closed his eyes in fear, but a second passed, then another, and nothing happened. The screaming had stopped. Opening his eyes, he saw the ork's body, cleaved from the collarbone down to the gut, and standing behind it was me, slicing off the ork's head with another rev of my chainsword.
"Get up, soldiers! That wasn't the last ork here!" I barked at them and continued making my way through the trench, lending aid wherever I could.
The slaughter in the trench was escalating. The orks' flamethrowers were setting everything on fire, indifferent to their own allies. A well-aimed sniper shot hit a fuel tank, engulfing the ork in flames. But the green-skinned monster only laughed loudly and charged at the nearest human. Now, the fire consumed both the ork and his victim. The sniper fired two more shots: one into the ork's head and the other into the poor soldier, mercifully ending his suffering.
On my way to the main breach, I encountered not only soldiers but also Astartes. Unfortunately, my warriors were not always alive. Most of the dead had fallen to rocket fire, or had the misfortune of facing several nobs wielding massive two-handed axes. A couple of my men seemed to have been struck by some kind of energy attack from strange orks that resembled our psykers. The strangest thing, though, was that the bodies of these orks sometimes looked like they had exploded from within or had been struck by lightning aimed straight at their brains.
With every fallen Astartes, my heart grew heavier. In both this life and my past one, I had never liked losing my subordinates. But the experience from my past, and the fact that I was now an angel of death, prevented me from succumbing to despair. In place of the pain of loss, a burning fury took over, with a single clear desire: to kill all the orks.
"Kill them all! Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!" I roared, raising my bloodied chainsword high.
My battle cry was echoed by all those around me, and we launched a merciless assault. The orks weren't ready for this. They had expected the humans to try shooting them down as usual, but a brutal and savage close-combat assault—something they thought was their domain—caught them off guard. And they paid dearly for it. Throwing grenades on the move, I led the Astartes in turning the battlefield into hell for the orks. Explosions, the roar of chainswords, the sound of flesh being torn apart, and the bark of bolter fire filled the air. The orks began to retreat, then flee faster, until we had driven them out of the trenches.
This could have been considered a victory. But the appearance of ork tanks threw all plans into disarray. If there had been as many as my forward scouts had counted, we wouldn't have had much to worry about. But instead of a couple of tanks, whose burning hulks now smoldered on the battlefield, I was faced with at least a couple of platoons, and at worst, a whole company.
"Order Rork to prepare for a tank assault. Have him send the Predators over here and give the missile launchers Rhinos for mobility," I said, turning to the nearest Astartes.
Driving the orks out of the trenches had forced their boss to play his last card: the tanks.