The Ork tanks were a collection of hideous, mismatched machines, each crudely assembled and bearing little resemblance to one another. Their armor plates were welded haphazardly atop each other and adorned with random debris. Black smoke billowed from the engines, making it seem as if the tanks were on fire. Despite their ugly paint jobs and rough finishes, the cannons looked menacing—especially to those of us huddled in the trenches, for their barrels were aimed directly at us.
"Get down!" the sergeant of the auxilia shouted, spotting a flash from one of the tanks, followed by a barrage of fire from the others.
Luckily for us, the Ork gunners were clumsy and short-sighted, and none of the shells landed close to our positions, exploding far short of their targets.
"Their range is too great for consistent hits. Keep holding the trenches!" he shouted, rallying the troops, both soldiers and Space Marines, who were dug in alongside us.
Unlike us, the Orks didn't care about friendly fire and continued their reckless attack, using the brief lull in our return fire to their advantage. By the time we reached the main breach in the defense, the Orks had nearly finished off everyone, except for the Space Marines and a few scattered squads of soldiers.
"Grenades ready!" came the short command, and a dozen grenades flew toward the largest concentration of Orks.
The explosion was like an artillery strike, wreaking havoc on the Ork group. Then the real slaughter began.
"Rrgh!" I growled as my chainsword came down on the head of a massive Ork.
Its skull was unusually tough, and the chainsword's engine roared as it struggled to gnaw through the bone for a few seconds before finally reaching the brain, turning it to mush.
The next Ork swung at me with a bizarre weapon, a makeshift hammer with a rocket strapped to the end like a crude cleaver or pick. Deciding not to take chances, I fired my bolt pistol, blowing a fist-sized hole in the Ork's chest. But the foul creature had already started its swing, and even after dropping the weapon, the rocket-hammer hit the ground and detonated.
I instinctively covered my head and chainsword as the blast sent shards of metal and dirt flying. Before I could shake off the debris and dust, another Ork charged, aiming a blow at my neck. I parried his attack and tried to strike his collarbone, hoping to eviscerate him by revving my chainsword, but the weapon merely thudded like a blunt club; its teeth failed to bite into the Ork's flesh.
"Damn it," I hissed, realizing that several fragments had jammed the chainsword's mechanism.
I had no choice but to club the Ork to death like a poacher bludgeoning a seal, aiming for its head. After finishing him, I reached for my sheath, but before I could draw, a massive Ork, even bigger than the previous Nobz, swung a two-handed hammer at me, aiming to crush my skull.
I barely managed to fire a few shots from my bolt pistol at point-blank range, killing the brute. But any hope of a respite, or even reloading my pistol, vanished as more hulking Orks rushed at me, screaming and roaring.
"Damn it," I cursed again, hefting the Ork's heavy two-handed hammer.
It was a true Orkish weapon—crude, primitive even, yet deadly. Thanks to my enhanced muscles and power armor, I was able to swing the hefty weapon, which was practically a paddle disguised as a hammer. The Orks who came at me received bone-crushing blows, forcing them to retreat or lose limbs—or heads. At first, the weapon felt awkward in my hands, and I took a few hits myself, but I quickly adapted. In a matter of minutes, the squad of Nobz was down. Fortunately for me, they seemed to be novices, judging by their lack of decent armor, and the narrow trench limited their ability to overwhelm me from all sides.
While I held off the Nobz, the rest of my troops managed to flank the Ork forces and, with the help of grenades and the element of surprise, wipe them out. It seemed like victory. We had regained control of the breach and pushed the Orks back. But while we were occupied with the infantry, the Ork tanks had closed in, and their accuracy suddenly improved dramatically.
Shells started exploding near and within the trenches, sending chunks of human and Ork flesh flying in every direction.
"Where are our tanks and rocket teams?" I asked the nearest Space Marine, who turned out to be Lukas, the leader of the tactical squad sent to reinforce the auxilia.
"They're on their way. The rocket teams are already in position and preparing to target the nearest tanks, and our own tanks will hit them from the flank," he responded.
His words were encouraging, but even more so was the sight of several rockets launching from behind us, streaking like hungry sharks toward the Ork tanks.
The first hits disabled the tracks of many tanks, and some were less fortunate, turning into burning heaps of scrap metal. The second volley from the rocket teams finished off the immobilized Ork tanks. Just as they prepared for a third volley, the Orks, having noticed the source of the attacks, began raining fire on the rocket team's position. One of their shots hit its mark, tearing a rocket trooper apart and causing secondary explosions that inflicted even more damage. Anger surged through me at yet another loss, but my fury turned to grim satisfaction as our tanks finally arrived, rolling over Orks and setting their tanks ablaze.
It seemed like we were close to driving the Orks off entirely when a group of strange-looking Orks arrived, surrounded by a sickly green energy. Our tank commanders spotted the newcomers and began turning their turrets, preparing to fire.
But the Orks acted first.
The eerie green energy burst from the mouths, eyes, and ears of the strange Ork psykers. They didn't even try to control it, simply letting it flow through them. Some of their eyes melted, while others' heads simply exploded, unable to contain the surge of power. Then the wild energy struck our tanks.