Green lightning bolts began striking the tanks, and where they hit, the armor melted as if it were not solid steel but cheap plastic under the flame of a lighter.
"Order the crews to abandon the vehicles and run!" I shouted to Lucas.
It might have seemed like a foolish decision, but I had no other choice. Either they'd be roasted inside their machines, and we could forget about any survivors, or at least some of them, even under fire, might manage to escape.
That's exactly what happened. One crew managed to abandon the tank and make it to the trenches, though at the cost of a few nasty hits to their armor. Another crew, however, lost their driver, who was the last to leave and got struck directly in the head by a lightning bolt. The only consolation was that his death was instant.
After the Ork psykers finished with the tanks, they turned their strikes toward our trenches. This forced us to retreat to the edge. The Orks were waiting for this—Warboss sent his troops into the attack. The Ork psykers decided to support the assault and struck again, even at the cost of hitting their own forces with friendly fire. It was a mistake.
When the green lightning bolts began to burn and destroy the Orks, the raging energy slipped out of control and fried the brains of all the psykers. Unleashed, the energy exploded in a massive blast.
The explosion was as if someone had dropped a pair of bombs, each weighing a couple of tons. A huge gash in our defensive line gaped like an ugly wound. Everyone was dazed. Even I, protected by power armor, had to make an effort to regain control over my body.
"Khha. Order a retreat. Everyone fall back to the command bunker. We'll make our last stand there," I coughed, rasping through a throat parched with dust, giving the command to Lucas, who was shaking clumps of dirt off himself.
The Orks' confusion and shock, which delayed their immediate attack, allowed us to retreat. If not for that, we would have been overrun, and any thought of defending this sector would have been futile—the damage was too great.
By the time we reached the command bunker, night had fallen. Near it, new firing points and fortifications were hastily being built, but everyone knew that wouldn't save us. We were practically surrounded, and soon we'd be finished, either bombarded by artillery or overrun by endless waves of infantry.
"Is this the end, Buri?" Rork asked me after injecting me with a potent cocktail of meds and stimulants.
"Most likely. We held out for long enough, and we've exacted such a toll that there's no shame in it. Though it's a shame those damned Ork psykers ruined everything at the end. We could have made it," I sighed, lifting the two-handed hammer I'd been using since losing my standard weapon during the psi-blast.
"Yeah. Damn, I wouldn't mind an orbital strike right now, even if it hit us."
"What, you want a burial fit for warriors of old? A massive barrow filled not just with you but a whole mountain of your enemies?"
"Wouldn't be too bad. But the thought of your smug grin haunting me to the end..."
"What do you mean, smug? This is the face of a confident leader, ready to kick his troops toward a brighter future!"
"Sure... Yeah. Hm? Some big Ork with an entourage is coming our way. They're shouting they want to talk. What's this?" Rork lowered his head, listening to a report over the vox, then looked at me.
"No idea. But if it's negotiations or something else, it gives us time to catch our breath," I said, standing up and hefting the hammer in one hand as I walked toward the Orks.
"It's a trap! Don't you get it? You're walking straight into the predator's jaws!" Rork suddenly stood up.
"Even if it is, I'll try to buy you some time. Either way, we're all supposed to die today. At least this way, I'll give you a chance to rest a little."
"And why would we need that?"
"So that one more Ork might die. Well then, wish me luck, Rork," I said, my last words spoken as I left the command bunker.
As I approached the Orks, I realized that I was facing the local Warboss, or Ork chieftain, along with his entourage of particularly beefy Nobz. Although I'd already taken down a few of their kind who were no less strong or massive, so I wasn't particularly afraid. I could still take one with me.
"Yer one tough tin can! I like ya! Killin' ya's gonna be fun!" The Warboss bellowed, then let out a deep, booming laugh. The three-meter-tall Ork, clad in scrap metal armor, held a massive axe.
"And I was pretty happy too when I first took this hammer from one of your toadies and then smashed the heads of a few more of your big boys," I spat, gripping the hammer's handle tighter.
"HAHAHAHAHA! Brave! Tough! Let's 'ave some fun, tin can! Eh?!" The Ork roared with laughter, tilting his head back to the sky.
"No problem. But you know, we like to save the best for last. Let me have some fun with your buddies first, then we can clash. Or are they cowardly scum who can only hide behind your back like those nosy little runts?" I grinned and nodded toward a couple of small Orkoids who were trying to stab each other with nail-like shanks.
"Zog! Shut yer trap! I'll zog ya!" The Orks roared, falling for my provocation like children. I wanted to buy some time.
No, I wasn't afraid to die. I just wanted to give my men a bit more time. Even a minute could be valuable. Some might even be lucky enough to hold out until the Eighth Legion arrived. Though I didn't have much hope for that.
"Haha! Fun! Fun it is! Alright, tin can! You'll fight each of my Nobz! Give me a good time!" The Warboss barked and snorted before pointing his axe at a Nob armed with a choppa and a pistol.
The Nob grinned savagely and quickly stepped forward, while the other Nobz and Orks formed a dueling circle.
Without any preamble, the Ork began firing and charging at me. Luckily, the pistol in his hand was weak, and its small caliber didn't do much damage, aside from scratching the paint and making a few shallow grooves.
Covering myself with one arm, I charged as well, drawing my hammer back. When we were just a few meters apart, I swung it sharply upward, aiming straight for the Ork's jaw. The blow was precise, and more importantly, fatal. The hammer not only shattered the Ork's jaw but almost tore his head off, sending it flying up and back like a golf ball after a good swing. The Ork's body immediately went limp and collapsed to the ground as a stream of blood gushed from his neck, soaking the earth around him.
"Heh. That was easy. Send the next one!" I flicked the blood from my hammer with a sharp swing and grinned at the Warboss.
"Great! More! Hmurk! Get 'im!" The Warboss laughed even harder and waved another Nob forward.
This one was tougher than the last. And a bit craftier. Just before the clash, he threw his pistol at me and tried to chop off the arm I was defending with. But another sharp swing of the hammer ended the duel. This time, I swung it downward, and his head turned into a bloody pulp.
"Next!" I grinned at the Warboss again.
"Zog! You're one solid tin can! WAAAAGH! I'm 'appy!" The Warboss was having the time of his life, and he sent another Nob into the fight.
The next half hour was spent doing nothing but fighting his Nobz. And when it came to the toughest and most experienced of them, things got difficult. I couldn't just rely on brute strength anymore—I had to start fighting with tactics as well. Still, those tough bastards managed to land a few nasty blows. One hit me square in the chest with a hammer, cracking a couple of ribs. Another managed to stab me with a thrusting strike in a poorly protected spot near my elbow.
The strangest thing was that not only the Warboss but the other Orks as well were thoroughly enjoying themselves. They even started drumming a rhythm by banging their axes on the ground, stomping their feet, and shooting into the air. They were having fun, even as I killed one of their own.
The dusk turned into sunset, and the Orks lit several massive bonfires for better visibility. Finally, it was time for the last battle. Illuminated by the firelight and cheered on by the roar of the crowd, the Warboss stepped forward.
"You're the best tin can! You gave these weaklings what for! Even Gork and Mork would have had fun watching you! Ah, if only the other tin cans were like you!"
"The others?" I raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Yeah! Look! Snot! Spit! Bring 'em those tin cans who wanted to take me down!" The Warboss waved his hand, and two small Gretchins dragged forward a pair of dead Space Marines.
"What are you trying to say?" I asked, unable to get what Xenos was trying to say.
"Haha! They just popped up out of nowhere, tried to get to me, and got smashed by my Nobz. Weaklings! Not like you!" The Ork said, grinning from ear to ear.
I was overcome with horror, rage, and hatred all at once. I could barely think straight.
"SCUM! HOW DARE YOU?! I WILL KILL YOU!" Pure rage exploded from within me the moment I saw that the helmets of the Eighth Legion Space Marines had heads still inside them.
"HAHAHAHA! You like it?! I do too. Now they'll always be with me. Look at my favo…"
"Shut up, you scum! I won't just kill you, I'll gut you like a pig and make you die slowly!" The fury and wrath inside me surged like a violent storm.
Even in my previous life, I was driven mad by the desecration of my fallen comrades and allies by scum like this. Back then, I took matters into my own hands and did what many would call a war crime, though few would deem it righteous vengeance. I executed everyone involved, either burning them alive in their homes or burying them alive. I spared no one. By morning, there was nothing left but ash and bodies for the crows.
I immediately forgot all about my wounds. Power flowed through me like a river of fire. The hammer in my hand felt as light as a feather.
"Hrarrhahaha! What fun! So much fun! Come on, tin can!" The Ork Warboss charged into battle.
He was far stronger and faster than all the Nobz I had killed earlier. His axe came down like a sewing machine—fast and often. But I wasn't going to give in either.
Our blows clashed, sending sparks flying and filling the air with the constant ringing of metal on metal. We exchanged strikes, parried, blocked, and dodged. Neither of us showed any sign of fatigue.
But where flesh did not yield, metal did.
The Warboss managed to cut my hammer's handle clean in half. Then came a kick that sent me flying to the side.
"Hahahahah! Now it's over for you!" the Warboss roared joyfully, raising his axe over his head as he moved in for the final strike.
"Not today, xenos!" In one hand, I still held the upper part of the hammer with the head, and in the other, the lower half of the handle.
The Ork was so confident in his victory that he didn't react fast enough to the hammerhead I threw, which hit him in the knee, shattering it and bringing him crashing down right in front of me.
"I told you, you would die slowly." I immediately jumped on his back and plunged the sharp end of the metal handle into his spine, then twisted it from side to side, widening the wound.
"NO! NOT FUN! ZOG!" the Warboss screamed as he lost control of his legs and felt excruciating pain.
"It's fun for me, though! Feel the pain, beast!" I spat into his eyes with the caustic and poisonous venom from my Betcher's Glands.
"AAAAAAAHHHHH!!! MY EYES!!! ZOG!!!" The Warboss screamed, but I didn't care.
I slid off his back and drew my knife. With a swift kick to his side, I forced the Ork to roll over onto his back, and then, in one swift motion, I drove the blade into his stomach.
"AAAH! NO! NOOOO! NRGHAAHHH!" The Warboss's screams only grew louder, reaching a peak when I dragged the knife across his belly, causing his guts to spill out of the wound.
The Warboss howled and screamed, and in the end, whimpered as he tried to wipe his eyes and gather his spilled intestines, but it was all in vain. Each moment grew quieter until, at last, he died. Taking the knife, I slowly but steadily began to saw through his neck until I held the Ork's head in my hand, its face twisted in horror and pain.
A ringing silence fell over the duel's aftermath. Even the wild beasts that were the Orks understood the terrible death their Warboss had just endured.
"Heh. I hope now my brothers from the Eighth Legion can rest in peace. They'd have liked this funeral. Right in their style," I smirked, looking at the Orks, who would soon rally and want nothing more than to kill me by sheer numbers.
Gradually, the noise from their side began to grow. Grunting and snorting gave way to guttural speech, and finally, they began to roar.
"Ah. A couple of grenades, or better yet, a demolition charge, would make for a wonderful farewell fireworks show," I chuckled grimly, as I felt exhaustion creeping up on me.
"Buri! Get down! The Eighth is here!" Through the roar of the Orks, I managed to hear the shout coming from the maxed-out vox-casters of my Space Marines.
Gathering the last of my strength, I threw myself towards the Warboss's corpse and covered myself with it. Then I heard the powerful roar of jet engines, quickly followed by the thunder of explosions.
The Eighth Legion's air force had struck the Orks. Rockets, bombs, cannons—every bit of firepower was aimed at the massed Orks. Mere moments ago, they had felt like the victors, but now they were being torn apart by shells and explosions. But that was only the beginning. After the first barrage came death from above.
The Eighth Legionnaires descended from their Thunderhawks using jump packs and began the slaughter of the disorganized, panicking Orks. But they were only the vanguard. Within minutes, armored auxiliary units appeared in the distance and joined the one-sided massacre. Soon after, it turned into a rout, the entire Ork flank collapsing.
But by then, I was no longer part of it. I'd been stunned by a nearby missile impact, and only the smelly corpse of the dead Warboss, which took most of the blast, saved me from a much worse fate.