- Death to the Xenos! A good orc is a dead orc! Burn, you creatures! - The shouts of joy from the surviving citizens of Hell's Edge echoed through the air, stifled by the smell of gunpowder and burning flesh.
Many of those rejoicing in victory wept, unable to realize that they were alive. Having accepted the fact that they were doomed, these people could hardly believe that death had passed them by this time.
Soon enough, however, the happiness of victory began to dissipate, and the faster it passed, the more attention was attracted by the legions of soldiers of the Small Crusade walking away.
The saviors' appearance was terrible and their manners disgusting, but first of all, they were human beings, and secondly, they had killed xenos - for many that was already an excuse to forgive them most of their sins.
Nevertheless, the fact that the saviors did not think of stopping was quite unusual, and when it became clear that the battle with the orcs was by no means over, many expressed a grim desire to join what they thought was the last campaign.
Why last?
The orbital strikes of the free traders had reduced the number of Stomps, but there were still a number of them, and even after the defeat in the city, the orcs outside the city still outnumbered the humans.
Trying to get out of the breached hive defenses to attack the orcs in the open was tantamount to voluntary suicide under the heavy orc choppers.
Only these men had already looked into the abyss and saw nothing terrible to look into its eyes again.
And after Servius Blake's order, there were not many who were afraid to join the fighters coming out.
It's worth mentioning that even though the inhabitants of Hell's Edge were on the defensive, they didn't just blow up their warehouses and garages.
Armageddon is one of the largest industrial planets, and because of that, any of its hive cities had a lot of different equipment that was being hastily rolled out right now.
Of course, most of it was unrefueled or being prepared for shipment, but some of it the inhabitants of Hell's Edge had managed to get up and running. And a significant portion of them were the most popular vehicles of the human army, the Chimeras.
The simple and unpretentious armored infantry vehicles could carry up to twelve crewmen, and in the event of a fight, they could also support the landing party with a heavy bolter or multilaser.
In addition to the numerous Chimeras moving towards the exit of the hive, the Leman Russes, the most massive tanks of the Imperium, could be seen here and there. It was obvious that their crews left much to be desired, but if necessary, they would be able to shoot towards the enemies.
At the same time, the eyes of the gathered thousands of people were drawn willy-nilly to the tall human figure standing at full height on the "cherry" of the Hell's Edge warehouses, a machine that would have been blown up immediately if there was any risk of it falling into the clutches of orcs.
No one knew for certain how it had come to be in Hell's Edge. The few people who'd dealt with the overheads were all wringing their hands, babbling about some strange, suspicious coincidence.
As if one of the free traders who had arrived in this world had mistakenly brought down to the planet the wrong tank.
It was obvious that those who dared to lie against the proud free trader were brazenly lying, because a space trader ready to die for every throne could not be so wrong, could he?
But let us return to the car that attracted the eyes of all the soldiers rushing to the exit of the city.
On the ruined streets of Hell's Limit proudly rode the very real Blade of Doom, a super-heavy tank, multi-tank layout. A versatile multi-purpose vehicle capable of effectively fighting infantry, lightly armored and heavily armored targets, fortifications, and even low-flying aerial targets.
The aiming and fire control capabilities of the doomblade were so effective that it could fight against multiple targets in different directions at once at the same time.
And at the very top, clinging to a special edge, stood the one whose fame had already begun its cautious journey across the poisoned surface of this planet as well.
The Saint's gaze fearlessly looked forward, than filled his troops with an inexhaustible thirst for battle.
If the Emperor's own Saint was with them, who could even dare to go against them?
Meanwhile, the orc boss, Gurjok Crooked Tooth, watched incredulously as more and more "gummy" spilled out of the hive.
Frankly, Gurjok was a little startled when he saw the landing inside the hive. To be clear, Crooked Tooth wasn't afraid of the increased number of people, but of the fact that with the increased garrison, he wouldn't be able to take Hell's Edge as planned.
And if he failed to capture Hell's Edge, he would have to answer to Gazgkull himself. And if there was one thing Gurjok feared, it was his nightmare leader.
Gazgkull the Mage of Uruk Thrak is a name that has become a true legend among the orcs. His nickname, "Prophet of Gork and Mork", it was said, was no nickname at all. Driven by the whispering voices in his bolter and bionics-mutilated head, Gazgkull had hurled countless hordes of ruthless orcish VA-A-AAGH-ers from one inhabited star system to another.
Of the significant victories to his credit, he had already crushed the defenders of the Seven Systems, sacked the casket world of Dynostix V, and wiped out every last man of the Astral Drake Order.
And the looting and destruction of lesser known worlds would make for a long list.
If you serve an orc like the Mage of Uruk Thrak, you are willingly conforming to his high standards, which means you are either successful or dead.
And Crooked Tooth wanted very much to live, to continue to carry the war even to the farthest reaches of the galaxy.
That's why Gurjok was incredibly happy about such a gift. Involuntarily, he even felt a fleeting respect for the leader of the "gummy". Not hiding behind the walls like the last Gretchin, he honestly came out for a good swordfight.
That was why Gurzhok did not immediately attack the disparate forces of men, though he had the opportunity to do so. Crooked Tooth allowed them to move completely outside the walls and line up against his own horde. And for his part, Gurjok did his best to make his forces look as representative as possible. What to speak of when he personally arranged the few remaining stomps evenly across the battlefield to make them look more imposing.
Gurjok didn't doubt his ability to deal with so many people. However, if he hit them now, he would gain very little glory.
But if he let them build up, his victory would be much more impressive. Of course, it wouldn't allow Crooked Tooth to dislodge Gazgkull himself, but he might be able to compete for the place of his right hand.
The two armies gazed at each other across the empty, scorched and devastated wasteland of chemicals, fire and war, ready to rush forward at the slightest command from their leaders.
Let us turn our attention deep within the human construct.
- Sir, we're not sure this is your best solution! - The connected common link between Stanislaus and his generals with Constantine was literally shaking with the pleading of his aides to change their minds. - Yes, having you personally lead the attack will undoubtedly boost the army's morale, but what if you were to be suddenly…
The generals themselves prudently stayed in the hive, commanding the troops from there.
- Stand down! - The Saint ordered sharply, gloomily and incredulously eyeing the orc army standing in the distance. It was as if he were calculating something in his head, not allowing himself to be hopeful. - This is the best opportunity I will ever have. Command the attack, for I have longed for this day and this battle for too long.
Having said all he wanted to say, Stanislav gave the order and the giant, super-heavy tank, roaring with several engines, slowly roared forward, breaking out of the general imperial formation.
Upon seeing its leader, a wave of excitement and triumph passed through the crusade formation.
His subordinates had to urgently order an attack, lest their leader attack the enemy army alone.
At the same time, respectful exclamations erupted from the direction of the orc horde. Using the zooming optics, the Noob army commanders, as well as Crooked Tooth himself, could not ignore the desperate bravery of the enemy boss.
So eager for a glorious fight that he would rush ahead of his entire army. And the fact that on the biggest machine is the leader of the people, none of the orcs doubted.
- This humies is almost like a real orc," Gurzhok sighed regretfully. If he were a few decades younger, he might have rushed forward to fight the little man himself, but now he could only give one order. - Hey, boyz, put some dakka on this brave humies!
Then, switching the comms to general, he finally gave the order his whole being had been craving.
- All attack! Kick in! Smash their skulls! Break and burn their bones! To Gork and Mork! W-A-A-A-A-AGH!!!
- WAA-A-A-AGH!!! - The hundreds of thousands of Orcs immediately took up the chant and rushed forward. Behind them, stomping heavily, were huge stomps whose guns turned and aimed at the tank ahead of them.
The heavy barrels of the Gatling guns rang out, the heavy laser cannons howled and the rocket launchers switched to armor-piercing shells.
The huge cannons of the stomps were ready to blow the brave machine and the man standing on it to ashes, when it became clear that the humans still had some other plans than just attacking head-on.
The silvery, elongated hulks of the hollow fighters suddenly swept downward, breaking through the low-hanging clouds. Oroc machines rushed to meet them, but they were too few in number.
Several of the stomps staggered and went up in smoke from direct hits from the fighters' missiles and lasers.
However, not all of the small gargantuans were hit, some of them continued to target the human tank!
"Bang!" - when the heavy foot of one of the stomps once again stepped on the black earth, the latter made a resounding cracking sound and fell downward, dragging the giant machine with it.
In the past, in this place underground, there had been some abandoned warehouse whose roof had chosen this very moment to fail and fall through.
However, the misadventures of this particular stomp did not think to end, because at the moment when it was falling through, the orc gunner just pressed the gunshot trigger.
The stompa was dragged away by gravity and turned awkwardly, causing the shot of the heavy laser to fly in the wrong direction. As it flew over the orc army, it hissed into the side of the second stompa, just under its chainsaw limb.
Orcs are famous for their gargantuan machines, but this was where the Gretchin workers had gotten a little lazy and welded on some substandard steel.
The super-saturated laser shot burned through the old patch, pierced the core of the nuclear reactor, and came out the other side of the stomp to hit the eye of the second gargantuan's head a few hundred meters later, frying the main mek in the process and jamming the controls.
The long-suffering roof of the ancient warehouse finally gave way and the multi-ton orc machine flew down, dragging dozens of heavy concrete debris behind it. At the same time, the orcs' orders were shaken when one gargantuan exploded and the other stumbled and fell forward as a motionless statue.
No sooner had Crooked Tooth realized that he had somehow lost most of his remaining stomps, than the humans, who had reached the orc orders, opened a crushing fire with everything they could fire. The orcs, not to be confused, responded with all the dakka they had.
The two walls of lead, explosions and lasers collided and moved into each other as the two frenzied armies finally clashed.
Chainsaw teeth whirred and heavy stabbers rumbled. The spurting green blood mixed with red blood to form a brownish-yellowish mess on the black, ashy ground of Armageddon.
The shuttles that had at least some guns mounted on them joined in, spiraling down from above.
With a rumble, the disparate orbital strikes struck again in the middle of the orc army. Though the bombardment was burning hundreds of orcs at once, the green wave didn't seem to diminish in the slightest.
And ahead of all this madness, crushing the orcs rushing at him rode the hulk of the doom blade. The main caliber of the cannon, with accurate shots literally destroyed any orc car that only caught his eye. And heavy, paired side lasers burned through entire swaths of the raging sea of green.
Hundreds and thousands of stubber bullets from orc weapons pounded the tank's heavy armor without doing any damage, but if the armor could ignore so many shots, then human flesh, even encased in power armor, would have turned to paste long ago.
Nevertheless, under the admiring gazes of the soldiers, the Saint did not even think of hiding. Standing on top of the tank, he cold-bloodedly shot off the orcs trying to climb up the armor, ignoring the shells ricocheting around him.
Such fearlessness could not go unnoticed by the orcs.
Gurzhok, who was already on his orc tank, turned his bloodshot eyes to the still living enemy general. The orc's mouth stretched into a wide grin.
- Hey, driver! Get over to that tank! I really want to take a swing at their boss! I'll bet our battle will be ligenadar and will make Gork and Mork very happy!
The Oroch mek in the back of the tank picked up on his boss's grin and immediately steered the heavy machine towards the doom blade. The Gretchin were yelling something excitedly from above, but the orcs habitually didn't listen to them.
The orc tank was a multi-platform behemoth, each platform with cannon, machine gun or flamethrower muzzles sticking out in all directions.
The whole thing rumbled, clanked, and fired without ceasing. But the most noise was made by the heavy, spiky roller in front, which easily crushed everything that was foolish enough to be in front of it.
When Stanislav noticed the Oroc tank rushing towards him, he ordered the commander of the Blade of Doom to drive towards it. Whatever the commander thought at that moment, but without arguing, he immediately carried out the order.
Bouncing on the potholes and shuddering from enemy hits, both vehicles desperately fired at each other, but time after time they missed.
Grinning, Crooked Tooth climbed up the armor, ready to clash with the gummy boss above. The leaders' power armor was enough to hold up in a clash, and both tanks were too huge to be destroyed at once.
Imagining how magnificent their battle would be, Gurzhok didn't immediately notice how the seemingly solid handrail he'd been holding onto all this time silently broke off, leaving only his power claw.
"Huh?" - Crooked Tooth, who had fallen off the top of the tank, said incredulously.
"Crunch," said Gurjok's mega armor as it collided with the tank's lower extension.
"Squish!" said the Gretchin as the Gurjok falling even lower fell on top of it with all its weight, leaving only a red stain on the armor.
"Br-r-r-r-r-r-r." - said the tank tracks as they ran over the great and terrible boss of the four-hundred-thousand-strong orc horde.
- Boss? - cautiously asked the mek who was peering out of the hatch, refusing to believe that what he had heard had happened. - Boss, are you alive?
The answer came from the Gretchins standing behind the small cannons. Having seen in color the stupid and ignominious death of the boss, the green little ones screamed wildly, so that they were heard by the orcs and outside the tank.
- The boss is dead! Totally dead! There's no such thing as peace! Run for your lives!
And in a second, the terrible news spread like a fire in a dry forest.
If the green-skinned had not previously paid much attention to the bombs exploding among them, the incinerating lasers of orbital strikes, and the endless barrage of shells and human shots, things had become somewhat different with the death of the leader.
The WA-A-AGH energy that was swirling around them began to dissipate and the orcs began to shake. Some of the units turned and rushed away, and as they did so, others immediately joined them, causing a chain reaction of flight.
The human forces were pretty shattered, but they did not deny themselves the pleasure of chasing and shooting the fleeing xenos in the back.
And though the lone figure on the deadly blade, cursing, ordered the orcish tank to return, the latter turned around and at a decent speed and swiftly raced away.
Stanislav did not yet know that the mekboiz of the boss's tank, who had returned to Gazgkull, in order to somehow justify their shameful failure in the eyes of the great boss, would make up a colorful story of the confrontation and fight between the brave general of the "Yudishek" and the now deceased Crooked Tooth.
After all, finding new gretchins is much easier than explaining to a powerful warboss that you accidentally ran over one of his big bosses.
The story of the unknown mek will still spread widely among the galaxy's many orcs, and they will all learn about the "Holy young man who is as brave as a real boyz.
This chapter was edited by Old Man of the Mountain/Darklord331 Thanks to him pat him in the comments.