Three Ork Dirty Tank tanks poured fire into Crossroads Fortress, while the Orks behind them advanced bit by bit toward the fortress under the tanks' cover. After leaving behind four or five hundred Ork corpses, the Boyz had gotten smarter too. They knew they could not just charge boldly at the bolter machine guns.
The bolter machine gun fired at the Orks behind the tanks whenever possible, blasting more than a dozen exposed bodies into pieces. The tanks noticed this obvious firing position as well. A loaded shell was fired at it, landing near the bolter machine gun's firing slit. Smoke and fire from the blast obscured it.
"God-Emperor! Ang is down, Ang is down! Medic! Medic!"
Listening to the running footsteps and anxious cries from the upper levels of the fortress, Dovell knew that the bolter machine gun on that side would need a proper rest for a while.
When he saw the Orks raise their hands, Dovell instinctively ducked behind the wall. Just as his cautious instincts had predicted, the Orks were aiming at his firing window. One of them even tossed over a Stick Bomb. It slid down through the recessed firing window designed specifically for shooting and exploded at the corner of the fortress wall.
Feeling the vibrations from the Stick Bomb's explosion, Dovell felt that he was becoming increasingly adept at this brutal battlefield. As the gunfire gradually weakened and the Orks' roars drew closer, he sprang up, braced his gun at the firing slit, and shot down several Ork Boyz who were reloading as they charged. Then he ducked back down again. Swift movement was an important guarantee of survival, he told himself.
Those soldiers with clumsy limbs and stiff movements had all died one after another. Only by staying flexible and agile at