"How's it looking over there, boss?"
The voice from the communicator filled Miviman's ears.
"Closing in."
He replied, his eyes fixed on the screen.
"Still haven't spotted Shrimp."
"Then we'll keep the attack formation. That's it."
"Right."
Miviman's voice was low and steady.
"Just make sure we can fire at any moment."
"Got it. This is a big score."
He did not respond with the usual sign-off. The machine's roar filled the silence that followed.
It was dark inside the vehicle, and his breath fogged the periscope lens with a layer of mist.
He had spent a full six hours crouched in the fighting compartment, breathing recycled air with less than half a meter of room to move.
It was all so familiar that he could barely imagine any other form of warfare.
As one of the earliest Ork armored mekboys, he did not know when his work had gradually shifted from building to fighting.
After distinguishing himself in several wars, Guk had separated him and his armored force from the Iron Fist Legion, making them a directly commanded armored guard force.
"Guk's Two Claws."
That was their somewhat peculiar designation. Yet just as its literal meaning suggested, they were a powerful weapon, a physical extension of the mechanical claw on Guk's left arm.
And their task was naturally to tear the enemy apart and crush them to pieces.
Miviman was one of them. He was the commander of the Third Assault Battalion, with more than a hundred heavy armored vehicles and a hundred highly skilled armored mekboys under his command.
Compared to the past, his current ride was a Grak-pattern assault tank, a model named after one of the overlord's most core vassals.
Much like its namesake, the tank was a brutal beast. Its name was Metal Slug, an