"What the hell was that thing?"
"All units, stay alert. Open fire on any target."
"That is—"
The commander of the accompanying vehicle spoke.
"Probably a scout vehicle, an Ork bike. Looks like it's finally our turn."
The comms unit fell silent.
"Laman, are you sure that's the enemy?"
"No."
He paused. She really wasn't so sure now.
That thing was red—he was certain of that. But what did that mean?
"I'm making a rule now. Anything coming from in front of us is to be treated as hostile."
The gunner turned to look at him, and Laman could tell he wanted to say something.
Suddenly, a burst of noise came through his headset, and Laman's mind was instantly filled with the shrieking of static interference.
"Damn it!"
He immediately clutched his head in both hands, fumbling wildly over his headset.
The static shriek grew louder and sharper, then turned into a clicking sound like a broken machine. He heard someone screaming and wondered if it was himself.
Soon, the sound vanished, leaving only a faint ringing in his ears.
"What was that—"
"I see something."
The gunner suddenly spoke.
"What?"
"I see them."
The gunner had his face pressed against the sight.
"They're approaching."
Laman had already turned to his viewing slit. Sure enough, something was moving on the far side of the square.
He activated infrared vision and saw them—tall vehicles with hulls full of blunt angles.
Their hulls were hot, trails of cooling exhaust stretching behind them.
He recognized that profile, as well as the shape of the weapons protruding from their turrets.
Ork tanks?
Then why hadn't the gunner fired?
The question flashed through her mind, and she opened her mouth to order him to fire.
Suddenly, his eyes swept over the fire-control system display. The