"I've lost track of the days."
Mountbatten crouched behind a makeshift fortification overlooking the charred ruins of the eastern district, smoking as he spoke softly.
"These days have been hell."
"I don't think Dunwich has any distinction between day and night anymore."
Brownz Hett, smoking beside him as well, replied with a smile.
Mountbatten looked up at the iron-gray sky. Weeks of relentless Ork bombardment had shrouded the land beneath heavy clouds. Dust drifted down like a fine rain, while ash from afar rode the dry, lifeless wind to this place.
"They're gathering for their next attack."
Bronz pointed toward what had once been a residential district east of the university dormitory where they were stationed, now a twisted ruin buried beneath dust.
Mountbatten followed his gaze and could barely make out flashes of filthy dark iron armor.
"The Skull-Crusher Legion."
After days of fighting, Mountbatten could now more or less distinguish the various Ork legions by their armor and banners. He had even crossed paths with Bucktooth, the Skull-Crusher Legion's warlord, several times.
"Who else could it be?"
"I don't know whether their warlord understands any other way to fight."
Bronz smoked the last of his tobacco, then tossed away the butt and shrugged.
"He probably knows other tactics. He just prefers his own methods. Orks are all that stubborn."
"Stubborn as they are, infantry charge after artillery fire, artillery fire after infantry charge. That stupid, mindless approach has still taken over more than half the New World."
After taking his final drag, Mountbatten vaguely recalled the process of withdrawing from their position a few days ago. There was nothing worth remembering about that journey through shattered fortifications and burning ruins.
He only remembered carving a bloody path through the Orks' encirclement and charging toward the grand gates of