The Frontline

Six hours after leaving camp at dawn, Captain Moroz and his squad had crossed the western marshes and reached a mountainside slope.

Other than routine check-in communications, he had not made any further contact with the other ranger squad, so the static noise crackling over the channel came as a surprise.

"Gray Sparrow, this is White Dove."

The emergence of the Civic Temple had caused an explosive leap in technological development across the human world. Radio communication devices, once exceedingly rare, were no longer anything novel.

However, wireless communications carried the risk of being cracked and monitored, so scouts generally did not use them.

Yet investigations showed that very few Orks understood human language, so the rangers had few concerns in that regard. They used radio equipment normally, though they employed some code phrases.

"Look southeast of your current position. What do you see on the ridge?"

Moroz raised his binoculars and scanned the mountain from left to right.

At first, he saw nothing. But he knew the other side would not have contacted him without being sure there was something there, so he swept the area again.

A moment later, he stopped to adjust the focus. In the indicated direction, a plume of black smoke rose behind the slope. Though the fierce wind along the ridge quickly dispersed it, it was undeniably there.

"White Dove, this is Gray Sparrow. That looks like exhaust emissions. Is that what you see?"

"Confirmed, brother. That direction seems to correspond to the location of a hydroelectric power station."

"A power station? What are the Greenskins trying to do?"

"I won't offer an opinion on that, buddy. But this is solid evidence that a Greenskin force is present. We should withdraw and report it."

"It could just be a burning building set ablaze during