Amid rolling thunder, the world trembled.
On the other side of the Po River, Ork artillery bombardment was ravaging the western bank. Even hundreds of miles away, the faint earthquakes and fluctuations in air pressure it caused could be felt.
Here in Numivis, one of Dunwich's satellite cities, vast areas were still burning fiercely.
The booming of heavy artillery came from the edge of the city. Every few minutes, an Ork or human flight formation streaked overhead, trailing bright contrails.
Thick smoke had painted the sky a murky black.
Dust blotted out the sun as well, yellow earth and ash thrown up by violent impacts.
It hung in the air, coating every surface, seeping into exhaust pipes, slipping into sewers, swaying like wisps of smoke in the breeze.
The bloodstained faces and uniforms of countless dead were covered in dust, making them look as though morticians had tidied their appearance.
Mel was the captain of the Civic Temple's Eleventh Hunter-Killer Squad. He was advancing along a highway with an electromagnetic rifle in hand, his brown leather boots kicking up dust.
Eight subordinates followed closely behind him. Another twelve men, along with heavy weapons, covered the rear, and they also had an armored vehicle equipped with a rapid-fire cannon.
The front line urgently needed reinforcements. The commander had issued the order.
They had to reach the forward positions and enter the fight before midnight.
But with the defensive line on the eastern bank of the Po River having collapsed, Orks could be hiding anywhere nearby.
Mel was cautious. He knew his force was thin, and after having just fought a bitter battle, his squad could not handle too many enemies, no matter how poor a state those enemies were in.
That was why they had heavy weapons and vehicle support.
The