Just as the Bad Moons boss had said, the White Cans were too fast. Before you could fire more than a few salvos, their blades were already at your throat.
The White Scars' warships shot between the two warring Ork forces, weaving brazenly through their ships and firing a shot at each side.
It was dangerous, but the White Scars' elite veterans were long accustomed to dancing on a knife's edge.
The Goffs Clan and Bad Moons furiously... kept fighting.
The White Scars' warships were too fast. After realizing they had been hit, the Orks would frantically swing their guns around to retaliate, but most of their shots missed the speeding ships.
The enormous shells flew past the Strike Cruisers, and nine times out of ten, they managed to "accidentally" hit another clan's nearby ships.
The other side saw this and thought, how could they let that slide? Were they supposed to take a shell without hitting back?
Before long, the exchanges grew even more Waaagh.
Only after firing for a while did the Bad Moons boss realize that every shot had struck empty space. Furious, the boss screamed for more fire, but doubts also began to stir.
What were those White Cans doing?
The Bad Moons were often born merchants. In the boss's eyes, war was an immensely profitable business, and bloody fighting was merely an exchange of vast quantities of resources.
To the boss, shiny guns spitting enormous shells into spectacular showers of explosions were a losing proposition. Destroying enemy ships with long-range fire was what made economic sense.
No amount of ammunition was worth as much as a warship.
So what were the White Cans trying to do?
The Bad Moons boss could not figure it out. They charged in, wasted a few shells, took a few