A ferocious offensive

Evan changed positions and moved onto the wall. It was not that the Astartes there could no longer hold out; a veteran and a Primaris Astartes were more than enough to handle Orks at their current level of technology.

The main problem was the sheer number of Ork corpses piled beneath the wall. They had made the assault much easier: the Orks only had to climb over their fellows' bodies to charge up the ramparts. For some reason, the people of this planet had no promethium, perhaps because supplies had dwindled after they broke away from the Imperium. Conventional liquid chemical incendiaries were far too slow at disposing of Ork bodies.

The foot of the wall lay in a blind spot for the artillery inside the city, and they could hardly have Lightning Strike Fighters and Thunderbolt Heavy Fighters bomb their own walls. That was why Evan had come down with a promethium flamer.

The flamer unleashed a fierce torrent of fire. Had anyone from the Adeptus Mechanicus seen it, they would certainly have declared, "The machine spirit is pleased. Praise the Omnissiah!" The Omnissiah was the earthly manifestation of the Machine God, and many in the Adeptus Mechanicus believed the Emperor was the Omnissiah. Ork bullets clattered against Evan's pauldrons, while the bolter in his other hand returned the favor.

The entire battlefield reeked of bolter oil, grenade maintenance fluid, and roasted mushrooms. Gunfire, explosions, and screams formed the background noise of the vast battlefield. Of course, there were also Squad Leader William's shouts of, "Turn the flamer down! Make it last!"

But those easy days were coming to an end. Perhaps the Orks had noticed the exceptionally high death rate among their Big Bosses here, or perhaps they had simply lost patience. Armored vehicles cobbled together by Mekboys came roaring up, followed by heavy missile carriers—if those Gretchin-guided contraptions, which even their makers could not predict would explode, counted as missiles.

These "missiles" flew so slowly that the void shield could not shunt them into the warp, making them genuine threats to everyone on the wall. Fortunately, the planet's Orks had not devoted much effort to aircraft, and their air cover was still crude.

There was a special group among the Orks who wanted nothing more than to take to the skies. Conquering the heavens was, to them, a particularly Waaagh!-worthy pursuit. Most were Mekboys who devoted all their energy to building aircraft. So long as a machine could fly, they would not hesitate to test it themselves, even if it had no means of landing whatsoever. Once the Orks reached a later stage of development, these enemies would become terrifying killers, outmatching even many atmospheric aircraft commonly used by the Imperium.

The Astartes had always upheld the fine tradition of slaughtering any friends who came calling from afar. Faced with the Orks' "gifts," all thick shells and generous fillings, they immediately called for air support.

Lightning Strike Fighters and Thunderbolt Heavy Fighters swiftly broke through the aerial screen of flying Ork Boyz and crude sheet-metal planes, then began attacking the Orks' armored forces on the ground.

Yet after a heavy bombing run, psychic shields lit up around four armored vehicles. Condensed from vast quantities of Waaagh! energy, these shields could withstand any type of attack. Naturally, they had a weakness of their own: instability.

One armored vehicle suddenly burst into flames. It rapidly disintegrated into a heap of sheet metal, steel rods, and iron cans, while the Orks inside fled in all directions.

By then, the seasoned William had already realized something was wrong.

"Evan, put down the promethium flamer and get your chainsword out, now. The enemy's coming up."

The remaining three armored vehicles accelerated flat out and rammed straight into the wall. A tremendous explosion hurled wreckage high into the air, along with the Deff Dreads that had been concealed inside them.

Smeared with Ork blood and protected by invincible shields, the Deff Dreads crashed onto the ramparts. Flying rubble injured several human soldiers. Before the stones had even hit the ground, the Deff Dreads began their slaughter. Mechanical arms fitted with chainaxes and cutting blades swung out, instantly killing every human soldier nearby. Rocket launchers on their backs rumbled, spraying rockets in every direction. Aiming? Unnecessary. Ork-made, guided by sheer superstition. They would miss even if they aimed, so they might as well saturate the area with fire.

"Die, xenos!" The squad leader was the first to meet them.

There were exactly three Astartes on the wall. No need to divide up the targets; each could simply pick one.

Evan generously rewarded the nearest Deff Dread with an entire magazine of bolts, hammering its Waaagh! field until it began to destabilize.

"Waaaaaagh!"

Even sealed inside the Deff Dread, the Ork's battle cry was clearly audible to everyone nearby.

"You filthy beast! Your life is mine!" So this was a contest to see who could shout louder? Astartes had amplifiers.

Elsewhere, the humans heard a string of battle cries and instinctively looked toward the loudest voice. Through the confusion, they glimpsed two enormous metal cans of roughly equal height charging at each other, weapons swinging.

The Deff Dread facing Evan had a full five mechanical arms fitted to it. Apart from a clamp for picking things up, the other four carried a chainaxe, a Rokkit Drill, and two cutting blades.

Evan adjusted his angle of approach. He knew his advantages perfectly well. The enemy's chainaxe struck his pauldron—the toughest part of an Astartes' armor—at an angle and slid off. A cutting blade slammed into the same pauldron, leaving a gouge that spat sparks. Evan seized the opening and swung his chainsword, severing the Rokkit Drill. It was the only weapon capable of quickly breaching his armor, and he had judged it the priority.

With that first strike successful, Evan did not stop charging. He passed straight alongside the Deff Dread, plucked a little present from his belt, and hooked it onto the rocket launcher on its back.

The enemy was furious. Even two weapon strikes had failed to cleave this white can in half, and now he had "escaped." It turned to pursue him, while Evan took to his heels without so much as looking back.

"Who the hell set such a long timer on this melta bomb?"

Everyone saw two cans, one chasing the other. The white can was clearly a little faster, while the pursuing can waved several mechanical arms. Then, all of a sudden, a tremendous explosion turned it into a spectacular firework.

Another chorus of "Praise the Heavenly God!" rose from the humans. Some even began arguing over whether this was the Heavenly God's protection or his punishment of the enemy.

Evan did not stop charging. He headed straight for the Deff Dread fighting the other Astartes.

This Deff Dread clearly suffered from a pathological fear of insufficient firepower. It had only three mechanical arms, but apart from one grabbing claw, both of the others carried twin-linked heavy machine guns.

Their rattling bursts seemed endless. Even soldiers in nearby positions were struck by stray rounds, causing considerable casualties.

The Primaris Space Marine fighting it was running circles around the Deff Dread to avoid its heavy fire, constantly shooting his bolter as he searched for an opening.

Evan's left pauldron had been damaged in the previous fight. This time, he lowered his body, presented his right shoulder to the enemy, gripped his sword in both hands, and charged at full speed.

When the Ork gunner spotted Evan, he excitedly poured fire into him. His Waaagh! roar expressed his delight at finally finding an enemy willing to fight him head-on.

Unfortunately, Evan was already sprinting flat out by the time the Ork noticed him. Barely a few bullets struck before his chainsword, running at full power, plunged into the dark red iron can. The other Astartes seized the opportunity and brought his power axe down on the hulking machine's head. The tremendous blow cleaved downward to meet the breach made by Evan's chainsword, splitting the can in two.

Against melee specialists, weapons had to be used cleverly. Against ranged firepower, it was best to get right in their faces. The Astartes' enormous, sturdy pauldrons and chainswords were the best tools for the job-apart from calling in long-range fire support, of course.

The enemy had been dispatched cleanly and efficiently. There was naturally no need to worry about Squad Leader William; the Deff Dread facing him was already lying on the ground, sputtering oil. The three resumed suppressing the Orks below the wall.

During the brief lapse in their fire, quite a few ordinary Orks had reached the base of the wall, though the fire team on the mountain peak had killed the Big Bosses. The two Primaris Space Marines grabbed the crates of grenades the human troops had just brought up and hurled them down with both hands as though they cost nothing. They really did cost nothing, much to William's delight.

As for William, he happily crouched before the Ork can the other two had split apart and dug piles of ammunition out of its ruined twin-linked heavy machine guns.

As he had said, the Orks' unstable oversized bullets could serve as grenades once fitted with detonators.

If a problem could be solved with saturation fire, why go down and fight with bayonets just to save a little money? William's creed had always been to bring more firepower and do more bombing.

Of course, Evan had not forgotten the important business. "Charles, shorten the timers on the melta bombs!"

Just as they were running out of grenades, Lightning Strike Fighters came roaring in. This time, they were not providing air support, but escorting transports.

The fighters unleashed fierce fire on the Orks. Behind them, five fat, bulky transports reached the military fortress and began unloading rapidly.

The Imperialis Militia, heavy artillery, Chimera armored vehicles, and Leman Russ Tanks were delivered to the fortress. Naturally, there were also the Green Templars' beloved motorcycles!

Although the Codex Astartes required mortal and Astartes military forces to remain separate, preventing the Astartes from possessing vast mortal armies and enormous fleets, well...

A Strike Cruiser could hardly have only Astartes aboard, could it? Surely there were mortal Counter-Boarding Force troops? And their numbers... could be adjusted. Temporarily "conscripting" them into a ground war was perfectly reasonable, was it not?

Who still followed the Codex these days, anyway?

The full counteroffensive began.

A Nova-class Frigate was the first to appear on the outskirts of the Atris System. This type of frigate carried a lance and two weapon arrays, but had no capacity to deploy a Space Marine Chapter. As a result, some within the Imperium had continually questioned whether it violated the Codex Astartes. The matter had eventually been dropped after several of the First Founding Chapters—the initial twenty Legions—took a firm stance.

Such frigates generally served as scouts in space warfare or escorts for transport missions.

Without lingering, the Nova-class Frigate swiftly advanced toward the target planet. The surrounding wreckage was not worth its time.

Before long, three Battle Barges and a Strike Cruiser also emerged from the warp at the Mandeville Point and entered the system. Had the other two Chapters seen the size of this fleet, they might have been jealous enough to seize it. Our single Strike Cruiser has to serve as both carrier and assault ship, and you have five warships? Obscenely rich. Absolutely obscenely rich!

"Green Templars Chapter, Shadow Venom Blade Chapter, please respond. Please respond."

"Green Templars receiving. The Shadow Blades are right beside me."

"The Storm Will Chapter has reached orbit over Atris. Drop Pods are ready. Are we proceeding according to the original strategy?"

"Confirmed. Drop Pod guidance beacons are in position. Proceed according to the original strategy."

Aboard the Storm Will Chapter's ship, Kargas Bel wore ocher Tactical Dreadnought Armour, also known as Terminator armor, which was one size smaller than a Dreadnought and worn by ordinary Astartes veterans. His fists and boots were painted dark green. As a successor Chapter of the Imperial Fists, their heraldry added a nebula beneath the fist emblem.

Behind him stood the fully equipped veteran First Company. Almost every member wore Tactical Dreadnought Armour. They had spent several years fighting battles that amounted to "rest and recuperation"-or rather, for them, fighting mortal rebel armies was no different from a massacre, with almost no casualties of their own.

The Storm Will Chapter had recovered from a depleted force of some four hundred to nearly seven hundred warriors. Although Imperial regulations forbade a Chapter from exceeding a thousand combat Astartes, the current wars had become such a complete quagmire that a Chapter with seven hundred could already be considered at full fighting strength.

Looking upon his Chapter's imposing martial might, Chapter Master Kargas Bel felt boundless pride surge within him. Though he had never witnessed the splendor of a Legion of two hundred thousand Astartes during the Emperor's Great Crusade, in the age of the Codex Astartes, the elite warriors under his command could grind any enemy of the Imperium to dust.

He had a dream: to earn the glory of a savior on some planet, then have the Imperium grant his Chapter a homeworld. From then on, they would no longer have to wander. Even if that homeworld lay in the most dangerous region of space, he was confident he could carve out a realm of peace and order.

Apart from those assigned to special garrison duties, six hundred and eighty Astartes had already entered their Drop Pods.

Today was the day to win glory and make their mark. The entire force would deploy.

Drop Pods came screaming through the sky like a meteor shower. All six hundred and eighty Astartes brought by the Storm Will Chapter landed in the upper levels of the Hive City, successfully linking up with the surviving elite forces of the Shadow Blades and Green Templars.

Counting all the arrivals, more than sixteen hundred Astartes had now assembled on the planet. Meanwhile, large numbers of Imperialis Militia troops were transported to the North Pole Fortress to take over the defenses from the Green Templars' Third, Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth Companies. The Green Templars Astartes would mount their familiar Jetbikes and bring death to the enemies of the Imperium.

The Ork warlord Mistanbol was angry now. Very angry. He had discovered that these space cans were far more powerful than he had expected, and that many of the taller cans fought with exceptional ferocity. Judging by the recent "meteor shower," there were more and more of them as the fighting went on.

"Waaaaaagh!"

These meddlesome bastards were seriously getting in the way of his Waaagh! across the galaxy, so he decided to teach these suicidal Astartes a lesson they would never forget.

"Ulutan, how much longer until that big thing's ready?"

"Three days. Three days at most."

"Lads, send out all the Killa Kans! Give those stinking humies a taste!" Mistanbol's roar echoed throughout the iron mine. Large numbers of Killa Kans rode off in roaring, hand-built armored vehicles. The prelude to the apocalyptic revelry had begun.

"Where's Boomblasta? Hasn't he been sniveling over that Gork Dreadnought of his lately? Is it finished? Once it's done, tell him to drive it out and have a proper Waaagh!" Ever since the great warlord had taken his Morkanaut, Boomblasta had thrown himself into researching and building a Gork Dreadnought, driven by sorrow and rage. Fortunately, the great warlord had recognized his abilities and given him plenty of teeth—the Orks used their teeth as currency—enough to trade with the Lootas for sufficiently "excellent" materials.

"Ulutan, keep a close eye on the lads. Pass on my orders: no Deff Dreads are allowed to fight. They're to sleep. Sleep for three days."

"Boss, this is..."

"What, go out now and get bombed by their warships? Orbital guns aren't something to laugh at. But if we use that big thing's field to protect the Deff Dreads, it'll be a different story. In three days, I'll lead them out for a Waaagh! myself."

"Waaaaaaaaagh!"

The vast Ork host set out. The Weirdboys, whom the great warlord had kept under strict control for days, were also released from their restraints and joined the frenzy of the Waaagh!

Weirdboys were a special group among the Orks. Extremely rare and highly sensitive to warp energy, they could crudely control the release of Psyker Power. Put simply, they were low-level sorcerers.

These Weirdboys had extremely unstable control over their Psyker Power. They were too weak, while the Waaagh! energy drawn to them from their surroundings was far too vast. When their talents first awakened and they began absorbing psychic energy, the sheer excess could blast them blind. Above all, they must never be allowed to get excited. Even a nearby Mekboy building something particularly Waaagh!-worthy could easily excite them enough to weaken their control over Psyker Power and trigger an enormous psychic self-detonation.

At this stage, a Weirdboy would instinctively use Psyker Power to blow up any creature approaching him, including other Orks. Weirdboys were therefore usually stationed far from the Orks' main camp, preventing them from absorbing too much Waaagh! energy and exploding. Of course, that was what Mistanbol told the other Orks; whether he was simply afraid of being caught in a psychic explosion was anyone's guess.

Once Weirdboys learned to control their Psyker Power—"learned" by Ork standards, naturally—they could reliably unleash Waaagh! Lightning, dealing immense damage over a wide area.

They were also stable batteries for Waaagh! energy. An experienced Weirdboss who had successfully mastered his Psyker Power could effectively increase the amount of Waaagh! energy in a war. Even when ordinary Nobs died in battle, the Weirdboss would instinctively absorb the energy they carried, leaving the total energy of the entire Waaagh! almost unchanged.

Thus, even if large numbers of Orks died, the invincible Force Field protecting the boss leading the war would hardly weaken.

In other words, when Waaagh! Lightning erupted among the Orks, it often meant they were about to launch an all-out assault.

Mistanbol had thrown the canned humies a smokescreen. Everything was aimed at buying three days. In three days, the Space Marines' doom would be sealed. At that thought, Mistanbol let out an excited Waaagh! of his own.

Stinking cans, your doom is coming!