The entire repair site was filled with this absurd Orkish approach to maintenance, yet, unbelievably... it actually worked.
Under the "guidance" of Hector's team, circuits and components that the Techmarines had deemed utterly dead miraculously came "alive," one after another.
Meanwhile, Saul stayed quietly aboard a land skimmer nearby, personally guarded by Malakai. He seemed to be a walking "aura of miracles." As long as he was present, the mechanics always found the very component they needed at the most critical moment; equipment that looked ready to explode always stabilized at the last instant. Once, a mechanic even lost his footing and fell from a section of hull dozens of meters high. Just as he was about to be smashed to pieces, a sudden gust of wind inexplicably blew him onto a heap of soft rubbish, leaving him with only minor scrapes.
Time ticked away, second by second.
In orbit, under Astado's godlike command and the blessing of that uncanny luck, the Daughter of the Storm twisted and darted through the Ork fleet's storm of gunfire like the most elusive of dancers, narrowly escaping destruction time and again.
On the ground, Ork airborne troops were already raining down on the Hive City's defensive lines.
The roar of battle carried from the distant horizon, drawing toward the sea of rubbish at an alarming speed.
"Hector! How much longer?!" Karen roared into his communicator. Behind him, the first defensive line was already engulfed in flames.
"Almost! Almost! Give me... give me another ten minutes! I need more red paint! We haven't painted its teeth red yet!" Hector's voice came from deep within the massive ship, frantic and urgent.
"I don't give a damn about your teeth!" Karen bellowed. **"The Orks have broken through our second defensive line! They'll be here within five