Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

Gale's attack cleared out a swath of Orks, and the battle line steadied once more. Although the Orks were still using their fellows' corpses as cover to push slowly forward, the situation was indeed just as Gale had said—they could hold out until the extraction was complete.

This put Admidel somewhat at ease; he even began to consider whether he ought to detail a few men to go search for the Black Templars' High Marshal. But Lieutenant Vigan, who was overseeing frontline command, had spotted an anomaly within the Ork horde.

"Admidel, look over there!"

Following where Vigan pointed, he looked toward that abnormal "ripple" amid the greenskin tide.

At first he couldn't even make out what the thing was, because the Ork boyz being sent flying like scraps of paper blocked Admidel's line of sight with their severed limbs and wails. Only when that "ripple" drew a little closer did Admidel finally make out the figure of that Ork.

He looked extraordinarily burly, even a head taller than the Ork warlord from before...

The Ork warlord?

The other's face overlapped with the memory of that Ork warlord crushed against the wall with his features twisted in agony, and Admidel sucked in a cold breath.

It had only been a few hours! Not only had this Ork warlord recovered, he looked as though he'd been enhanced as well.

What kind of monsters were these Orks?

He had no time to dwell on it; the powerful sense of crisis drove him to order the rest of the warriors:

"Open fire! Drive back that Ork warlord!"

Apart from the warriors holding the line at the front with shields, the rest of the warriors at the rear, tasked with providing fire support, began to concentrate their fire on the Ork warlord. The Black Templars who had been gathered up blanketed the warlord with their bolters, but the effect was meager.

The two Leman Russ Besiegers began to swing their barrels around. They had no time to switch to their twin-linked 90mm cannons loaded with armour-piercing shells, so they could only launch a direct strike at the Ork warlord with their 180mm high-explosive rounds.

Even as high-explosive shells, the electromagnetically accelerated rounds carried no small penetrating power. The shells slammed into the warlord with tremendous kinetic force, and the violence of the blast threw up a gorgeous gout of flame.

The surrounding Ork boyz were even swept off their feet by the explosion's shockwave, yet Goldtooth's only response to all of it was to simply raise an arm and shield his head.

The smoke of the explosion dispersed amid everyone's anticipation, but the result revealed beneath the smoke left them all stunned.

The Ork's skin and flesh had been blasted to shreds, and what was exposed beneath his flesh was the armour plate that had just taken the direct hit from the shell.

The outer layer of the armour plate curled up in layers like scales, and viscous blood mixed with shredded tissue trickled slowly down through the seams of the armour.

That was all.

The shell had not punched through the armour plate; perhaps it had injured the organs within through concussion... but this was clearly not a wound that could kill him here and now.

He was so tough it was as if he were a creature that shouldn't exist in this world!

Even without fear, everyone looked with a touch of horror at this greenskin monster, now modified into something like a heavy tank.

Taking the shell's direct hit, Goldtooth felt not the slightest pain or fatigue; instead he pounded the still-scorched armour plate and broke into wild laughter.

"Who else dares ta give me lip, who else dares ta give me lip?!!"

Seizing the momentum, he charged toward one of the Leman Russ tanks serving as a fortress on the front line.

The Leman Russ Besieger's undoing was that, for the sake of that Shockwave Artillery Cannon, all of the tank's secondary weapons had been stripped away. As the Black Templars warriors guarding the tank were easily forced back, the Leman Russ—still loading its ammunition—was utterly powerless to resist Goldtooth.

The mortal crew within stared in terror at the Ork warlord, who was even taller than their own tank.

Goldtooth's arm muscles bulged at this moment, his veins standing out. Though pounding a tank with his fist seemed laughable, after that round of bombardment just now, no one dared question the Ork warlord's strength anymore.

He really could tear apart a tank with his bare hands!

"Shrimpy's big tin can, open up fer me!"

Goldtooth roared, and the tank's hull was already warping and deforming the instant it met his fist. Under the immense impact the metal armour was like thin tin foil, instantly caving in and shattering. The tracks were snapped by the tremendous force, and parts went flying in all directions.

The sudden impact even set off a sympathetic detonation of the energy cell powering the Shockwave Artillery Cannon; the turret was blown into the air by the explosion, then crashed heavily to the ground more than a dozen metres away.

The tank crew had no time even to scream; the once-imposing war machine was thus reduced to a heap of lifeless scrap.

The sympathetic detonation caught Goldtooth as well, but he paid it no mind. He raised that blood-soaked fist, looked at the debris still clinging to it, and let out a low chuckle.

His voice was a mix of cruelty and delight, and the Orks' morale instantly surged a notch higher.

"Boss, Boss, Boss!"

"Big Warlord, Big Warlord!"

"Waaaagh!"

The illustrious feat of tearing apart a tank with his bare hands won Goldtooth the adoration of countless boyz, and a vast surge of waaagh energy gathered upon Goldtooth, making him grow even stronger after being wounded.

This was the Ork—an utterly unreasonable race.

A killing machine born purely for battle!

The surging greenskin tide, with Goldtooth at its head, saw every Ork boy further enhanced in this kind of fighting. No longer halted by the Space Marines' firepower, they began to push forward in an endless stream.

The humans, who had failed to concentrate their fire and instead lost a tank, were no longer able to hold the line. Although their combat discipline could guarantee an orderly retreat, they had little room to retreat into in the first place.

"Front rank, fall back, re-form the defensive line! Those behind keep firing, focus on wiping out the Orks closing in on the tank—we must hold the last tank!"

Admidel issued the order, and the Leman Russ, which had been anchored at the front as a mobile fortress, had no choice but to retreat in haste. But Goldtooth clearly had no intention of letting the other tank go.

Gale formed up with several other warriors wielding cannon-guns. They linked up with the Black Templars who had been forced back by the warlord, intending to use their cannon-guns to restrict the Ork warlord's movements, then deliver a direct strike with melta.

Goldtooth was not truly a rigid piece of heavy armour; he casually shifted to a position facing the ship's hull, and Gale and the others were instantly hamstrung, afraid to act.

Firing a melta shot would inevitably punch straight through the hull along with him, and then the entire lower deck would be exposed to the vacuum of space!

The Leman Russ on the move could not use that Shockwave Artillery Cannon, and the twin-linked 90mm cannons could not provide enough supporting firepower.

The Ork host had already seized the chance to press in; if they kept up the standoff with the Orks, the cannon-gun squad would become an isolated unit surrounded by Orks. Admidel had no choice but to abandon the idea and let Gale and the others fall back first.

But they had to hold up the Ork warlord, or this extraction operation was doomed to end in failure!

At this point it was no time to hold anything in reserve. Issaga drew a deep breath and shouted toward Admidel: "I'll try the methods of a Librarian!"

Calling up his psionic powers, he attempted to use a psychic attack to hold up the Ork warlord, but the psychic assault that had once been invincible seemed extraordinarily feeble now.

His psionic power probed into Goldtooth's brain like a fine needle, but the strength of a beta-level psyker, along with all his arduous past psychic training, was nothing but a joke before an Ork.

The moment this senior Priest and Librarian probed into the warlord's brain, he felt his own psionic power being wrapped up by a flood-like power of 'I reckon.'

Before he could even figure out how to inflict damage on the warlord in this situation, he felt as though the back of his head had taken a cudgel blow; just as he was about to turn around and see what was going on, he felt as though his own face had taken an even nastier direct hit.

Issaga struggled in agony; he severed the psionic link, wanting to tell Admidel the situation. But after he babbled away for a good while, he discovered that what came out of his mouth were actually crude Ork-tongue syllables!

He screamed: "Waaaagh!"

Admidel, drawing his katana, rapped the pommel against the back of Issaga's head, knocking him out cold. He didn't know what this Librarian had been through, but the man was clearly no longer able to provide any help with the current situation.

Gripping his katana tightly, he abruptly strode forward to meet that unstoppable Ork warlord.

"I'll deal with him!" he warned sharply. "You lot concentrate your fire and drive back the other Orks!"

The retreated tank had already re-deployed its Shockwave Artillery Cannon, and the battle situation looked as though it could just barely be maintained. But all of this rested on Admidel being able to hold off the Ork warlord.

Admidel wielded his katana, Red Leaf trailing a sheet of explosive flame. Although the katana's slashes and the Disintegration Field had no effect on the adamantium plate implanted within the warlord's body, that was not Admidel's aim.

He nimbly dodged the enemy's attack, and using the length advantage of the katana, spun and slashed a blow at Goldtooth's neck. Although this strike was blocked by Goldtooth's outstretched hand, having gouged a chunk of flesh from Goldtooth's arm, he had already confirmed his conjecture.

The armour plate within the warlord's body did not cover his whole frame, but only the front of his torso, which had the largest surface area.

Decapitation was naturally the fastest way to settle this fight, but the warlord clearly knew this too. He would rather take several slashes from Admidel than fail to protect his head.

In that case...

The relentless string of attacks had already made Admidel's katana faintly glow yellow—the sign that the katana's edge had been honed. Drawing on his experience hunting colossal beasts, Admidel patiently circled around the Ork warlord.

He was waiting for an opening.

On his own it would be very hard to get that opening. But soon, the one to break the deadlock appeared here.

"Xenos! In the name of the High Marshal I swear, you shall not escape your doom!"

Bohemond, holding the High Marshal's sword high, appeared at this place!

The Black Templars had been hunting the Ork warlord in the first place in order to reclaim the Black Sword. Now that the warlord had appeared here, Admidel had reckoned this overly fanatical band of Astartes would surely show up too.

Although there was a gap in raw strength, their courage was enough to make up for that shortcoming. The Black Templars broke through the Ork horde and joined the battlefield from behind.

Bohemond charged at the very front, swinging his blade to cut down every Ork boy that dared bar his path, then roared:

"Hand over the Black Sword!"

"What rubbish are ya on about? I don't want none o' yer shrimpy junk!"

This remark only stoked Bohemond's rage higher: "Then settle the account with your head, xenos!"

He leapt high, intending to take the warlord's head with the High Marshal's sword. Although Goldtooth looked down on Bohemond, that divine weapon in his hand still made Goldtooth wary enough not to be careless.

He first forced Admidel back, then turned and blocked Bohemond with one hand. Although the other's keen blade did indeed leave a wound deep enough to show bone on his arm, the already battered-all-over Goldtooth couldn't have cared less.

These scars were all his honours, and the boyz who worshipped these honours would only make him more 'ard and more brutal!

With his other hand he seized the falling Bohemond, using him as a thrown weapon and hurling him forcefully into the crowd.

"Weakling can! Ya don't deserve yer bloody weapon!"

The hurled Bohemond knocked down several Astartes in the crowd who couldn't dodge in time, but his recklessness had already bought Admidel time. Behind, Admidel leapt high, the keen blade of Red Leaf slashing straight for Goldtooth's head!

The Ork warlord before him, more than six metres tall, had clearly reached the standard of a monster, and so the move he would unleash was naturally that one.

Dragon Ascent!

Goldtooth was no fool; he turned and tucked in his head, thrusting out both hands to grab at Admidel's blade, clearly meaning to stop it before this move could fully gather its momentum.

But Admidel's target had never been the head.

The descending sword-stroke was nothing but a feint. He stood the blade upright, evading Goldtooth's huge hands, and stabbed the blade-tip in through Goldtooth's shoulder blade.

A single point of cold light went straight for the Ork's heart. Goldtooth's eyes went wide, but he was already powerless to stop it. Admidel twisted the hilt, making sure that the blade-edge and the explosive flame together churned the Ork's heart into pulp.

He pulled out the katana, landed lightly, and once again opened up distance from Goldtooth. He watched Goldtooth's condition, only to find that the Ork warlord had not fallen.

Admidel frowned, realizing this attack's effect had not been ideal.

"You shrimpy...!"

Goldtooth glared at Admidel in resentment; he could feel that one heart within his body had already stopped beating. The once-endless power now waned along with the shattering of that heart, leaving him feeling somewhat fatigued.

But the fury of being humiliated replaced that heart, becoming his new source of motive power.

"I underestimated ya, but ya bloody well won't get the chance ta touch me second heart!"

He roared out the reason he had not fallen. The Orks, who had been struck still at the sight of their Boss taking a grievous wound, went berserk once more.

"Second life, second life!"

"Up up down down left left right right BA-BA! Waaaagh!"

The Orks lunged at the defensive line once more, and the unbroken stream of assaults had already left the Astartes' line in dire peril. Admidel parried the warlord left and right, but among the remaining Astartes there was no one qualified to help him tie the warlord up, and he truly couldn't find an opening for a second attack.

But slaying this Ork warlord was not a required objective of this operation, either...

Realizing there was no opening, Admidel waited for a signal.

"The strike cruiser the Perfectionist reports in!"

Gamas, the tech-sergeant newly trained within the company, brought the news he had been waiting for all along: "They've already entered the designated position, and are launching the return torpedoes toward us!"

But the news Gamas brought was not entirely what he wanted.

"There's another Ork battleship moving toward here too... it seems they want to jam our launch window!"

PS: Ever since Sigismund, the High Marshal's combat prowess has been a tragedy.

First we had the High Marshal pinned to the ground and beaten by a random Iron Champion mook, and then came the timeless classic: "The High Marshal's been carried off."

That said, this position probably gives more weight to rallying and operational ability, so it's only normal that his combat power is a bit lacking.

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