Done 15k word’s!
Boom!
An earth-shaking explosion erupted in the open ground before the trench.
Black mud mixed with green flesh was blasted into the air like a fountain.
In that instant, the previously airtight green tide looked as if someone had taken a huge bite out of a biscuit.
A terrifying empty zone several meters across appeared within it.
Severed limbs and broken arms rained down, pattering across the heads of the Orks nearby.
“Woohoo!”
A stubbled veteran lying beside Rod pulled his head back to dodge a severed hand flying past, then let out a loud whistle.
“Damn, you can throw far!
Nice one, recruit!
Let those Greenskin bastards taste what it feels like to fly without a ship!”
Rod did not respond to the veteran’s teasing.
He stared fixedly at that gap.
Strength LV1…
So this is the power of stats?
If I level it all the way up, could I tear apart a Titan with my bare hands?
That “vacuum” before them lasted less than two seconds.
“WAAAAGH!!!”
More Orks surged up from behind, stepping over the still-twitching chunks of their companions and howling as they filled the gap.
“Damn it…
Are these things endless?!”
The faces of the comrades around him darkened.
“Platoon leader!
What do we do?”
Someone shouted with a sob in his voice.
Platoon Leader Karl leaned behind cover.
His gaze lingered for a few seconds on the endless green tide, and a fierce struggle flickered in his eyes.
But when he saw the Greenskins already jumping into the forward trench and starting their slaughter, he suddenly turned back and grabbed the vox operator cowering in the corner.
The vox operator carried a heavy backpack vox-caster, an old antique jokingly called the “big telephone.”
“Connect me to command!”
The vox operator tremblingly handed over the receiver.
“This is Karl!
Coordinates 7749!
Repeat, 7749!
Requesting artillery saturation!
Now!
Immediately!
Right now!”
A few dozen seconds later, the sky was torn apart.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
It was not the crude Ork guns from before, but the roar of the Imperial Guard’s proper artillery positions.
Several large-caliber high-explosive shells came screaming down with the voice of death and landed with precision less than fifty meters in front of the position.
The earth shook madly.
Shockwaves swept everything aside with shrapnel.
A Killa Kan that had been showing off was struck directly on the top hatch by a shell.
With a metallic clang, that seemingly indestructible tin can was blasted apart, its parts and pilot bursting outward like fireworks.
Hundreds of Orks were reduced to ash in the firelight.
But it was still not enough.
That degree of killing power was only a scratch against the Orks’ enormous numbers.
The green wave merely stalled for a moment, like a river hitting a reef, before surging forward even more violently.
“Prepare for contact!”
Platoon Leader Karl threw away the receiver, pulled a grenade from his waist, and yanked out the pin.
At that moment, Rod could no longer hear the platoon leader’s roar.
In his world, there was only the sight before him and the jumping numbers.
Zzt!
Zzt!
Zzt!
The fan-shaped beams of the suppression lasgun wove a net of death across the trench front.
Any Gretchin or Ork Boy that entered within a hundred meters was either cut through the legs or burned through the chest.
[Skill Level Up: Lasgun Shooting LV4]
[Current Experience: 18/300]
As long as there are enough mobs, the experience bar can rise!
Rod’s finger pulled the trigger, and his brain entered a state of intense excitement.
Suddenly…
Click.
The trigger went empty.
The indicator light on the side of the gun went completely dark.
Rod did not hesitate.
He kicked open the ammunition crate he had prepared by his feet.
The lid flipped open, revealing rows of standard capacitor power cells neatly arranged inside.
These common cells did not have as much stored energy as the original large capacitor, but who had the luxury to be picky now?
As long as it fires, it works!
Bzzzt…
The hum of recharging sounded.
Rod was just about to set the gun back onto the firing slit.
Suddenly, the light darkened.
A thick green leg, as solid as a pillar, appeared in the firing slit’s field of view, almost filling the entire frame.
It was a massive Ork Boy that had jumped directly onto the edge of the trench!
“Look at your damn face!”
Rod had no time to think.
Pure instinct made him raise the muzzle and fire straight into the Ork’s belly.
Pfft!
The close-range laser beam burned straight through the Ork’s abdominal armor and charred its organs inside.
The Ork let out half a scream, and its massive body lost balance.
The fatal problem was that it was falling into the trench.
Over two hundred pounds of muscle, plus a suit of crude but heavy scrap-metal armor, came crashing down like a mountain of flesh.
Rod’s pupils shrank.
Dodge!
Move!
His brain reacted.
His eyes saw it.
But this body, which had only just gained upgraded strength, had no agility boost.
Thud!
A dull impact rang out.
Rod’s vision went black, and a suffocating weight pressed down on him.
His entire body was pinned firmly into the mud at the bottom of the trench.
The Ork corpse reeked, and hot green blood flowed straight across his face.
“Cough…
cough, cough!”
Rod tried to push the corpse off with both hands, but the thing felt welded to his body.
The trench was narrow, and the mud was sticky and slippery, making it nearly impossible to exert force.
At that moment…
Pat, pat.
Hurried, heavy footsteps sounded above him.
“Waha!
Look here!
There’s a humie squashed flat!”
The voice was sharp, grating, and full of gloating.
Several small green figures jumped into this section of trench.
Gretchin.
These little monsters, usually kicked around like balls by Orks, now had greed flashing in their eyes.
Their shifty little eyes locked onto Rod.
“Mine!
Dat big shooty gun iz mine!
Da teef are mine too!”
The leading Gretchin waved a rusty little knife and approached with a wicked grin.
Under normal circumstances, Rod could kick these things to death.
But now, he could not move.
“Get…
lost…”
Rod gritted his teeth, struggling to pull his right hand out from beneath the corpse.
The suppression lasgun was too long and could not be turned around at all.
His hand reached the cold grip at his waist.
The bolt pistol.
Bang!
Rod had no way to aim properly.
He could only rely on instinct, bending his wrist back awkwardly and firing a shot.
The mortal-sized hand cannon roared in the cramped space, and the enormous muzzle flash almost burned Rod’s eyebrows.
The Gretchin charging at the front was blasted into a cloud of blood mist.
The two behind it shrieked in terror, clutching their heads as they scattered.
But before Rod could breathe a sigh of relief…
Thud!
Thud!
Heavy footsteps.
Not the light patter of Gretchin.
Two Ork Boyz.
Real combat units.
They jumped down from the other side of the trench blocked by the corpse.
Rod could only see two pairs of huge iron-toed boots stop on the other side of the body.
It’s over.
Now I really am meat in a can.
Rod’s finger tightened on the trigger.
His wrist hurt as if it had snapped from that awkward shot earlier.
But he stared stubbornly in that direction.
Even if he died, he had to take one with him.
At that moment…
Another set of footsteps sounded.
Bang!
Bang!
Two gunshots.
They exploded right beside Rod’s ears.
That sound was far too familiar.
It was exactly like the roar of the bolt pistol in his own hand, the unique thunder of a bolt weapon.
Immediately after…
Zzzzzk!
That was the sound of a chainsword biting into flesh and sawing through bone.
“Waaa…
gurgle…”
The Ork’s war cry turned into a leaking throat noise, then ended with the muffled thud of something heavy hitting the ground.
The surroundings became quiet at once.
Only the sound of rain striking pooled water remained.
Rod gasped heavily, his hand still gripping the pistol tightly.
Then…
The weight on his body suddenly lightened.
The massive Ork corpse that had nearly suffocated him was violently lifted away.
Splash.
The corpse was thrown aside, splattering mud everywhere.
Fresh air flooded into his lungs, and Rod greedily sucked in a deep breath.
He opened his eyes, which were smeared with mudwater, and looked upward.
A black-and-red figure filled his vision.
A black military greatcoat, soaked by rain and clinging to the body.
Red blood still dripped from its hem.
That face was hidden beneath the shadow of a peaked cap, with only two cold beams of light shooting down from the eyes.
Commissar Warren.
In his right hand, he held a still-roaring chainsword, bits of flesh hanging from its teeth.
In his left, he held a smoking bolt pistol.
He simply stood there, looking down at the miserable Rod from above, his face completely expressionless.
“Recruit.”
His voice cut through the noisy battlefield with tremendous force.
“Stand up and return to your position.”
After saying that, he did not look at Rod again.
With a sweep of his black coat, he moved like a bolt of black lightning and leapt straight over the nearby dirt wall.
On the other side, fresh battle cries and the roar of a chainsword rang out once more.