Bzzzz!
The plasma gun in his hands trembled more and more violently.
That heart-stopping heat traveled through the handguard and into his palms.
The blue glow at the core had become blinding.
It was no longer a stable deep blue, but had started shifting toward an ominous white.
From inside the gun came a metallic cracking sound, as if the whole thing was about to collapse and explode into a miniature supernova in the next second.
It is definitely going to explode!
Rod’s pupils shrank, and his heart pounded wildly in his chest.
There was no time to hesitate.
If standard procedure would not work, then it was time for superstition!
He gritted his teeth, and the newly acquired [Rapid Firearm Maintenance] trait flashed through his mind.
I’m betting on it!
If I do nothing, it explodes.
If it explodes, I die.
Might as well gamble on that 10%!
“Come on, you bastard…
behave!!”
He roared.
His left hand shot up, and like someone fixing an old television, he slapped the heat vent on the side of the receiver with all his strength.
Bang!
The instant his palm struck the gun body, a strange sensation traveled through his fingertips.
Clack.
A crisp mechanical click rang out, strangely clear amid the chaos of the battlefield, as if some part had been knocked back into place.
Immediately after, the violent shaking vanished.
The blinding purple-white glow rapidly dimmed, returning to a deep and stable blue.
It worked!
Percussive maintenance really is useful!
Rod almost went limp, but he did not dare breathe a sigh of relief.
Because in that split second, the massive green monster had arrived.
“WAAAAAGH!!!”
The Ork Boss’s ugly face was almost right in front of him, and its foul breath sprayed across Rod’s face.
Its thick legs bent sharply, and its massive body prepared to leap.
The huge chainaxe rose high above its head.
Its teeth spun madly as it came crashing down toward Rod in the trench with the force to split heaven and earth.
The air around them seemed to freeze.
Platoon Leader Karl’s mouth fell open, his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.
The other soldiers were even paler with terror.
Some instinctively raised their arms in front of their faces.
Rod did not dodge.
Or rather, he knew dodging would be useless.
At that moment, time seemed to stretch.
Raindrops hung in the air.
The Ork Boss’s hideous expression, the flying spit, and the rust on the chainaxe all moved in slow motion.
Rod’s hands were as steady as if they came with built-in stabilizers.
It was not just the muscle memory brought by [Autogun Shooting LV4].
It was the extreme focus born at the edge of life and death.
At this distance, he did not need range markings or wind calculations.
The Ork Boss’s enormous figure was a perfect target in his field of vision.
The stock pressed firmly against his shoulder.
His finger pulled the trigger.
A tremendous force slammed into him.
Whoosh!
A sharp howl tore through the rain.
A fist-sized, blazing white plasma sphere shot from the barrel.
It carved a straight line of light through the air and slammed instantly into the Ork Boss’s thick ceramite chestplate.
There was no explosion.
Only a teeth-aching sizzle.
Then came a blue-white radiance so bright that no one could look directly at it.
The light swallowed everything.
When the light faded…
Thud.
The chainaxe that had been raised high slipped powerless from its grip and smashed into the mud.
The Ork Boss’s massive body looked as if its spine had been pulled out.
It swayed twice.
At its chest, where thick armor had once covered it, there was now only a half-meter-wide hole.
The edges of the hole were charred black and carbonized, still curling with thin smoke.
The flesh, bones, and organs inside had all vanished.
Through that huge opening, one could even see the Greenskins behind it still baring their teeth.
Clang!
The green giant, more than two meters tall, fell straight backward and slammed heavily into the mud, shaking clumps of soil loose from the trench wall.
Dead silence.
Everyone, including Rod himself, remained frozen in place, staring blankly at the still-smoking corpse.
One second.
Two seconds.
“Waa…?”
No one knew which Ork Boy made the confused sound.
That single noise broke the stillness.
“Oh!
It’s dead!
The big one’s dead!”
The comrades around Rod suddenly erupted into deafening cheers.
Some threw their caps into the air.
Some hugged the soldiers beside them, shouting and jumping.
Others cried while giving the Ork’s corpse the middle finger.
“The God-Emperor has shown His miracle!
I saw it clearly!
Rod’s slap…
that slap appeased the machine spirit!”
“The machine spirit is pleased!
This kid really is watched by the God-Emperor!”
The fear from moments ago was instantly washed away by the shock of that single shot.
At that moment, morale reached its peak.
“Kill them!
Wipe out those Greenskin bastards!”
The soldiers climbed back onto the sandbags, and their lasguns and autoguns spat even denser tongues of flame.
Outside the trench, the situation instantly reversed.
The Gretchin that had been swaggering behind their Boss saw their biggest backer disappear.
They screamed in shrill panic, threw down their broken weapons, and turned to run.
The Ork Boyz were a little tougher, but they also fell into chaos.
“Boss iz gone!
Da humie made da Boss disappear!”
Some Ork Boyz shouted nonsense while firing wildly as they ran backward.
“We’z attackin’ backward!
Dis iz attackin’ backward!
Whoever runs last iz a grot!”
The other, more savage Boyz stopped instead.
A slightly larger Ork punched down the companion beside it, raised its choppa, and roared, “Waaagh!
I’m da Boss now!
Listen ta me!
Charge up and chop dem humies!”
“Zog off!
I’m da biggest!
I’m da Boss!”
Another Ork smashed the butt of its gun into its forehead.
Several Orks that should have been charging actually started brawling in front of the position over who got to be the new Boss.
That gave Rod and the others perfect targets.
Rat-tat-tat!
Rod had already switched back to the autogun.
That plasma gun did not look to be in good condition, so he was not about to court death by firing it repeatedly.
He calmly fired several controlled bursts, blowing apart the heads of the Orks fighting among themselves one by one.
This counterattack was smooth and satisfying.
The Greenskins in front of the position were cleared out.
Rod let out a long breath, wiped the rainwater and oil from his face, then looked around.
With that one look, his heart sank again.
Although they had held this section and even killed the Ork Boss leading the charge, deeper within the rain, on the friendly positions to the left and right, the sounds of battle had already grown sparse.
In the distant firelight, countless green figures could be seen moving along the communication trenches, spreading toward them like a plague.
They were about to be surrounded.
A tactical victory could not conceal a strategic defeat.
Bang!
He raised his gun and fired, blasting apart the head of an Ork Boy that had just poked half its body over the left-side trench edge.
Its corpse hung over the sandbags and swayed.
That close gunshot extinguished the joy that had not yet faded from his comrades’ faces.
Platoon Leader Karl shuddered and snapped out of the mood of victory.
He glanced at the positions on the left and right, both of which had already fallen, and his expression instantly turned grave.
“Damn it…
the flanks!
The flanks are gone!”
He swung his arm hard.
“Fall back!
Fall back now!
Everyone, retreat to the second defense line!
Don’t stay here waiting to die!”
The soldiers froze for a moment, then immediately reacted.
Everyone hurriedly grabbed their weapons and prepared to run toward the communication trench behind them.
However…
At that moment…
Bzzzz!
A shrill roar rang out.
Immediately after came a short, miserable beastly cry.
A Squig Hopper that had leapt out from somewhere had just opened its bloody maw to bite a soldier’s leg, only for its body to be split in half midair.
Bright red blood splashed across the muddy trench wall like a fountain.
A black-and-red figure landed heavily in the center of the trench along with the remaining momentum of that sword strike.
Polished black military boots.
A straight, immaculate Commissar’s coat.
A cold, stern face that looked as if it had been carved from granite.
Commissar Warren.
The iconic chainsword in his hand was still dripping warm blood.
He stood there at the only retreat route without saying a word.
He merely swept his cold gaze across the soldiers who were preparing to withdraw from the trench.
Everyone’s face instantly collapsed.
It was over.