The gun barrel came sweeping sideways with a whistle.
Bang!
The iron plating on the front of the last gun emplacement caved inward.
The Gretchin inside didn’t even have time to scream.
The entire emplacement toppled backward and crashed into a pile of abandoned parts beside it.
Sheets of metal and gears scattered across the ground.
The gunfire from the outer defensive line stopped.
Several gun vehicles were still smoking.
The roars of several hundred Orks erupted again.
Plenty of Orks had been wounded, but not many had died.
Dozens of Boyz who had been shot down were dragged out of shell craters by their companions.
Some had scorched-black patches across their chests, while others had arms hanging uselessly at their sides.
Most of them could still groan.
As far as the Painboyz were concerned, if an Ork could still open his mouth and curse, he could still be stitched back together.
Two Painboyz in filthy white aprons ran up from the rear of the convoy, clutching bone saws and haemostats as they herded the walking wounded into a factory beside the road.
One Ork with a broken arm cursed as he walked.
“I ain’t had enough yet!
I can still fight!” Gragoth kicked him in the backside and sent him stumbling into the makeshift treatment area.
Then Gragoth climbed onto the wreckage of an overturned turret in the middle of the street.
He raised his massive axe and pointed its blade toward the smoking factories beyond the defensive line.
“For da Emperor!
Smash ’em!” The roar exploded from the front of the formation.
Several hundred Orks charged straight over the burning gun vehicles and turrets, trampling overturned metal sheets and broken bricks as they surged deeper into Big Smokestack District.
Iron boots hammered against metal debris in a continuous clang.
Some Orks swapped out empty magazines while running.
Others pulled battle axes from their backs and carried them in their hands.
Gragoth jumped down from the turret wreckage as well and advanced with his massive axe in hand.
Once they crossed the outer street, the surroundings changed completely.
Tall factory buildings rose on both sides.
Their outer walls were made from thick steel plating and rusted reinforced concrete.
Some had been stripped open, exposing twisted rebar inside, while other windows had been welded shut with metal sheets, leaving only narrow firing slits.
Layer after layer of steel walkways connected overhead, stretching from one factory to another.
Thick steam pipes ran along the walls into the distance, with valves and pressure gauges every few metres.
Bundles of electrical cables hung down from above, their ends wrapped in tape.
The ground beneath their feet was no longer asphalt.
It was made from thick steel plates bolted onto the supporting beams below.
The seams between the plates were packed with oily sludge and metal shavings.
Several hundred Orks ran across them.
Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud.
“They’re inside!” Someone shouted from a factory ahead.
Then— Ratatatatat!
Machine-gun fire erupted everywhere.
Dozens of streams of fire swept down from factory windows and elevated walkways.
Bullets struck the steel flooring and nearby pipes, ricocheting in every direction.
Several Orks at the very front immediately went down.
One Boy had a round punch through his thigh.
He dropped to one knee, braced himself against his gun, stood back up, and kept charging with a limp.
The Orks behind him didn’t even slow down.
They stepped over the backs and shoulders of those in front and continued rushing forward, their roars louder than the gunfire.
“For da Emperor!” “I’m getting into First Company!” An especially broad Ork reached the nearest factory door.
He raised a leg and kicked it.
Bang!
The iron door didn’t move.
He kicked it again.
Bang!
Still nothing.
Only a few flakes of rust fell away.
Gragoth walked up from behind.
He crossed the remaining distance in two strides and stopped in front of the door.
His right foot rose.
The hydraulics of his power armour gave a short hiss.
His boot slammed into the seam between the two doors.
Boom!
The entire iron door, frame and all, flew inward.
Rivets snapped and shot to both sides, while two reinforcing bars bent into arcs in midair.
The two Gretchin who had been bracing the door with their shoulders went flying with it.
They crashed through a workbench piled with parts, scattering screws and springs across the floor.
The Orks shoved past Gragoth as fast as they could and poured into the factory.
The inside had already descended into complete chaos.
The fighting here was nothing like the battle around the gun emplacements outside.
Outside had been a frontal firefight followed by a charge.
Inside was pure close-quarters brawling.
Several hundred Orks were packed into the limited space inside the factory.
Iron armour collided.
Fists smashed into faces.
Weapons swung.
Roars and metallic impacts blended into one continuous din.
Blastfurnace had far too many Meks under him.
After several hundred ordinary Orks charged inside, they discovered that nearly half the greenskins facing them were covered in tools.
Some had seven or eight wrenches hanging from their belts.
Some carried toolboxes on their backs.
Others had metal hydraulic claws replacing both hands.
The ordinary Orks’ first instinct was to raise their guns and open fire.
But after firing a couple of shots, some of them remembered the rules.
One-Eye was charging at the very front.
He held his big gun up and laughed wildly as he fired ahead, rounds striking the factory ceiling and showering rust flakes downward.
Then he suddenly spotted— a Mek running past from the side.
His belt was covered in wrenches, a tool bag hung from his back, and his entire right arm below the shoulder was mechanical.
One-Eye glanced at the Mek, immediately slung his big gun onto his back, pulled a heavy iron club from his waist, and charged after him.
“Stop!” The Mek was running toward a side door.
When he heard the shout, he glanced back and made his two mechanical legs move even faster.
“I just don’t wanna fight right now!
Wait till I find a bigger guy and bring him back to beat you up!” “What’re you looking for something bigger for?!
Fight me first!” Just as One-Eye was about to catch him, the Mek suddenly stopped and spun around.
The oversized wrench in his hands swung with the full force of his turning body.
Bang!
The metal head of the wrench struck One-Eye squarely in the nose.
One-Eye’s head snapped backward.
Blood immediately poured from his nose, running down his upper lip and between his tusks.
“Argh!” One-Eye staggered back one step, blood already dripping all over his chin.
His eye instantly turned red.
He looked down at the blood dripping onto his breastplate.
When he looked back up, his teeth were grinding audibly.
“You hit me!” One-Eye shoved the iron club back into his belt, pulled the big gun off his back again, and raised it to aim.
The muzzle pointed directly at the Mek’s chest.
His finger settled on the trigger.
He was just about to fire.
The Mek stopped running too.
His two red eyes stared fixedly at the muzzle.
The wrench was still raised in his hands, but he was clearly waiting for One-Eye to pull the trigger.
One-Eye started to fire.
His finger pulled halfway down— then stopped.
Blood was still pouring from his nose.
His tusks ground together.
Then, gritting his teeth, he flipped the big gun around.
He grabbed it by the barrel with both hands and swung the stock forward.
Bang!
The stock smashed into the Mek’s stomach.
The Mek folded in half and flew off his feet.
His back slammed into an engine frame behind him.
He slid down and ended up sitting on the floor with both hands clutching his stomach.
One-Eye rushed over and planted a boot on his chest.
The iron sole pressed directly against the centre of the Mek’s breastplate, making his ribs creak.
“Don’t move!” The Mek bared his tusks, his mechanical arm still clawing wildly through the air.
He might have been pinned down, but his mouth wasn’t.
“If you’ve got da guts, kill me!” One-Eye’s face somehow turned even greener.
The arm gripping his gunstock trembled, and veins bulged across his forehead.
“You fink I don’t want to?!” He turned toward the factory entrance and roared.
“Someone tie him up!
Hurry!
I can’t hold back much longer!” Several Gretchin came rolling in through the doorway with a flatbed cart.
Another Mek was already lying in the cart, trussed up from head to toe, his head tilted sideways as he rolled his eyes.
Two Gretchin wrapped iron chains around the Mek beneath One-Eye’s boot.
They wound the chain around him three times, added another loop, then tied two tight knots at the end.
The Mek was still cursing when they lifted him onto the cart.
One of the Gretchin slapped him across the mouth to shut him up.
It really helps the fic grow!