Chapter 454: The Author Finally Remembers About the Scavenge-Strike-Extract System
The human tanks and Ork forces tore into each other, a sprawling armoured melee spread across dozens of kilometers of desert, flanking maneuvers and ambush fire everywhere.
Ork walkers leapt onto human tanks and cracked them open with mechanical claws like tin cans, while human tanks answered with high-explosive fire, blasting the Ork machines into scrap.
Ork power-armoured infantry charged human transports carrying satchel charges, laughing hysterically as they detonated them at point-blank range.
Human transport auto-cannons opened up in return, cutting distant Ork infantry clean in half.
The chaos raged for hours, the desert choked in rolling dust, littered with the wreckage of tanks and transports, the air thick with toxic smoke from burning chemicals.
In the end, the fighting concluded with the entire human tank regiment wiped out, and barely a handful of Ork armour units left standing.
The victorious Orks had taken the substation city, but Three-Arm was long gone by then. They'd been left behind, abandoned.
They knew full well this was deep in human territory, and if they didn't retreat, human reinforcements would tear them apart without mercy.
But they didn't want to leave. They wanted to fight here until they died, or, put another way, to play here until they died.
The terrain was wonderfully complicated, hills and valleys, uneven ground, and the flats were littered with wrecked tanks and transports.
It was practically a natural-built ambush field, and with plenty of tanks still left to their name, the Orks couldn't bear to give up the chance for a proper tank battle with humans right here.
So their fighting instincts kicked in, and they organized themselves into combat cells without any real orders needed.
Long-barreled tanks formed tank-hunter packs. Short-barreled tanks formed infantry-killer packs. Anti-air guns clustered into flak batteries. The biggest tanks became mobile ramparts.
They took cover in the valleys, along hillsides, and some crawled inside wrecked tanks, killed their engines, and played dead.
Ork Boyz dug foxholes, trenches, and communication lines everywhere, brawling amongst themselves in the process, planting their own dead back in the ground, ready for spring, when the fields would sprout fresh Ork Boyz eager for a fight.
While the Orks busied themselves turning the place into their own personal playground, the smell of blood on the battlefield drew the attention of a wolf.
Word reached Kian that the intercontinental substation had fallen to a small Ork force, and that several human tank regiments had been wiped out entirely. His hands started rubbing together with anticipation.
His inner ghoul stirred to life. He was going to go pick the corpses clean. Time for a long-overdue round of Scavenge-Strike-Extract.
But first, he needed proper reconnaissance.
He found Major Noa and asked, "I hear the intercontinental substation got hit by Orks. What's the Astra Militarum saying? Any plans to retake it?"
Major Noa shook his head.
"My lord, the Astra Militarum has no plans to retake the substation. The front line barely has troops to spare as it is.
A fighter squadron was already sent out there, took heavy losses, and two full tank regiments were wiped out completely.
But that Ork raiding force is pretty well spent by now too, no longer a real strategic threat.
And the substation itself has been confirmed destroyed. The hive that lost power has already been rerouted through alternate lines, so the substation's lost all its strategic value."
Kian understood. Command wasn't planning to deal with those Orks, and honestly didn't have the resources to either.
Which meant no friendly forces would be there to get in his way, and whatever he could scavenge from the wreckage was entirely his to keep.
Kian immediately contacted Inquisitor Trasolh's flagship, requesting the launch of one of the space fighters he'd been quietly using for personal business, for reconnaissance.
The Fury Interceptor, a full sixty meters long, crewed by one pilot, one navigator, and two weapons operators.
The Fury crew received the order, loaded up advanced targeting equipment, launched from the flagship, and flew toward the airspace above the intercontinental substation.
Without dropping into the atmosphere, it held a low orbital pattern, snapping photos with its advanced targeting suite and relaying them back to Kian.
By this point, Kian had already quietly made his way aboard Trasolh's flagship and was assembling his own scavenging team and equipment, ready to drop.
Since the wrecked tanks below technically belonged to the Astra Militarum, Kian didn't dare go strip the site openly. What if someone came looking for their property later?
So rather than rolling in loud with his Knights, he planned to send in a shuttle-borne strike team, troops and tanks, wipe out the remaining Orks fast, grab whatever wrecks he could carry, and get out before anyone noticed.
Four massive Devourer-class shuttles were loaded up with eight Leman Russ tanks, over four hundred infantry, four recovery-tow engineering vehicles, and several hundred tech-priests.
Once the force was ready, Kian headed straight down.
As the four Devourer shuttles lifted off and set course for the surface, Kian addressed the assembled troops:
"Listen up, everyone. This is a payday run. There's a whole field of wrecked tanks down there, so grab the good stuff. Every tank we recover gets refitted and issued right back out to you lot!
Whether you're stuck slogging along as regular infantry or riding proper mechanized gear from here on out depends entirely on how many tanks we haul back today!"
The assembled troops let out a roar of understanding, hoisting their heavy weapons, fired up and ready.
Just then, the Fury Interceptor crew's report crackled through Kian's power armour helmet.
"My lord, we're picking up a significant number of Ork armoured units near your intended landing zone. Should we clear the area with rocket fire?"
Kian said, "Do it. Take out every visible hostile, clear me a landing zone."
"Understood, my lord!"
The Fury crew got to work. The pilot slowed to hold a steady low orbital circuit.
The navigator marked hostiles on the surface using the targeting suite, and the two weapons operators fired on the highlighted targets.
Since they were engaging from low orbit, neither las-weapons nor auto-cannons could reach that far, so they relied on rockets instead.
Large-caliber laser-guided rockets, the Fury carrying several dozen rounds of the type.
Both weapons operators locked their laser designators onto two separate targets and fired a rocket each.
The two rockets streaked down toward the surface and, guided precisely by the laser, slammed directly into two Ork tanks, erupting in violent explosions.
The navigator reported: "Explosion confirmed, target destroyed. Continue engagement on remaining marked targets."
The Fury kept up the barrage of laser-guided rockets, wiping out every visible Ork unit on the surface below.
By then, Kian's four Devourer shuttles had reached the ground, their massive rear ramps dropping open as a flood of Leman Russ tanks and infantry poured out.
Kian stepped off his shuttle, looked out over the sea of yellow sand and scattered tank wreckage stretching in every direction, and bellowed:
"MOVE! Assess salvage value, only take the expensive stuff, not just the good stuff.
And if any of you tries sneaking a little purple or blue or white item into your own pocket, I will personally boot you so hard in the gluteus maximus, gluteus medius, tensor fasciae latae, greater trochanter, anococcygeal ligament, and adductor magnus that you'll feel it for a week."
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