Under the officers' constant threat of the firing squad, the morale on the fortification wall finally stabilized. Meanwhile, the red wave outside the wall entered effective firing range.
"Attention, all," Hammond's voice rang out again over the vox-casters. "Target: Ork warbike swarm. Free fire!"
The Forbidden Wall awakened. Tens of thousands of firing ports simultaneously spewed tongues of fire—explosive bolts, las-beams, and a metallic storm of heavy stubber rounds poured toward the red tide.
The Ork warbikes at the very front were instantly torn to shreds by the leaden hail. Green skin and jagged scrap metal flew everywhere, but those behind showed no sign of slowing down, roaring forward over the wreckage of their companions. Some of the Gretchin scavengers trailing the vehicles even leaped off to start frantically collecting scraps and Ork teeth from the blood-soaked snow.
The "Speed Freaks" who finally reached the wall didn't stop; instead, they excitedly floored their accelerators. The first bike crashed straight into the base of the barrier and exploded in a ball of oily flame. These Greenskins used their bikes like guided missiles, blasting dents into the ceramite with suicidal charges.
To the Frost Forbidden Wall, which had stood for centuries against the frozen gales, these initial charges were no more than a nuisance. But then, one of the Ork boys began to wonder if his bike could climb. It revved its engine, defying physics as it attempted to scale the vertical surface.
Its behavior sparked a collective idea in the primitive minds of the surrounding Greenskins. After hundreds of Orks pondered the same thought, the "logic" took hold. The first Ork warbike slammed into the wall and actually began to climb vertically. The Ork driving it seemed to grow larger with excitement, and more and more bikes followed closely behind.
"We can't let them up here so easily!" Hammond roared. "Heavy bolters, plunging fire! Now!"
Although the bike-boys were fast, very few managed to crest the ramparts. Most were obliterated by the wall's defensive batteries before they could reach the top. But the bikes were merely the appetizer; the second wave of the green tide had arrived.
Tens of millions of Ork boys supported by a staggering number of ramshackle vehicles!
The "Squig-buggies"—incredibly fast and originally used for food delivery—were dedicated to ensuring every Ork Boy enjoyed freshly cooked squig-stew. That was until an Ork Boy accidentally fired a berserk Squig from a feeding cannon and smashed another Boy's face in. The Orks realized then that these were war machines with untapped potential. They were now equipped with oversized springs, allowing them to bounce across the snow in unpredictable trajectories while firing various "surprises" from their barrels.
Then came the Scorcha tanks. Their mobile flamethrowers melted the snow and turned the defensive steel red-hot. They had no tactical objective; they simply wanted to set the world on fire, indifferent to whether the flames consumed friend or foe.
"Melta Teams!" Leo ordered. "Take out those bouncing buggies first!"
However, the orders were carried out sluggishly. The coalition soldiers were distracted by the sheer variety of targets, fighting independent, uncoordinated battles. The Ork vehicles began to retaliate in earnest.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Orks fired large-caliber "Dakka" at the top of the barricade, spraying gravel and sparks. Mutant Squighogs, bred by the Snakebite Clan, began leaping onto the wall. Some exploded on impact; others frantically tore apart everything in sight, while some released chemical sprays that froze everything in their radius.
And then there were the "Grot Bombs." Skinny little Gretchin were lashed to guided missiles and launched toward the wall, screaming all the way. The rockets' trajectories were erratic, the Grots twisting and turning desperately in mid-air to steer their explosive coffins. Half of the missiles hit the wall; the other half veered wildly into the Orks' own formations. This was the logic of the Greenskins: accuracy was secondary to the joy of the explosion.
Chaos. Absolute, grinding chaos.
In this madness, the Orks gradually gained the upper hand. Their tanks used sustained fire to suppress the wall, creating windows of opportunity for the infantry. Seeing that the bikes could scale the wall, the Ork Boys decided they could too. Carrying crude ladders and hooks, or simply climbing with their bare hands, they began to swarm the Forbidden Wall like ants.
When the first Greenskin vaulted over the rampart, Leo cleaved him in two with a single vertical strike of his chainsword. But a scream immediately rose from his left. He turned to see a coalition soldier being butchered by an Ork's jagged choppa.
"Don't let them up!" Leo rushed forward, his chainsword whistling as he sawed through an Ork's waist.
There were too many of them. Even if only one percent reached the top, the sheer volume was overwhelming. Just as the defenders struggled to contain the boarders, a rhythmic, earth-shaking thud rose from below.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Leo rushed to the edge and looked down. It was a row of Ork walkers—Killa Kans and Deff Dreads! They were painted in the garish reds of the Evil Sunz or the lucky blues of the Deathskulls. Standing seven or eight meters tall, pieced together from rusted plates and thick rivets, they left deep craters in the snow with every step.
They headed straight for the newly repaired breach in Sector C8, ignoring the fire raining down on them. They slammed their massive power drills into the wall.
Screeeee!
The screech of metal on metal drowned out the battlefield. The drills spun, sparks showered the snow, and the reinforced structure began to give way.
"Stop them!" Hammond bellowed over the vox.
Bolter shells and las-beams hammered the walkers, but to little effect. Because the mechs were at the very foot of the wall, the defenders couldn't use heavy artillery or thermobaric charges without risking the wall's integrity. They could only watch as the first Deff Dread punched through the outermost layer of the barrier.
More mechs followed, enlarging the "wound." The walkers behind them began firing shoulder-mounted rokkit pods.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Rockets rained down on the ramparts, explosions echoing in quick succession as flames engulfed the C8 breach. The repaired gap was torn open once more, the alloy at the edges twisting and melting like the gaping maw of a beast. Beyond that maw was an endless sea of green.
The Orks roared in triumph. The sound merged into a singular, world-shaking vibration.
"WAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"
The human soldiers behind the wall turned pale. Leo knew what was coming. The Orks would pour through the breach like a flood, overwhelming all interior defenses. They would take the wall sector by sector until everything fell. Once the Forbidden Wall was breached, the main hive of Brevis would be defenseless.
He looked at Hammond, who stood atop a gun emplacement, calmly loading his bolt pistol. Hammond looked up at Leo and nodded. No words were needed.
Leo took a deep breath and gripped his chainsword. He switched his vox to a wide-cast channel, connecting to every unit still responding:
"Listen up, all you who can still draw breath!" His voice was fierce and stirring. "I am Leo St. Gallus, and these xenos scum have breached our walls once again. But they have forgotten one thing: they are not fighting the wall. They are fighting us!"
"Now is the time for the Emperor to witness our courage! For the fallen! For Brevis!!!"
Leo's chainsword roared to life, followed by a thunderous shout from the coalition forces.
"FOR BREVIS!"
The human cry, for a brief moment, drowned out the howls of the green tide.