The next morning, the Greenskins launched their attack as usual.
A fine spray of snow first rose from the horizon of the ice plains—the collective effect of thousands of feet stomping the ground in unison. What followed was a discordant howl, a mixture of primal excitement and an insatiable desire for violence.
They had arrived.
As was their custom, the lead group of Warbikers floored their accelerators, their red-painted frames leaving jagged, crooked tracks in the snow. The Ork Boys behind them brandished choppas and sluggas, shoving and jostling each other as they sprinted. Every now and then, a few would trip and fall, only to be trampled into mincemeat by the surging tide of their companions.
The human defenders on the Forbidden Wall also went to work. Heavy artillery roared, and Earthshaker shells traced parabolic trajectories through the freezing air before slamming into the green mass. Explosions unleashed walls of flame, and the shockwaves tossed Orks aside like ragdolls. Crossfires of heavy bolters swept through the charging columns, shattering the leading bikes into burning scrap.
Yet, the Orks continued their charge, oblivious to the casualties. To them, dead comrades didn't matter; only the survivors were "real 'uns." Blood and explosions only fueled their fervor, making their charge even faster.
Raynor stood atop the wall of Sector C8, watching the carnage unfold. He wore master-crafted carapace armor, his black cloak fluttering in the biting wind. In his left hand, he gripped his sanctified Bolter, but in his right, he carried an enhanced vox-caster.
This device had been custom-modified by the Tech-Priests at Raynor's request. At maximum power, it could project the user's voice for more than ten kilometers across the tundra. Raynor brought the vox-mic to his mouth and took a deep breath.
He then launched into a tirade of the most creative profanities he could muster.
"Listen up, you green-skinned scum! I heard you lot actually have a 'Boss' out there!"
The charging Orks suddenly faltered, their own shouting momentarily drowned out by the amplified thunder of Raynor's voice. Raynor continued, speaking slowly and enunciating every mocking word.
"I've been here for weeks, and I haven't seen a single leader worth his salt. What's the matter? Is your 'Warboss' just a Grot in a big suit? Does he only know how to hide behind his brats because he's too scared to face a real fight?!"
"You've completely disgraced Gork and Mork! What a pathetic coward! You call yourself a Boss, but you don't even have the stones to stand up and fight me."
"Is there any difference between your Warboss and a sniveling Snotling hiding under a mushroom?!"
The echo reverberated across the icy plains, a series of taunts that felt like physical slaps. The moment the last word faded, a distant avalanche was triggered by the sheer volume, cascading down a snow-capped peak.
The battlefield fell silent. Even the artillery fire from the wall paused for a heartbeat. The officers and soldiers on the ramparts were dumbfounded. Leo's lip twitched as he stood nearby, staring at the Governor in disbelief.
Every human and every Greenskin looked toward the source of the sound. Raynor stood there, one hand on his hip, the other lowering the vox-caster, looking like a man who was just getting started. Insulting Orks was physically demanding work, but Raynor found it immensely satisfying.
The effects were immediate in the Greenskin camp deep within the ice plains.
Guga the Mountain was squatting by his massive vat, using his Power Klaw to scoop up a piece of freshly solidified yellow sludge. He stuffed it into his mouth, squinting contentedly as he pondered how many "lads" to throw at the wall today.
Then, Raynor's clear, mocking voice swept through the camp. Though distorted by the distance and the wind, the keywords hit Guga like bolter rounds: "Boss," "Coward," "Snotling," "Disgrace to Gork."
Guga dropped his half-eaten scrap back into the pot. He stood up with a heavy thud, his three-and-a-half-meter frame resembling a small mountain of green muscle.
The surrounding Boys fell silent. They looked at their leader, then at the horizon, and a dangerous glint of "ambition" appeared in their eyes. For Orks, status is earned through strength. The Boss is the Boss because he is the biggest, the baddest, and the least afraid to die. If a leader takes it on the chin when a "humie" calls him a coward without retaliating...
"Zoggin' hell!" Guga growled through his tusks.
Minutes later, fighting broke out at the other end of the camp. Several burly Orks, each nearly three meters tall, were beating up Guga's guards and shouting:
"Did ya hear dat?! Even da humies say Guga's a coward!"
"I always knew Guga wasn't Waaagh! enough! All he does is sit by da pot eatin' slop!"
"I reckon I should be da one sittin' there!!!"
A mutiny had begun. It was simple Ork logic: if a puny human thinks the Boss is weak, then the Boss must be weak. And a weak Boss needs to be replaced.
Guga's eyes turned a blood-red. He kicked over his vat of stew, spilling scalding yellow soup and sludge everywhere, sending nearby Grots screaming. His Power Klaw tightened, the hydraulic systems hissing with lethal intent.
"SHUT YER TRAPS, ALL OF YA!!!"
With a roar, Guga charged into the center of the rebellion. His Power Klaw swept across, and the first challenger's head popped like a ripe squig. He caught the second one as it tried to flee, impaling it through the back before slamming its corpse onto a third.
Ten minutes later, the mutiny was over. Hundreds of corpses lay in the center of the camp. Guga stood atop the pile, drenched in green ichor, his Klaw dripping. The remaining Boys trembled, not daring to meet his gaze.
But Guga knew that killing his own was only a temporary fix. Orks were as stubborn as they were violent; today he killed a hundred, but tomorrow a thousand would doubt him. He looked toward the Forbidden Wall. He had to go and personally crush the "humie" who had dared to insult his honor.
Raynor waited on the wall for over an hour.
The first wave of attacks had been repelled, and the soldiers were rotating for meals while the cannons cooled. Just as some began to doubt the Governor's "street-calling" tactics, a massive smear of green appeared on the horizon.
This wasn't the scattered mob from earlier. This was a true Ork army.
Leading the way were hundreds of Killa Kans, swaying precariously as they clanked forward. More than twenty Deff Dreads followed, their heavy footfalls shaking the permafrost. Behind them were tanks, a swarm of Warbikes, and Deffkoptas and Stormboys buzzing overhead.
Finally, two enormous machines loomed over the rest.
On the left was a Gorkonaut, representing Gork's brutal strength. It was painted blood-red, standing eight meters tall, armed with a massive Klaw and a twin-linked turret. In its other hand was a Mega-blasta, still smoking from previous test fires.
On the right was a Morkonaut, representing Mork's low cunning. It was dark blue, equally gargantuan, and bristling with Kustom Force Fields and energy weapons. Its "Mega-zappa" crackled with destructive rays.
Between these two icons of the Ork gods, Guga the Mountain sat atop a customized Battlewagon. The front of the vehicle was welded with spiked rams and a massive cannon. Guga stood up, his massive frame looking cramped on the vehicle, but his presence was undeniable.
The Ork army halted one kilometer from the Forbidden Wall. Guga stood on the roof of his wagon, his Power Klaw pointing directly at Raynor.
"Which one of you puny cowards wuz bad-mouthing me just now?!"