On the tactical display, the glaring crimson light of the Delta-7 core flickered violently a few times, its glow noticeably dimming like the eyes of a dying beast, signifying its core was about to be exposed to the Emperor's wrath, all under the unwavering advance of the Astartes, the deterrent residual power of mortal artillery, the cold gaze of orbital destructive force, and the fierce strikes of newly deployed aerial and armored forces.
From a high vantage point in the distance, the heavy Bolter array at Eagles Nest Rock was emitting a series of dull, continuous roars, each shot causing the sturdy rock platform to tremble slightly.
Sergeant Ivanov's B Team stood like a rock at this critical choke point overlooking the battlefield.
Their firepower was precise and lethal, like an unseen scythe, covering the flanks of the narrow canyon below, tearing apart any Orks attempting to surge out and support the core area, with blood and dismembered limbs splattering in the explosions.
This was B Team clearing crucial blind spots after successfully capturing Eagles Nest Rock, blocking the Orks' usual tidal reinforcements for A Team's core assault below.
Mikhail slightly lowered his head during a lull in the advance; the black and white Maltese cross insignia on his breastplate, covered in gunpowder, thick dust, and the viscous blood of Orks, still stubbornly reflected a cold and unwavering steadfast glow, illuminated by the flickering flames deep within the canyon.
Each shockwave from a heavy explosion, transmitted through the MK10 Power Armor's servo systems and dampening layers, felt like a heavy heartbeat.
Each feedback of resistance and tearing sensation when a Chainsword ripped through tough Ork muscle and bone was clearly imprinted on his combat nerves...
Each time he looked up and saw aerial support precisely unleashing destruction on key nodes...
Each time he felt the roar of the mortal artillery from the rear turning the tide when the defensive line was on the verge of collapse...
This burning canyon, filled with savagery and destruction, this symphony of death played by the coordinated Astartes, Astra Militarum, armored, and aerial forces, was forging his steel will as an Ash Knights recruit in the most brutal way.
The initial burning in his lungs and the oppressive feeling of facing an endless green tide had long been replaced by a cold, efficient killer instinct and an even more unshakeable faith.
He clearly realized that he was no longer an isolated individual on the battlefield but an indispensable cog in the vast war machine, operating in sync with his brothers amidst the storm of destruction, steadily advancing.
The Emperor's will, through this combined air-ground iron fist of destruction, was writing victory stroke by stroke on the barren land of Tooth Fracture Three.
He tightened his grip on the roaring Chainsword in his hand, his steps becoming even more resolute as he advanced towards the dimming red light of the core deep within the canyon—the end of this battle and the beginning of glory.
However, the final passage to the Delta-7 core was by no means easy.
Having breached the outer low wall's defenses, A Team was not met with a direct, open core area but a narrow, bottlenecked passage deliberately blocked and layered with obstacles by the Orks. This place seemed like a display of Ork cunning and violence.
Scrap metal, shattered vehicle wrecks, and even massive rocks were haphazardly piled into crude but thick barricades, behind which hordes of Ork Boys were setting up crude heavy weapons: large-caliber shootas, green-smoking rocket launchers, and even flamers modified from starship wreckage were furiously spewing flames.
Especially those shootas, their barrages poured down like water, the dense, crude projectiles striking the MK10 ceramite Power Armor with continuous, deafening 'clang' sounds, sending up dense, dazzling sparks, and the powerful impact, even if it couldn't penetrate immediately, was enough to cause damage or dents to the ceramite armor, causing the wearer's steps to momentarily falter.
Worse still, several Rokkit Boys, equipped with crude rocket packs, let out shrill, destructive howls as they clumsily swooped down from the jagged, steep rock walls on both sides, wielding high-speed spinning Chainsword choppas or heavy Power Hammers, attempting to disrupt the Astartes' tight formation from above and create chaos.
"Suppress left flank barricade fire! Maintain advance rhythm!" Vasily's voice, amidst the roar of Bolters, the screams of Orks, and the shriek of rocket packs, penetrated the comms channel with rock-like steadiness. This battle-hardened veteran was A Team's anchor.
The Power Sword in his hand, polished bright from wear, vibrating at high frequency when activated, its blade enveloped in a cold, deadly blue glow, traced a lethal arc under his precise control.
A Rokkit Boy, who had swooped down too fast and tried to directly smash into him, was bisected in mid-air by this precise sword stroke, foul blood and shattered organs spraying onto the scorching rocks below like dirty rain, sizzling.
"Mikhail! Right flank! Bolter cover! Flanking fire team, clear the fleas on the rock wall! Don't let them interfere with the assault!" The commands were clear, decisive, carrying undeniable authority and battlefield intuition.
Mikhail and his brothers beside him executed the orders without the slightest hesitation.
The Bolters shifted from precise single shots to short, powerful bursts, their formidable firepower instantly suppressing several Ork firing points peeking out from behind the right-side barricade, smashing those ugly green heads along with their crude helmets.
Fire support from the rear and flanks of the squad instinctively took care of the targets swooping down from the rock wall; several precise Bolters whistled in, blasting the diving Orks, along with their unreliable rocket packs, into burning green-flamed fragments in mid-air, like a brief, foul meteor shower.
The entire squad, under the command of the seasoned Sergeant, moved like a precise and efficient killing machine—advancing, shooting, covering, parrying—their actions fluid and their coordination seamless.
The roar of Chainsword rose and fell, emitting screams that tore through air and flesh; any Ork daring to leap out from behind cover, attempting to engage in close combat with brute force, was transformed into splattering fragments and burning debris in the Ash Knights' deadly coordinated strikes, amidst the intertwining of Bolters and Chainsword.
B Team's comms intermittently sounded in the channel, interspersed with the characteristic dull roar and explosions of heavy Bolters in the background: "Eagles Nest Rock reporting, heavy Bolters continuously covering the left flank tunnel entrance, green tide effectively suppressed... Maintaining current fire fan, ensuring passage is clear."
Sergeant Ivanov's roar was full of power; the heavy firepower he commanded acted like an invisible gate, firmly holding the flank, gaining precious breathing room and advancement opportunities for A Team's difficult push below.
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