"Hold the line you dogs! You will not embarrass the Emperor today!" Commissar Yarrick lifted an Ork carcass, hewn and bloodied, within his mighty power claw and tossed it aside. The green tide continued to spew into the city streets, the barrage of Basilisk artillery doing little to sway them. Filthy warmongering Xenos, the Orks poured into the streets screaming and roaring with blades of dirty metal waving in their green fists. The Commissar saw a large Trukk pull up in the street opposite and quickly ordered the cannons to destroy it in a ball of flames and pieces of Ork flesh.
"We can't hold them much longer!" a panicking Guardsman called out, but his eyes met those of the angering Commissar, and he immediately turned back to the battle. Death awaited him on the battlefield, but to flee would bring only more death and dishonour.
"Concentrate your fire!" the Commissar commanded "Pour our fire into that narrow alleyway and destroy these aliens!" the soldiers obeyed without question, launching their blazing blasts into the tiny corridor from which the Orks spewed. The pile of blood stained Ork bodies grew and grew, making it more difficult for more to enter the fray and easier for the Guard to blast them.
"Commissar! Ork reinforcements approaching from the South-East!" a Guardsman reported, and the Commissar growled. Yarrick had fought many wars against the Orks, but it never got any easier. For every Ork you kill, two more seem to take its place. And they never stop coming until they have their victory. Well not today, this is as far as they go, the Commissar thought to himself, and yet there was something very strange about their actions in attacking here. One can always rely on the Orks to charge and die, but why attack here and why now?
Yarrick dispensed these questions. Trying to understand the Orks is like trying to convince an Eldar Farseer that they are wrong, it just can't be done.
"Reroute our forces, the enemy here is contained" Yarrick commanded "I want Baneblades on station to attack and destroy any Ork artillery. Basilisks are to fire on the rear of Ork formations, we'll wear down their forces from behind! All units follow me to battle!"
The Guard cheered and charged after their leader. But this soon stopped as the wall of Ork bodies that had been judged 'secure', collapsed as the mechanized arms of an Ork Deff Dread burst into the streets. Commissar Yarrick turned to see two of the smaller Killa-Kans emerge as well, but he was calm. Reaching for his wrist the Commissar tapped a small trigger mechanism and smiled as the machines became engulfed in a blast from below the surface. This was not the only cause for celebration, for as the machines fell so too did the structure of the alleyway, crushing and entombing the hundreds of Orks that still tried to clamber into the fray.
"Emperor be praised! Charge men! The Emperor smiles on us!" the Commissar led his soldiers out into the open warfare that now engulfed the main street to the city center. Tanks began to roll down these streets and fire from behind the soldiers directly into the melee conflict that had broken out. The great Leman Russ battle tanks let loose their payload as their Sentinel support walkers charged forwards and fired too. And behind them all, locking its many guns and cannons onto the targets ahead, the mighty Baneblade, the ultimate tank of war, rolled into position and sent a barrage of deadly fire into the horde.
At range, Orks are easy prey. Their armour is pathetic, strapped together with nothing more than leather belts and pieces of scrap metal. But in close combat, Orks excel. The furious battle only serving to boost their morale, a single Ork can cause utter devastation among ground forces. That is why the Commissar had predicted this assault, and deployed his elite Ogryn forces at the spearhead of his defence. These monstrous and bulking soldiers were just as ferocious in battle as the Orks, sometimes proving themselves to be more blood-lusting than the green-skins.
"Fight! Crush them all!" Yarrick let the thrill of battle reach his head as he led his charge forward into the conflict. But he could clearly see what was happening. The front of the Ork charge was not comprised of mere boys, simple battle fodder. Whoever led this attack knew the Commissar's strategy and had deployed the larger and more violent Ork Nobz at the front. The Ogryn were slaughtered, their mutated forms strewn over the ground and trampled by the Waaagh! screaming Nobz. It was at this moment that the Commissar came to realise the inevitable. There was no retreat however, for he would not die in dishonour. With a cry of rage, he and his forces led one last charge into the midst of the Ork. But a great crash sent clouds of green-skins flying into the air, and then another and another struck the horde. Was it the Baneblades? No, these came from the sky.
