Chapter 412: Knight Combat
The Ork column advanced fast, fully mechanized, every unit mounted. The Titan Temple sat only two hundred kilometers from the front, and at the pace this armoured force was moving, they'd cover that distance in under two hours.
Satellite coverage overhead had already tracked their approach, kicking up a rolling cloud of dust across the desert floor. Boothe fed the satellite footage directly into the minds of Kian and the Trio, highlighting specific Ork vehicle types as he briefed them.
By now, Kian and the Traffic Light Trio had already piloted their squire-suits out past the Titan Temple's several rings of steel ramparts, sprinting across the desert to meet the Ork column head-on. As they ran, all four listened closely to Boothe's tactical briefing streaming into their minds.
"My lords, take a look at this one. This is an Ork armoured car. The large-caliber autocannon mounted on it fires shells with serious punch. It won't penetrate your adamantium plating, but be careful, it can still knock out onboard electronics with a direct hit."
He highlighted a massive Ork tank next.
"This is an Ork scrap-tank. Watch its main gun. Ork weapons follow no engineering logic whatsoever, you'll see two hundred, three hundred, even four hundred millimeter guns bolted onto scrap hulls. As for what they actually fire, it might be a load of scrap metal, it might be a live Ork gunner strapped in as ammunition, or it might genuinely be a high-powered armour-piercing shell. Either way, don't let one of those barrels line up on you, or I'll be personally reassembling what's left of you afterward."
Finally, Boothe highlighted two categories of Ork war-machine and gave them particular attention.
"First is the Gretchin killer-can, roughly four meters tall, piloted by a single Gretchin inside. Its threat level depends entirely on what weapon it's carrying. These scrap-built things generally aren't equipped with anything serious and pose little real danger to a squire-suit, but watch out for their numbers. A heavy bolter will drop one easily, and max-power las-cannon fire will finish one off with a few sustained hits too.
Second is the Ork Dreadnought, six to seven meters tall. These pose a genuine threat to a squire-suit, though again, it depends on their loadout. Ork ranged weapons are low-quality enough that your armour should stop most of it, but don't take sustained fire, their calibers are large enough to add up. More importantly, watch your distance. Every Ork Dreadnought is fitted with powered claws capable of tearing straight through adamantium plating if they get in close.
That concludes the briefing. May the Omnissiah watch over you all, and may you return victorious under the machine spirit's protection."
The channel closed. Kian pulled up the map on the move to study the terrain.
They were currently crossing what was known simply as the Great Desert, a dried-out ocean floor, flat and open as far as the eye could see. Roughly a hundred and fifty kilometers ahead, the Ork armoured column was pushing forward at full throttle, straight toward the Titan Temple. The two forces were closing fast and about to meet.
The Traffic Light Trio asked Kian, "Boss, we hitting them head on, or running a play?"
Kian thought it over. "Our gear's better than theirs, but we're outnumbered badly. We need to avoid getting swarmed."
He pulled up the map through thought-control, marked a specific location, and shared it with the other three.
"This ridgeline here, it's from when the Orks slammed their ships into the planet years back, the impact reshaped the terrain into this. Average elevation three hundred meters, covered in loose rubble and crystalline rock. The terrain's steep and rough. We take the high ground first, then use our better weapons to pick them off at range from a position they can't easily reach. If their tanks and heavy vehicles can't climb up after us, that cuts our exposure way down, we'd only have to deal with their infantry-scale machines. And if even those get to be too many, the broken terrain gives us plenty to work with to keep circling and wearing them down."
Then he gave the group one more assurance.
"If it genuinely goes sideways, I'll call in a shuttle to pull us out. So don't get stupid and start fighting to the death out there. These squire-suits are my property, damn it."
The Trio acknowledged and kept moving.
Under twenty minutes later, they reached the ambush position, a ridge born from that old planetary impact. The terrain here was a chaos of loose rock and rubble, plenty of cover to work with.
Kian led the three of them, hopping and bounding up to the highest point of the ridge, and settled in to wait for the Ork column.
Nearly half an hour passed before a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon, the telltale sign of a massive convoy tearing across the desert.
It was a wild, chaotic mob of Ork junker vehicles, everything cobbled together out of scrap. Big rigs and small ones alike, every single one packed with weapons and Orks eager for a fight. Some of the larger tow-vehicles even carried multiple killer-cans and Dreadnoughts strapped to their beds.
And the convoy wasn't just charging, it was blasting heavy metal music the whole way. Several of the vehicles carried no weapons at all, just an absurd number of oversized speakers stacked on top of each other, pumping out music with a heavy, driving beat and absolutely no discernible meaning. The Orks loved it, howling with excitement at the deafening, headache-inducing racket. Plenty of them had shootas and sluggas raised skyward, firing off rounds into the open air just for the noise of it. Some carried flamers, sending pillars of fire nearly a hundred meters into the sky.
Watching from the ridge, Kian and the others readied for the fight, but after observing for a while, it became clear the convoy was still too far off to notice them. The Ork column hadn't spotted the squire-suits on the ridge at all, and looked set to drive right past it entirely.
That's when Kian looked to Yellow. Yellow got the message instantly, stepped forward, and let loose through his suit's amplified vox at full volume.
"Poetry recitation: 'Orks Are Idiots.'
Era: Imperium, 40th Millennium.
Author: Bylar Noss.
From afar, Orks look like fools.
Up close, fools look like Orks.
Truly, Orks are fools indeed.
Fools, indeed, are Orks!"
The poem rolled out through the suit's amplified vox like a genuine sonic weapon. The instant it finished, the dust-trailing Ork convoy slammed on its brakes, wrenched into a sharp ninety-degree turn, and came charging straight for the ridge with murderous intent.
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