Chapter 152: Tribe
If there had been an allied force with reliable combat strength to help draw attention from the front, the five Star Warriors of the Phoenix Battalion might have stood a chance of success.
But at that moment, the only allies they had with them were the 28 soldiers of the Storm Squad.
Although they were elite troops, expecting these 28 to face an enemy fifty times their number, and to hold the front for the Star Warriors, was out of the question; they couldn't possibly do it, even if they fought to the death.
Moreover, even if they could draw the enemy's attention from the front, executing a decapitation strike would still be difficult.
That Greenskin leader looked formidable.
Clad in heavy gear, his massive figure reached three meters in height.
His modified arsenal of thermal and melee weapons all appeared over-the-top and intimidating, while his heavy armor seemed nearly impervious.
Martins and his comrades, though experienced, gauged that this creature’s strength was such that even a veteran Star Warrior couldn't take him down one-on-one.
Only if all five of them struck simultaneously could they ensure a swift kill.
But if any phase went awry and they were delayed, the surrounding Greenskins would rush to support him, and they could easily become trapped inside.
Forget it, forget it.
They resolved to prioritize surveillance and wait for Governor Gu to bring the main force over.
When that time came, with a larger force advancing, they would have a much better chance to strike in the ensuing chaos.
There was no need for risky maneuvers now.
However, as they pulled back, it seemed the Greenskins had noticed them.
The prominent Greenskin leader cast his gaze in their direction from afar.
Martins frowned.
“Why have we been discovered?”
He was genuinely puzzled.
Could it be that he had become rusty after not fighting Greenskins for a while?
Yet, upon reflection, their actions seemed fine; even the elite soldiers of the Storm Squad had performed well, so they shouldn’t have been discovered so easily.
“I don’t know how they noticed us,” Schneider replied, “I only know we’re in trouble now.”
Prepare for combat…though what was the point?
Thirty of them standing against a thousand heavily armed Greenskins led by a powerful chieftain was a death sentence.
With the distance still between them, escaping quickly was the only option.
But as they retreated, they soon discovered the source of their exposure.
It turned out to be a Greenskin Orc standing beside the chieftain.
This hunched figure wasn’t particularly large, nor did it carry any extravagant weaponry, appearing rather ordinary.
The only thing unusual about it was the silver-gray metal staff in its hand.
This staff clearly wasn't a product of Greenskin technology, though it had been modified with tusks and painted in vibrant colors to reflect the Greenskin aesthetic.
The elder Orc pointed the staff toward the Star Warriors’ position.
A sense of imminent danger urged them to take cover immediately.
At that moment, a red beam of light shot toward them.
The Star Warriors were unharmed, but the beam pierced through two Storm Squad soldiers.
The alloy and plastic steel bulletproof plates beneath their uniforms provided almost no protection, leaving a fist-sized hole through each soldier's body.
The beam continued past the two men’s bodies, shooting into the distance until it hit a ruined wall and disappeared.
The two soldiers collapsed to the ground, twitching and struggling weakly.
They weren’t dead yet, but their fate was sealed.
No one could save them, and taking two mortally wounded soldiers who would only last a few more minutes was out of the question during a retreat.
It wasn’t exactly abandoning their comrades, but morale inevitably dropped in the escape.
Despite being unencumbered, their retreat was anything but smooth.
The hunched old Orc continued to fire, sending a shot in their direction every few minutes.
This high-energy, penetrating beam was lethal enough that even the Star Warriors couldn't ignore its power.
Two direct hits could damage their power armor, and three would be fatal.
And they didn’t even need to strike the same spot; two shots in general proximity would weaken the armor’s structural integrity enough to allow a third shot to inflict critical damage.
Fortunately, the elder Orc’s range was impressive, capable of inflicting deadly damage from over two kilometers away.
However, he lacked a high-powered scope and seemed incapable of accurate aiming.
While the beam didn’t experience trajectory deviation over distance, if he couldn’t aim, it was pointless.
The first deadly shot had struck because they hadn’t dispersed their formation yet, making it easier for the beam to hit someone inadvertently.
Now that they were moving and spread out, it wasn’t as easy for him to hit his target.
Moreover, they weren’t entirely defenseless.
Their explosive rifles and the electromagnetic rifles wielded by the Storm Squad had a killing range of over two kilometers—although there was some power drop-off, a hit was still lethal.
T3-level soldiers were already highly accurate, not to mention the Star Warriors, whose power armor provided built-in combat assistance systems for precision aiming.
Even though their weapons weren’t sniper models designed for long-distance kills, they could still pose a threat to the elder Orc from two kilometers away.
However, they hadn’t managed to kill him, only taking down a few unlucky Greenskins who had been in the line of fire.
The old Orc was cunning; upon realizing he was a target, he took cover behind the Greenskin warlord.
This was a substantial shield—even an explosive rifle from two kilometers couldn’t penetrate his armor, let alone harm the elder Orc hiding behind him.
Though this cover prevented the explosive and electromagnetic rifles from killing him, he also couldn’t continue to threaten the fleeing humans.
Still, the humans’ predicament didn’t improve much.
A significant portion of the Greenskin army was now on the move.
Armed trucks and killing tanks advanced in pursuit. Even the Orc warlord himself joined the chase.
From two kilometers away, bullets began to rain down on them.
The crude firearms wielded by the Greenskin lackeys fired wildly, creating a loud commotion, but their bullets couldn’t even travel the full two kilometers, falling to the ground halfway.
However, the Greenskins weren’t entirely without effective long-range weaponry.
Their tin-can artillery posed little threat due to poor accuracy—its power was considerable, but the chances of hitting anything were slim.
On the other hand, the heavy machine guns mounted on their armed trucks and the multi-barrel cannons on the killing tanks were still capable of reaching beyond two kilometers, presenting a real threat.
While Greenskin weapons were rarely accurate, the sheer volume of bullets fired made up for it; as long as they could roughly aim in the right direction, the bullets still retained lethality over that distance.
In the chaos of their escape, more and more Storm Squad soldiers fell.
Turning to fire back wasn’t particularly meaningful; they couldn’t possibly kill or repel all the enemies.
They could only keep running.
Of course, in reality, escape was nearly impossible.
If the Star Warriors ran at full speed, they might have a chance, but the elite soldiers of the Storm Squad would undoubtedly be left behind.
However, even the Star Warriors themselves didn’t have a high chance of escape.
After all, if they sprinted away, they’d be exposing their backs to the enemy.
In Star Warrior power armor, the back was undoubtedly the weakest point.
Dying with one’s back to the enemy was an undeniable disgrace for any Star Warrior.
Even if they abandoned honor and allies to save themselves and preserve the battalion, the outcome would likely not be favorable.
Before escaping the enemy's range and pursuit, at least one of them would likely fall, and several lives could be sacrificed without any chance to retrieve the gene-seed.
For now, they were retreating strategically—firing while moving, or sometimes taking cover behind slopes or ruins to block incoming bullets temporarily.
Retreating in this manner was undoubtedly slow.
On the other hand, while the path was rough, the enemy’s armed trucks had six wheels and were moving fairly easily.
Even if some areas were inaccessible for the trucks, they could navigate around them without losing much speed.
As for the Killing Tanks, a type of walking mech, they encountered no issues at all.
Though Martins and Schneider managed to destroy one Killing Tank from over a thousand meters away with a concentrated explosive rifle barrage, it was barely enough.
They fought as they retreated, doing everything possible to slow down the enemy’s pursuit, unable to flee directly; they had to dodge enemy fire and avoid being outflanked by armed trucks taking detours.
They now fully understood that it was inevitable they’d be overtaken.
But this didn’t mean all hope was lost.
Although they remained silent, Martins believed his comrades shared his plan: to find a defensible location and hold out until reinforcements arrived.
Although uncertain of how long they’d need to hold out, this approach seemed more reliable than just running.
Of course, they also had to prepare for the worst-case scenario: total annihilation.
But what could be done? This was the nature of war.
Especially when dealing with this orc clan, which surpassed typical wild Greenskin tribes; who knew which would come first, victory or disaster?
Along the way, they found a few potential defensive positions: several large, sturdy high-rise buildings, some three to four stories tall.
Though this area wasn’t at the core of the orbital bombardment zone, the buildings had withstood decades and the tremors from nearby strikes without collapsing, proving their resilience.
Retreating into these high-rises for battle would make it harder for the armed trucks to get close, while the Killing Tanks would also be limited in mobility.
They’d only have to defend the front rather than face bullets from all sides, as they would in an open area.
However, even these high-rises weren’t ideal.
There was concern that the Greenskins might strategically use explosives to demolish them, and they’d still face attacks from all directions if the enemy used ladders to climb up.
Martins and his comrades continued searching for a more suitable stronghold.
No one knew if the last building they’d passed up, seemingly ideal for defense, was the best they’d find; the next might be even worse, but to maximize defensive advantages, they had to keep looking.
This time, it seemed the Emperor heard their loyal prayers, as luck suddenly shifted in their favor.
A soldier discovered an underground space within a building ruin.
In terms of environment, this underground area was highly suited for defense.
Although there was still the risk of collapse, as long as it was deep and sturdy enough, the risk was lower than a high-rise being blasted down.
Apart from that, it was nearly all advantages.
There was only one entrance, making it easy to defend; the limited space meant facing fewer enemies, diminishing the enemy's numerical advantage.
In tight quarters, even a Killing Tank wouldn’t be able to enter, which would be ideal.
Worst case, they could block the entrance, trapping themselves but ensuring they’d be safe from immediate capture.
If they stayed there for a day and the Governor’s troops arrived, things would likely be safer outside.
Wearing power armor, they might dig their way out in a few days if necessary.
In any case, it beat waiting to die.
The only question was whether the underground space was large enough.
If it was a small basement and the enemy rushed the entrance, they’d lose maneuvering space, which would be dangerous.
However, a brief look at the entrance put Martins at ease: this was no mere basement but an underground research facility.
The solid, round iron door at the entrance made it clear.
In the past, this door was probably power-operated; otherwise, it would’ve been impossible to open or close by hand.
Now, however, it stood open, the power long gone.
Without hesitation, Martins chose to enter.
The five Star Warriors, along with the 21 remaining soldiers of the Storm Squad, stepped into the underground space.
At Martins’ signal, a small team of elite soldiers went deeper to scout.
They needed to understand the layout, find possible fallback points, and check for alternative exits in case they needed to escape or block routes to prevent Greenskins from flanking them.
The rest of the squad stayed roughly twenty meters from the entrance, quickly gathering whatever they could find—broken bricks, building materials—to hastily construct a defensive line.
They needed to hold the entrance, delaying the enemy and inflicting casualties.
But they didn’t have much time; within two minutes, enemies appeared at the entrance.
It was only a few Greenskins, seemingly dropped off by an armed truck that couldn’t pass through.
As soon as they emerged, they were ruthlessly taken down.
At a distance of no more than thirty meters, neither the Star Warriors nor the elite Storm Squad soldiers missed a shot.
Most importantly, their weapons were far from weak, unlike the G9 series rifles.
The explosive rifles were powerful enough to kill a Greenskin with a single shot, while the electromagnetic rifles would take only a few rounds to do the job.
In other words, if the Greenskins relied solely on infantry charges, they’d likely all perish before taking the entrance.
The Star Warriors each carried nearly three hundred rounds; the Storm Squad soldiers had at least 180 rounds.
With careful aim, they could hold out.
The Greenskin orcs quickly understood this—whether by instinct or after losing twenty soldiers who charged in after failing to blast the entrance with cannons.
They stopped sending troops to die, granting Martins and his team a brief respite.
But Martins knew this was the calm before the storm.
It was now deep into the night, but they couldn’t afford to rest.
They tried to contact Governor Gu, but their radio was cut off.
It was likely the Greenskins had technology to jam their communications.
Ultimately, their options were limited, and their only choice was to rely on this defensible position to hold the line.
…
The Orc elder Gorgon glared furiously at Si Rou, who was much larger and stronger than him, and he could barely restrain his urge to kill him.
But he couldn’t.
He wasn’t strong enough to defeat Si Rou.
He couldn’t even sit back and watch as Si Rou rushed toward certain death.
He knew that the ones hiding there were “cans.” In the depths of his memory, he’d seen those “cans” before; killing Orcs was as easy for them as it was for Orcs to kill grots.
Si Rou was now the strongest warrior in the tribe, but from what Gorgon remembered, he knew that if Si Rou charged in recklessly, he might kill one or two of the “cans,” but he would certainly die there himself.
Si Rou couldn’t die. If he did, the thousand or so Orcs that had barely been reassembled would instantly fall back into chaos. Below Si Rou were five or six other Orc chiefs of equal rank who only submitted to him because he was the strongest and the “greenest.”
If Si Rou died, bloodshed would break out among them; they’d lead their followers into battle with each other until only one remained.
Ordinarily, Gorgon wouldn’t have minded this, but now he couldn’t let it happen.
He still needed the clan to survive.
With a pleading tone, he tried once more: “Why won’t you listen to me? When have I ever lied to you?”
“No matter what you say!” Si Rou was as stubborn as ever. “I have to kill those shrimps! I’ll only leave when they’re all dead! All my boys are gone, the armory is lost, the farm is gone, but I haven’t killed a single shrimp myself! That’s not acceptable!”
“But we’ll all die here!” Gorgon growled, “They already killed Kao’fu and slaughtered all the boys up front—they’re coming to kill us! We have to leave now; this isn’t the time to fight! Once we have more boys and bigger guns, we’ll come back and kill those shrimps!”
Pausing for a moment, Gorgon pointed toward the distant, nearly invisible tunnel entrance in the night and continued, “Years ago, I was dug up from there. After I killed the shrimps who dug me up, I inspected the place. It’s well-fortified, and there’s only one way in. But with those ‘cans’ guarding it, even you can’t get through…”
Gorgon suddenly fell silent.
He saw the violent look in Si Rou’s eyes as he stared at him.
He’d made a mistake. He had just told the tribe’s strongest chieftain, “You can’t do it.”
And that was something few Orc chieftains would tolerate hearing.
Si Rou, towering over him, looked down at the frail Gorgon.
Si Rou spoke, “I am the boss, and I don’t have to listen to you. I’m the biggest and the greenest, and there’s nothing I can’t kill.”
With that, he used his mechanical arm to grasp Gorgon by the throat, lifting his feeble body. “You’re too old and too weak. I’m tired of hearing your words. I’ll keep your head, so you can watch me tear those shrimps to pieces.”
Gorgon let out a weak, hissing sound as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
Si Rou no longer wanted to hear him; with a firm squeeze of his mechanical arm, he snapped Gorgon’s neck.
The light in Gorgon’s eyes faded quickly.
In that moment, he recalled many things.
He had once been a simple craftsman from the Ironfang Clan. Born on a warm planet they’d fully conquered, the few shrimps left were kept as food, slaves, and toys…
Then, more shrimps arrived.
The clan’s battleships were destroyed. Many “cans” fell from the sky alongside the shrimps, who took down the planet’s orbital defenses. Then, with countless rounds of artillery, they bombarded the planet repeatedly.
Every Greenskin he knew was killed, but he was lucky enough to survive.
Later, he was captured.
After a long journey, he ended up here, imprisoned in the underground research facility nearby, where he remained for countless years.
They dissected him, but the stubborn Greenskin vitality allowed him to survive after each crude stitching.
They injected strange fluids into him and performed all sorts of experiments…
Then one day, it all stopped.
He was shoved into a cold locker, and though he felt the freezing cold, he soon lost consciousness.
When he regained memory, he saw several tattered shrimps before him.
They hadn’t seen a creature like him before, but after regaining his strength, he broke free from the glass coffin that held him and killed them all.
However, he had forgotten many things, like how to make cannons and Killing Tanks… he only remembered these recently.
Then, he left and encountered several monsters. He fought and hunted them for food, spilling his blood in the process.
Wherever his blood fell, within a year, green plants sprouted, and creatures like Snotlings, grots, and other Greenskins began to appear.
He was happy; he was no longer alone. He had companions to fight alongside him.
Among the new Orcs, he remembered one he particularly admired, a fellow called Si Rou.
That lad didn’t disappoint and became the first chieftain.
Together, they rallied all the Orcs, and using memories of his old clan, Gorgon established a new tribe with the same name—Ironfang Clan.
Over the years, the tribe grew in number and expanded its territory, encountering more and more shrimps.
He was thrilled; fighting the shrimps was the most fun.
Through battles, the tribe would grow stronger. The boys would fight and die, and those who survived would become larger and greener. The fallen would give rise to even more Greenskins.
Eventually, with enough numbers and strength, Si Rou could launch a massive “Waaagh,” and the Ironfang Clan would sweep across the planet, turning it into a mirror of the one he’d been born on.
Over a month ago, a stronger group of shrimps arrived.
Instead of worry, Gorgon felt exhilarated.
With intense fighting, the “Waaagh” energy field thickened, Si Rou grew larger, and Gorgon rediscovered forgotten technologies, managing to recreate the Killing Tanks, Mega Armored Bosses, and even Warboss Armor for Si Rou.
But… why had things come down from the sky again, like those that once destroyed the Ironfang Clan?
Gorgon couldn’t understand.
If only they could make ships that flew beyond the planet.
This was his last thought.
And the final sound he heard was Si Rou’s roar.
Then his consciousness faded into darkness.
…
Martins and Schneider regarded Si Rou with heavy expressions.
At such close range, they could finally confirm this was indeed an Orc Warboss.
Their combat experience made them all too aware of the power this being wielded:
Against an Orc Warboss, an average Star Warrior wouldn’t last more than three blows; defeating him in a duel would require a company champion at least.
And now, following the Warboss, countless Greenskins swarmed in, too many to count, limited only by the narrowness of the entrance.
Martins and Schneider exchanged glances, their eyes holding not fear but exhilaration.
Opportunity had come!
The Warboss’s arrival was nothing to fear; his presence marked their chance.
Killing an Orc Warboss required a company champion.
Wasn’t it perfect, then?
After all, there were two company champions here.