The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"The fire preparation has already begun."

Just as Muller was gazing at the distant, blood-red sky and muttering to himself, this gleaming behemoth seemed to be eagerly whispering a prayer, its tracks subtly trembling as it awaited the commander's order to set off, ready to roar onto the battlefield.

He then placed his hand on the armrest of the seat, a faint smile appearing on his face. This 'Iron Nail' hadn't been off the production line for long, but it had already accompanied him through countless battles in the Grand Diocese, crushing countless Tyranid bugs and relentlessly firing shells at those grotesque alien beasts.

Now, there were six black rings on the tank's barrel, each representing the destruction of a large target. His best achievement was killing a Carnifex.

"What's taking so long!"

Suddenly, a muffled curse came from beside him. It was the gunner, Eric, Muller's old partner, six years his senior. His gunnery skills had saved them many times, although his bad temper had also caused a lot of trouble. But in battle, he was a walking reassurance. After all, if a battle-hardened veteran who had seen many strange and terrifying things could still grumble as usual, what was there to fear?

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Immediately afterward, a young and sharp voice came from the front of the vehicle.

"Why are we wasting time here?"

The driver, Merriweather, was Muller's cousin. Originally, he should have been able to serve as a vehicle commander, but Muller's mother was really worried about this impetuous nephew, so she forced him to stay by Muller's side to learn and gain experience for five years. Now it was the third year.

"Cousin, we should rush over and crush those green pests instead of lining up here."

Before Muller could answer, Eric replied first:

"Young man, that's because a whole bunch of youngsters have rushed ahead of you to shed blood and sweat on the battlefield."

Merriweather sighed in frustration, leaned back in the springy seat, crossed his arms, and frowned.

"Fighting these green things is much more interesting than fighting bugs. If we miss this, I don't know how long we'll have to wait."

Muller shook his head and continued to watch the screen. The distant battlefield was filled with smoke, and the thunder rumbled low and deep. The roar of heavy artillery and the strange screech of rockets mixed together, carried by the wind.

Suddenly, a squadron of Mechanicus ornithopters roared past the armored regiment, their flapping wings stirring up clouds of dust and gas on the desolate wasteland. These ornithopters would approach the enemy and strafe the dense enemy forces.

But just as they were about to disappear from Muller's sight, two of them suddenly exploded, and another had its wing hit, causing the fuselage to spin.

Muller held his breath, watching the lone ornithopter rise and fall in the air, turning, diving, sometimes about to plunge into the ruthless earth, and sometimes desperately climbing upward.

Obviously, the pilot wanted to land the plane safely. Muller calculated the distance and route of the ornithopter and felt that its chances were very slim.

But without a doubt, the sudden attack proved that the Orks were not far away; they had been driven here by the bombing.

Those three ornithopters were for reconnaissance. Although they didn't send a message, their condition was already a signal.

Finally, Muller watched it gracefully spin downward, falling into the billowing wasteland dust and being swallowed by the vast earth.

Beep beep!

Suddenly, an urgent bell rang, and Muller saw the bright red signal on the screen!

Attack!

"Third Company! Follow the planned direction, assault formation!"

Muller's roar carried a trembling excitement. Then, the gears that had been ready to go began to turn, the engine roared and vibrated, like the roar of a beast. Plumes of exhaust spewed from the exhaust pipes, and the sides of the vehicle emitted a roar like stone and copper colliding.

As the Fellglaive tank charged forward, Merriweather had already begun to roar.

"Come on, come on! Ork beasts, let me crush you!"

Soon, the engine was boosted to maximum power, driving the silver steel predator forward, relentlessly charging across the desolate land.

It was a monster, a solid, heavy, and incomparably powerful behemoth, rushing toward its panicked prey in this desolate land full of death and despair.

Soon, the scattered and dense footsteps and the roars of various crude machines could be faintly heard, and the tank regiment had already spread out its wide front. According to the attack plan, the first echelon was the fastest reconnaissance company, mainly Tauros Assault Vehicles. Three tank battalions would form a forward triangular formation, with the marching formation having a major axis of about 15km.

Behind them, Chimera armored vehicles were deployed on the flanks, adopting a diagonal formation. The left-wing brigade deployed a left diagonal line, the right-wing brigade deployed a right diagonal line, and together with the spearhead in front, they covered the infantry battalion and self-propelled artillery in the middle.

Soon, they passed the burning wreckage of the ornithopter, and they could still see the pilot hanging in the cockpit, all flesh and blood consumed by the flames.

And in the vaguely diffused wind and sand ahead, ghostly shadows swayed.

The off-road vehicles began to fire and report the scale and number of enemies. Many, very many, there were vehicles, mostly motorcycles and trucks, and many infantry.

As the reconnaissance company turned to the flanks, the tanks were about to face the target head-on.

Muller stared intently at the observation mirror. He could already hear the roars of those beasts, and—

Suddenly, a yellow-black, intertwined figure appeared in his vision.

The next moment, gunfire echoed in the air, and bullets pierced the earth, tearing apart those crude green creatures.

Howls rang out from the group of creatures. They didn't seem to realize what was attacking them. After all, the distance between the two was seven or eight hundred meters, but the gunfire warmed Muller's marrow, like a intoxicating glass of fine wine.

"Hahaha! Kill these bastards!"

Eric was still controlling the coaxial autocannon, firing continuously, excitedly pouring out firepower, his cheeks seemingly twitching because of the laughing expression.

Here was a plain, and the Orks had nowhere to hide, they could only await their deaths.

But Muller saw something.

"Enemy armor detected, Eric, 3 o'clock! High-explosive armor-piercing rounds!"

It was a truck pieced together from who knows what, the front of the car was an ugly monster face, and it was also equipped with two cannons of different calibers, constantly firing at the silver Fellglaive tank group. Dozens of Orks were standing in the back of the truck, firing machine guns in their hands aimlessly at the 2nd Regiment's armored spearhead. Some of them also launched rockets, but their accuracy was very poor.

"Roger! High-explosive armor-piercing rounds!"

As the order was issued, the rotary automatic loader stuffed the required ammunition into the gun mount. The whole process took only a few seconds. When Muller was a child, he heard his grandfather tell stories. At that time, they drove super bulky Macardo tanks. There were five or six people in the car, because it was manual loading, there had to be two loaders, and a co-gunner. The whole car cabin was particularly lively when fighting, so the most important thing for the car commander at that time was to have a loud voice, otherwise others might not hear what he was saying. And the loader was the most tiring job, having to constantly move heavy shells. It was common for the two loaders to strain their arm muscles after a battle, so the loading efficiency would decline very quickly during continuous operations.