Chapter 38: The Slaughter

Ghana, a coastal city nestled within the southern hemisphere of Oronia III, was a place defined by its sweltering, rain-swept climate and the dense, unbroken tropical rainforest that loomed behind it. Blessed with breathtaking vistas, it had long served as a prime destination for holidaymakers and sightseers.

With a population hovering around two million, the majority of its citizens derived their livelihoods from the service sector or shipbuilding industries, bolstered by a thriving commercial fishery.

For those who called it home, Ghana provided everything a modern citizenry could ever require, everything, that is, except for adequate military defense.

Explosions blossomed across the cityscape like a cascade of morbid fireworks, unleashing thick, billowing plumes of black smoke that choked out half the sky. Beneath that burning shroud, the air grew thick with the desperate weeping and agonizing shrieks of the dying.

Viewed from high above, the invasion resembled several wide, emerald torrents converging upon Ghana's central districts. Wherever these tributaries broke through, they left a wake of utter devastation, detonations, and raging infernos.

A panicked crowd of civilians sprinted blindly past burning motor-vehicles, overturned refuse bins, and shattered storefronts, fleeing for their lives from the monstrous horrors snapping at their heels.

Hounding them from behind was a surging green wave of Grotz, Snotlings, Squigs, and Ork Boyz. They bellowed with guttural laughter and bloodthirsty glee; whenever a civilian stumbled or fell behind, they were instantly swallowed by the emerald tide, torn apart until not even a scrap remained.

The refugees scrambled around a street corner, the Orks hot on their trail, only to be met by a roaring volley of fire as a hail of las-blasts, autocannon shells, and heavy stubber rounds cut down the vanguard of the horde in droves.

Ghana's meager garrison had hastily formed a defensive line, successfully anchoring themselves against the green onslaught.

These mortal Planetary Defense Forces roared in defiance as they held down their triggers, desperate to buy enough time for the unarmed populace to escape.

"Die, you green bastards! Die!" a heavy stubber gunner screamed hysterically, his voice cracking under the strain.

How dared these primitive monsters, armed with nothing but crude blades and axes, assault a civilized world of Mankind?

Watching his heavy weapon riddle the xenos fiends with holes and tear them to shreds, the gunner felt his terror warp into a righteous fury. To him, these greenskins were nothing but savage bullies who preyed on the defenseless, utterly pathetic when brought face-to-face with the iron and fire of the Imperium.

Determined to vent their sheer terror through the barrels of their weapons, every human soldier poured continuous fire into the street, burying the approaching Orks beneath an avalanche of lead and high explosives.

The devastating fire saturation maintained its punishing rhythm for over ten minutes, ceasing only when thick, acrid smoke completely choked out the thoroughfare and a heavy silence descended.

"Hahaha… ha…"

Across the defensive line, several soldiers broke into breathless, breathless laughter. The frantic adrenaline rush had kept them pinned to their triggers, and seeing the massive toll they had exacted made them believe these barbaric Orks were not so formidable after all.

Thud… Thud… Thud…

A series of heavy, deliberate footsteps resonated through the air, striking the soldiers' chests like iron drumbeats. Something massive was moving inside the smog.

Every eye on the line locked onto the source of the sound. A towering monstrosity stepped slowly out of the haze, the dull, vibrating thuds produced by his massive boots cracking the pavement beneath him.

"By the Emperor… Throne preserve us… what is that thing…?" a guardsman stammered, his mind reeling at the sight.

Standing nearly four meters tall, the giant was clad in a ramshackle suit of heavy, bolted-together iron plates. In one hand, he hefted a colossal, blood-drenched choppa; the other terminated in a vicious, mechanized power claw. Only his massive, brutal green head identified him as an Ork, and his bloodshot, crimson eyes were locked onto the human line with pure, predatory malice.

The mortal soldiers had never encountered an Ork of such terrifying proportions. A collective dread gripped their hearts, and the moment a single, panicked shriek broke the silence, the entire line opened fire.

Lasgun power packs were emptied and swapped in a frantic frenzy, while the barrels of the heavy stubbers and autocannons glowed a dangerous, incandescent red. Consumed by blind terror, the human soldiers could no longer control themselves; they simply dumped ammunition into the smoke, desperately trying to claw back a sense of security through overwhelming noise.

They fired blindly for what felt like an eternity, stopping only when their weapons began to catastrophically overheat, forcing them to vent the barrels before they could resume.

Surely, under such a devastating concentrated barrage, even a monster of that scale would be reduced to paste. Every breathless soldier harbored that desperate hope.

An instant later, that hope was violently shattered.

A massive silhouette erupted through the smoke screen left by the second barrage, hurtling forward with the momentum of a runaway freight train. It slammed directly into the makeshift barricades the soldiers had erected.

The sheer impact launched massive chunks of masonry, fractured concrete, broken weapons, and violently dismembered corpses high into the air.

"Dat ol ya got?" Ironklaw sneered, his voice a deep, mocking rumble.

He raised his massive choppa high with his right hand and brought it down in a brutal, sweeping arc. Beneath the rusted blade, flesh and metal alike were sheared completely in two, painting the shattered concrete with a wide, crimson arc of arterial spray.

The lone surviving heavy weapons team frantically swung the barrel of their autocannon around. Though paralyzed with fear, the crew tried desperately to lead their target, praying that their heavy ordnance might still bring the behemoth down.

"Hmph!"

Ironklaw let out a dismissive grunt, smashing the entire heavy weapons emplacement into a mangled heap of scrap metal and crushed bone with a single backhand from his power claw.

He swung his choppa once more, reaping a squad of human soldiers like wheat in a field, before losing interest entirely.

These humies were simply too weak. The gap between these planetary softies and the disciplined soldiers he had fought aboard the warships was night and day; his Boyz could have overrun this position through sheer weight of numbers, completely bare-handed, without him ever needing to draw a weapon.

Most of the humies in this city didn't even have the stomach to fight back, and the ones who did were only capable of dis? Ironklaw cast a bored glance at the fleeing, utterly broken human survivors.

Their lasguns hit his armor like cheap flashlights, producing nothing more than a faint prickle of heat. The heavy machine guns stung a bit more, but it was nothing he couldn't shrug off. That autocannon had decent punch, sure, but as long as he tucked his chin and protected his face, the damage wasn't even close to fatal.

Thinking of this, Ironklaw felt a dull, localized throbbing in his skull. He reached up with a massive finger, clawed at his forehead, and dug out a flattened autocannon shell that had failed to penetrate his thick cranium.

It had still hurt enough to annoy him. Grunting in irritation, he hurled the spent shell down the street, flattening a cluster of retreating human soldiers like bowling pins.

A screaming mob of greenskins surged out from behind Ironklaw, cackling wildly as they began to hunt down and butcher the routed troops.

Ironklaw turned his back on the slaughter and began to walk away. He had no desire to partake in this; pathetic enemies bored him to tears. Things had been so much better back when he was following Boss Sneaky. Fighting those humies had been a proper skrap, some of them would even pull the pins on their grenades and jump straight into his arms just to blow him up.

And it wasn't just humies either; they got to fight the bugs too. Fighting bugs was proper fun. Getting surrounded by dozens of them at once meant his klaw always had plenty of blood to drink.

But wait… did Boss Sneaky give him a specific job to do here, or had he just forgotten it?

Come to think of it, back on the ship, Boss Sneaky had basically just shoved him and his lads into a drop-craft and kicked them out without saying much else.

Ah, watevva, forget it, he thought. If dere'z humies in front uv ya, ya krump 'em. Simple as.

A piercing shriek tore through the sky as several human aircraft streaked overhead. The payload of high explosives and incendiary bombs they dropped instantly ignited the entire street, incinerating a dozen Ork Boyz and leaving Ironklaw covered from head to toe in soot and ash.

"WAAAGH!!" Ironklaw roared in fury, shaking his fist at the retreating iron birds, utterly enraged by his inability to fly up and rip them apart.

Stupid humies wiv dere weird sky-wagons. I'ze pay 'em back fer dat layta.

As for the losses his Boyz had sustained, it hardly mattered. This world was warm and wet, and the surrounding jungle was thick enough that new Boyz were wandering out of the brush every single day after getting lost.

In fact, the jungle was practically spitting out Grotz and Squigs by the hour. As the thought of those lesser critters crossed his mind, the gears in Ironklaw's massive brain finally clicked into place.

He remembered exactly why they had marched on the humie city in the first place.