Redeye's roar was like a drop of water in boiling oil, instantly igniting the entire ork tribe's frenzy.
Chaos no longer existed; it was replaced by a more terrifying, purer collective will. Fear was completely purged from their genes, and every Green Skin Kid's brain was occupied by the same thought—charge, tear apart, WAAAGH!
They reorganized their charging formation, roaring the battle cry that represented everything about their race, and then strode forward, directly charging into the deadly minefield.
"Bang!"
A Green Skin Kid at the very front was blown to pieces by a landmine.
However, his companions behind him didn't pause for a second, nor did they spare a glance at the mangled remains. He stepped directly on his comrade's warm corpse and continued to charge forward.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Landmines exploded one after another, each blast meaning several orks were blown into the sky. Artillery shells still whistled down above their heads, flipping over swathes of orks along with the sand beneath their feet.
But this could not stop the green torrent. They ignored the scenes of their comrades dying tragically around them, stepping on the mangled, still-twitching corpses, carving out a safe passage paved with flesh and blood through the minefield.
In the relatively safe regimental command post further back, Joker saw all of this clearly through high-magnification binoculars. He slowly lowered the binoculars, the lenses seemingly still holding the reflection of the bloody battlefield.
Joker couldn't help but exclaim, "Now I understand why orks often sweep across a planet instead of being stifled in their savage era… It's a truly astonishing sight. Are they really living creatures?"
"Can we hold them?" Archer, standing beside him, asked.
"There's a reason why cavalry charges were rendered obsolete by Maxim machine guns in World War I," Joker replied, his tone returning to his usual calm and confident demeanor. "If they only charge mindlessly like this, they will absolutely not break through my defenses."
He paused, his brows furrowing tightly: "...But I just saw something that makes me very uneasy."
The artillery fire never ceased, tons of steel and flames pouring down on the orks' charging route every second. But this fanatical green wave still brute-forced its way through the deadly minefield.
In the deeper darkness, two inconspicuous flashes of fire flickered and died. These were the forward reconnaissance outposts that had been set up earlier. Unable to resist the surging tide of orks that surrounded them, they resolutely detonated their explosives. However, this small sound and flash of light went completely unnoticed in the deafening main battlefield, quickly fading into the cold night.
The orks quickly reached the dune ridge. Just as Joker expected, their appearing position was perfectly covered by the pre-set heavy stubber's firing arc. The crossfire from both flanks instantly wove a steel scythe of death, the heavy projectiles tearing through the air with a grating roar.
No matter how many orks charged up the dune with roars, they would be torn to shreds by this barrage the moment they showed their heads. Green flesh and shattered armor plates splattered everywhere, and corpses piled up on the top of the dune, only to be trampled underfoot by their subsequent companions.
However, facing this seemingly insurmountable steel barrier, Redeye was unconcerned, even a savage grin appearing on his huge face. If the enemy truly believed orks only knew how to charge mindlessly, then they were sorely mistaken.
He suddenly raised his steel gauntlet and issued a loud command: "Painboys, deploy the Squiggs!"
At his command, some boyz carrying various oddly shaped metal components, under the direction of several specialist technicians called "Painboys," frantically assembled the parts in their hands.
They slammed them with mallets, twisted them with wrenches, and amidst the grating sound of metal friction, quickly erected several crude machines resembling medieval catapults behind the front line.
The Painboys grunted and heaved, carrying one constantly shaking wooden crate after another up and placing them on the launch arms. At a command, the operating Green Skin Kid cut the ropes, made from the Squigg tendons of some huge creature, with a choppa. The launch arm sprang up violently, sending the wooden crates whistling through the air.
The accuracy of these launchers was extremely poor, or rather, the orks hadn't aimed at all. Most of the wooden crates flew in ridiculous parabolas, landing far away on empty sand and shattering into pieces.
But unfortunately, one wooden crate, by sheer coincidence, landed right in the center of a heavy stubber position.
With a "bang," the wooden crate, damaged by the violent impact, shattered into pieces. From it, hundreds, even thousands, of bee-sized, winged Squiggs suddenly swarmed out! They emitted an ear-splitting buzz, revealing their needle-like sharp teeth, and like a black cloud, charged directly into the machine gun position.
"What the hell is that?!"
Although many players realized something was wrong the moment the wooden crate landed and immediately aimed their guns, laser guns and automatic rifles clearly couldn't stop such targets.
The dense firepower successfully shot down dozens in the air, but more Squiggs had already swarmed in. The players only had time to let out one or two screams before being completely overwhelmed by the swarming Squiggs, gnawed down to bloody bones within seconds.
This heavy stubber, which had roared for so long, thus came to an abrupt halt. And these Squiggs were not satisfied; after clearing this position, they immediately buzzed and spread to other trenches.
"Flamethrowers! Flamethrowers!" The Platoon Leader guarding this position, seeing a breach about to appear in the defense line, roared hoarsely.
A waiting Promethium flamethrower trooper didn't hesitate, striding quickly to the breach and pulling the trigger. Viscous flames, like a fire dragon, instantly covered the entire trench section. Although the surging flames also incinerated a dozen players who hadn't had time to dodge, at least they quickly cleared out those deadly flying Squiggs.
From the Squiggs landing to being dealt with by the flames, the entire process took less than two minutes.
However, this two-minute loss of heavy stubber firepower was enough to affect many things. For example, groups of ork beastmen successfully rushed forward dozens of meters. And the Stikkbomb throwers among the orks, finally using the cover of their comrades' corpses, entered throwing range.
They shrieked, vigorously throwing the crude but powerful Stikkbombs in their hands.
A dozen Stikkbombs arced through the air, accurately or inaccurately, smashing into the position that had just been cleansed by fire. The violent explosions sent the silent heavy stubber and the players who had just jumped back into the trench flying into the sky.
—Although in the chaos, a dozen Stikkbomb throwers on the ork side also exploded with their dying words "Oops, I threw it wrong," sending themselves and their nearby comrades to meet Gork and Mork prematurely, overall, in this brief engagement, the players were still slightly at a disadvantage.