By the end of the third day, Luna stood on the bridge, staring at the holographic projection. Two full days had passed without a single sign of a Greenskin offensive.
"Is the rumor not spreading fast enough?" Barton asked, his brow furrowed.
"Perhaps..." Wood hesitated, "they need more time to process the information?"
Luna remained silent. She didn't doubt the feasibility of the plan provided by her "Crouching Dragon and Fledgling Phoenix," but time was running out. The damnable Raynor could arrive at any moment, and the pressure was mounting.
"Increase the intensity!" Left with no choice, she could only try to force the pace.
In the middle of the night on the fourth day, as Luna stared blankly at the space station, an ominous premonition suddenly surged in her heart. For a Champion Sorcerer of Tzeentch, a premonition was no longer a vague feeling but a tangible warning.
Sure enough, the next second, a piercing alarm shrieked through the ship.
"Enemy attack!!!"
Luna spun around, eyes locked onto the radar screen. A massive blip was rapidly approaching from the direction of Karl-2. Its size was more than twice that of the five-kilometer-long Measure of Discipline.
"What is that?!"
No one could answer her. They had never seen anything like it.
It was a warship, constructed in a heavy wasteland-punk style. Its armor was primarily purple, and its length exceeded ten kilometers—more than twice that of the Measure of Discipline. Someone finally recognized its classification: an ultra-gigantic Greenskin Battle Barge.
It resembled a rampaging iron coffin. At its prow was the likeness of a massive horned Ork, with a pair of ridiculously oversized horns serving as a battering ram. Its broadsides were densely lined with hand-crafted weaponry: cannons, missiles, laser batteries, and gadgets that defied naming. Orange-green flames erupted from its stern, trailing a long wake across the void.
The vessel appeared as if it possessed warp-shunting capabilities, abruptly manifesting right beside the Measure of Discipline. Barton now realized what was happening—purple represented "sneaky" or "invisible" in Greenskin culture. But the realization was useless; the enemy was already in their face.
Several Sword-class frigates moved to block its path. Blue void shields intersected with the green power field of the giant Greenskin ship. There was no explosion or impact, only the mutual interference and melting of energy fields. The frigates' void shields dissolved rapidly, like ice meeting a roaring furnace.
The massive battering ram followed immediately. Three frigates were struck head-on. One was sent spinning into the distance. The other two unlucky ships were gored directly by the horns; their hulls snapped in the middle and detonated into twin fireballs.
The giant warship continued its advance, aiming straight for the Measure of Discipline. Luna watched the approaching titan, feeling utterly helpless. She wanted to act, but every option felt futile.
BOOM!
The ram slammed into the flank of the Measure of Discipline. The moment the green power field touched the blue void shields, the entire bridge shuddered. A piercing alarm tore through everyone's eardrums as the data screens flickered wildly.
"Void shield energy dropping! 87%... 65%... 43%... 31%!"
In less than a minute, the energy had plummeted by fifty-six percentage points. It had taken the Measure of Discipline over ten days to accumulate that 30% reserve. The ship groaned under the weight of the assault like prey caught in the jaws of a beast. The lighting flickered and nearly died.
Luna steadied herself against a console, gasping for air. Before she could react, more alarms went off. Behind the giant warship, more and more Greenskin vessels appeared. There were at least five cruiser-class ships and over thirty frigates. Countless small ram-ships and shuttles swarmed like a cloud of bloodthirsty hornets.
Their paint schemes varied—yellow and black, blue, red—all mixed together. Their numbers far exceeded the Greenskin forces Luna had previously crushed. Moreover, their weaponry was noticeably more advanced. The common, inaccurate scrap cannons were gone, replaced by crude but massive batteries, missile racks, and laser emitters of unknown design. While their accuracy and power were still poor compared to Imperial standards, they were ten times better than before. They were now capable of trading blows with Luna's fleet through sheer numerical advantage.
A thought flashed through Luna's mind: the power of "Waaagh!"
Having seen the powerful weapons and equipment of the Imperial fleet, the Greenskins were using their exaggerated mimicry and special energy fields to rapidly climb the technological ladder to match their foes. Raynor's words suddenly echoed in Luna's mind; she gritted her teeth in frustration.
Two Moon-class cruisers led the escort groups in a counterattack. Main batteries roared, and beams of light interlaced in the starry sky. But these Greenskin ships were no longer easily destroyed. They maneuvered while returning fire, using their numbers to keep Luna's fleet occupied. The frigates fought desperately to intercept the ram-shuttles, but there were simply too many.
The broadside lances of the Moon-class cruisers opened fire. Thick beams of light tore through the darkness, shattering one Greenskin ship after another. But the Greenskin fleet was just like their race—the more they fought, the more they appeared, and the bolder they became.
Luna stood on the bridge, staring blankly at the carnage.
"My Lady!" her adjutant rushed over. "We must retreat! Now!"
She let out a final sigh and followed the adjutant away from the bridge. No one believed the Measure of Discipline could emerge from this ambush unscathed.
What Luna didn't know was that the very Greenskin she had been obsessed with was currently standing on the bridge of that giant warship.
Ironclaw Chandler.
He grinned wickedly, watching her ship being torn apart bit by bit. Chandler knew exactly what these humies were planning, but they never could have guessed his method of attack.
Ironclaw Chandler's Waaagh! could drastically enhance the effects of the "graffiti" on his war machines. This time, he had chosen purple, which meant "invisible" in Greenskin society. Amplified by the Waaagh! field, it had successfully bypassed both radar and the psychic detection of the Tzeentchian cultists. He had approached the Measure of Discipline silently to launch this fatal strike.
The ship was named the Mad Bull. It was Ironclaw Chandler's proudest creation. It had taken him exactly one year and two and a half months to cobble it together from three scrapped Imperial freighters, two captured frigates, and countless parts salvaged from scrap heaps.
The design followed no blueprints; it was entirely the result of Chandler's "flashes of inspiration" and his Mekboyz' "thinkin'." Its weapon systems were a mess—the main guns frequently jammed—and its endurance was pathetic, requiring refueling after only three hours of full-speed flight.
But it had one advantage that no Imperial ship could match: it was big, it was hard, and it was stompier than anything else!
It was over ten kilometers long, with armor thickness measured in meters. Its prow featured a massive pair of bull horns smelted from an entire decommissioned small space station. Its engines were modified to run only at full power—there was no middle ground; it either didn't move or it charged like a mad bull.
Standing on the bridge of the Mad Bull, Chandler bared his teeth in a savage grin as he looked at the Imperial cruiser he had gored.
____________
Nice Ork name, CHANDLER! LMAO!