Chapter 8 Bloody signs of things to come

Here's the translation of your Warhammer 40k fanfic from Russian to English, preserving the swearing and the unique speech patterns of the factions:

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- Death to the xenos! A good ork is a dead ork! Burn, you bastards! – The joyous cries of the surviving citizens of Hell's Reach echoed through the air, thick with the smell of gunpowder and charred flesh.

Many of those celebrating the victory wept, unable to comprehend that they were still alive. Having resigned themselves to certain doom, these people could hardly believe that death had passed them by this time.

However, the joy of victory soon began to dissipate, and the more attention was drawn to the retreating legions of the minor crusade, the faster it faded.

Though the appearance of their saviors was horrifying and their manners repulsive, they were, firstly, human, and secondly, they killed xenos – for many, that was enough to forgive most of their sins.

Nevertheless, the fact that the saviors showed no intention of stopping was rather unusual, and when it became clear that the battle with the orks was far from over, many expressed a grim desire to join what they believed to be their final march.

Why the final one?

Well, though the orbital strikes from the free traders had reduced the number of stompas, some still remained, and even after the defeat in the city, the number of orks outside its walls still far exceeded that of the humans.

Attempting to break out of the breached defenses of the hive to attack the orks in open terrain was tantamount to voluntary suicide under the heavy choppas of the greenskins.

But these people had already stared into the abyss and found nothing terrifying about looking into it once more.

And after Servius Blake's order, there were few who feared joining the fighters heading out.

It's also worth mentioning that though the citizens of Hell's Reach had been on the defensive, they hadn't been idly blowing up their warehouses and garages.

Armageddon is one of the largest industrial planets, and as such, any of its hive cities had a plethora of various vehicles, which were now being hastily rolled out.

Of course, most were either unfueled or prepped for shipment, but some of the citizens of Hell's Reach had managed to get a few running. A significant portion of these were the most popular vehicles of the human army – Chimeras.

Simple and reliable infantry transport vehicles, they could carry up to twelve crew members, and in the event of combat, they could support disembarked troops with heavy bolters or multilasers.

Among the numerous Chimeras heading towards the hive's exit, here and there one could spot Leman Russ tanks, the most mass-produced tanks of the Imperium. It was clear that their crews left much to be desired, but if necessary, they could still fire at the enemy.

Yet, the eyes of the thousands gathered were inevitably drawn to the tall human figure standing atop the "cherry" of Hell's Reach's warehouses – a machine that would have been immediately destroyed if there was any risk of it falling into ork hands.

No one knew exactly how it had ended up in Hell's Reach. The few who had dealt with the manifests simply shrugged, muttering something about a strange, suspicious coincidence.

As if one of the free traders who had arrived in this world had accidentally offloaded the wrong tank.

Though obviously, those who dared to slander the proud free trader were blatantly lying, for how could a trader who would strangle someone for a single throne make such a grave mistake?

But let's return to the machine that drew the eyes of all the soldiers rushing towards the city's exit.

Rolling proudly through the ruined streets of Hell's Reach was a genuine Baneblade, a super-heavy tank of multi-turreted design. A versatile, multi-purpose machine capable of effectively engaging infantry, lightly armored and heavily armored targets, fortifications, and even low-flying aircraft.

The targeting and fire control systems of the Baneblade were so efficient that it could engage multiple targets in different directions simultaneously.

And standing atop it, holding onto a special railing, was the one whose fame was already beginning to spread across the poisoned surface of this planet.

The Saint's gaze fearlessly looked forward, filling his troops with an unquenchable thirst for battle.

If the Saint of the Emperor Himself was with them, who could possibly dare to stand against them?

Meanwhile, the ork boss, Gurzhok Crooked Tooth, watched in disbelief as more and more "humies" poured out of the hive.

To be honest, Gurzhok had been a bit scared when he saw the landing of troops inside the hive. To clarify, Crooked Tooth wasn't afraid of the increased number of humans, but rather that with the garrison reinforced, he wouldn't be able to take Hell's Reach as quickly as planned.

And if he couldn't take Hell's Reach, he'd have to answer to Ghazghkull himself. And if there was one thing Gurzhok feared, it was his nightmarish leader.

Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka – that name had become a true legend among the orks. His title, "Prophet of Gork and Mork," was rumored to be more than just a nickname. Guided by the whispering voices in his bullet-riddled, bionic-enhanced head, Ghazghkull hurled countless hordes of the relentless ork WAAAGH! from one star system to another.

Among his significant victories were the crushing of the defenders of the Seven Systems, the sacking of the forge world Dynostikus V, and the annihilation of the Astral Drakes Chapter to the last man.

And the list of lesser-known worlds he'd pillaged and destroyed was long indeed.

If you served under an ork like Mag Uruk Thraka, you inevitably had to live up to his high standards, which meant you were either successful or dead.

And Crooked Tooth very much wanted to live, to continue waging war across the farthest reaches of the galaxy.

That's why Gurzhok was incredibly pleased with this gift. He even felt a fleeting respect for the leader of the "humies." Instead of hiding behind the walls like a grot, he'd come out for a proper scrap.

That's why Gurzhok didn't immediately attack the scattered human forces, even though he had the opportunity. Crooked Tooth allowed them to fully exit the walls and form up opposite his own horde. And for his part, Gurzhok made sure his forces looked as impressive as possible. He personally positioned the few remaining stompas evenly across the battlefield to make them look more intimidating.

Gurzhok had no doubt about his ability to crush such a number of humans. However, if he struck now, he'd gain little glory.

But if he let them form up, his victory would be far more impressive. Of course, this wouldn't allow Crooked Tooth to replace Ghazghkull, but he could certainly vie for the position of his right-hand ork.

The two armies stared each other down across the barren, scorched wasteland, poisoned by chemicals, fire, and war, ready to charge at the slightest command from their leaders.

Let's turn our attention to the heart of the human formation.

- My lord, we're not sure this is your best decision! – The general comms link between Stanislav and his generals with Konstantin practically trembled with pleading requests from his aides to reconsider. – Yes, leading the charge personally will undoubtedly boost the army's morale, but what if something happens to you…

The generals themselves wisely remained in the hive, commanding the troops from there.

- Enough! – the Saint sharply ordered, his gaze dark and distrustful as he scrutinized the ork army in the distance. He seemed to be calculating something in his mind, refusing to let himself be swayed by hope. – This is the best opportunity, and I won't pass it up. Order the advance, for I've longed for this day and this battle for too long.

Having said his piece, Stanislav gave the order, and the massive super-heavy tank, roaring with multiple engines, slowly surged forward, breaking away from the Imperial formation.

Seeing their leader, a wave of excitement and triumph swept through the ranks of the crusade.

His subordinates had to urgently issue the attack order to prevent their leader from charging the enemy army alone.

At the same time, respectful exclamations rose from the ork horde. Using their advanced optics, the nobz commanding the army, as well as Crooked Tooth himself, couldn't help but notice the desperate bravery of the enemy boss.

To want a proper fight so badly that you'd charge ahead of your entire army. And none of the orks doubted that the leader of the humans stood atop the largest machine.

- That humie's almost like a proper ork, – Gurzhok sighed regretfully. If he were a couple of decades younger, he might have charged forward himself to personally take on this little human, but now he could only give one order. – Hey boyz, let's fill that brave humie with dakka!

Then, switching to the general comms, he finally gave the order his entire being had been craving.

- All of ya, charge! Waaagh! Smash their 'eads! Break an' eat their bones! For Gork and Mork! WAAAGH!!!

- WAAAGH!!! – hundreds of thousands of orks immediately roared, charging forward. Behind them, the massive stompas lumbered heavily, their guns turning and aiming at the tank leading the charge.

The heavy gatling barrels spun with a metallic whine, the heavy laser cannons hummed as they charged, and the rocket launchers clicked as they switched to armor-piercing rounds.

The massive guns of the stompas were ready to reduce the brave machine and the man standing atop it to dust when it became clear that the humans had other plans besides a head-on assault.

Breaking through the low-hanging clouds, the sleek, silver forms of Voidfighters descended. Ork aircraft scrambled to intercept, but there were too few of them.

Several stompas staggered and smoked from direct hits from the fighters' missiles and lasers.

However, not all of the gargants were hit; some continued to aim at the human tank!

Crunch! – When one of the stompas' massive feet came down on the blackened earth, the ground gave a hollow crack and collapsed, dragging the giant machine down with it.

Beneath the surface lay an abandoned warehouse, and its roof chose this moment to give way.

But the stompa's troubles didn't end there, for as it fell, the ork gunner pulled the trigger.

The stompa's heavy laser cannon, dragged by gravity, twisted awkwardly, sending the shot wildly off course. Flying over the ork army, it sizzled into the side of a second stompa, right under its chainsaw limb.

Though ork gargants are famously resilient, the gretchin working on this one had been a bit lazy, welding on a patch of subpar steel.

The supercharged laser shot easily burned through the old patch, pierced the nuclear reactor core, and exited the other side of the stompa, traveling several hundred meters further to strike the head of another gargant, frying the mek inside and jamming its controls.

The ancient warehouse roof finally gave way, and the multi-ton ork machine tumbled down, dragging dozens of heavy concrete chunks with it. The ork ranks were thrown into disarray as one gargant exploded and the other, stumbling, toppled forward like a statue.

Before Crooked Tooth could process the sudden loss of most of his remaining stompas, the humans reached the ork lines and unleashed a devastating barrage from everything that could fire. The orks, not to be outdone, returned fire with all the dakka they had.

Two walls of lead, explosions, and lasers collided and pushed into each other as the two screaming armies finally clashed.

The whirring teeth of chainsaws and the thunder of heavy stubbers filled the air. Green ork blood mixed with red, creating a brownish-yellow mess on the black, ashen soil of Armageddon.

From above, shuttles armed with whatever weapons they had joined the fray.

Scattered orbital strikes slammed into the ork horde once more. Though hundreds of orks were incinerated in the bombardment, the green tide seemed undiminished.

And at the forefront of this madness, crushing any orks foolish enough to charge it, rolled the Baneblade. Its main cannon obliterated any ork vehicle in its sights, while the heavy twin-linked side lasers carved swathes through the seething green sea.

Hundreds of thousands of stubber rounds from ork weapons clattered harmlessly against the tank's heavy armor, but while the armor could withstand such punishment, human flesh, even encased in power armor, would have been turned to paste.

Yet, under the admiring gazes of his soldiers, the Saint didn't even think of taking cover. Standing atop the tank, he calmly shot down any orks trying to climb the armor, utterly ignoring the ricocheting bullets around him.

Such fearlessness couldn't go unnoticed by the orks.

Gurzhok, now riding his own ork tank, turned his bloodshot eyes to the still-living enemy general. The ork's maw stretched into a wide grin.

- Hey, driver! Head for that tank! I really wanna scrap with their boss! Bet our fight'll be legendary and please Gork and Mork!

The ork mek inside the tank mirrored his boss's grin and immediately steered the heavy machine towards the Baneblade. Gretchin on top cheered, but the orks ignored them as usual.

The ork tank was a multi-platform monstrosity, with guns, machine guns, and flamethrowers sticking out in every direction.

The entire contraption roared, clanked, and fired without pause. But the most noise came from the heavy, spiked roller at the front, which effortlessly crushed anything foolish enough to get in its way.

Noticing the ork tank charging towards him, Stanislav ordered the Baneblade's commander to meet it head-on. Whatever the tank commander thought at that moment, he obeyed without question.

Bouncing over craters and shuddering from enemy hits, both machines desperately fired at each other, missing again and again.

Grinning, Crooked Tooth climbed onto the armor, ready to face the "humie" boss standing atop his tank. The leaders' power armor was enough to keep them steady during the collision, and both tanks were too massive to be destroyed instantly.

Imagining how glorious their battle would be, Gurzhok didn't immediately notice the seemingly sturdy railing he'd been holding onto silently break off, leaving only a piece in his power claw.

Huh? – Gurzhok muttered in disbelief as he fell from the top of the tank.

Crunch– went the mega-armor as Gurzhok collided with the tank's lower structure.

Splat – went the gretchin as the still-falling Gurzhok landed on him, leaving only a red smear on the armor.

Rrrrr – went the tank's treads as they rolled over the great and terrible boss of a four-hundred-thousand-strong ork horde.

- Boss? – the mekboy cautiously asked, sticking his head out of the hatch, refusing to believe what he thought he'd heard. – Boss, you alive down there?

The answer came from the gretchin manning the small guns. Having witnessed the stupid and inglorious death of their boss, the green runts let out a wild screech, loud enough to be heard by orks outside the tank.

- Boss is dead! Proper dead! Deader than dead! Run for your lives!

And in that instant, the terrible news spread like wildfire.

If the greenskins had previously paid little attention to the bombs exploding among them, the burning lasers of orbital strikes, and the endless hail of human bullets and shells, the death of their leader changed everything.

The energy of the WAAAGH! that had been swirling around them began to dissipate, and the orks wavered. Leaderless, some of the mobs turned and fled, and seeing them, others quickly joined, triggering a chain reaction of mass retreat.

The human forces were battered but didn't deny themselves the pleasure of pursuing and shooting the fleeing xenos in the back.

And though the lone figure on the Baneblade cursed up a storm and ordered the ork tank to return, the latter, having turned around and picked up speed, quickly fled the scene.

Stanislav didn't yet know that the mekboy driving the boss's tank, upon returning to Ghazghkull, would concoct a colorful tale of the brave human general and the late Crooked Tooth's epic duel to justify their shameful failure.

After all, finding new gretchin was easier than explaining to the mighty warboss that you'd accidentally squashed one of his big bosses.

The story of the unknown mek would spread far and wide among the orks of the galaxy, and they would all come to know of the "Saintly humie, brave as a proper boy."

This chapter was edited by Old Man of the Mountain/Darklord331 Thanks to him pat him in the comments.