Canon

Deep within the fiery maw of Blackrock Mountain, in the infernal depths known as Blackrock Depths, dwelled the surly, smoke-stained Dark Iron Dwarves, practically indentured servants to the fire lord Ragnaros. Once the green tide had swept over Stormwind City, the orcs, in their infinite lack of originality, began to exploit the very lava caves of the Dark Irons, turning the fiery guts of the mountain into a sprawling, hellish expansion of Blackrock Fortress.

Upon catching wind that those smug, beard-braiding Bronzebeard dwarves of Ironforge had thrown their lot in with the Alliance, the Dark Irons, fueled by an eternal grudge and a craving for chaos, practically tripped over themselves to join the Horde. They practically cackled with glee at the prospect of sticking it to their mountain-dwelling cousins, even venturing out from their subterranean hell-holes to forge weapons and fortifications for the greenskins, all while their fiery master, Ragnaros, was still catching some z's. Consequently, the defenses of Blackrock Fortress were tighter than a goblin's purse strings, a truly formidable nut to crack.

Two hundred thousand orcs, packed into that fortress like sardines in a rusty can… Orgrim was spouting off about a "decisive battle," but what if, by some miracle, those green-skinned simpletons actually lost and decided to dig in for a fight to the death? What then? Would hundreds of thousands of Alliance troops be left cooling their heels, stuck in the fiery armpit of the Searing Gorge? On a normal Tuesday, Lothar's head would probably have exploded like a volatile keg of dwarven ale just thinking about it.

"What's the big deal? If those greenskins actually try to pull a fast one and retreat, then it's just more target practice for us dwarves!" Magni Bronzebeard boomed, his voice as casual as if he were discussing the weather, not a potential meat grinder. Anduin, no stranger to dwarven ways, having practically grown up in Ironforge as Magni's old pal, knew the dwarves had a trick or two up their sleeves. But a "trick" wasn't enough. He needed a plan that would not only convince him, but also get the nod from every grizzled general and skeptical commander from the other Alliance nations.

At that moment, Duke, ever the showman, casually piped up, "Steam siege vehicle?" Magni and Gelbin Mekkatorque, the grand poobah of gnomish engineering, practically lit up like Christmas trees. They hadn't expected a human, let alone an Alliance bigwig like Duke, to actually know his nuts and bolts!

"Well, I'll be a murloc's uncle! You know about those too?" Magni roared with laughter, slapping his knee. But Duke, ever the buzzkill, simply frowned. "Not good enough," he declared.

"Why not?!" Gelbin sputtered, his gnomish pride clearly wounded. The steam siege engine was, after all, one of the crowning achievements of dwarven and gnomish ingenuity!

Duke, with the confidence of a man who'd seen it all, explained, "It's got to get right up close and personal with those fortifications. And then? It'll be easier to smash than a goblin's piggy bank by the orcs' crude, yet effective, defensive weapons."

"For example?" Magni challenged, his beard bristling.

"Oh, say, a giant rolling log, a hundred feet long and twenty feet thick?" Duke offered, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. Magni and Gelbin's faces, usually as hard as granite, visibly paled. Right. Orcs are strong as oxen and dumb as rocks. If that's their go-to defense, then it's a bit like playing Russian roulette with your most expensive toys.

"So, hotshot, got any bright ideas?" Gelbin prodded.

"Why not tweak the steam tank a bit? Make it… this?" Duke waved his hand, and suddenly, a ghostly, shimmering three-dimensional projection of a tank model materialized before Magni and Gelbin. It was vaguely reminiscent of their own blocky, box-like dwarf steam tanks, but with a menacing, alien twist.

Any other time-traveler present would have instantly recognized the spitting image of the Soviet Union's SU-152 tank destroyer from Earth's Second World War – a truly terrifying contraption. Of course, given the dwarven industrial might of the era, they'd have to ditch the ridiculously long gun barrel. But on the bright side, no rotating turret meant they could crank up the main gun's caliber to truly insane, skull-splitting levels! To shrug off frontal assaults, the front armor would be thicker than a dragon's hide, compensating for less-than-perfect precision and steel-rolling tech. And ditching the rotating turret meant they could slap on a few firing slits on the sides, perfect for a couple of lovestruck musketeers to pepper any flank attacks.

Lothar and Mograine, meanwhile, looked like they were trying to decipher ancient troll runes, utterly bewildered by Duke's technical jargon with the dwarves. Their understanding of dwarven weaponry was, shall we say, a tad primitive.

They always figured dwarven tanks were great for shrugging off sword blows, but a bit flimsy against heavy-duty weapons like orcish sledgehammers. More than once, they'd seen orcs, fueled by rage and demon blood, hauling massive tree trunks to smash those metal beasts like oversized walnuts. But at this critical juncture, if they didn't trust the dwarves, their only alternative was to send their own soldiers into a brutal, bloody street fight with the orcs. Any commander with half a brain, and a shred of care for his troops, wouldn't dream of such an inhumane and utterly wasteful endeavor.

Anduin, initially, was a little miffed at Duke's last-minute proposal for siege weapon modifications. A massive war was breathing down their necks, and they had a grand total of four days left. Would it even be ready in time? It was a tall order. Magni, with a dismissive wave of his hand, scoffed, "Don't you dare underestimate the sheer, unadulterated engineering prowess of us dwarves and gnomes! We can whip up such a 'low-tech' transformation in a single, glorious night!"

Magni and Gelbin were so utterly, ridiculously confident, even Duke, a man who'd seen stranger things than a gnome riding a mechanical chicken, felt a shiver of skepticism. Hold on a minute! Are all dwarves just that awesome? One night? This was a steam tank, for crying out loud! Didn't they need to recalculate the load, figure out the power system, the transmission wheels, the tracks, the suspension system? It wasn't exactly a simple wagon!

Then, the very next morning, Duke was jolted awake by a thunderous round of applause, a cacophony of amazement and praise that shook the very ground. Duke stumbled out, still half-asleep, his panda eyes wide with utter confusion.

"By the beard of Khaz'goroth! I asked for a tank destroyer, not a land cruiser! What in the blazes is this iron monstrosity, over ten meters long, wide as three carriages side-by-side, and nearly two stories tall?!" Not only was Duke utterly flummoxed, but even the usually unflappable Windrunner sisters stood there, jaws hanging open like trapdoors.

Alright, alright! At least it looked the part, a truly menacing beast. Duke noticed that while the front armor was indeed crafted from the finest steel, the sides were… well, they were wooden structures, clad in a mere two or three layers of iron sheeting. It was like putting a diamond on a cardboard box. As Duke walked closer, he spotted a colossal wheel, cast from solid iron, as tall as a man. Though most of it was hidden by the outer armor, Duke could clearly see… No tracks! No tracks! No tracks! (Because some things are so important, they bear repeating three times for emphasis!)

"How in the blazes does this thing turn? How does it navigate complex terrain? And what kind of steam transmission system could possibly handle something this heavy?" Duke muttered, his mind reeling. He rounded the back of the monstrous contraption for a closer look, and nearly bit off his tongue. "Holy smokes! What a high-tech monstrosity! No wonder they called it 'such a low-tech transformation.' I fell for it hook, line, and sinker!"

Peering through the open rear door of the behemoth, Duke's eyes nearly popped out of his head. On the lowest level, he could clearly see at least a hundred dwarves, chattering and bragging, standing in front of rows of… push rods. That's right! You heard me! It was a push rod! For pushing carts! It turned out this tank destroyer, weighing at least a dozen tons, was powered by… dwarven manpower! It was a giant, armored hamster wheel! Just good old-fashioned muscle power to push it forward! And as long as everyone listened to the foreman's instructions, it would be smooth sailing. Or, well, smooth pushing.

"Pffft!" Duke snorted, a stream of whatever he'd been drinking erupting from his nose. Just in the nick of time, Magni and Gelbin swaggered over, beaming with pride, looking like two cats who'd swallowed the canary.

The gnomish master craftsman Gelbin cackled, "How's she look, eh? A bit rushed, perhaps, but she'll definitely meet all your siege-busting needs!"

Magni roared with laughter, slapping Gelbin on the back. "Heh heh! For this big fella, I personally donated the largest cannon in all of Dun Morogh! You know, the one I usually only use to blow up mountains with my beloved 'small steel cannon'?"

"Pffft!" Please, for the love of all that is holy, forgive Duke for spraying again. He couldn't help it. He had truly, utterly underestimated the sheer, unadulterated madness of the dwarves and gnomes. What in the blazes was a "small steel cannon" to these guys?! On Earth, anything over 20mm was called a cannon. During the Second World War, the Germans' 800mm Gustav railway gun was already considered certifiably insane. The problem was, dwarves were a hundred times crazier. The caliber of this cannon was measured in meters.

Magni stepped forward, actually having to tiptoe slightly to pat Duke on the shoulder. "Thanks for the brilliant idea, lad! Without this armored behemoth, I wouldn't dare take my baby out for a spin!"