Orc Tyrant

Dawn descended on the surface of the Waka Rainforest. The war machine followed the dying light, and the dry ground was shattered under their tracks, and dust was flying.

All animals and insects hear their approach before these machines enter the field of vision, scattered in long lines, or clustered together.

They are like an armored carpet covering the dark ground. This is not a simple army. Such a name cannot touch its essence. It is a cluster.

They come from the entire abandoned city, including the Iron Fist Fighting Gang, and the numerous battle marks on the war machine are like medals awarded by the great king.

Walking among them was the Mao Ge warrior with obvious repair marks. They swaggered, and the signals passed between each other, although they were invisible, they filled the surrounding space.

Far from the advancing cluster, in the camps full of loud speakers, the boys waited.

Almost no one talked, most just waited and listened.

The results of several days of planning, preparation, and coordination are about to unfold. Some boys twitch their muscles because of excitement, while others just stare at the air, with a storm of fighting enthusiasm brewing in their eyes.

Guk has issued an order that all the boys must participate in the attack in the early morning. The goal is to destroy all the strongholds of the beasts outside of Wushan and end the war.

"Hammer, what's the state."

The sound from the microphone filled the ears of the mechanic boy Miviman.

"Very good, approaching."

He replied, staring at the screen glued together.

"No enemy was observed."

"I'm behind you, confirm."

"confirmed."

Miviman's voice was low and steady.

"Today is a good day to fight."

"Yes, good luck, Hammer."

He didn't respond with a closing sentence, and the roar of his machine filled the silence that followed.

The inside of the car body was very dim, and his breath cast a layer of mist on the periscope lens in front of him. He sat in the cabin for a whole hour, breathing muddy air, and the movable space was less than three meters——

Everything is so familiar, he can hardly imagine other forms of warfare.

His machine was originally an underground mud digging out rubbish. The boys disliked it because it had no wheels and no speed, but there is no doubt that Miviman discovered its usefulness and invested a lot of effort in transforming it. He prefers these reliable steel beasts to the violent and unstable fast assault vehicles.

However, don't be fooled by its appearance, this machine is a brutal guy.

Its name is Hammer, an ugly big box made up of tracks, armor, and protruding barrels. The front of the car is assembled into a beast with protruding fangs.

A giant combat cannon protrudes from the turret carried on its back, a large-caliber rapid-fire cannon is installed on the front of the body, and two revolving cannons are located on the auxiliary gun positions on both sides of the tank.

There are a total of eight Oukes in the car.

The main gunner and his companions squeezed in a little space in front of the commander's position, so close that Miviman could pat each of them on the shoulder without much effort.

The engine and ammunition inventory of this machine occupies most of the body space. The farts who control the side guns are separated on both sides of the narrow central compartment by the crawling flap, and the front gunner and loader are shrunk behind the front armor plate. In the space, the size is just right to keep them from being cannoned

Killed by recoil.

This is a reliable, but poorly designed guy. Its combat artillery has a limited front horizontal firing angle, and the side cannons cannot cover the rear area of ​​this machine.

This means that once the enemy comes to its rear, its armor loses its meaning.

There is a joke circulating among the drag racing party that the big dirty tracked car is a kind of "meat shield" because no one can think of other uses for this kind of thing that all weapons can only shoot forward.

For Miviman, this is nothing. The Hammer has allowed him to survive many conflicts, and in the process also wiped out many enemies.

Although it is old and has various flaws, it has never had a problem since the renovation was completed. If he had a home, that would be the crowded and rusty cabin of the Hammer.

The neuroboy has been muttering in the dark corners, although Miviman doesn't like them, but when the communication system fails, they are the only way to communicate with the surrounding friendly forces.

He blinked, removed a drop of sweat from his eyes, and checked the icons on the screen again.

The machines he knew were there, rolling forward in a line two kilometers wide.

The Execution, the Blood Conquest, and all the other messy big dirty cars now form his armored assault team—they are crushers, destroyers, and unstoppable war felts.

In fact, they have about three hundred heavy armored vehicles. They are either from a single head or from a certain war gang, but now they are directly obedient to the command of the overlord, which means that some formal things have been broken. The overlord is right. This weapon showed great interest.

"You are too slow."

Soon, a light and fluttering voice came from the noisy communication channel. This was the boss of a certain drag racing gang. In the past, he especially liked to use his own speed to play tricks on the brains of the mechanics.

But now he chose to ignore it, and to be honest, it didn't make sense to respond.

So he pressed the car microphone and flinched when it made a sharp noise in his ears.

"Attention, everyone, this is the Hammer. We are on the right path. The estimated time to contact the outer defense of the stinky guy is five minutes."

Confirmation replies came one after another. Miviman listened and accumulated their numbers. His tank is one of the few equipped with high-power wireless communication equipment, so it has naturally become the command vehicle of the assault team in groups of ten. Of course Whether you listen or not is another matter.

Fortunately, the mechanics are not as stingy as the kid, and generally they can command.

Miviman stared at the display. Even if a machine is still moving and displaying a signal, it does not mean that its crew is still alive.

Sometimes the enemy’s ammunition will penetrate the armor and directly kill the internal members. Sometimes the liquid fuel will create a terrible fire in the car. He will continue to drive out several tanks with the dead occupants. 100 meters, because the dead hands of the driver are still pressed on the handle of the engine.

"How many are there outside?"

It was the gunner who was talking, and he was resting his head on the breech of the cannon.

He didn't look at the other person, and the screen in front of him was much more important than his need to use chat to relieve tension.

"I mean--"

He continues.

"On this trip, how many machines are there? Fifty? One hundred? Two hundred? Fuck, it's just these big dirty cars. I heard that the warlords are also dispatched. So many iron guys can simply roll. Shake the ground to the sky—"

The gunner laughed nervously.

"Does the stinky guy regret that they have won a war temporarily?"

Miviman was watching the countdown of their distance from the waypoint on the screen, and then he pressed the external horn button.

"Attention all--"

"I said, I lost the battle before because we were stupid, or they would be stupid?"

"Free shooting, anything that appears in front of you is the target, repeat, activate the weapon, and fire freely."

The gunner, who had been ignored by Miviman, sat up straight, twisting his shoulders and neck, making a sharp rubbing sound when the simple protective gear on his body squeezed into the bulkhead.

"If they are not stupid--"

"idiot."

Miviman spoke, leaning forward, his eyes on the front periscope.

"what?"

"Fill, then keep quiet."

A second later, Miviman felt the sound of a heavy blow from the gun's breech closing.

Explosion, burning, the first shot is just a test.

The gunner’s inability to keep his mouth shut does not affect his memory and his skills in operating the main gun.

"The mist hasn't thinned out."

It was the former gunner who was speaking, and Miviman could almost hear that the other party was trying to suppress his excitement. He glanced at the rotating green light on his sight and pressed the microphone switch.

"Razor, this is Hammer, what can you see?"

"No, it looks like nothing."

Then the voice came, short and clear.

"But they are there, I know."

Miviman nodded, the scout team of the Drag Racing Party was half a kilometer in front of them, dispersing and observing the enemy's trail.

"It's getting hotter and hotter..."

The nervous boy's mumble never stopped.

"Cross obstacles."

Miviman took a slow breath and read the long seconds as he exhaled. Directly in front of him, the main gunner leaned forward on the cannon's sight and bounced his thumb from the firing trigger.

"Okay, let me light it up."

Miviman looked at the reddish mist in the field of vision ahead, and whispered:

"Fire."

The gun pulled the trigger, and the mist-shrouded world instantly became bright.