When John thought back to the time he spent on that forsaken planet with his companions, no other battle he fought was as ferocious or tested his skills as much as the one against the orks. He had faced Covenant Elites, Hunters, and even taken down Flood victims, but none of them compared to an ork in the slightest.
What came out of the woods at them was little more than an overeager grunt, but it was the hardest fight John ever experienced. He leveled his assault rifle at the oncoming ork and sprayed it with a full clip of rounds. The ork didn't even flinch, only roaring louder as it closed in. John widened his stance, bracing for close combat, but the ork never landed its blow. An explosive roar sounded behind John, and the ork's head vanished into a red fountain. He glanced around to see Tarkus's unfeasibly large gun streaming a slight trail of smoke. "A weapon such as that will not suffice." He said, drawing a combat sword from his belt. He handed it over to John. "I am loathe to engage the greenskins in close combat, as that is where they excel, but we have neither the numbers nor the resources to hold them off at range." John grasped the offered hilt. It was a short blade intended for stabbing, serrated near the crosspiece. He gave an experimental twirl. Heavy, but easily managed thanks to his enhanced muscles and MJOLNIR armor. He nodded his thanks to Tarkus, who drew his own blade. It was longer, and more elaborately decorated than the standard issue blade John held. He stabbed the blade point first into the ground. "Prepare yourself, Master Chief," Tarkus called over the growing noise in the treeline, "If you have never faced orks before, this will most likely test your mettle as a warrior."
The orks came in a wave of green that spilled from the foliage like a moving extension of the undergrowth. Tarkus's bolter barked fire at the on coming tide. John engaged the magnetic panels on the back of his armor and slid his assault rifle into place. It wouldn't be of use here. The first ork to reach John rasied its axe high, ready to cleave the Spartan in two. John simply sidestepped at hammered a fist into the ork's face. Bones broke under the blow, and the alien howled in pain. John swiftly grabbed the hefty weapon it dropped and hammered the blade into the ork's skull. He then brought the combat blade up and stabbed it into the next greenskin's chest, pulling up and tearing its chest cavity open. A few boyz lined up at the edge of the clearing and leveled crude machine guns at him. Wherever the bullets stuck, though, a sparking energy shield flared into existence. John grabbed the nearest ork and crammed a fragmentation grenade into its mouth. He then sent it on its way with a boot to the small of its back. It stumbled away into the cluster of its comrades, scratching at the metal cylinder in its jaws before detonating. Scraps of flesh showered down, though through the cloud of dust came yet more orks. Behind him, Tarkus's bolter kept up its sharp reports. He had long since switched to full auto, such was the weight of the foes upon them. He fired until he emptied out his magazine, then dropped the weapon. He drew his sword from the ground, engaging its energy field as he lifted it. The first ork he struck parted like wet paper, spraying blood as it fell in two. Tarkus whirled, ducking under the wild strike directed as his head and slashed upwards. The foe before him had just enough time to stare at its severed limb before Tarkus relieved it of its head.
John parried yet another blow. His arms felt like lead. He had been fighting for what felt like an eternity, though Cortana kindly reminded him that it had only been fifteen hours, twenty-five minutes since the first ork emerged from the woods. John simply grunted in reply, thrusting his blade into the stomach of the ork before him. Their numbers were staggering. For every one that was killed, three stepped forward to take his place. An ork swung an over sized meat cleaver at him, which he let glance off of his shields. He lashed out, driving the blade through the greenskin's eye socket. The ork fell sideways, twisting the blade from his grasp. John looked up. More orks were racing towards him, but a metallic clanking had filled the air along with the guttural sounds of combat. He flashed a quick glance at Tarkus, who returned the look.
"Kan." He said simply, returning his attentions to the foes before him.
John was beginning to get tired of Tarkus's lack of desire to explain what these things when the Kan showed itself. He decided that they were aptly named. The vehicle was a metal cylinder with a pair of legs, arms, and a number of weapons crudely welded to its surface. One arm ended in a pincer that crackled with energies barely understood by the very beings that used them, the other in a spinning sawblade. A thin slit showed any indication that a driver existed in that conglomeration of parts. John pulled the last grenade off of his belt and set off at a run.
"What are you doing!" Tarkus yelled, struggling with and especially large ork.
"Dealing with something!" John called back. He grabbed a club as he ran, mauling the nearest ork with it in an attempt to clear a path. The Kan saw this, and set off as fast as its squat strutted legs could manage. The distance, and number of orks between them, close quickly. "What are you doing Chief?" Cortana asked, concern entering her voice, "You can't take that thing on alone! You don't even know what it is or what it can do!"
"Try me." John swung the club at the Kan's body. It clanked off, sending vibrations juddering up his arm. A low laugh emitted from inside the Kan, and the claw swung in for John's head. He ducked, moving off to this right. As he did though, his shield flared up and immediately dropped. He hadn't anticipated the saw coming in. Sparks flared off his right shoulder as the blade sunk into the shoulder guard. John spun away. The saw retracted for a moment, then swung back in again. "Chief!" Cortana cried, "The joint!" John looked where she indicated. The joint of the arm was exposed, nothing more than a series of struts surrounding the actuator. Sliding inside the reach of the saw, he rammed the club into the joint and twisted it, locking the arm in its current position. Sparks flew from the actuator as the driver pushed it past its limit. The joint blew out in a cloud of oily smoke and electrical fire. John primed the grenade in his hand, and punched his fist through the visor slit. Suddenly, the claw got a hold of his leg, and threw him back. John looked up in time to see the Kan detonate with a metallic krump, showering flaming debris over the prone Spartan. He got to his feet, a soft hum indicating that his suit's shield chargers had activated. Grabbing the combat blade he'd dropped, he hurried back to help Tarkus.
Tarkus, meanwhile, had been fending off the greater part of the ork horde. His sword was down to its last charge and the wound in his leg was pulling painfully tight with every step. Not that he had much walking to do. The orks pressed in so densely on each side that he only had to lash out to strike one down. An axe rang off his right shoulder guard, and he whirled around to strike down the xeno. A sharp crack rang out across the battle, and the ork fell, a neat hole punched in its temple. Another three shots rang out, each striking with perfect accuracy. Tarkus spared a glance in the directions the shots had come from. The Spartan, Master Chief, was standing to his right, legs braced, some sort of long barreled rifle held to his shoulder. He let off another four shots, then reloaded. Tarkus allowed himself a grim smile. That is, until he realized that the orks had stopped coming. Master Chief gave him a look that, even through the opaque visor, said What next?. Then the tree parted and Tarkus's world exploded into fire.
Tarkus was thrown aside like a leaf in a hurricane. He hit a tree and slid down in a clatter of plate armor. He could see that Master Chief had been similarly thrown back, but could not see where the warrior had gone. Striding into the clearing was on of the largest orks Tarkus had ever seen. It was clad in heavy sheets of metal that could very well have come off of a battle tank. Its right arm was replaced from the elbow down with a massive power claw, while the left hand held a quad barreled heavy stubber. Over his shoulder was a shell launcher of some kind. Tarkus shook his head to clear it and reached for his power sword. As he grasped the hilt, however, the warboss brought his claw down on the blade and snapped it off half way down. The warboss chuckled, lumbering towards the prone Astartes with malicious intent burning in his red eyes. A sharp crack, and the warboss's left eye exploded in a shower of crimson.
"Move!" shouted John, taking aim again. He had been knocked off his feet and hurled into a tree by the blast, maintaining a grip on his rifle as he went. Now he took his second shot, which pinged off of the heavy shoulder armor of the ork. He had never seen anything this big. It towered over Tarkus, and probably would have put most Hunters to shame as well. The ork glared at him with its remaining good eye, and leveled what appeared to be four heavy caliber guns chained together. The guns opened fire, sawing through the tree trunk in seconds. John leapt out, rolling when he hit the ground to find himself face to face with the ork. "Heh," It rumbled,"Never seen a 'humie like you before. Wonder what yur head'll look like on me boss poll!" John didn't have time to wonder what a boss poll was as the ork swung its massive powered claw down to meet him. He rolled aside, coming up into a combat crouch. The ork whirled around, charging faster than John could have imagined. He leveled the rifle at the beast, who simply smashed it aside. It then punched John in the side, throwing his clear across the clearing. He hit the ground hard, feeling blood fill his mouth. A hard bark of bolter fire filled the clearing again. Tarkus had retrieved his firearm, and was attempting to draw the warboss away, but the bolts rattled off the armor plates like flies striking a window. The ork laughed, its voice harsh and raucous, "Is that the best you 'humies got? I should been out here earlier instead of wastin' all these boyz on yeh." He began to advance on John again when a new sound filled the clearing.
A loud revving echoed through the woods. The warboss halted, staring into the green. "Oi! Numbskulls! I didn't call for the truks yet! I'm not done 'ere!" A small gretchin peered out from a bush.
"Don't...don't know what you're talking about." It stammered, "Truks are all lined up nicely, yes. Did good job obeying orders."
The warboss scowled, "Then what do you make of that." He raged, pointing at a rapidly advancing shadow. From the trees erupted a looted Rhino, not yet fully converted to orkish fashion. It plowed into the warboss, pushing him a few meters back. The side doors popped open and a voice called out from inside, "Get in! Quickly!" Tarkus didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed John by the arm and heaved him inside the transport. The doors slammed shut, and the tank revved backwards. The warboss, recovering from the impact, lashed out an arm shouting "Stop 'em! Don't let 'em get away!". His claw raked gouges along the side of the transport, and stubber fire spattered out from the undergrowth, but it was scattered, and nowhere near enough to pose a threat. The tank quickly reversed directions and darted off into the growing gloom.
