Chapter Six: Death in the depths
The harsh chatter of bolters echoed through the hewn stone corridors. The dank dripping walls we filled with a hundred explosions, rock chips blossoming forth in the wake of a torrent of bolt shells. The ancient arches groaned under the strain of the waves of firepower pouring into them.
Grum ran down the corridor, bolt shells crashed into the wall behind him. Pausing to attaching a melta bomb to the wall, he span and pumped a pair of plasma bolts into the closest Ork as it rounded the corner. Froth erupted from it's mouth as it's stomach was incinerated, it managed a few short stumbles even with a gaping hole in it's chest before being trampled to the ground by the horde behind him. An Ork paused to chew on the dead Orks flesh before being crushed by his brethren in there eagerness to tear apart the fleeing Squat warrior.
"Suck on this greenskin!" He muttered in between hate filled, ragged breaths, and then he was running again. He had run for miles, but his legs were short and the Orks had slowly caught up. His flak armour stuck to his skin, sweat holding it in place as he struggled forward, pain lanced through his chest as his heart pounded to the sound of the Orks feet. His only hope was to warn the brotherhood that the Orks had taken the mines and would soon be attacking from beneath. Just a few more minutes now until he reached the first signal point. The melta bomb erupted behind him, knocking him to the floor and bringing down a shower of rocks onto the Orks in pursuit. Leaping up he continued onwards, cheered by the howls of anguish reverberating off the walls. With shaky hands he pulled out the communicator, he was so close now that hope rose in his chest; he saw the signal point. A final burst of speed and he leapt to the floor stabbing at the communicate button, it crackled into life. Relief flooded his system and he shouted out
"Orks attacking through the tunnels, sector eight, hordes of them, tunnel guard has fallen!" His pistol blazed into life again showering the Orks with incandescent blasts of plasma. In the enclosed space the first Ork perished, but the Ork behind him merely used his body as a shield and kept coming. His breathing rapid, Grum pulled out an ornate axe from its shoulder holster.
"Come ta me Orks! And learn true Dwarven courage!" The axe hummed into life and hacked the dead Orks corpse in two; shoving the pistol into the gap he blew the second Ork back into the horde behind him. An Ork shell smashed into the wall behind him and then the third Ork shoulder barged him to the ground. Grum fought with the last of his strength to bring up his axe, but the Ork was too strong, pinning him down. His energy was gone after his long exertions. He tried to head butt the Ork, but his opponent's arms were too long. He fought on with every ounce of willpower and pride he possessed until the Orks comrades piled in stabbing with blunt hatchets and knives. They weren't content with just shooting him. After the long chase they wanted to tear him apart. Blood loss weakened him enough for the Ork to stop pinning him and reach down to snap his neck. Pungent ale ran from the broken hip flask at his side mingling with his blood. As the Orks trampled over his body, an escaped squig and a pair of grots began to feast on his carcass. The Orks continued past him deep into the unprotected heart of the stronghold.
