In the clearing smoke left by their birds strafing run a figure emerged with a roar of voice and weapon at once. Stepping between a crumbling wall and standing door way his heavy flamer spewed out a carpet of searing white flame into the streets amidst the Orkish survivors, burning corpses, combatants and scorching husk of vehicles alike. Slowly working his way from one side of the street to the other he pulled back into cover and moved into yet another position to prepare further flanking strikes whenever their hated foe came too close to the barricades.

Properly chastened, Arbax rejoined First Squad and threw himself down into cover. A moment later he rose to fire a trio of bolt shells, the rounds hugging the side of the abandoned building before one buried itself into the chest of a greenskin. The Iron Warrior didn't take long to acquire a new target as there more than any one brother could gun down alone.

Half way through the second building, Mal'Grin sharply turned right and speared through the wall in his path. His brothers did not pause at this deviation, and turned just as sharply, following him through the hab chambers. They charged for another four rooms, heedless of the destruction they caused before Mal'Grim punched through a final wall. Free of the building, he saw his targets down the street and on to his right. It was a mess of greenskins, but he could pick out the larger Nobs -at least, what remained of them- as well as the bikers and shootas. The shootas were hanging far back from the main melee, content to simply fire away at his brothers, meanwhile the bikers weaved in and out of range.

"Brothers, with me." he commanded, just before he jumped straight up and rose on howling engines. He and his brothers landed on the top of the building, directly overhead the ignorant shootas. He paused for a moment, surveying the battle below, before spoke into the squad vox.

"Vosidian, you seem to be having a fine time with those Nobs and bikers."

"Aye, just lovely sergeant." replied the warrior

"Good. Brothers, I've received word from the captain that our armour is soon to be inbound, but until then, let's show these orks a little artillery of our own. Vosidian, hold position. I want you to keep those orks right where they are."

"Affirmative."

Mal'Grin turned to the four brothers at his back. Although their faces were hidden behind hateful deathmasks of iron, he knew that each of their faces were grinning as broadly as he was.

"Well then brothers... Bombs away." and with that, they leapt from the edge of the building, powering towards the orks below. They fired as they fell, and orks began to drop dead, but the true killing began when they crashed into the ground, sending shootas flying. Stunned, the orks could only watch as Mal'Grin slowly, maliciously, terribly, raised his gauntlet. One of them said a single word before the conflagration took them.

"Wot?"

And then all was fire and screaming as Mal'Grin let loose with flame, burning, purifying, purging. He was the heart of the inferno, the volcano's wrath, he was death. His brothers were not idle as this took place, from the moment fire began pouring from their sergeant, they were in amongst the orks, chopping, tearing, grinding and breaking. Diamus, roaring, slew two orks with one lateral sweep of his chainblade. Bortun was at his back, punching just as often as he was carving. Calcra, silent as ever, was artfully weaving his way through the orks, a trail of dead bodies and spilled blood marking his path. Meanwhile Lukan was shooting with deadly accuracy, yet to miss a shot since they had first stepped from their drop pod.

"Understood, brother Captain," Pule replied over the vox as he pushed his sword into Ork's pelvis, crippling the beast. Gagi came from behind, shooting the creature square in the head. "What's the situation?" he asked as he reloaded his pistol, hunched behind his Sergeant.

"Tanks are eta 60 seconds," Pule replied over the squad channel. "Hold the position until they arrive, after it provide support." He simply ordered as his brothers stood around him, the Ork flanking force eradicated.

Taking hold of the left flank, 9th squad waited for the armor force to arrive, setting up the perimeter and guarding it against any incoming force. No matter what happens, Squad Zmaj will hold the left side.

A group of Ork tanks rolled in to view. Well, they weren't Ork tanks, they were Leman Russ tanks re-purposed by the damnable greenskins. The tanks trained their guns toward first squad, the slowness of the turret giving the Iron Warriors a few moments within which they could move.

''Out, out, tank. Move, move!'' the sergeant commanded.

The tank fired and blew a hole in to the building. Its outer wall crumbled away, leaving a wide opening in its structure.

''Where are the damn tanks?'' Sergeant Hack asked, more aloud than to anyone specifically. ''Keep moving, the cover here is insufficient to stop a tank round, but their aim is slow and poor, we can keep them from striking us if we move!''

Over on the left flank, more tanks rumbled in to view. One of them opened fire at ninth squad, but the shell struck their cover and not the marines themselves. The building buckled slightly, but held, despite losing chunks of the rockrete. A second tank took aim at ninth, and its shot penetrated in to their cover, but somehow failed to strike a direct blow. The marines inside were temporarily thrown from their feet, but their armour held against the shards of shrapnel thrown at them.

A third Leman Russ fired at tenth squad, but they had no such luck. The shot smashed in to their ranks.
As the smoke cleared, Sergeant Ursal stood, and took stock of the situation. Brother Kostrai had lost his left leg, and Brother Vorshal lay with a piece of shrapnel embedded in to his lower torso.

[OOC: You may assume the apothecaries are nearby, but will require a few moments to reach the squad. Post #3 updated to keep track of the injuries]

Macak was first on his feet, helping Pule up. "WELL THOSE INDEED LOOK LIKE OUR ARMOR SUPPORT. WELL DONE!" he shouted over the explosion as another shell went past them, landing somewhere behind, near the Imperial line. "If we stay here, we die!"

Pule growled as he took in the surroundings before ushering a new command. "Attack pattern PSY. Count to 7 then jump. MOVE!" In a second, Legionaries of the 9th spread out and ran at full tilt towards the enemy tanks.

The plan was simple. Contrary to popular belief, the Assault squad's job was to support others and fill the gaps in lines where needed. Other Legions believed that Assault Marines are best used as vanguard units, killing their way through the horde of enemies and that they solely deserve the great glory of accomplished victory. But that was the utmost idiocy in Pule's eyes. Assault squads were the backbone of every army, it's main pillar. He lead his men with the same concept even before they found Peturabo, and he shall continue doing so until he dies.

So he went forward to fill this gap. If Ork tanks were allowed to stay there, Imperial armor would never be able to set foot in this place without suffering terrible loses, and it was the 9th job to prevent that from happening.

Pule ran through the dust brought by shell impacts, which allowed his brothers to have some kind of cover. Attack was simple enough - they were to spread and provide multiple targets for the Ork gunners to chose from, however also preventing them to kill them all with one lucky shot. Counting to seven was something else. Pule knew that Imperial crew needed around 10 seconds to load another shell into the gun, so he reasoned that an Ork would spend much more time in doing so, but you could never know with these Greenskins, so he wanted to be on the safe side. After the 7th second, every brother would turn on his jump pack and head straight for those two tanks.

...3,4,5,6,7.

As if lead by a greater force, every member of the Squad Zmaj jumped in the air and came crashing down on the tank position.

"KRAKS!"

The grey fox cursed as a leman russ shell came at him. He quickly rolled the blast sending him off his feet. He soon found himself on the ground. he felt several hits from ork shootas hitting parts of his chest plate one getting in the weak spot of its armor lodging it self in the iron warrior. He quicky began running on his hands and legs and rolled into cover he grabbed his bolter and began firing again. He then began moving again into differnt cover trying not to get hit from more leman russ shells and from shootas

Arbax leapt from cover and began to move, tread once again making shattered imprints in the pavement. It seemed that since he had landed he had done nothing but run, perhaps it was time to change that. "Sergeant! Slow movement on the main gun, think we can get within lobbing distance for krak grenades?" He had holstered his bolt pistol, little use such a weapon would prove against a Leman Russ, even one defaced by the Orks. The chainsword stayed in hand, it was an extension of his arm that holstering would have felt similar to a willing amputation. His left hand now free of his firearm reached to his belt and grabbed a Krak grenade.

Mal'Grin quickly rose, shaking off the effects of the tank's blast. He saw two of his brothers down and acted quickly.

"Bortun and Calcra, move your brothers into cover. The rest of you, with me. Blood for blood, eye for eye."

As Bortun and Calcra moved their cursing brothers into the better defended rooms of the abandoned building, the other six members of Squad Ural rose into the air on pinion wings of hate and fury. The math was simple; two brothers lay out of the fight, and two tanks still remained operational. There was nothing more to it. Those tanks needed to die, and they needed to do so painfully. Seeing that Ninth Squad was already engaged with one of the two tanks, he adjusted his flight pattern to support them. Sixteen blades on one tank should just about do it.

"Ahh" he thought as he heard the rumble of tracks and the thunder of guns behind him " here comes the support." he then heard the blasts and the shrill screaming of the imperials "Ha Brother see how impressed the are with our mighty-" He faltered as he saw an imperial solider go flying over him like a thunderhawk he then heard the sergeant's orders.He didn't need to be told twice.He ran into the middle of the abandoned building nearest to him hopefully safe from the tanks armoured bulk.He saw he had a shot at some ork shootas dawdling around in the building whilst their comrades died around them."This should be fun" he muttered as his finger pulled the trigger.