<strong>Victor Orestes, recovering in the rear of the battle lines </strong><br/><br/>Victor had watched the first ork go down, pleased that his rounds had finally punched deep enough into the thick hide to drop the ugly brute to the decking. What he hadn’t counted on was the intelligence of the ork, keeping back a step to let its fellow soak up most of the shots. As the ork fell, the second appeared behind it, rushing forward and closing the small gap between it and Victor.<br/><br/>Keeping a level head, Victor has swung his gun up, means to punch a dozen rounds into the approaching ork’s face but he hadn’t counted on it covering the ground so quickly. Before he could utter a curse, the breath was blasted from him by a heavy boot that seemed to lift him cleanly from the ground and then he was flying. It was a short but lofty height he discovered a moment later when he landed hard upon the decking.<br/><br/>Eyes watering and mouth gasping for air, he shifted to his side to try and ease the weight on his diaphragm so that it would work a bit better. Glancing around, he spotted the ork closing in before its face suddenly seemed to explode in a spray of blood and gore, the lifeless body crumpling to the decking in a heap. Offering a breathless prayer for the Emperor’s protection, he managed to roll to his knees, gulping in great mouthfuls of air to try and get his body functioning properly. It felt as if half his ribs were cracked but he doubted he had the time to check. Scanning the surging wave of green against the barricades, he kept his kneeling position, hefting his lasgun up and sighting in a few more targets before he began to squeeze the trigger rapidly, knowing that the best thing he could do know was pour fire into the wave and hope that it either stalled for a moment or provided cover for his fellows.<br/>