The moment Felix realized that the Orks were breaking, he stood up from his little mound of rubble and started shouting. "Grenadiers! Forward!" he hollered with all his might. He didn't know where his Sergeant had gotten to at this point, so the junior NCO took it upon himself to lead the way. He was far from the ranking NCO on the line, but on his little section of the right side, no one was doing anything, so the Iceman saw no reason not to take charge. "Into the breach!" he screamed as added incentive as his comrades began moving forward. Then he realized the Cadians seemed reluctant to leave the illusory safety of their Chimeras, and he growled to himself. The 3003rd were moving forward steadily, and relatively quickly, returning the Orkish potshots three-to-one of the heads of the Brontians, but Corporal Hazard wasn't among them. He was too busy trying to get their only mechanized support moving.

"Get these fucking things rolling! Let's fucking go!" he bellowed, but the machine gunners on top only shook their heads. That had the grenadier filling with rage, but he fought it down. The Cadians weren't his to command, so he supposed he would just have to leave them to their own devices. "Gun line, then! Stubbers in a gun line!" he was going hoarse rapidly now, but he was still easily heard over the din. More veterans started moving, and Felix started motioning for the nearest vox-caster. A fellow grenadier came running over as the Raiders reached their hole in the wall. He took up a stride ahead of the Iceman as he played with the man's radio settings.

"Three-[i]oh[/i]-three! Form a gun line in front of the Brontians and Xenonians. Take their flamer troops with you. We're going to burn them out!" he didn't have to shout nearly as loud with the vox-caster on broadcast, and it was only a moment before everyone assumed he was in charge and started moving. Corporal Hazard made his own way toward a clear spot in the gun line, but on the way, nearly ran down a Warrant Officer from Delta Company. He barely recognized the man now, but that didn't even slow him down when he saw the crown on the man's chest.

"All yours, Warrant." he declared, and the senior NCO realized he'd been identified as the highest ranking member of the Grenadiers.

"Fuck me..." the man muttered, before taking up a position in the middle of the extended line, just behind his troops. From here he could direct everything more effectively, and ensure as many soldiers as possible made it through. The time it took everyone to finish getting in position was roughly the same amount of time it took for another vox-operator to sprint over to the man in charge. "Grenadiers, advance!" he barked over the radio, and everyone started moving forward.

The heavy stubber teams laid down blistering torrents of fire against potential enemy positions while everyone else took pot shots at anything that moved. The flamethrower troopers were tasked with clearing buildings quickly and violently, and were often teams of Brontians or Xenonians directed by a Raider NCO. It didn't take long for everyone to realize that the greenskins had well and truly retreated, however, and after about a block of pouring ammunition into ghosts, they began conserving their ammunition better.

"All callsigns, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. Request resupply, over." the warrant spoke calmly into the radio this time, and listened hopefully for a reply. Unfortunately, the only reply he got was orders to take and hold the cathedral in the centre of the city. As a senior NCO trying to take care of his soldiers, the man nearly lost his mind. He turned up the signal strength, and then issued a quick command to all local vox-operators to shut off their vox-casters for two minutes. The moment he received confirmation, he began screaming into the handset.

"All callsigns, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. Request Resupply. Over." he bellowed with the same furious gusto that the sergeant major had mustered earlier, and while he knew it wasn't like to produce any better results than his first request, at least they'd know he was serious. Time lapsed, and the vox-casters turned back on just in time for orders. "Charlie-Charlie-Three-Oh-Three, this is Lima-Delta-Zero. All sections not on the gun line move up. Conserve ammunition. Over." 

The replies were quick and precise, with everyone sounding off just like they'd been drilled to. And Lord Strathcona's Grenadiers continued their advance toward the centre of the hive, though they moved slowly, mostly because the sudden lack of opposition was unnerving...