The various regiments composing the Dwarven expeditionary force took the oppurtunity to form into one large battle line. All across the bay, red faced Dwarves, coughing and spluttering from too much exertion, ran to bridge the gaps. Before long, they all represented one narrow but solid wave of steel. 

The steam-tanks had fallen to the rear of the line, and took constant pot shots at the Orcs. The steamers, many of them now beached, did the same. It seemed to Rokdar, that every few minutes, the earth would shake and his hearing would end up with a sharp whining noise, as the Orcs a few hundred paces ahead were lifted from the beach and thrown about the place. They were brave bastards, Rokdar would give them that. He wouldn't stand still whilst his men were decimated left and right by an enemy he couldn't reach. 

Rokdar ordered his men to stop for a few moments, even as the sluggish charge carried on about him. He didn't want to admit it, but he needed a break, before his heart exploded in his chest. He smashed the head of his axe into the stony sand and used its upwards shaft to rest on. Killing was a young'ns work, this was true. 

"Why have we halted, Captain?" asked a red faced, but youthful looking comrade with a menacing grin. "You ain't keelin' ova' are ya?"

"Bah," Rokdar spat. "We did half the damned fightin', let the others do some." 

"Glory waits for no Dwarf, Captain," the youngster replied impatiently. "Let's go, before there's no more Orcs left!" 

Rokdar hauled his axe from the ground, not wanting to lose face in front of his men. "Alright, yer eager bastard. Let's go."

The regiment shifted back into its sluggish charge, and fought to catch up with the progressing Dwarven battle line. The Orcs meanwhile, riled themselves up into another frenzy, and stormed forwards yelling bloody murder. The two armies collided in another wave of thunder and death.