Ork stories

Doze Sisterz 'er Sorry! Orbiting the Planet of Tatoonie Nasea Cluster Sector -0.425 Grishnak sat back in the big comfy command chair on the bridge of Imperial Transport Alpha Twelve (reported missing in action after the Imperial defeat on Hell Hole IV). Those Blood Axes were annoying, and they stank of the Humies, but they got some pretty neat stuff sometimes. The transport was part of Nazdreg's invasion fleet, and had been placed at Grishnak's disposal for the advanced scouting of the invasion route through the Nasea Cluster. The big warboss flexed his big green toes, blissfully oblivious to the stench rising from his un-shod feet, causing the state-of-the-art Imperial air scrubbers in the life-support plant to work overtime. On the main view screen at the front of the bridge a small brown sphere slowly rotated. A nasty grin crept across Grishnak's craggy features. Nazdreg had not been pleased with the loss of war materiel in the last scrape up, but the information the Gangstahz had gathered on that first strike had been excellent, and Grishnak knew that. After grumbling for a bit, Nazdreg had made good on the warband's losses, and immediately sent them off in the direction of the desert planet of Tatoonie. The warlord's sources stated that many of the diverse armies raging across the Cluster were currently scurrying over the dusty face of the otherwise non-descript ball of sand. Grishnak, still slumped lazily, spun his command chair around to address the Blood Axe bridge crew. "OK, ladz," he drawled. "Da Big Boss wants we should see what doze Sistahz o' Sorry 'er up to on Da Dust Ball. He wantz ta know what dey gotz wid'em, too." He spun back around to face the view screen. After a few moments of manipulating the controls built into the arm of his chair, the view on the main screen tightened in a section of desert pocked with large dark spires of stone rising out of the dunes. Several red icons blinked in unison in a small valley between two dunes. "Warlord Nazdreg's sources say da girlies 'er somewhere here, in da Dark Spire Desert section of da Sea o' Dust." He spun back around to face the crew again. "What you boyz gotta do is put da Gangstahz down far enough away so'z we can sneaks up on da Sistahz, cuz Nazdreg wants fer us ta get stuck in agin." He squinted dangerously at the cowering bridge crew. "Ya c'n do dat, can't ya?" The Blood Axes were silent, but all nodded vigorously. Grishnak spun back around again to grin evilly at the display screen. "Good. Cuz dis time, I'm gonna spring da trap!" He started to laugh, but was suddenly struck by a barely sub-lethal migraine between the eyes and the violent rising of his gorge. He realized rather belatedly that he should not spin so much in his comfy command chair: vicious, notorious warboss, killer of uncountable foes, but still he couldn't spin too fast, or he'd get dizzy! Dark Spire Desert, Planet of Tatoonie Nasea Cluster Sector -0.425 The violent yellow sun beat down on the shuffling mob of Orks and Gretchin standing on the hard-packed desert sands. Grishnak glanced out over the heads of his warband at the Humie skirmish line shimmering in the distance. He had decided against the sneaky tactics Brukk had pushed for, and instead the entire warband was deployed in a short, thick, green line. Da Movahz were way off to the left in case the girlies tried to flank his ladz, but the rest of them were all here, just waiting to run at the Sisters of Battle forces sweating a short distance away. Well, except for Brukk's Numbah One Kommando . . . Gork only knew where they were. Grishnak looked up and behind him where Lew and the Nobz were standing on a long thin dune, scanning the Sisters' line for targets. Next to them stood the towering Kan, shining in the desert sun. The Smasha Gun of the Da Shakahz battery stood nearby, its Gretchin crew making last minute adjustments. And on the far left side of the dune, its engine purring in a deep idle, sat a Nightwing warbike. Grishnak looked back at the Sisters line, his fanged mouth pulling into a lop-sided grin. With savage glee bubbling up in his Orky soul at the thought of actually getting stuck in himself, he waved Wolfbighta over his head vigorously and yelled at the top of his lungs, "OK ladz, MOVE OUT!" In fits and starts that seemed perfectly natural to the warboss but would have shamed a Stormboy Drill Sergeant the mob started out across the sands. A couple steps ahead of Grishnak, Lowkey laughed maniacally, waving the warband's standard as he bolted towards the foe. The warlord smiled tolerantly; the little bugger almost never got to indulge his bloodthirsty side. Grishnak revelled in the Orky glory of being at the center of a huge mob surging towards the enemy. He fired several shots from Wolfbighta into the air, and some of the boyz followed suit. Moments later, however, the celebratory volley was drowned out as every gun on the big dune behind the mob lashed out. Grishnak looked over to the left, where all the fire seemed to be directed. He keyed his comm set on with his tongue. "Whats goin' on?" Lew responded immediately. "Boss, we gotz a tank a' some kind coming straight in towardz da Snakebite ladz. It looks like onea dem Beaky Rhinoz, but itz got a gun on da top." A cold wind seemed to penetrate Grishnak's mega armor and swirl across his back. "Lew, c'n you see da gunner?" "Yeah boss," Lew seemed surprised. "Dere's a girlie girl sittin' behin' da gun." There was a brief pause. "Ah, boss?" "Yeah?" "It looks really big." Grishnak thought quickly, a painful and seldom fruitful process. "Are da boarboyz spread out?" Lew's reply was puzzled. "No, Boss, dey wuz comin' t'roo dis little valley in front, toward you. Dere all bunched up." The frantic warboss tried to see through the dunes between him and the action. He was afraid he knew what sort of Rhino variant was hurtling towards his close-in support. "Tell dem to . . . " Before he could finish his warning, a huge blast of heat washed up out of the valley that held his boarboyz. A deep-throated roar accompanied the wave of heat, and moments later the sounds of screaming boyz and boarz crackled out over the comm net. Grishnak snapped his receiver off with a vicious gesture of his jaw. He did not wait for a casualty report, it was libel to be more than his delicate disposition could handle at the moment. "OK, ladz, get 'em!" he yelled. He saw that the only gitz in the mob that were going to have a shot were the Gretchin, but they set to with a savage will, and Grishnak had to fight down a momentary feeling of pride in the wee bleeders. The rippling snaps of the Gretchin autoguns echoed off the surrounding dunes, and to the surprise and delight of the entire Ork mob over half of the Humie skirmish line standing before them pitched over into the sand. The mob let out a huge roar of approval, and the Gretchin, beaming with pride, turned to bask in their moment of glory. Grishnak's bare eye widened as he saw movement off to the right, and before he could shout out another warning, the unmistakable burping sound of a heavy bolter answered the autogun volley. Two of the rearward facing Gretchin, eyes wide in surprise, flew back into the on-rushing mob, bodies twitching in the burning dust before being trod down by their mates' advance. Grishnak chinned the comm set back on. "Lew," he growled into his mic. "What's goin' on wit dat Immerlater?" "Uh," the nob returned. "Da wut?" "Da tank, you idgit!" "Oh, uh, not good, boss." Grishnak looked up in annoyance. "Uh, it shot out dis big sheet o' flames, an' a lotta da Snakebite ladz was roasted. Most 'v da rest 'v 'em 'er hidin' at da end o' da valley. One o' da bikes gotz hit too, an its all on fire, an da lad on it, I tink it's Bogosh, iz screamin' like crazy, an' headin' straight fer da . . . um . . . Im-mo . . . a . . . whoozit. Da tank." Grishnak growled under his breath. If the Immolator swept up on the flank of his big mob, his whole advance would melt . . . literally. He was still trying to figure what else he could throw at the annoying tank when a deep concussion sounded on the far side of the dune, and Lew whooped over the general frequency. "Whooohaaah! Boss! Boss! Bogosh drove 'is bike smash into da . . . tank, an' it blew up! It hit dat big rock spike over dere!" Grishnak did not need to be directed to the spire in question, since a solid sheet of orange flame was washing up its black face even as he turned to watch. The greasy smoke that followed the initial flame was thick and black and carried with it the unmistakable scent of charred flesh . . . Grishnak licked his thick lips and tried to control his hunger. "OK, Oskah," he addressed the driver of Da Kan. "Dere's a 'eavy boltah over to da right, see it?" The high-pitched voice of the dreadnought pilot came back almost immediately. "Yeah Boss, I gotz it." "Kill it." Oscah did not take the time to acknowledge the order, but instantaneously let rip with his own heavy bolter. The little dune behind-which the heavy bolter team had been hiding was kicked up by exploding rounds, small dust devils swirling over the emplacement. In moments the sand settled in the oppressive heat . . . onto the bullet ridden bodies of the guardsmen, the twisted wreck of their own weapon smoking beside them. Again, the advancing mob roared its approval. As if in answer to the warband's shouts, several lances of coherent light snapped out from a dune off to the right flank of the Imperial skirmish line. Lascannon bolts impacted on the Ork-held dune to the rear of the mob. One hit Da Kan, sending one of its lascannons thudding into the compacted sand, electrical leads and trailing wires smoking. In response, the two remaining warbikes snapped off a volley of their own, tracers flashing back down into the valley. "Lew!" Grishnak yelled as he urged the mob closer to the stalwart Imperial troops. "What's goin' on?" "Uh, boss," there was a pause as the nob fired his lacannon at the stand of desert grass from which the Imperial lascannon fire had emerged. "Some o' doze sistahz tried ta get towards dat hill in da middle o' da valley. Da bikes lit 'em up, tho, an' dey ain't dere no more." Grishnak thought for a moment, absent-mindedly cuffing a reluctant Gretchin in the back of the head, propelling it forward. "How's da left flank?" There was another pause while Lew scanned the shimmering desert off to the left with his targetting eye. "Uh, dey got da Smasha over dere, looks like wit' a lascannon; dere ain't much left ovit. An' dere's a Pulsa stuck on da top o' onea dem rocky spiky bits. Udder dan dat, I can't see nothin'." "Whadabout da Kommandos?" Lew strained again. "I can't see nothin', boss." Grishnak chinned himself onto the Kommando command frequency. "Brukk, what's happenin'?" White noise crackled over the airwaves. "Brukk, 're you dere?" Again, nothing. "Brukk, you no-good squig spawn, answer me, Gork-damn you!" There was no answer. Grishnak chinned his system onto the general Kommando frequency. "'Re dere any Kommandos out dere?" The response was immediate and un-nerving. "Aaahhgg! Dey burned 'em all! Dey burned 'em all!" The warboss didn't recognize the voice, but he knew it wasn't Brukk. Grishnak tried to calm down the excited Blood Axe long enough to figure out what had happened on his left flank. Apparently Brukk had tried to get into the enemy backfield, depending on the Pulsa from Da Movahz battery to immobilize the Sister assault squad defending that flank. Unfortunately, as happened more often than not with the over-excitable Gretchin crew on a Pulsa, it had landed short of its target, sticking high up on one of the rock spires where it's pulse, insufficient to even free the smoking hulk of the Rokkit, had done nothing to stop the flamer-armed jump troops. The ending to that story was obvious and scorchy. Grishnak just shrugged and turned back to his flank. He now knew that another squad of sisters would be soon making an appearance. Grishnak pointed his long spikey power claw at the lascannon-armed dune rising up ahead of the advancing green wave. "Bugeyez!" The painboy stumped on over, grumbling. "Yeah?" "Use dat scanner o' yerz, an' see if dere's any'ting on de udder side o' dat dune." The doc continued grumbling while he consulted his bulky scanner. His eyes widened behind their thick specs. "Boss, dere's lots o' Humies over dere!" Grishnak knew who was behind the dune. So far there had been no sign of any Humie leading the Imperial forces, so the command section had to be hiding behind that dune. And if Nazdreg's information was correct, they all had those nasty Humie jump packs, too. What could they be waiting for? The warboss scanned the lip of the valley, trying to find anything that might perform the minor miracle of putting an idea in his little Orky brain. And there it was. Off to the left, on top of the small dune in the center of the valley, was a small black box. Grishnak flexed the facial muscles of his left cheek, and the gain on his targetting eye spun up to full magnification. The box was about two feet to a side, with no markings on its dented but intact surface. Several jack-ports stuck out of the side facing the Orky horde, filled with sand. Grishnak's evil smile returned. The Imperial Boss needed that box, for some bizarre Humie reason. If the Immolator had succeeded in sweeping up the left flank, the Orks would have been forced away from the box, probably long enough for the jump troops behind the lascannon-topped dune to fly over, grab the box, and fly away. The smile became, if possible, more evil. 'Cause they hadn't been forced away, and now they were in a perfect position to deny the enemy this goal while at the same time getting stuck in like Nazdreg ordered. "Lew," the warboss tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Yeah boss?" "Dere's about ta be lots o' girlie jumperz goin' fer dat liddle dune right in front of yez." "Yeah?" Lew sounded puzzled. "Tell da gitz wid da Pulsa to put it right on top o' dat dune oppersit you guyz to slow 'em down a bit, den I wants you guys ta all wait a sec, get ready fer 'em, an' give 'em Gork when dey come up over da hill." Lew did not sound any more clear on the subject, but he signalled that he was, and so Grishnak let it go at that. "OK boyz," now he addressed the big mob spread out around him. "Dis iz it. Let's get 'em!" And the ladz surged forward with a deep-throated growl. Snapping off ill-aimed shots while they ran. The high-pitched scream of a Pulsa roared overhead, the billowing contrail tracing a crazy, wiggling line through the still desert air, disappearing behind the targeted dune. Moments later a huge plume of dust exploded into the air at the base of the contrail. The dust washed up over the lascannon positions like a big brown wave. The Orky yelling doubled in its intensity. As if in response to this final Orky rush, the first Humie rush began. The flamer jumpers from the left flank came sailing from behind the Pulsa topped rock spire, slight smoke trails tracking the muzzles of their hand flamers. One of the warbikes met the assault troops' push with roaring cannons, and two of the Sisterz ended their jumps in still, jumbled heaps, like discarded rag dolls. In that moment, Grishnak felt like he could take on the entire Empire on his own. There he was, at the center of a massive Orky offensive, running across the burning sands of an alien planet, Humies dropping like flysquigs in front of his wildly screaming ladz. Gork knew, it couldn't get any better than this! There was a lull in the battle while the dust settled from the latest Pulsa hit. The Gretchin at the front of the advance, now directly beneath the big dune with the lascannon positions, slowed down, peering near-sightedly through the dust, looking for targets. Grishnak's Gitburnahz, plasma guns and flamers held at the ready, stared at the big dune, waiting for the final Sister assault. Behind the little hill with its mysterious black box crept the surviving three boarboyz, heartened by the sight of Grishnak's brave advance. Closer inspection showed that actually one of the boarboyz was Kak, one of Gumz' nob boyz. Grishnak's grin widened alarmingly as he realized that he now had a chance to completely deny the Sister Boss that hill. He waved the Snakebites forward, and without hesitation, they went. The pause ended with the whining rush of jump packs soaring over their concealing dune. Instantly the mob's support units, having been warned to expect the sudden assault, replied with all the firepower at their disposal. The first shot was from the Smasha Gun, which through some miracle of Gork's lashed out and grabbed the lead girlie in the irresistible hand of Orky forcefield technology. The woman's forward momentum was immediately arrested, and her desperately struggling body hoisted high into the hot desert air before being slammed back down into the hard-baked sand. She didn't get back up. The other four bodyguard troops did not fair much better, although their ends were not quite so spectacular. Da Kan's heavy bolter stitched two more out of the air, their graceful arcs of flight ending in the sudden, jerky movements of inanimate targets. One of the sisters disappeared completely, engulfed in the burning miniature sun of Gog's heavy plasma gun, the melted remains of her armor thudding to the sands below. The final bodyguard sister almost made it to the dune, but just as she was about to land, Lew's lascannon speared her through the abdomen. Her legs continued their graceful landing, but her upper body kept sailing forward to smash against a small rock spire rising up next to the black box. Despite all of this carnage, however, the full firepower of the warband was expended on these advance troops, so that when the Sister boss and the Imperial force's standard bearer came flying towards the black box, there was nothing left to stop them. Grishnak growled low in his throat as he realized there was nothing left to throw at those two girlie Humie scum. He turned to give further orders to Lew, looking up at the dune just in time to see a lascannon bolt hit Da Kan squarely in its center of mass. As the warboss watched in horror, the big dreadnought exploded in a massive fireball that engulfed the entire dune, rising like a big red mushroom into the pale blue desert sky. As the sand and dust settled, only two of the mega armored nobz were still standing. In one shot the humies had taken out Da Kan, Joko the mekaniak, three Gretchin crewgitz, the Smasha Gun, and a warbike. Fury boiled up within the warboss. His vision burned bright red as he turned back toward the Humie line. His roared command shook pebbles and sand from the surrounding dunes and spires. "GET 'EM!!!!!" The remaining boarboyz raced up the small dune, flying at the last sisters standing at the top. One of them let loose with a whooshing cone of flame that engulfed the lead boarboy, but the last two, crazed with bloodlust, continued their headlong rush towards the foe. The Gretchin line, looking up determinedly into the lowering guns of the Imperial lascannon crews, took careful aim (for them), and fired. Without fanfare or celebration, the four guardsmen just slumped behind their weapons, drilled by the little autogun bullets. Behind the line of Gretchin, Hindy the runtherd fired his plasma gun up at the sister who had just fried the boarboy. Two darts of incandescent sun-stuff knocked the uppity female butt over teakettle off the dune and into the valley on the other side. Grishnak, anger still surging within him, sighted down the considerable length of Wolfbighta at the defiant Sister Boss. His crosshairs settled directly on the flat, ugly, Humie face, expanded to dreadful proportions by his targetting eye, and the warboss pulled the trigger. Wolfbighta exploded with a dull crump. The force of the blast was contained by Grishnak's Kustum force field so that it couldn't hurt anyone else. The warboss looked down incredulously at the blackened pistol grip that was all that was left of his Kustum Shoota. With a howl of rage he threw the grip at the distant sister, who never knew how close she had come to death. Even as the pistol grip thudded into the side of the dune, Kak carromed into the Sister Boss and the standard bearer, his cyboar frothing at its metal-fanged mouth. The last remaining boarboy also collided with two sisters, the only other surviving Humies left on the dune. Grishnak collected himself, pulled his bolt pistol, and gestured for the warband to circle up around the base of the dune to deny any surviving Humie females a chance to escape. On the top of the dune, the final moves of the battle played themselves out. Kak, cyboar rearing handsomely directly on top of the black box, viciously backhanded the standard bearer with his powerclaw. The Sister's battle standard fluttered weakly to the sand next to the still form of its bearer, and Kak turned to face the Humie boss. The Sister had pulled out a bizarre weapon, several spiky lengths of pipe connected to a big handle by lengths of chain. The strange flail hit Kak a glancing blow, skidding of the nob'z 'eavy armor. The final boarboy, charging the last two Sisters of Battle, ran directly into the first, throwing her off balance and skewering her with his rusty sword as she tried to keep from falling off the dune. But as the boy was trying to dislodge his weapon from the first foe's ribcage, the last Sister on the dune placed one of her hand flamers directly to the back of his head and pulled the trigger, igniting the greasy hairsquig stuck to his scalp. Screaming, he followed his first victim off the side of the dune. The Sister commander, hearing the blood-curdling scream behind her, turned to catch a quick glimps of the slumped form of one sister, a rusty sword still jutting from her armor, and the last standing sister looking at her desperately. The commander looked back at the black box, then at the sea of Orks and Gretchin closing in on the little island of a dune. With a vicious growl that would have done Grishnak proud, she back handed Kak's cyboar in the nose with the handle of her flail, and while the suddenly distracted nob was trying to regain control of his mount, she rocketed off the blood-soaked dune, gesturing for the last remaining sister to follow. "Boss!" the cry came crackling out over the warboss' comm link. "We c'n follow wit da bike, wants we should?" Grishnak watched angrily as the two retreating sisters disappeared behind a dune. He was tempted to try to finish them off, but he knew that he had completed enough of his mission, and he only had the one warbike left. If by some fluke of bad luck he lost it, that would leave him with no fast recon ability at all. He kicked some dust up with one armored foot. "Naar,' he ground out between clenched fangs. "We gots ta let 'em go. Mebee we can . . . " "GRISHNAK." The deep voice rumbled into the direct command link in the warboss' ear, and there was no confusion as to who it was. He could not help a reflexive glance upwards, imagining the Warlord's mysterious hulk gliding by in orbit. "Yeah, Warlord?" "Get yer doc over ta help out dat mekboy o' yerz, an' get yer stuff fixed up. I'm gonna send you down stuff to help yer repairs. You gotta do it fast." Grishnak didn't want to question the warlord, but there was little chance that he could be ready for battle again anytime soon. "Uh, Warlord, why . . . " "Grishnak, the Brother's Sanguine 're comin' yer way. Dey want dat box, an' yer not gonna let 'em get it . . . 'Re ya!" Grishnak was a bit confused. "Umm, 'course not . . . " "I also want ya ta get some boyz behind da Beakie scum, ta see what might be dere, OK? Grishnak felt his Orky heart swell at the thought of meeting some Humie marines. A glow came into his beady eye, and he turned to the mob surrounding him, waiting to see what the warlord had wanted. "OK, ladz," Grishnak began. "Dere're some Humie marines comin dis way fer dat box, an' we're ta stop 'em. So moves it! Bugeyez, go get Joko back on his feet. Kak, see if ya c'n wake up Gumz an Dreg. Lew. . . " And deep in the hot, sweltering valley, Grishnak's Gangstahz prepared for their next confrontation in the service of