Ork stories

Dem Bikes Ain't so Bad! Industrial Zone 12 ruins, Planet of Tatoonie Nasea Cluster Sector -0.425 The Orks and Gretchin of Grishnak's Gangstahz stood in a ragged line, sweating under the harsh Tatoonie sun. Gritty, abrasive sand scurried over their feet as their eyes followed their Warboss' pacing up and down the line. The big Ork waved Wolfbighta around wildly as he ranted at them. "OK, ladz, dis iz da way it iz: We've been stuck on dis stinkin' ball a' sand fer munt's now smackin' dese stinkin' humies all over da desert. We'z all sunburnt, dere's sand in everting, an' all our stuff's on da fritz cuz ov it." He paused to take a deep breath before continuing in his maddened pacing. "Now we've been followin' dese bike-ridin' beakie boyz all over, an DEY . . . AIN'T . . . LEAVIN'!!!!!" He emphasized his point by firing a volley from his trusty kustum shoota over his warband's heads. "Now we're gonna be here fer anuver munt, before da transport can come back an' get us!" A deep growl met this revelation. The Orks shifted restlessly, eager to punish the humies that had trapped them on this terrible planet for another interminable month. "An' whose fault iz it, boyz?" "Da Rude Delmort, Boss!" Came the ragged reply. Unsatisfied with the uneven response, Grishnak turned sharply on the long green line. "Whose fault iz it?" "DA RUDE DELMORT, BOSS!!!" This time the response echoed off the surrounding dunes and the crumbling ruins behind them. Grishnak knew the humie marines in the distance would be warned by the angry roar, but he was past caring. He nodded, gratified. "Dat's right, its doze Rude Delmort Beaky's fault. We wuz gonna leave. We wuz gonna go someplace wit less sand, less wind, an' less HEAT!" He punctuated each point with a short burst from Wolfbighta, sniffing uncaringly as a stray shot sent a Gretchin tumbling into the distance. "An' wut 're you gonna do about it?!?" He shouted at the Orks in the line, his squigy breath washing over them in a fetid wave. Grishnak looked unbelievingly as one of the kommandos raised one tentative claw. "Wut?!?" "Um," said the Blood Axe diffidently. "Give 'em what fer, boss?" Grishnak covered his rage filled eye with his power claw and shook his head in dismay. He turned back to the rest of the Orks, giving the kommando who had spoken a vicious backhand without even looking at him. Brukk just looked away. "I sez, WUT 'RE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?!?!?" This time the response was not tentative nor diffident. "GIVE'EM WHAT FER, BOSS!!!!!!!" A demonic gleam shone in Grishnak's eye. A terrible, viciously evil grin spread over his craggy features. He lifted his grotesquely fanged maw to the sky and roared his anger at the Universe. "YEEEAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!" A long stream of tracers flew from Wolfbighta into the pale blue sky. An answering salvo tore out from the line of Orks and Gretchin, ripping huge streaks into the distance. Grishnak waved at the kommandos. "You'ze guyz go forward furst an' try ta get da Dread. We're gonna be right behin' ya tho', so don't dawdle about." The kommandos silently turned and disappeared over the dune. Brukk paused long enough to throw what the warboss thought might have been a salute in his direction, then disappeared after the troopers. "OK, ladz" Grishnak began, turning back to the mob. "Dis iz gonna be quick an' dirty. No fancy planz, no maneuverin' an' no worries." The mob growled its assent. "Jus' spread out 'ere, ever'body get a good look, an' when I gives da wurd, I want da pulsas in de air, da smasha gunz zappin' away, an' ever'body else runnin' for'ard." He turned to the Snakebites, their snorting, snuffling mounts staked to the hard-packed sand beside them. "You'z boyz iz gonna git stuck right in, go straight fer 'em, gots dat?" Gumz nodded eagerly. "Yeah, boss. We'll swat 'em upside da gulliverz wit da powerclaws 'fore dey knows wut hit em." The other boarboyz gathered around, muttering savage agreement. "OK, den," Grishnak muttered, turning back to the rest of the mob. "Ever'body git ready." The warband shuffled eagerly off to find positions to wait for Grishnak's signal. They all ignored the pounding sun and the blowing sand, at last about to come to grips with representatives of the race that had trapped them on this Gork-forsaken planet for so long. "Dis sucks." Brukk muttered bitterly under his breath. The imposing bulk of the Blood Axe Kommando Kaptin was pressed against the lip of a huge industrial waste dump very close to the marine camp's perimeter. His stogie, customarily unlit during covert ops, was soggy to the point of losing its basic shape after being clenched between his fangs during the long, disgusting slog through the viscous green fluid. But the kommandos were now in position, and when Grishnak gave the word, the marine sentries next to the big water tower were going to be very surprised, not to mention the big dreadnought casting its menacing shadow across the Ork-infested pond. Despite the vile liquid seeping into his jungle boots, Brukk began to grin with anticipation. He gestured toward Mac and Gutrip, indicating that their target would be the marine sentry with the bulky tube of a missile launcher resting on his shoulder. He gestured to Bek that the target for the heavy bolter would be the bike gently revving nearby, a marine mekboy straddling it, scanning the area for movement. Brukk's smile got bigger as he reflected that the marine had missed the most important movement of all. Brukk caressed the small metallic ovoid in his claw. The memory of the Blood Angel's dreadnought snapping and crackling in its own burning circuitry was sweet, and completely untempered by the memory of the impact of countless autocannon shells, that one having faded soon after Grishnak's medisquigs had done their work. Nothing pleased the kaptin more than taking down one of the terrifying marine dreads with one of Joko's tiny little toys. Brukk was lost in thought when Grishnak's subtle signal rang across the vast desert, echoing off the buildings and scaffolding of the ruined industrial complex. "GET 'EM!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Brukk cocked his arm back for a throw at the unsuspecting dreadnought even as the sound of a pulsa sailing through the air and smashing into the desert floor to the left reverberated through the sand, sending ripples through the thick liquid surrounding the kaptin. Mac and Gutrip let go with matched volleys, sending the missile-toting marine limply over the lip of a dune. Bek braced himself against the heavy bolter's kick, sighted down the length of the massive weapon, and stitched a line of dark craters into the dune just behind the techmarine's head. But Brukk's attention was completely absorbed by the dreadnought, and he snarled in glee as his muscles rippled in preperation for his throw. Then the Dreadnought flew away. Or that was Brukk's first thought. He stared up, fanged mouth open wide in disbelief, as the huge form rose gently into the hot desert air. Then Brukk saw the faint shimmer of the smasha gun's field surrounding the floating dread', and he realized what was going on. He turned back to the Orky line where the smasha gun's Gretchin crew were hopping up and down excitedly. He shouted a wordless curse at the little gits, then turned back to watch the marine vehicle drift backwards, away from the furious kaptin, before suddenly the field cut off and the dreadnought, with all the aerodynamics of a boulder, crashed to the ground behind the dune it had been standing on. Brukk was out of the glop and pounding towards the edge of the dune without thought, maddened by the escape of his prey. The haywire grenade was clenched tightly in his claw, and his only thought was for the dreadnought that had escaped. As the kommandos moved to follow their kaptin, the marine sentries' answering salvo cut down Mac and Gutrip, sending the luckless Orks sliding back into the poisonous slop. Grishnak surveyed the terminators on the dune in the distance. The slumped form of their sergeant, riddled with autocannon shells from one of the Nightwing's bikes, lay in front of their standard wedge formation. The skull-headed marine on the bike juked and dodged fire from Lew's lascannon and Gak's heavy plasma gun. But when the impressive bulk of a pulsa crashed down in the midst of the terminators, there was nothing any of them could do, and Grishnak howled in glee when skullhead's bike rose gently into the air despite his wild, desperate attempts to control the vehicle. The warboss looked back towards the cackling Gretchin crew with amused tolerance as they wiggled the smasha gun around and cut off the power to the force field, dropping the bike on top of one of the terminators. Grishnak imagined skullhead's eyes widening as he realized that, although he had survived the drop, he had landed right next to the pulsa rokkit's smoking shell. Sure enough, the rokkit's little force field generated slammed on, and a sand storm exploded upwards into the pale blue of the desert sky, obscuring the warboss' view for a moment. Through the slowly blowing sand he could see the bike go sailing off into the distance behind the terminators' dune as those stalwart warriors of the Imperium went staggering to their armored knees. "Get 'em!" Screamed the warboss, and all the Orks who had stationed themselves with him on the right flank began to advance towards the supine marines under the cover of Lew and Gak's heavy weapons as the Gretchin began to wheel their big gun back behind the dune, having been robbed of further shots at the bike. Another humie, this one armed with the long vicious snout of an assault cannon, slumped back to the sand and did not attempt to rise again. Brukk could see little through the angry red haze obscuring his vision. He was only peripherally aware of the staccato series of explosions off to the left marking the destruction of an entire squadron of bikes thrown out of control by the viciously accurate pulsa. He heard, without comprehension, the charge of Gumz and the other Snakebites as they slammed into the marine sentries, the tide of Orks and boarflesh overwhelming the stunned defenders while a tide of Gretchin rose behind the charge, swinging away to the left, towards the pulsa's impact point. But Brukk didn't care about any of that. He didn't care about the autocannon shell-riddled bike and techmarine body slumped against the side of the dune as he ran passed. There was no room in his Orky brain for any thought beyond bringing down the prey he had been robbed of. He could here the sand-clogged servos of the marine dreadnought whirring behind the dune and new the fall probably hadn't even hurt it. The remnants of his mob behind him, the kaptin pounded around the dune and came to a ragged halt as the huge marine machine lumbered into sight. For a moment Brukk stood still, staring down the barrels of two lascannons and a huge assault cannon. The dreadnought came to an abrupt stop when it saw him, and time slowed. The haywire grenade seemed to increase in weight in his claw, and the red haze before his eyes seemed to fade away, leaving only the very real dreadnought standing before him. Brukk could hear the wind rustling over the dunes, he could feel the harsh sun on his upturned face, and the glare of the light off the dreadnought's vision slit almost blinded him. Time ceased its forward motion. A sudden explosion off to the right brought him back to his senses. The rising weapons of the dreadnought represented a very real threat that needed to be ended. Brukk snarled defiantly, cocked his arm back and sent the metal spheroid arching towards the huge target. He missed. For a moment Brukk could not believe what he was seeing. He never missed! How could he miss such a large target, so close? His eyes desperately followed the glittering object as it sailed right over the dreadnought, hoping for a lucky bounce. Once again, time slowed as the monster's weapons continued to come up into firing positions, and the grenade bobbled across the hot sand. It rolled up away from the dreadnought for a moment and Brukk new dispair. Then it started to roll back towards the beast, and came to rest against its gritty, metallic right foot. Brukk's smile returned, and the dreadnought seemed to pause, as if sensing its danger. Then the grenade exploded in a bright, huge fountain of blinding white sparks. Brukk howled in triumph as the dreadnought was engulfed in smoke and billowing sand. He had taken down another metal marine monster! There was no stopping him! His celebration ended abruptly as the dreadnought stepped heavily out of the swirling cloud. The Ork's red eyes widened in disbelief as time once again resumed its natural speed, and the world exploded in chattering flames as the dread's assault cannon reached long yellow fingers towards its would-be destroyer. This time Brukk never even felt what hit him as the slamming impacts of the shells knocked him off his feet and into the gelid sludge of the industrial waste. "All we have over 'ere iz da marine kaptin an da dread, boss." Hindy's voice crackled in Grishnak's ear. "Da sentries iz dun fer, an da Snakebites iz gone around back again. My gitz iz gettin beatin' up by da kaptin, an' dey can't last much longer." Grishnak tried to control his annoyance at the sound of concern for the Gretchin in Hindy's voice. He knew his anger at Brukk's obvious failure to take out the dreadnought was coloring his thinking. Absently he cuffed Lowkee in the head to work out his frustration, ignoring the indignant look the little standard bearer shot him. "OK, Hindy," Grishnak growled over the comm. "Pull yer little bleeders back, Da Kan'll take out dere dread, an' we gotz da termies pinned down on dis hill. We're OK." The warboss turned back to the dune. The large shapes of slumped terminator armored marines littered the hill top, only two still standing. With his chin he tuned his comm. set to the general warband frequency. "OK, ladz, we gotz 'em where we wantz 'em. One last smack an' dey'll know dey been hit, an' dey'll leave. When I gives da signal, ever'body shoot." The warboss took a deep breath. "One . . . Two . . . Free . . . Five, GET 'EM!!!!!!!" In front of the warboss the terminator's hill top disappeared as shot after shot from lascannon, plasma guns and autocannons slammed into it, sending great gouts of dark sand fountaining upwards. The sound of the capacitors on Da Kan whining up split the air to the left, and when it abruptly stopped and a solid ring echoed off the buildings down range Grishnak knew that his dread had scored at least one hit on its opposite number. As fast as the final salvo had begun, it ended. The Orks of Grishnak's Gangstahz peered nearsightedly into the swirling sand and dust, claws clenched around hot, smoking weapons. Grishnak dialed up the enhanced vision of his bionic eye and could barely make out the form of a single terminator disappearing into the distance, leaving its fallen brethren behind. "Hindy," Grishnak grunted softly. "Wutz goin' on over dere?" "Um, da kaptin iz gone, boss. An I t'ink dere dread iz gone too." A low growl escaped Grishnak's throat. The loss of the dreadnought would have been a huge problem for the Rude Delmort. Within his heavy mega armor his massive shoulders shrugged. He had gotten the information Nazdreg needed. Again. The warboss looked at the boyz around him, all eagerly hoping for the sign to hunt down the three fugitive marines. "Naaaah, boyz," Grishnak said, lowering Wolfbighta. "Dere's no point. We done what we needed ta, we'z earned a break." A sharp tension seemed to drain out of the warband, and their tooth-filled mouths twisted into fearful grins at the praise. "Lowkee, go gather up wuts left a' da Grots, an' have Hindy git da pulsas. Da rest a' yah go find some shade." Grumbling contentedly, the Gangstahz scattered, weapons held nonchalantly over shoulders or dragging in the sand. "Oh, and Lew," the nob stopped his whirring retreat to look questioningly over one mega-armored shoulder. "Go drag Brukk out 'a dat glop." The nob nodded glumly, gesturing for Gog and Gak to follow him. "And someone take one 'a dem bikes an' get da Snakebites. Dey'll jus' keep goin' 'less someone stops