“What is dat statue of, boss? Is dat Mork?” one of Skagnabba’s orderlies had been watching the pain boy gazing at the oozing green rock for hours, mesmerized.
“Sure looks like ‘im.” Skagnabba muttered after a few moments of brushing flies off of one of his recent knife wounds. “I fink this is what’s going ta help tha clan win sum wars. Mork is makin’ tha juice that’ll make Orksies stronga, dat fer sure.”
The orderly hopped off the table where he was perched and picked up a bottle almost clairvoyantly to hand to his boss. Skagnabba leveled a large dirty syringe to syphon off some of the green liquid that slowly oozed out of the statue, turned and squeezed it out into the bottle. The orderly winced as he got a nose full of the foul smell coming from the syringe. It was tolerable when it was on the other side of the room and he could not smell. To make it worse he was envisioning the little particles of mold floating around in there floating through the air and going right up his nose. This shouldn’t be a problem, green skins all come from spores, but he did not share the same vision the good dok had, this did not seem as sacred to him as it did Skagnabba.
“We put this stuff in boss Bug Bugga and he will be unstoppable, then once the other Orks sees this they will want sum uv there own.”
“FWASH” the squig hide flap on the hut flew open in a hurry “Quick, bugs is attackin’ that grot farms” an ork shouted into the hut. The orderly, startled, dropped the jar full of liquid whacking the ground. Before the draw could spill out Skagnabba swooped down to snatch the bottle up and set it’s precious contents on the work bench.
“Big Mek Spankruk sent me ta git you.” The boy looked at the pain boy for a moment for some sign he was going to comply then ran back toward Zognoggin’s hut.
“Whatta ya gunna do, boss?” The spooked orderly eagerly asked his master.
Snagnabba stood up, pulled his ‘to-go’ kit full of bottles, various chemicals, his favorite bone saw, some syringes, industrial sized stapler and other accoutrements off the work bench headed outside into the itching sun light to get his warbike. Orks were running through the camp toward the mek shop loading their shootas, pulling on slabs of metal armor, and getting ready to head out of camp to the grot farms.
The pain boss looked back over to see if Zognoggin was coming when he heard a low rumble of a small cannon and he saw the messenger ork’s head erupt. For a moment as the tent flap was falling back into place he could see Zognoggin standing there facing out next to what looked like a space marine covered in jags, teef and a boss pole. The only thought that entered Snagnabba’s mind was “stoopid Ork shoulda knocked!” He kicked started his bike and headed toward the cavalry.
“Boyz, dis is it, our lads are in danga, tha bug eye is eaten’ through our grots, and dat is sumpfin tha great boss would neva let happin. Load up on dem wagons, boyz and lets gun bugga sum bugs!” The big mek, perched on top of an old Leman Russ covered in plates of metal, Space Marines chain swords and extended exhaust tubes, shouted out over the mobs of Orks. Just as he finished he could see Snagnabba pull up to a small mob of bikers and was relieved. Things hadn’t been going so well for the tribe but after the last battle and seeing what the ailing pain boy could do his view of him had changed. The powerhouse of a dok was exactly what this group needed. He could’t help but smile at the old dok.
“Light dem engines and lets kill sum bugs!” The Ork inside the looted wagon spun the kannon around
in a show of excitement at his new toy and knocked the Big Mek off the tank, sliding across the ground and bashing his head against an engine block lying against the shop. Gobsmacked the mek just lay there dazed.
The whole warparty stood there waiting for the mek, the tribes figure of inspiration and direction, to regain his composure. They waited and waited. Slowly Orks gathered around the Mek.
Nazjamma, the biker nob got off his bike, grabbed the Mek under his shoulders and drug him into the mek shop. When he came back out he looked up to Grukzappa, the other big mek riding on the second looted wagon, “Take ‘em ta battle, Spankruk is sittin’ dis one out.”
With half the enthusiasm and two tanks whose crew were teaching themselves how to operate and covered in passengers clinging to the sides the war party made their way out of camp, and up the hill to the Grot farms.
When the Orks first landed on Mehta the hills above camp looked like a great place to raise Grots, it was secluded, had a great set of plateaus, few animals could be seen and had plenty of places to hide grot mushrooms. But now that the Orks had been there winter was setting in, a light dusting of snow covered some of the rock outcroppings and the artesian springs had crusts of ice around the edges where the water had cooled enough to freeze. This was the first of three camps, four runt herdas manned this camp and had a population of about 60 gretchen, not the biggest, but not the smallest.
The nine bikers made it to the farm first with Grukzappa riding on the back of Snagnabba’s bike. The Orks had given up riding on the looted wagons, after one driver knocked Spankruk out cold and each driver ran over an Ork while lurching back and forth, going faster when they should be stopping, turning the gun instead of turning the tank, and knocking boyz off left and right the party started to doubt if bringing these war machines was such a great idea. Either way the leadership had arrived safe.
Levvagob, the herda in charge walked up to the bikers in a bit of a hurry. There was a mild taste of panic in his appearance, and with a quick glance at the other inhabitants he was not the only one. Grots were huddled up, herdas were clutching their hounds and silence was pervasive sound in camp. Until the bikers showed up.
“Fiddlefur ova here,” the Herda pointed to a mob of Grots, the mob quickly shoved Fiddlefur out, instinctually trying to avoid being beaten out of confusion, “came in from da Wydtoof camp, said it was wiped out by tha bug eye and dat they are comin dis way.”
Snagnabba looked back down the road to judge how long it would take that growing ball of dust and Orks to travel up to Levvagob’s camp. “Boyz, lets go look for some bugs. Levvagob, you and yer runts take up here, we’ll be back.” With that the bikers tore off around some crags looking for war and Levvagob felt better.
Several of the shoota boys took up position in one of the barracks while the big mek took to the other barracks, in part to get a better view but in part to get away from the death traps down bellow, only the Grots had little idea what the looted wagons were doing to their own people. The hope was only that they would do more damage to the Tyranids than to the Orks. Out of ignorance the Grots surrounded the tanks as icons of hope and protection.
The camp was situated wrong, it was never meant to defend against attackers, just like the camp bellow it was set up in the base of several rock outcroppings and sheer surfaces limiting fields of view and giving any ambush a nice trump card. Four paths lead out of camp, one of which was the path the Orks took up, another the bikers took out of camp leaving two ways the bugs could get in if they didn’t just drop down on them or pop out of the ground. The camp was growing tense.
“Here dey come!” yelled the Big Mek. “Get yer gunz ready!” From his perch he could see a couple dozen genesteelers working their way around one of the cliffs surrounding the camp. The whir of the teleporta baubles spinning around on his Shokk Attack gun and the vacuum getting ready to suck up some snotlings echoed through the building.
The genesteelers were silent and massive creatures swarming around the cliff like an army of ants with complete organization and efficiency. A Brood Lord nearly breaking out of the sea of Bugs saw the baubles light up, a tingle radiated through the creatures and they all spaced out to avoid the incoming snotlings. With a flash the payload was in the middle of the ‘steelers, clawing and tearing at the exoskeletons only killing a small handful before being trampled to death by the horde.
Now excited to test out their new toys the Ork manned tanks prepared to fire. An old Leman run lurched forward nearly running over several Gretchen in front of them then spinning the turret to the side. The boys inside rattled from the unexpected jostle. The second tank didn’t do much better, an old Imperial Basilisk with a hopped up engine and racing wheels on the rear ended up raising and lowering its barrel repeatedly as two Orks argued about how to aim the kannon.
A large mob of boyz in ‘eavy armor sped off to meet the genesteelers afraid of their own monsters behind them.
On the other side of the cliff a smaller group of ‘steelers followed by their Tervigon mother, stomach undulating with her unborn brood inside of her, spindly arms buckling from her weight with each step. Clearing these genesteelers and the Tervigon would be the job of the shoota boys, hopefully with the aid of at least one war machine, but that was not looking promising.
The Tervigon paused as the Genesteelers roared passed her, the muscles under her carapace wretched and heaved, the shapes inside her stomach churned, then with a slow spasm, dull, ichor slathered bodies poured out of here. Each one fumbled to the ground, tested their weary legs and within moments darted off like miniature race horses toward the Orks. The boys were ready.
“Gimmee some skulls, lads!” commanded the nob. A congo line of ‘ard boyz stretched out to catch the mass of ‘steelers hitting their line with luke-warm enthusiasm. Before the boys could land any blows the genesteelers and their Brood Lord tore through a quarter of the mob eating the boisterous Nob, claws shedding his armor like a velcro suit. A few boys punched back with crude hatchets and knives killing an even smaller number of ‘steelers. It was not looking god for the boys.
There was so little room left in the pass with the combat in full bore giving the other genesteelers little choice but to climb over the large rock outcropping to get around the melee. The Mek seizing his chance cranked up the Shokk Attakk gun sucking up what he thought were Snotlings, instead a wad of straw and feathers settled over the horde of aliens approaching. He looked down and saw that he had accidentally vacuumed up a series of Snotling beds the deviants had pushed in the way of the Mek. “You little buggas!” The mek swore back.
“Git in deer and help den boyz!” ordered Levvagob to his ever loyal Gretchen who hopped to to please their overseer.
Over the rattle of shoota and Grot blasta fire nobody could hear the roar of biker engines before it was too late. Barrels of bullets plinking against the Tervigon brought the beast’s attention to the newcomers, torn brood sack flopping to the ground as she turned around to face the fire and charge in knocking one biker against the cliff wall. Skagnabba jabbed her in the neck with one of his syringes and pumped an artery with fly larvae. He could immediately see the newborns working their way under the skin.
“Fire damn you!” the Mek was desperate by this point to get the wagons working. There were too many bugs coming in too fast for the ‘ard boys to handle, and if they can’t the second line of Grots were not going to be so much as a road bump on their way up to him.
The Leman Russ was silent for a moment right before it let out a belch of fire. Genesteelers went flying, most recovering but a few lay dead. The Mek felt better about this and looked for the Basilisk to do the same. The two gun crew could still be seen squabbling behind the gun trying to aim the kannon. The mek desperately resisted the urge to blast THEM with the shook attakk gun. By the time he looked back at the fight down bellow his fears manifest: The ‘ard boyz were dead and the genesteelers were on their way. Worse yet, cutting through the fray he could see one of the Brood Lords starring back at him, red eyes gleaming. He froze, unable to move, fixed in his place. All other senses shut down, the sounds of a dozen genesteeler feet climbing the makeshift stairs disappeared.
Crackling air surrounded the bikers and Tervigon, sinister eyes glaring down on the Orks when suddenly a look of pain flashed over the monster, electricity surged over it’s shell and it fell limp to the ground quickly losing it’s integrity almost melting into the light packed snow. A few flies burrowed out of the bio-muck and circled around. Skagnabba smilled, relieved that his new-found connection to Mork was paying off. “Dere’s more killin ta do, Boyz!” The dok shouted and the bikers continued to camp.
Bullets continued to pour out of the barracks where the shoots boyz had been holed up, in an effort to avoid the fire that was withering down their numbers the aliens lunged at the Gretchen that were assisting. They had hardly sunk their claws into a few of the underlings before the rest ran away leaving them once again in the middle of fire. Now, giving up on the Kill Kannon, the wagon was resorting to using it’s big shoota to take down the intruders.
Avoiding the retreating termagants Skagnabba tore through camp and slammed into the remnants of the ‘steeler squad. the Brood Lord singled him out, his gusto quickly vanished when he noticed who this was: “Six Toes.” There were legends on Anciok about a Brood Lord that had eaten hole Ork clans aboard space hulks, and here he was, right here in his camp. Skagnabba leapt from his bike trying to put distance between himself and the titan. The lord snatched up a bike and rider that was in his way and tossed it to the side killing the rider merely delaying the fight. Thankfully the Orks beat the remaining ‘steelers down to dismal husks of meat.
The two other genesteeler broods approached the remaining Gretchen, one brood slithering over an extinguished bonfire pit and the other coming out of the other barracks still covered in blood from both the ‘ard boyz and now the blood and DNA of their big mek. The Grots did what they could to widdle down their numbers before the attack, it helped, but not by much.
Skagnabba quickly saw that escape was not going to work and more importantly old Six Toes was not quite the nasty bug he had heard so much about. The pain Dok adjusted his tool gauntlet and marked in to meet the beast. The bikers parted letting the venerable dok through. “You got ‘im boss!” “Krump dat bug!” “Stick ‘em in da eye!” Six Toes quickly took advantage of the Dok’s slow assessment and struck slashing his shoulder tearing his skin and exposing the taught rotting muscle underneath. Skagnabba quickly recovered and struck back planting a small cut saw into the side of Six Toes’ skull digging in but not enough to kill. The dok jumped back preparing for the next attack.
It didn’t take long for the two broods to bring the wagons and crew down to mounds of scrap and turned their gaze to their new tasks: take down the Grot Fields. These tasks shouldn’t be too hard, they already had cleared one field and now just needed to clean up the mushrooms, the second field would take a bit longer as it seemed the shoota boys still occupied the field.
The boyz readied their shoot as, “get ‘im lads!” The brooks lord and one geenesteeler now stood alone. Not quite as easy as it seemed.