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Gizza Gobstoppa awoke with a start as the walls around him began to shake. With a sinking sensation he climbed to his feet just in time to see the huge space shuttle that threatened to shake the building he was in to the ground. Plaster was falling from the ceiling and the nearby windows exploded outward as the lumbering craft slowly rose into the air and flew away. It was soon joined by others all across the city, each one filled with a host of orks ready to continue the great Waaagh! of Warlord Kadzak da Srangla.
"NO! YOUSE IDEE-OTZ! COME BACK!"
He might as well have been hollering for the sun to stop shining for all the good it did him. Rage and resentment threatened to take over as he saw the last blip of of a space shuttle finally disappear in the distance.
With a growl of pure disgust, Gizza turned and kicked his way through all the debris until he found the stairs leading down to ground level. He couldn't recall why he'd been sleeping, or even why he was in the building in the first place. Judging by the large lump on the back of his head he must have been smacked pretty hard by something. He was unconscious and missed the great departure. His own tribe left without him...
"AARGH! I feelz likez killing sumfink!"
Gizza couldn't remember a time when he'd been this angry, although, even for a smartboy like him, his memory wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. He was always smarter than the others of his tribe, but he often saw his brains as a weakness; he was cowardly for an ork and his awareness of his own mortality often led him to act in strange ways. If it wasn't for his talent as a mekboy he would have been killed long ago.
Gizza was quite a sight grumbling to himself while winding his way down an imperial street that looked like it had just suffered heavy bombardment. The city was completely wrecked and he wove in and out of the rubble as casually as a human would walk through a park on a pleasant afternoon.
Like others of his clan, Gizza was covered in an assortment of odds and ends that really had no purpose other than to make him seem like he lived in a trash heap. Besides his crude black clothing we wore various ornamentation such as a necklace with a rubber ducky, bottle cap earrings and other such useless junk. Besides from this, Gizza preferred to paint the left side of his face bright blue. Blue was a lucky color, or so he believed, and he had more scars on the right side of his face, so he didn't want to cover that part up.
He walked on for a while, each crumbled building he passed a testament to the power of an orkish Waaagh! He had no clear idea of what he was looking for, but he knew staying in one place for too long would not only get on his nerves, but might expose him to any humans that may have survived. Sure, wandering around could lead him to such dangers as well, but at least it would be his doing.
A noise from one of the ruins to his left brought him out of his self-indulgent grumbling. Immediately he crouched down low and hid behind a large chunk of concrete that stood almost as tall as himself. This was the kind of behavior other orks thought was cowardly; he might as well be a Blood Axe for all the sneaking around he did.
Sergeant Gibbs cursed his clumsiness as the stray rock skidded across the ground. He was in the process of looking over a crumbling section of wall and had accidently knocked a piece of it loose. Jacobson was a little off to the side under cover of a partially-collapsed roof, trying to stifle his moans as the squad's medic patched up the bloody stump that used to be his left leg.
"Quiet, I think I heard something..."
That shut them up at once. Even Jacobson remained silent while the Doc finished the last bit of his dressing. Pale and shaky from loss of blood, he still managed to pick up his lasgun.
The Doc moved back towards Gibbs, treading as quietly as he could as he unholstered his las pistol.
"What is it, Sarge?"
"Sshh! Keep your voice down!"
"Okay..." Doc lowered his voice to barely a whisper. "What is it? Could it be another squad?"
"I don't know. Might just be vermin, but it sounded like speech. Might be more greenies."
Sergeant Gibbs had been a soldier for a long time, and he knew the risks. In the worst case scenario, they were surrounded by orks and giving away their position would mean almost certain doom. If that was so, however, why would the orks hide? If there was guard out there, they might be wounded and in need of Doc's help. He had to take a chance.
"Contact! Identify yourselves!"
That did it. There was no way Gizza was going to identify himself. For all he knew he could be surrounded, and all he had was a big shoota and a rubber ducky around his neck.
He inched a little to the side and looked in the direction of the human's voice. He could see a ruined building with a collapsed roof. There could be a whole mob of them in there, Gizza thought.
A quick movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see what had distracted him. In the second story of the building beside where the humans were holed up, a hulking figure leaned out of the window with a choppa in one hand and a shoota in the other. His face was an expression of pure rage, mixed with a little glee as he aimed downwards at the unsuspecting pinkies.
That was all Gizza needed. Standing up to his full height, he hefted his big shoota and began to charge the wall, shooting indiscriminately.
The ork from above opened fire, and must have hit something, since Gizza wasn't shot to pieces as he charged. He came to the wall and, instead of going around it, simply jumped up and over the top, unleashing an abysmally aimed barrage of bullets in every discernible direction as he did.
The ork from above was taking fire from a skinny pinky with a backpack, but that wasn't really worrying Gizza too much. What really irked him was the crazy human with one leg shooting him in the shoulder. The wound stung something fierce, but Gizza ignored it, diving to the side while bringing his line of fire down towards the wounded soldier.
With a loud 'dakka dakka dakka' his target exploded under the hail of fire. The other human was hacked to pieces as the ork from above leapt down to engage him in close combat.
The savage ork continued to chop at the gore-splattered remains of the scrawny human, roaring with triumph. His victory was short-lived, however, as a torrent of bolter shots from behind Gizza ripped his body to shreds.
Gizza whirled around, sure he wasn't going to be fast enough to shoot whoever was behind him. He tried anyway, his clumsy finger clamped down on the trigger of his big shoota as he spun, tearing a huge line across the wall as he brought the line of fire to his assailant.
The human was wounded, covered in smoking holes from the nameless ork's surprise attack. His face was defiant, however, and his hand was steady, despite his wounds. Gizza seemed to move in slow motion as he turned to face him. The human was aiming his next shot.
With a jerk, the human flew back into the wall as Gizza's shot reached his chest area, leaving a large crater where his sternum should have been. The human stared at Gizza with sightless eyes, a startled expression on his face.
Gizza growled and spit a gobbet of phlegm on the human that had come so close to killing him. Hefting the smoking big shoota on his unwounded shoulder, Gizza rifled through the fallen warriors' gear, knocked out all of the teeth he could, pocketed anything that looked useful or interesting, and left without a second look back.
At least he knew there were other orks here.
Victory is achieved through mettle.
Glory is acheived through metal.
Very nice. Very Orky. Two fumbs up. Waaagh!
My award winning Orky tale
I'll second that!
I think my only criticism was right at the beginning, when the Ork ships are leaving. Space Shuttle doesn't sound very Orky, as I thought their craft were generally much more ramshackle. Rokkit, maybe?
Fine as it is, really, but I thought I'd mention it. Thanks for posting this!