News: No news is good news...

Login  |  Register


Search |

Edit | Delete |

A Waaagh Too Far

Submitted By: Date: October 6, 2005, 07:18:40 PM Views: 3319

Nizbit thought that there was something weird about this boss. Why had he chosen to stay on this boring planet? One or two days more of this and one of the many Nobs would undoubtedly try to take his place. But that would not happen now! Nizbit was carrying good news to the warboss, which would undoubtedly make him happy. A fight was coming. The boss would be pleased with him for hearing this good news.

He dodged a couple of boyz kicking at him and ducked from a particular accurate wrench thrown at him from a mekboy, who was in the process of drilling a bigger barrel hole in a shoota. While he was approaching the tent Nizbit passed a few other grots. Many of them were running with messages across camp like him. Nizbit figured that they where probably exchanging swear words between boyz that were too far away from each other to bother doing it themselves. Shortly before he came to the tent he saw an unlucky grot working as a club in a quarrel between two Skarboyz. He did not think further about it because for one it was perfectly normal and besides all his attention was given to the big tent in the middle of the camp.

In this tent Ork Warboss Gnorlak, (da smasher of 'ummies, da grinder of 'beakies, da squisher of bugs and da trampler of panzies) was in the process of ripping the 'teef' from the mangled body of a Nob who had been brave (or foolish) enough to question the warboss' leadership. At this point, the small grot ran inside his tent and Gnorlak was just about to literately kick the intruder out before he heard the good news.


"Da 'ummies 'ave come" Nizbit said in his high-pitched voice. "Lots an' lots of them. Ti's da little ones in green. Not mean beekies. These are soft 'ummies. They come with big mechanic machines. We'z could zee dem miles long way from da kamp! At ze end of ze plains. The exit o' ze trees!" Gnorlak's red eyes lit with excitement and joy.

"Start da bikes! Find da Choppas! Get da killa kans work'n!" he called out as he tore out his 10 ft mighty choppa from the Nob's head and picked up his enormous Shoota that was at least twice as big as Nizbit himself.

Call da boyz tugejer, 'tis time to 'ave us a…" and as he strode out into the opening before his tent, he filled his enormous lungs with air and let out a deafening: "…WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"


Like rings made by the raindrops in pools of water, every Ork in the camp quickly joined him in the roar until it was one big and illustrious choir screaming out their joy about the upcoming battle.

Some time later Lieutenant Turpin from the Cadian 371 heard the distant echo of the roar sound through the rain, like the coming of a tidal wave, and he felt an involuntary shiver down his back. This was it. A new battlefield ready to be sown with death and decay. His regiment had been marching for about a day through the forest since they were dropped from their Valkyre transport ships.

The high command had felt that the best course of action was to fight and destroy the Orks head-on. Undoubtedly, this would demonstrate the power of the empire to the Orks who would then hopefully dismiss their current agenda, whatever that might be. Therefore the idea of orbital bombardment had been dismissed as if would probably only encourage the Orks further. Whatever amount of guardsmen might get killed in the ensuing battle would be an acceptable loss.


Turpin did of course not know all this as he and thousands of his battle brothers from the Imperial Guard were in the process of preparing themselves physically and mentally for the Ork onslaught. They had positioned themselves across a flank a couple of miles wide at the edge of the forest and engineers had quickly established trenches to slow the Orks down. The first 100 yards of the front was solely occupied by guardsmen. Many of them were standing by at heavy bolters, grenade launchers, Las cannons and alongside a large number of Ogryns. Turpin had no prior experience with fighting alongside these massive brutes, but as to what he had heard they were pretty good to have around when things got rough. Behind this line, on top of the ridge at the borderline to the forest, was dozens of the mighty vessels of the Leman Russ and the Basilisk, provided to give the men cover.

The regiment had been dispatched several months ago as a distress call came in from a local imperial garrison. Massive amounts of Orks were swarming the area. So far the word around the campfire had been that, a new Warboss had apparently emerged uniting countless thousands of Orks from across the different clans. A new Waagh was emerging and it had to be stopped.

Turpin double-checked the ammo clip on his lasgun. He had seen battle several times and his body had started to ignore the fear that would inevitably rise within him before a battle. The sound from the other side of the plains where the Ork camp was placed had died out. It was only a matter of time now. Everyone in the guard knew they were coming. Turpin could see it in their eyes and hear it on their breath on those standing beside him. He would be ready. Turpin had not fought the Orks before but had heard all the stories, and he would be ready! This was what his life had been reduced or elevated to. He wasn't to sure on which.


He was standing shoulder to shoulder with other troopers but as always he felt alone. He had felt alone since he saw his friend throughout boot camp, killed some years ago at the battle of Quaytor. It had been the Eldar back then. He remembered this battle so clearly, though he did not recall any other battle before it.

The Eldar had been pushing an attack forward so fast that he and his comrades hadn't had the slightest chance to react properly. Their strange flying transports had been on them in a few moments, their warriors emerging from them without a sound and hurdling themselves at the imperial line in something that looked like a dance more than a fight. But death had been dancing with them, and wherever they went, only mutilated corpses remained in their wake. Turpin had been knocked over unconscious and when he woke up he stared into the dead eyes of his friend Aideen. He had a stare on his face that looked confused as if he did not understand what was happening, and just below his heart his entire chest had been ripped through by a power sword. The fight was over. The Eldar had apparently vanished as quickly as they had arrived. This meaningless death of a friend in a battle, that did not even give an answer to why it had taken place, had left a hole in his soul. He was not bitter. Neither did he feel any anger, remorse or hatred. He just felt as if he were alone in a world that was too big and strange for him to comprehend so he had stopped trying.


The upcoming battlefield was still silent, but it could only be a matter of moments before hell broke loose. It had done so many times before. Turpin raised his head to the sky and felt the raindrops hit his face with a feeling that reminded him of a form of peace. There was something blissful about the rain that encouraged him. Everything in his life seemed so long ago. There was no past and there was no future. There was only the next battle, another enemy to fight, another foe to kill, in the name of the glorious Emperor. The Emperor's will was unquestionable. The Emperor knew the answers to all the questions. Turpin was a guardsman in the Imperial army. The Emperor needed his help again, and he would deliver. The Emperor protects. He lowered his head from the falling rain, took a deep breath and raised his lasgun. He would be ready!

Then it began!



The basilisks behind the guard line started to heave their enormous cannons to firing position. It was time; the green tide was coming. It was visible in the horizon where thousands of Orks were struggling with each other to get into combat first. Smoking bikes where thundering along with large bulking killa kans clacking their claws in excitement. Large trucks working as transport for those Orks that had been strong enough to fight their way onboard, were throwing up mud behind them as they raced along as quickly as possible. Guns could be heard already though they were still too far away to reach the guards by mere shooting. Still, every Ork that had a gun tried to make as much noise and ravage as he could with it, trying to butch himself up compared to the one running next to him. Stray rockets were flying out of the crowd towards the imperial lines but all fell short, flew off in complete obscure directions or impacted within their own lines.

Then the basilisks let themselves be heard. A thunderous roar of guns began from the rear as their powerful shells started hurtling through the air with the familiar whistling sound that so many enemies had heard as the last sound before the silence. They found their mark in the Ork lines. Bodies went flying through the air; trucks and bikes blew up along with their passengers. Enormous holes were blown in the lines of the Grots placed in the front of the army and many of the survivors immediately tried to run away, only to get beaten back into position by the Orks who apparently were using them as cover.

The mortar heavy weapon and bolter platforms started to assist the tanks as shells of destruction fell alongside the raindrops, bringing unmatched devastation to the Orks. Everywhere along the front green bodies were being blasted high into the air or cut to pieces by the explosive shells of the holy bolters. Even the Ogryns tried to thin out the lines with their primitive, yet effective, ripper guns. All around the front, it was clear that the Orks were suffering tremendous casualties.



Gnorlak led a large group of Skarboys forward. They would reach the humans soon enough. Their shootas could reach now and were starting to kill things. He reminded himself to tell the mekboy to make some longer shootas so that they could hit the enemy earlier on. He looked to the right where a group of bikers blazing their shootas was hurling over the humans defence trenches continuing through the lines until someone got a clean shot at them as several were blown to bits.


The small humans were dropping dead several places from shoota wounds. Many of da boyz were dying as well but it wouldn't matter. They had been the stupid ones. Gnorlak had always been of the opinion that getting killed was a stupid thing to do so he had avoided it. The good and strong boyz would make it into combat. He would make it into combat. He could fell his blood pulsating with the lust for battle as he strode forward.

The guard all let loose with their rifles and scores of Orks fell dead to the ground, but they were almost in reach now. A rokkit flew right over Gnorlak's head and though it seemed to ricochet right up in the air, it suddenly changed course and proceeded into an imperial tank with an explosive result. The bright flames lit up the surrounding battle where many of the guardsmen were shooting in panic, desperately trying to stop the upcoming horde racing towards them with all their might. But it would not be enough.


Turpin watched in disbelief as the Orks just ran towards them, somehow completely unaffected by loses within their own ranks. How could a race, which cared so little about their own loses, be stopped? He had killed several of them already but it seemed pointless. It appeared as if they had to slay every last one of he greenskins before they would even consider forfeiting. The Orks would reach them in a few moments. He reached down and attached his bayonet to the tip of his gun. The adrenalin was coursing through his veins and he was not afraid. He would be ready.

Like a well oiled machine all the guardsmen at the first row in the trenches reached for their grenade belt and let their anti infantry grenades fly simultaneously in a great curve towards the enemy. This was the last action they could do before the Orks would be upon them. A bit in the rear of the Ork army, Gnorlak picked up a Grot and held it in front of himself, and as it was blasted asunder by incoming fire, he reached to his back to pull forward his giant choppa. The fact that is was the same Grot that had given him such good news not even a half hour ago didn't arouse his attention.


Then the Ork line collided with the guards in the front trenches. The guardsmen had their bayonets at the ready and several Orks were impaled on the wall of sharp knives that appeared before them, but more were standing by to take their place. Choppas flew around in big swaying arcs and tore into the people they connected with limb from limb.


Screams of pain and anguish was combined with the roars of joy and laughter from the boyz, who let everything loose in their thrill of battle after this long time of boredom. A burna boy watched in delight as his flame burned 4 guardsmen to a crisp. The next second he was going up in flames himself as a lasgun shot impacted with the fuel storage on his back.


An Ork threw aside the broken body of a guardsman and charged towards a sergeant who was fast enough to raise his laspistol and fire directly at his assailants face. The Ork's natural toughness saved it from succumbing to the wound, but distracted him just long enough for the sergeant to separate his head from its body with his chainsword.

From the ridge where the tanks where placed guns were blazing endlessly to stop the Orks from approaching, but as more and more Orks overran the trenches and were locked in close combat, it became increasingly difficult to kill them without shooting the guardsmen as well.

A Basilisk had its main gun destroyed by a stray rokkit and as it smashed down into the rest of the wreck it took its crew with it. Some killa kans approached the line indifferent to the lasgun shots that bounced harmlessly of their armoured shell. One of them reached down with its power claw and got hold of an unlucky guardsman whose cry for help was drowned out in the sound of battle. The next second he was cut in two and thrown aside by the machine whose host was busy looking for his next plaything. A battery of las cannons had discovered this new armoured threat and let their deadly salvo incinerate the crude machinery like a warm knife through butter.

The Ogryns of the guard attacked as well, this was their fighting style. Here they could use their massive strength instead on relying on crude firearms. As an Ogryn joined the fray in the trenches he was immediately jumped by three boyz. He shook one of them of his back and grabbed the other two by the throats, smashing their heads together so hard that they cracked each others skulls open. When he turned to the third Ork, it had already had his head impaled by the bayonet of a guardsman, though he himself had also been slain and sat lifeless next to the dead Ork like he was resting next to his trophy. The Ogryns pressed forward in the combat and the Orks found that here was a fight worth fighting. Many boyz threw themselves at the strong primitive creatures only to find that they were brutally thrown away again. However numerous, Ogryns still fell under the continuing pressure of the attack, but the pause they created for the guardsmen was enough for the front to form up again and give the Orks another volley of lasgun shots.


The main problem for the guardsmen all along the front was that the front trenches were being filled with bodies from both sides and it therefore became increasingly easier for the Orks to pass the trenches and get into combat where they were distinctly superior. Wrecks of trucks and Ork bikes were scattered around, used by guardsmen as cover while they kept shooting into the wall of upcoming greenskins. But every time an Ork fell, another one was there to fill out his place.


Gnorlak reached the trenches in the direct centre of the human front and saw to his delight that there were still humans left for him to kill. As he made a quick look around he was nonetheless impressed to observe how many boyz these pathetic soft humans had been able to kill. This was indeed a good fight, and when he had won it he would gain much reputation among the boyz.

As he rushed into combat, he just managed to duck the bolter fire from a Leman Russ tank, which instead tore two Orks behind him to shreds. He made a colossal swing with his choppa sending three guardsmen flying through the air. As he watched (not without a sense of pride) at the distance, he had sent them. He let out a mighty laugh as his next swing smashed a bike wreck aside and filled the defenceless guardsmen, covering behind it, with rounds from his big shoota. There was combat and death all around him.

On the ridge, several tanks were still standing, spraying death at the Orks. It had been a long time since Gnorlak had had the pleasure of ripping open one of those tin cans and on top of that, it was not uncommon for the human in charge to stand at the rear. Gnorlak needed some more heads for his collection. He pushed forward through the lines cleaving guardsmen as he walked along. A few lasgun shot hit him, but his skin was too tough for them to penetrate and the stings only encouraged him further. He picked up a tire from a destroyed bike and hurled it towards a couple of soldiers who got knocked over and didn't rise again.

This enormous Ork walking through the imperial ranks could make the whole front collapse if not stopped. A breach at this point would mean certain defeat. Unfortunately for the guard, communication had been cut off to most segments between the fighting soldiers and the command squad standing with the tanks on top of the ridge. They no longer had any way to direct their soldiers in the desired direction. Furthermore, it was impossible for them to come to aid, as it was impossible to reach the Ork through the innumerable amounts of combat and battle that was between them and their adversary. The commander activated his powerfist and took a puff on his cigar while swearing under his breath that this would not be the day of the Ork. The Emperor would surely grant them victory in the end. The sanctioned psyker at his side heard him but didn't comment on this.

Meanwhile, a few hundred yards down the slope, a sergeant rushed towards the giant warboss and managed to strike his shooting arm with his chainsword while the Ork was occupied with decapitating his squad leader. The blow was unfortunately far from powerful enough and the wound, though it was about the size of a human arm, only irritated Gnorlak, pressing him harder ahead. He pushed the sergeant to the ground and placed his enormous foot on his head, pressing it down into the mud until he felt the skull give in. The pain from the wound and the joy of the battle put him in a state of near euphoria. He needed more to fight. As there were no humans within his immediate vicinity, he swung his choppa in a big 360-degree arch and smashed two Orks to a pulp, who had thought that the warboss would be a good one to follow.


By this time, Gnorlak had attracted attention from both his fellow Orks and especially from the guard. Several guardsmen retreated before him trying to form a line further up the hill where there were better chances of unifying in a joined attack on this behemoth. Some from Gnorlaks personal Nob bodyguard had also discovered his action and were now joining him with a large group of Ogryns that they thundered into, while they kept getting closer to the back line of the guard's army.

The damage caused by the boss in the human front was exactly what the boys needed to make a decent breakthrough. These humans were apparently good fighters and refused to give up any ground to the Orks. Now they started swarming through in the centre where Gnorlak had penetrated, spreading out both to the right and the left of the imperial guard army from the inside. Things were starting to look grim for the Imperials.


Turpin had been forced up the ridge as the Orks increasingly gained more ground. There were still some men in his squad left and they all refused to give up. He had gotten a slice from a stray choppa across his cheek and the warm blood now ran down his face mixing with the falling rain. His body was tired from the length of the fighting but he didn't concede to it and kept on shooting down Orks, ducking from choppas, and impaling greenskins on his bayonet. What frustrated him most was that the Orks still didn't seem to care about the carnage around them, and the death toll in their own rows. If they had any feelings that he felt he could interpret it was joy, happiness, fun and he would be damned if he let a creature kill him just for the fun of it. No it would not be here. Not today, and definitely not like this.


He heard a particularly loud, thunderous, roar-like laughter and looked to his right. An enormous Ork, big even by their standards, was accompanied by several other massive brutes were obviously causing major damage to his comrades. This was where his help was needed. As he looked at this colossus who so effortlessly tossed his fellow soldiers aside, he congregated all his newfound hatred for this despicable race and focused it in this one being. He would kill that Ork, and when it was lying dead at his feet this whole ordeal would be over and the Emperor could claim another victory. In the split second, these thought were racing through his head he was distracted and was knocked over by a hard strike against his lasgun. The weapon shattered in his hands and he felt to his back. The triumphant Ork grinned at him and heaved its axe-like choppa to finish him off. Luckily, a daring fellow guardsman put himself in the way to save his chief and in that time Turpin, who immediately had looked around for something to save his life, had reached out for a chainsword dropped by a nearby dead captain. With all his might, he threw himself forward swinging the sword managing to cut off both legs of the Ork, who fell to the ground howling in pain.

As Turpin got to his feet, he immediately turned in the direction of the warboss and gathered the few remaining troops around him to assist. The creature was almost in range of the command squad who all had joined the fray, the commander crushing an Ork with his powerfist, and the standard-bearer leading the mighty banner of the emperor into battle. He heard a hissing noise and watched as a rokkit smashed into a Leman Russ, destroying the proud machine. As he approached the warboss and his retinue, he heard the sound again, and as he turned around, he looked directly at a rokkit flying straight for his position.

A few moments later Turpin opened his eyes not too sure of where he was. Was he dead? He didn't think so, but then again how could he know for sure. He looked around for signs at what had happened. He was lying at the edge of a crater with the corpses of the soldiers he had just led onwards. He could clearly see the struggle still raging but he didn't hear a sound. As he watched around it was as if things were happening in slow motion, as if he himself wasn't even there. He saw an Ork pick up a guard, literally tearing the man apart. He saw an Ork charge an Imperial psyker who just reached his hand out, imploding the Ork in a second. He saw imperial grenades and crude Ork grenades fly through the air as though they were props in an incomprehensible game. He saw a guardsman fleeing in blind panic from a killa kan only to be shot in the back by a nearby commissar, who in return was cut down by the Ork machine.


He watched this terrible mayhem but still didn't hear a single sound. Turpin slowly reached for his ears and discovered that they were bleeding dreadfully. His ears had been destroyed by the blast of the impacted rokkit which he apparently had just managed to leap away from. He had gone completely deaf.

As he turned his head, he saw the Imperial banner, lying across the body of the man that had been entrusted with the honourable task of carrying it, only a few feet away from him. Crawling towards it still with the chainsword in his hands, he reached out for it and with its support, he managed to stand up and lift this proud banner aloft once again. Dizzy, and with an adrenalin level desperately trying to ignore the pain, coursing through his body, he once again turned his attention to the warboss. This was it! The indestructible banner of the Emperor himself would strike this foe to the ground and it would all be over!

Gnorlak was pleased with himself. The humans had been as ignorant as he had hoped. They had not guessed his purpose for occupying this planet or the importance of this little known sector of the galaxy. If they had, they would have sent a far bigger army than this. In truth, he himself had not understood anything about space and the logistics between planets until he had awoken in the tent of a mad doc about a year ago, after taking a round through the head. What the doc had done to him he never found out, but since then he felt his knowledge was superior in several areas. That was why he had killed the former boss taking the title for himself. That was why he had been able to rally boyz from all across the clans, and that was why he had chosen this planet as the staging point for his own Waaagh.

Only he had discovered that this planet was perfectly placed for initiating a Waaagh, its takeover quickly cutting of the warp routes to this little known system. This was a good world! A world ripe for the taking and by the time they had taken control of all nearby planets he would start a Waaagh that would make the galaxy tremble. Just like the big tales of Nazdreg and Thrakka, he, Gnorlak, would make all the puny races tremble before his might.


While he was thinking these thoughts hacking away at what was left of the command squad, crushing the commander with his choppa, he saw yet another guardsman charging towards him. This one carried a heavily damaged banner and a chainsword which he was waving at him. Gnorlak quickly turned around, dropped his shoota to the ground and grabbed the soldier by the throat with his right hand before he could make a move. He shook him vigorously making him drop his weapon and the banner, and lifted him towards his massive head meeting his eyes with his own. As his fiery red eyes met with the ocean blue eyes of the human, Gnorlak was surprised not to find fear in them, but only lust for blood, combat and death.

"Ju wud 'ave made a good Ork" Gnorlak growled approvingly to the human, but as he didn't reply Gnorlak smashed his cranium in irritation, with a mighty head butt. As he dropped the still twitching body into the mud, Gnorlak raised his choppa over his head and with a huge laugh, led his boyz onwards in the thrill of a battle. This had been a good day.

Rating: **** by 1 members.


Powered by EzPortal