Chapter 4

  I watched from the top of a rust-eaten gantry as the blue boys reformed their lines down on the plains. They were good, I’d give ‘em that. They moved like they had Mekboyz in their heads, all synced up and proper. They gathered their dead, too. Very tidy. Pointless, but tidy. The taste of victory was coppery. thick in the air, with the glorious stink. It was burnt flesh, fuel and scrap. I breathed it in deeped.

  “See dat, Zolk?” I grunted, patting the Squigosaur’s heavily scarred neck. A low rumble was his only reply. He was still agitated from the scrap, his one good eye fixed on the distant blue dots, his massive tail thumping a restless rhythm against the metal walkway. The gash the Dreadnought’s claw had left on his flank was weeping a dark, thick fluid, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  Dull, the Snotling, was trying his best to slap a greasy poultice of rust-fungus and squig-guts onto the wound. It was a brave effort. Every time he got close, Zolk would swing his head around with a guttural snarl, teef snapping inches from Dull’s face. The Snotling would let out a terrified squeak and leap back, the poultice splattering everywhere but the wound.

  “Get it on him, ya git!” I roared, not taking my eyes off the ‘Umies. “He needs to be in top form for the next krumpin’!”

  “I’m tryin’, Boss!” Dull wailed, his voice trembling. “He’s just not in a good mood!”

  “He’s never in a good mood!” I shot back. “Dat’s why he’s the best!”

  Down below, the blue boys started moving. Just like I knew they would. A neat, disciplined column, marching east. Right into the jaws of my welcome wagon. I grinned. It was a proper Orky grin, all teef and menace.

  The first part of their journey was through the Slag Canyons, a maze of sheer cliffs made from mountains of compressed scrap that had fused together over centuries. A perfect place for an ambush. And I had just the Boyz for the job. Rukkit, the boss of my Speed Freeks, had sworn on his best wrench that the ‘Umies wouldn’t even see it comin’.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  As the front of the ‘Umie column entered the canyon mouth, I gave Zolk a sharp kick. He lurched forward, Dull clinging on for dear life. We clattered down the gantry and made for a high ridge that overlooked the entire canyon. From here, I could watch the show.

  The ‘Umies were cautious. They sent little flying skull-things ahead, buzzing through the canyon like metal insects. Clever. But Orky clever is better. The first explosion was a thing of beauty. A whole section of the canyon wall, rigged by Rukkit’s best Mekboy, blew outwards. An avalanche of jagged, red-hot metal rained down on the middle of their column. Warbikes, piloted by whooping Speed Freeks, suddenly roared out of hidden tunnels in the canyon walls, their dakka-guns blazing. They didn’t charge in, not yet. They just zipped past, spraying bullets and rockets, then vanished back into their holes like motorised squigs.

  The ‘Umies reacted fast. They formed a defensive square, their bolters spitting controlled bursts that stitched lines of fire across the canyon. They were taking casualties, but they weren’t breaking. Their Dreadnought, the same one Zolk had chewed on, stomped to the front, its big cannon blasting chunks out of the canyon walls where the bikes had vanished.

  “Heh. Tough gits,” I chuckled.

  Zolk wasn’t chuckling. The sound of battle, the smell of blood and promethium, was driving him mad. He strained against my grip, letting out a frustrated roar that echoed through the canyons. He wanted to be down there, sinking his teef into that walking tin can again.

  “Easy, lad,” I grumbled, yanking hard on the iron reins. “Not our turn yet. Dis is just the appetiser.”

  I looked over at Dull. He had finally managed to get the poultice onto Zolk’s wound while the beast was distracted by the fighting. The Snotling was now holding out a chunk of mangled blue armour plating, still containing a bit of the ‘Umie who used to wear it. Zolk turned, sniffed at it, and then devoured it in one gulp, the crunch of ceramite loud in the sudden quiet as the Speed Freeks pulled back. He seemed a little calmer after his snack.

  Down in the canyon, the ‘Umies pushed on. They were slower now, more cautious, their guns covering every shadow. They’d lost a few of their rhinos and a good dozen Boyz, but they were still moving east. Still marching right where I wanted them to go.

  This was proper war. Not one big scrap, but a dozen small ones. A long, grinding, bloody march where every step cost them. By the time they reached Codda’s big zappy shield, they’d be tired, bleeding, and low on bullets. And that’s when me and Zolk would give ‘em a proper welcome. The main course. I let out a booming laugh that scared a whole flock of rust-crows from a nearby scrap-pile. The chase was on, and I was having the time of my life.