A NEW ORK ORDER

by Gargrazz Da Oomie Busta' (Chris Hutchings)
(transcribed by Fetchit)

The hulk had drifted aimlessly for a few months now. The cramped section of the-- and the term is used loosely-- "craft" that Gargrazz and his mob had boarded was sealed off from a majority of the rest of the drifting hulk. They'd grown weary and frustrated over the quarters they were bound up in and Gargrazz could sense that things were going to go poorly if he didn't get his boyz planetside soon.

After consulting with his meks, he'd decided to fire the massive burnas they'd scraped together on the side of the ship. They weren't nearly as effective the trakta-beam that pushed the ship off into deep space at near light speeds, but it would at least get them moving towards a cluster of stars that Gargrazz assumed would support some kind of habitable planet. If not, then anything was better than rotting on this Mork-forsaken hulk...

It doesn't take long for a weapon to end up in an ork boy'z hand and find itself taking on a new life of its own. Four months from their last plunder of an Ooman colony and there wasn't a single weapon on the ship that looked or felt like anything other than orkoid. Every boy had run his weapon by one mek or another and had them "kustomized". Most were accelerated, manipulated, or ventilated. Every one was louder. Gargrazz had spent weeks trying to get his meks to take a "look-see" at the captured Big Dakka the Blood Axes had boosted on the last raid, but to no avail. The weedy Blood Axes had guarded it like it was a shiny treasure retrieved from some great crumbling dynasty. They insisted on caring for it and allowed only their own mek access to it. Gargrazz was under the impression they'd done more harm than good. After all, it still had the stink of Ooman about it.

Finally, after an eternity of tinkering and in-fighting, the orks had finally passed close enough to a planet to hit with the traktas. The pulsating beam latched onto the planet's gravity field and slowly pulled the hulk into a low orbit. It would only be a matter of days before the hulk spiraled into the atmosphere and crashed somewhere on the surface.

Gargrazz was too anxious to get groundside, so he ordered the drop kanz to launch as soon as possible.

The horde pushed and shoved their way into the kanz while mekz and slavers hustled their respective clockwork creations and grot charges into the larger bombaz that would fly down to the surface. (Most would plummet like the kanz, but there was a bit of comfort to the grotz to be put into something that had the semblance of wings and the insinuated aerodynamic properties...) On Gargrazz' order, and with a rousing chorus of "Ere We Go!", the podz were launched towards the planet's surface. The last meks off the hulk set the traktor's field to spike, causing the 5 mile long hulk to suddenly get tugged into the surface of the planet a hundred miles off from the kanz landing point.

Speaking from a relative point of view, things went smoothly for the orks. The kans plowed into the planet's surface and ruptured enough to allow the orks access from the crude drop pods. The bombas spiraled recklessly and made their respective two to one point landings nearby. The hulk smashed cataclysmic ally into the planet's surface just over the horizon. Most of the boyz were out of the kanz and recovered from the speed rush of planet fall to witness what was one of the largest bangas known to Orkdom. Whooping and hollering, the mob of orks rushed towards the crash site, hoping to loot some good skrap and fashion themselves a new kamp from the wreckage. Meanwhile, the meks and slavers held back to attend to the damaged machinery and violently vomiting gretchin that were littered all over the battlefield.

This gave the mighty Gargrazz and his retinue of hoary old nobz time to take stock of the planet they'd arrived on. They took in the lush, green forests of terran-style trees and low brush. A majority of the area was a thin layer of fertile soil with craggy, broken outcroppings of rock.

Zugnek, an ancient and massive nob of the Deathskullz klan turned to Gargrazz, "No time fer da squigz ta take 'old in dis muggy spot."

Gargrazz grinned, "Yer. 'Member ta get da drops dug first ting. We'ze gonna have sum ripe 'ol squigz 'afore da season endz."

"Yum."

The assembled nobz looked down at Gargrazz' assistant, Fetchit, who'd just spoken out of turn. A few idly rubbed their choppas, while some silently shot Gargrazz a look. Gargrazz sighed and picked up the squirming grot and hefted him off into the deep brush. The smaller runt disappeared with a high pitched, "Aieeeeeee...".

Gargrazz turned back to the nobz mob and gestured to the crash site, "C'mon. Gonna' take us a while ta get to da new kamp. Mosta' da trukks is leavin' wifout us."

The massive orks all tromped off back to the kanz landing site to try and catch the last trukks that were already tearing off towards the site of the new kamp.

* * *

Fetchit landed hard in a tangle of briars. Slowly, he manipulated his spindly arms out of the tangle and began to pick briars out of his jerkin. All the while grumbling to himself about, "What 'eed do iffin' ee' was da warboss..."

He knew he'd be too late getting down to the landing site to catch a trukk (if any orks would let him on the trukk in the first place) and had resigned himself to a long walk back to kamp. It wouldn't be so bad. There were no bosses, he had a pouch full of chewin' squigz, and Gargrazz wouldn't even miss him for the next few days. This would be his own adventure!

He brushed himself off after taking stock of all his bumps and scrapes (3 new bumps, 1 new biggun' scrape, and a half dozen older bumps from the last squigbowl game he "played" in). He picked his helmet up off the ground and screwed it back down on his head. He was proud of his hat. He'd found two spare boar tusks and had attached them on like bull's horns in respect of Gargrazz' clan, da Goffs. It so endeared Gargrazz to him that Gargrazz had traded for the grot and had kept him as his primary assistant for 3 years now. The position had it's ups and downs. He was closest to Gargrazz and was counted on for many important tasks, but on the other hand, he was closest to Gargrazz...and his impatient hamfist.

Shooting the ornery shrub a raspberry, Fetchit strode off in the direction of the kamp-- and right into the heaving chest of a massive ork.

Fetchit fell flat on his rump and looked up. A huge ork was standing over him. He wielded a massive choppa that gleamed wickedly in the spotty sunlight that fell through the trees. His other hand rested on a crude slugga that was wrapped in squig skin and adorned with teeth. Fetchit didn't recognize this ork, or the nine others that had emerged from nowhere, they definitely didn't sport the tell-tale signs of being in Gargrazz' mob. In fact, Fetchit couldn't see any clan designation at all.

The big ork thunked his choppa into the soft soil, and reached out and grabbed the frightened runt. He hefted him up to his level and took a long snort, smelling the grot. Fetchit winced and farted out of fright. The ork wrinkled his brow and turned to another ork carrying a big staff with a wicked hook on the end. He held Fetchit out to the ork and said, "Wozzit?"

The other ork shrugged and shook his head, "Na' me..."

The leader turned back to the grot and shook him. Fetchit screwed his eyes up and winced. When the shaking stopped, he pried a single eye open to see the ork moving a massive finger to his hat. The ork then grinned and flicked the little helmet off the grot's head. The ork chuckled.

Fetchit had had enough. He pulled his arms free of the ork's clutch and shook his fists at the ork, "Me's Fetchit! I'mma greatest grot whut ever served for da great an' mighty Gargrazz Da Oomie Busta! You'z'a gonna' get a gob fulla' powerklaw if ya don' lemme' go! I'm warnin' yer!"

The ork was so shocked by the grot's bravado that he dropped Fetchit and screwed up his eyes in confusion. The ork took no time to compose himself and hefted his choppa while Fetchit turned and picked up his helmet off the ground. The ork brought the axe down inches from Fetchit just as he turned back around. Fetchit yelped and hit the ground, covering his head.

The big ork bellowed, "Whoo'ze you?! Wiffin' geddup all'a darkun?! Whuzzat boom-a offa' sky?! Why'duz stinka' notha' orken alla sudden?!"

Fetchit tried his best to understand the ork, but the accent was so thick, he could only make out part of the bellowing. He shrugged numbly.

The ork suddenly grabbed Fetchit and stabbed a big finger into the grot's tunic where a crudely sewn bull was emblazoned across his chest, "Whooza' gonna' kop wiff'in dunkla' squig?!"

The finger tattooed a thumping rhythm on the grot's chest. Fetchit had never been so scared before in his life. He took a rather wild stab in the dark, "Goffs? You know...clan?"

The finger thump stopped. The ork kept the nearly clubbed sized digit hovering in front of Fetchit.

Fetchit tried again, "Bull? Biggin' nasty Oomie fing? You know, Oomie?"

The ork turned to his mates, they all shrugged. He turned back to Fetchit, "Wossa' Ooman?"

Fetchit accidently let a sarcastic eye roll escape. The ork shook him again. His helmet fell off and the ork thumped him on the head with his finger. Rubbing the sore spot, Fetchit took on another humble countenance, "Oomanz. Emp'ror. Urth? Beekies? Big metal dakka...ya never seen'a Ooman?"

The orks showed no sign of understanding.

Fetchit made one last attempt, "Pasty, weedy gitz wif skinny mugs?"

The orks suddenly relaxed. Another ork, back behind the leader nodded sagely, "Yer...Panzee. Wee's kop Panzee..."

Fetchit, not wanting to inspire another thumping, nodded, "Uh, yer, Panzee...whatevur..," and then under his breath, "Good enuff ya gitz..."

The ork shook him again and stabbed into the bull glyph again, "Whooze nob?! Wozzit... ur... Gargrazz? Wozza' 'E?"

Fetchit opened his gob before he realized what he was doing, "Gargrazz is me warboss! Mighty Gargrazz da Oomie Busta!"

The ork then bellowed and threw the grot against a tree. Fetchit was nearly knocked cold. The ork mob surrounded the little grot with ugly looks. He barely made out the leader's rant, "Me's warboss! 'Ard 'ol Mugzthumpa! Gotta' mob'a onna' kop'a Mork! Wozzat dump bout'a 'Bull'!? Notta' proppa' orken gonna' kop a bit 'bout'a Panzee squigly!! Wozzat 'Gargrazz'!? Skrap'n wiffin' gonna' shows'im whooz'a boss!! WAAAUGH!"

The orks around the enraged warboss bellowed along with him. Fetchit could feel orky rage building up around him. He knew he'd started something that wasn't going to turn out proppa'.

Suddenly, one of the orks tossed him into a sack and the orks began to tear across the forest floor in the direction of Gargrazz' kamp.

* * *

Gargrazz was overseeing the construction of his hut. The boyz were in a hurry to finish it because they wanted to get started on their own abodes. The Snakebites had lashed up a mek's pulley system to a team of boars. The grunting beasts were hauling a massive wall up out of a slag heap and maneuvering it into position for Gargrazz' Nob Hut. Boyz scurried about with burnas, spannas, hammers, and rivet gunz as they attempted to construct the building that collapsed and crumbled faster than it went up.

Gargrazz heard a rumbling. He turned around. Over a hill to the north, birds and other flying beasts were lifting up in mass from the canopy of the forest. Large forest creatures crested the hill-- obviously fleeing from some sort of disturbance that was tearing through the foliage. Gargrazz' skin crawled. He felt a tingle in the nape of his neck. There was a stimulating energy that was coursing through the area. His hired konstruction boyz felt it too. They stopped hammering and cutting and turned to the hill to the north. Aggression. Anger. Range. The euphoria of battle was already starting to build and the orks hadn't even sensed an enemy yet-- yet there was something tangible radiating outward that gripped them all by the chest. The rumbling of the ground shook the last bolt loose from the hut and the shoddy kontrapshion sighed and collapsed to the ground like a house of cards.

Gargrazz was angry. Whatever it was, it needed to be torn limb from limb. He gulped a massive gob of air and groaned out a huge, guttural, "WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"

Every ork in his mob that was scuttling over the scrap heap turned and grabbed the loosest bit of scrap they could find and hefted it before tearing across the wreckage towards the mysterious rumbling. The vibration of the earth reached a fever pitch as two massive warbands charged towards each other.

The first alien ork crested the hill. It was Mugzthumpa and he was bounding ahead of his mob by a full thirty feet at a breakneck pace. Gargrazz instantly knew that this was his foe. He flipped a switch on his mega armor and powered up his boostas. He tore ahead of his retinue and broke away from the mass of his warband. He leveled his kustomized shoota at the other warboss and snapped off a few inaccurate rounds at the ork. Frustrated, he tossed the gun away at the last moment and ducked into a low, inertia driven crouch.

The two huge opponents both leaped yards from each other and crashed into each other in mid air. Gargrazz' bulk drove the other ork backwards into the turf. Their combined mass left a deep indentation in the dirt. Mugzthumpa grunted and powered his slugga into Gargrazz' gut. He pulled the trigger and shoved. Gargrazz flew back his full body length, leaking ichor from a tear in his mega armor. Medisquigz already staunched the flow and sealed up the wound by the time he'd rolled to a standing position.

Mugzthumpa left Gargrazz no time to think, he'd already launched himself at the Goff warboss with his choppa hefted high over his head.

As both ork mobs finally met in a crashing crescendo around the two, Gargrazz grabbed his opponent in mid flight by the shoulder blade with his hamfist and ducked the massive axe, maneuvering around the arc of the deadly swing. The axe embedded in the dirt and sent a spray of sod in all directions. Gargrazz dug his feet into the dirt and used his lower vantage to grapple the ork's arm back behind him while he was still flailing. A sickening pop was heard under the sinews and muscle of Mugzthumpa's shoulder.

Mugzthumpa bellowed angrily and whipped his slugga around in his good arm and put it to Gargrazz' head. With a quick snap of the trigger, a portion of Gargrazz' exposed skull was torn away by the solid slug. Streaming grey matter that was hastily being attended to by the medi squigs, Gargrazz fought the sudden slowing of his reflexes and threw his weight into a lazy swing with his powerklaw.

Mugzthumpa was too distracted by his success to notice the huge klawed hand that caught him across the chest. Octarine light flashed as the powerklaw blinked and tore a gaping hole the size of a manhole in Mugzthumpa's barreled torso.

Gargrazz collapsed in a heap. A bucket load of medisquigz were swarming over his head where the slugga round had torn a part of his skull loose. Mugzthumpa, on the other hand, was barely clinging to life. There was little left to hold his extremities together except a cavernous shell of his midsection. Green ichor sprayed in a dozen different directions. His eyes lolled back in his head as both the warbosses' respective retinues converged on the battlesite.

Both sides were stymied. This was a bit of a pickle. Neither warboss had technically "won" the duel and no dominance had been established. Both orks had come out relatively even. They watched the battle rage around them. It had become obvious that Gargrazz' mob was winning by sheer bulk of his force and by bringing more boyz to the skrap... but Mugzthumpa's boyz were holding their own. Their tenacity was unparalleled. Unhindered by clan in-fighting, they were able to regroup after a retreat to come back in force with another mob-- whereas Gargrazz' boyz would tend to fall back and stay back, huddling in their respective clans, relying on the more aggressive skarboyz and snakebites to continue the fight...

* * *

Eventually, as the great red sun began to dip low on the horizon, the energy wound down. Both sides had emerged on the other side of their rage and were becoming increasingly uninterested in their skrapping. Gargrazz' medisquigs and his doks had helped him be the first to come to between the two warbosses. The doks had sealed the head wound with a hastily bolted metal plate while medisquigz repaired broken synapses and reconstructed neural pathways by building daisychains of microscopic squig-based tissue. Mugzthumpa was worse for the wear. His respective bitz had been gathered carefully by doks from both mobs and were kept in jars by the attending grots. Meks had already begun construction of a cybork body for him, using skrap from the wreckage of the hulk, but it would be days before completion.

Gargrazz took this time to establish his dominance over the other mob by beating down the surlier nobz that had delusions of grandeur, but had decided on a different course of action. A "New Ork Order", as his newfound grot assistant and translator, Fetchit, had described it.

He called together all the nobz of the respective clans and units and addressed them in mass, "Awright..." Gargrazz swept the assembled nobz with his gaze and made sure every last one was attentive, "...I had enuff of all dis confusin' clan stuff an' wotnot. It's time I gon' an' made sum changes 'round here. Frum now on, dere'z goin' ta be ONE mob.

It'z gonna' be MY mob. I don't kare if yer a Snakebite git, or a weedy Blood Axe git..." there was a low mumble from the rear of the assemblage, "...or you're wonn'a me newboyz from Mugzthumpa's mob. Yer all gonna' be MY mob now. Yer all gonna' look like GOFFS now. No more'a this bickerin' an fussin' over stoopid Oomie concepts of 'Hon-ur' an' 'All-e-guntz'. Orky Kulture is all dat'z wot-- an Orky Kulture is whut I SEZ IT IS. Is there any kwestunz? Me'n Mugzthumpa'z already discussed this, an we're gonna' enforce dis policy wif force. There will be no diskussion, awright?"

The assembled orks shuffled uncomfortably. They looked sideways at their backwards or wrong-thinking compatriots and decided that there was little discussion to be had. Gargrazz had proved time and again that he was the ded 'ardest. One must assume, by that logik, that Goffs were the superior clan...

* * *

Things changed from then on. The clans didn't disappear all together, glyphs and backplates of foreign clans often poked out through the stark black, red, and white of the preferred Goff garb (one cannot, after all, deny one's hardwiring...) but the army soon began to identify itself by Gargrazz' might. The multi-Kultural identity that always forced them to fight in a shapeless, uncooperative mass began to dissolve away into a mob of one mind, one bent, one thought. The mob grew in size, and never had a problem incorporating new boyz. They were all admitted and absorbed-- as long as they were part of Gargrazz' mob, and not loyal to the useless clan system that most ork mobs of old were forced to struggle with. Gargrazz' Kamp stayed on that planet for a few years until they had exhausted the resources of it. They rebuilt the bombas, slapped together a portion of the old hulk, powered up the ancient trakta beams, and caught themselves the next asteroid that drifted by-- off to another system in search of new foes to skrap wif.

Da end.

Visit Da Kamp: http://home.earthlink.net/~ender99