The Ork Village Assault

by Chris Oakley

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The smell of sulphur filled his nostrils. The aroma of rotting flesh rose from the field. Cries of pain and anger pierced the air. The crash of shells, and the crack of massive cannons deafened him. Groping through the mud, he came upon a dead soldier. T e twisted and mangled, rag-doll corpse lay draped over the jagged rocks. The dead man's eyes stared eerily and blankly into the hazy, smoke filled sky. His once-proud armour was torn as though it was paper. Blood oozed from gaping wounds. Limp cartilage h ng from exposed bone. He had fought the invading forces. He had defended his country with his life. His repayment? He was to lay broken, on the field of battle, with his succulent innards exposed to the carrion birds and scavengers.The warrior crawled on, the large shrapnel wound in his left arm began to throb.

Only paces away, bolter shots snapped, as a soldier desperately tried to defend his fallen sergeant. Just behind him, a colour-bearer frantically, albeit proudly, waved his banner, its red cloth furling and unfurling in the breeze. Gun shots broke the tem orary stillness. The standard-bearer fell, his chest gaping. The tattered, bullet-torn flag fell with him. Its red material quickly became a deeper shade of crimson as the soldier's blood pumped from his lacerated body.

He whipped his head around. A loud crash came from the woods to his left. He he squinted to see what approached. Five man-sized shapes came into view, silhouetted against a distance light. A sixth figure loomed large behind them. With bright white flashes guns chattered like teeth on a cold day. The dirt around him was thrown into the air. Mud splattered against his helmet and face.

To the soldier's right, from amongst large boulders, answering fire came. The soldier watched as three of the man-sized figures fell, screaming in agony. The large figure trundled forward. The soldier saw a glint of light on its metal hide. On its right a m was perched a large gun, with eight barrels and belt-fed ammunition. The left arm was a huge, cannon-like gun. The beast fired into the rock formation. Its right arm riddled the stony area with multitudes of bullets. The left arm belched forth a yellow lame. Cries of horror escaped the warriors only seconds before they were torn to shreds by bullets, and burned to a black ash by this metal monstrosity. This thing's two remaining escorts babbled enthusiastically as they sent forth a volley of bullets so ntense, that nearly everything in their line of fire was lain to waste. The crawling soldier only survived by laying so close to the ground that one would walk over him and think he was merely another piece of turf. The whistle of an approaching shell rip ed the air. With a tremendous "boom" it landed at the dreadnought's feet, ravaging the two escorts, and causing the robotic-death-machine to crumple as though it were made of aluminum foil. The dreadnought fell to the ground with a thunderous crash. Its crewman was dead - shrapnel had torn the head from his body.

Slowly the din of the battle began to deaden. The faint thud of cannons and the even fainter crack of bolters were eventually replaced by an eerie silence. The stillness only being broken by the occasional moan of wounded men.The soldier painfully rose to his feet, gritting his teeth, trying not to show his pain. The gangrene of his infected wound was beginning to match the green of his skin. His clawed right hand clutched his left arm. Black blood and contrasting white puss oozed from the gash.

Doc Razortoof bandaged the wound as two Gretchins wrestled for possession of the dislodged shrapnel. Razortoof gave them a smack upside the head and told them to get lost. Fifty-or-so Gretchins scavegened the battlefield for unspent shells,discarded looki g guns, medallions, and scrap metal left behind by the retreating human forces, who abandoned their tanks and motorbikes. The muddy foot-soldier watched, painfully caressing his wound as the exhaust of orbiting spaceships kicked in, taking the Space Marin s to other engagements, in other parts of the galaxy. With the "whiteskinz" gone, the Orks began to pick up the pieces of their shattered village.

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