WAAAGH! Spurrug Bonecrusha

     Spurrug squinted his tiny eyes, peering through the dense foliage. Up ahead the mob of Grotz was pouring indiscriminate fire into the jungle. Although they hit almost nothing, the roaring of their blastas flushed a squad of Imperial Guardsmen from their position, forcing them to abandon their heavy weapon emplacement. As the jungle soldiers made their way haphazardly across the battlefield towards the clearing and the bunker, Skar and his mob of slugga boyz rose up from the high grasses. Spurrug smiled tightly when, with a throaty Ork roar, Skar's mob charged into the Guardsmen, annihilating them in the space of a minute or two.
     "Let's go, ladz," Spurrug said, heaving himself up from the rotting tree he was sitting on. The other dozen or so--Spurrug never could remember how many were left--rose from their position with a collective groan. Spurrug clutched his slugga tightly in his hand, the other hand motioning for the boyz to follow him. Shouldering their shootas, the mob of Orks began following the Nob into the jungle.
     Throughout most of the day the Ork horde had been advancing steadily through the dense and twisted jungles of Tremar. Jungle fighters, most of them from the regiment based on Catachan, had put together a solid defense, but Spurrug and the rest of da boyz were relentless in their attacks, and now the battle was reaching its climax as the Orks finally came upon the command bunker. In the thick jungles around the bunker lurked no fewer than five mobz of 'ard Orks, backed up by a dozen smaller mobz of Grotz, as well as the Big Dread and a buncha wartraks. In the last hour the desperate defense had intensified as the Orks' final push for conquest began. Spurrug's shoota boyz now attempted to circle around and capture the Guardsmen's lone heavy weapon, perhaps being able to put it to some use.
     The mob moved through the jungle, Spurrug's choppa carving a crude path through the foliage. Sap and other jungle juices squirted into Spurrug's determined face, burning his sensitive eyes. He growled, knuckling his eyes with knobby green fists, when suddenly there came a great explosion. He jerked his slugga up and looked around. One of his boyz was lying dead, and the others looked at him with wild eyes for a moment before plunging headlong into the jungle to escape the horror behind him. A dull roaring sound built, and Spurrug turned and saw a tank bearing down on him, the kind that tended to disgorge mobs of humies, its stormbolter spewing death.
     Spurrug shrieked and followed his boyz as they rushed madly through the dense jungle. The tank followed ponderously behind, firing for all its worth with its anti-infantry gun. Finally Spurrug's mob burst from the trees and into the high grasses surrounding the humie's bunker. Almost immediately a deadly crossfire developed, catching the Ork mob in the center. Several of Spurrug's boyz were blasted apart until he had the forethought to bellow, "Get down!" As one the mob dropped to their stomachs, listening to the din of the battle around them.
     Spurrug risked a look up and saw the tank was grinding to a halt, probably in preparation to unload a group of the soft humies. Grinding his teeth, Spurrug thought furiously, all the gears in his tiny Orky mind clanking as he reasoned the scenario out: They're there, and we's here. They've got gunz, we've got boyz. Abruptly a plan coalesced. Briefly Spurrug paused to thank Gork and Mork, then lurched to his feet, standing to his full nob's height of two meters. "'Ey boyz!" he bellowed into the tall grasses. Three nobs stuck their heads up cautiously. Spurrug recognized Skar, the other two nobs were unfamiliar to him. "Let's git dis 'umie tank! Come on, ya soft-n-squishy Grot-bait!"
     With a shuffling roar the three nobs each rose with their respective mobs and charged quickly in Spurrug's direction. Laser fire kept their heads down; several Orks were dropped by heavier artillery pieces. Finally the four suriviving mobs had assembled in full view in the tall grass around Spurrug. The huge nob looked around in disbelief as explosions echoed around them, ripping apart the odd boy on the perimeter of the group. "Don't jus' stand around--git it!" he roared.
     The roar was joined by the other several dozen Orks and quickly grew into a boisterous WAAAGH! as they charged the tank, swarming over it, hacking at it with choppas, dropping stickbommbs down turrets, wrenching off loose bits of machinery. Almost immediately the rear door of the tank opened and a ten-man squad of Imperial Guardsmen bolted out, lasguns up and firing at the greenskinned monsters assaulting their Chimera. Spurrug's eyes fairly lit with glee. He searched for his choppa and saw that it was gone--lost during the conflict. He reached down and grasped a twisted metal beam that had been torn from the tank, hefting it and noting several vicious barbs of metal on it.. "Kill da 'umies!" he howled, then fairly launched himself from atop the tank into the mass of guardsmen.
     His attack bowled the first two wide-eyed and terrified humies over. As he raised his newly-found basha, he saw more boyz swarming towards the pinkskins. Then he brought the basha down, impacting on the guardsmen's face and turning it into a soup of blood and bone. Crouched over the dying humie, he saw another guardsmen grimly affixing a bayonet to his lasgun. Spurrug pounced, landing heavily on the poor man. He prepared to swing his basha again when a feeble clonk echoed through his thick skull. Quizzically, he turned around and saw a pinkskin standing there with a wooden club held in his hands, white with terror. Carelessly Spurrug backhanded the humie in the chest, sending him flying backwards to hit the besieged tank heavily. As an afterthought Spurrug gave the humie several solid whacks with his basha, turning his chest to pulp
     Spurrug returned his attention to the guardsmen at his feet and found the soft humie had fainted. No fun, he thought, then snapped his neck and moved on. However, the boyz were skilled, and the squad had been eliminated in the space of half a minute. In the distance the command bunker disappeared in a wash of fire from the big dread's rokkits. The nob smiled again, the grin splitting his face into a rictus-like crease. "That's da end, boyz. Nuttin' ta do now but da moppin' up! Let's go." Spurrug leaped up and prepared to rally his boyz again--then he stopped short. It had become strangely silent in the vicintity of the ruined tank, and Spurrug saw to his uncomfortable amazement that all the boyz--upwards of several dozen--were staring dumbly at him. Staring was not an unorky thing to do--Spurrug had done his fair share of it when there was nothing around to kill or smash--but the rapture with which the dead-hard boyz stared at their nob was disconcerting. Then Spurrug realized they weren't staring *at* him, they were staring *past* him.
     Spurrug turned slowly and beheld an incredible sight. There, sprawled haphazardly in a muddy ditch not twenty feet from the clustered orks, was the prone body of Karskill Brainbasha, Warboss of the WAAAGH! Spurrug swallowed heavily and approached the warboss' body. Heavy bolter shells had literally blown open the huge Ork's chest. Spurrug leaned over the body, his tiny nose wrinkling at the heavy whiff of death and decay. It was a somber sight. The boss' bludd pumpa was brownish and limp, not the normal vibrant green. His airbags had a deflated look to them, and the bludd kleena looked like a rotten fruit. Bright green blood was splashed everywhere, and the boss' pipes and tubes were looped all over.
     The silence was broken by a wailing sound. Digging himself out from underneath Karskill, still connected to the warboss' belt by a length of heavy chain, was the gretchin Bomfee. Spurrug recoiled at the sight of the tiny greenskin, but soon his surprise was replaced by annoyance as the grot continued to shriek for all his worth. "They's kilt my buddy! Wooz gunna keep da boyz togevver?" Bomfee leaped up and down beside Karskill, bemoaning the death of the warboss and causing the chain connected to his collar to rattle. Spurrug paused for a second, looking back at the boyz clustered around the smoking tank, and made a decision that would change the course of the WAAAGH! forever.
     With a deft blow he cuffed Bomfee on the back of his skull. "Shut yer trap, Bomfee." He raised his voice to be heard above the clamor of the battle. "Awright boyz, Karskill's not gonna move so much dese dayz, so I'm gonna lead yer. Anybody whoze got a problum wit dat can take it up wit me, right now." He put his slugga aside and hefted his newfound basha, ready to take on all comers. The boyz fidgetted and looked at one another but made no move towards the nob-turned-warboss.
     "Now let's get one ting straight--I'm yer warboss and ya've gotta lern ta take orders from me." He ripped Bomfee's chain loose from Karskill's belt and removed the grot's collar. "Stick wit me, Bomfee, cuz youse gonna by my serv-ent. Da rest o' you boyz git to killin' da humies, coz we's got us a ship to build and a space hulk to grab ahold of!"
     A passion gripped the brutal greenskins as they prepared to move off and continue the war under their new leader. It gripped them with such fierceness that, as one, each ork yielded to it and joined Warboss Spurrug Bonecrusha in a defiant "WAAAAAAGH!"
End.

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