Home Fires – Chapter Thirty-Five: Discretion
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Intro 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 Epilogue
Gargatok Gitsmasha opened his eyes to the sight of several dozen Grots piled around his face.
“I ain’t dead?” He asked.
The Gretchin looked at each other, unsure for a second. Then, consensus somehow materialized within them, and they all shook their heads, conferring a negative.
The ground lurched beneath Gargatok. He must be aboard the Gargant. The heady smell of oil and fumes was undercut by smoke. As Gargatok pushed himself to a sitting positon, several of the Grots scattered to avoid his arm. A loud scraping of metal-on-metal drew Gargatok’s attention. Skabberdink, ever faithful, was barely towing Gargatok’s Big Shoota behind him.
“Saved yer shoota, boss!” he announced with glee.
“Good work, runt.” Gargatok spat. Skabberdink’s face split with a yellowed grin. Gargatok stood, his body ravaged but seemingly still functional. He slowly made his way up the Gargant’s internal gantries, directing Grots to address fires before they got out of control.
In the command center of the head, Gargatok reached out to several prominent lieutenants. Many of Thraknar’s old crew had penetrated deep into the city. Some of the Altean Warbosses had, but they were much more pragmatic and had slowed to loot as much as they could. Gargatok approved; looting was a tradition near and dear to his heart.
Strangely the supplies of gunz, dakka, and fuel had ceased, stalling several advances. Gargatok sent several runners to figure out why. In the meantime, Gargatok had a ball rampaging through the city in the Gargant. Despite the increasing holes being punched in the hull, the titanic war engine continued to stomp anything that opposed it. Gargatok hooted and hollered as tanks, buildings, and humies were blasted, flattened, and broken.
An hour later, Gargatok got the bad news: the reason the supplies had stopped was that the ships in orbit had stopped sending them down. The fleet was too busy fighting. Lots of new Beekies were coming in a huge fleet. Any Ork on the surface when the Humie fleet arrived would be trapped here. Gargatok had a flashback to the losses he suffered in the deep forests of Altea.
Not again.
He couldn’t go back to hiding. He woudn’t. There had to be another way.
Then he remembered an ancient saying among his kind.
He wasn’t going to win.
He refused to die.
That left only one option.
First, he signalled Thraknar’s lads again; ordering them to push into the city and smash the Beekies. They were only too happy to oblige. The Altean Warbosses and many support elements were pulled back to the big street that the Humies had just abandoned. Fighta Bommaz were sent back to ships in orbit. Landas were fueled and loaded up. Finally, a fleet of Battlewagons rendezvoused with the Gargant, and Gargatok ordered the giant walker to continue wreaking havoc after he debarked. Gargatok exited the Gargant to see the smirking face of Rokface Bonespitta atop a tower erected on the largest wagon.
“Bonespitta? Whatchu doin’ ‘ere?”
“Da bones said you need my help, Gargatok Gitsmasha.”
“Yer bones sure do know lotsa stuff, ‘ow dey do dat?” Gargatok said with annoyance.
Bonespitta laughed. “Dey don’ know nuffin, Boss. Da trick is in ‘ow ya read ‘em.”
Garagtok nodded thoughtfully, as if this was the most profound thing he’d ever heard. It might have been.
“Let’s giddouda ‘ere!” Gargatok shouted. As he scrambled up the battlewagon’s plank, the squadron of heavy vehicles peeled the pavement and made for the edge of the city.
Gargatok watched from the back of the wagon as the ruined city receded.
“One day, I’ll be back for anuvver go…” he promised.
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