Home Fires – Chapter Six: Awakening
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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
Warboss Gargatok Gitsmasha got up in the worst mood. Worse than usual. The zoggin’ sun kept comin’ up earlier and earlier. Sleep was the only refuge from the boredom. Humies didn’t come this deep into the forest anymore. No humies meant no loot. No loot meant no metal. No metal meant no weapons. No dakka. No nothing.
He began his daily sojourn to the Drops. Outside of the hut, today’s ceremonial lad to be smashed stood. Visibly quivering. Zoggin’ git. He deserves it. They all deserve it.
“Mornin’ boss…” the lad said. Gargatok’s fist shattered the boy’s square jaw an instant later.
Ah. Now dat feels betta, Gargatok thought.
“Shu… mun… wanza… seeya…” the boy slurred out.
“Bonespitta gets my time if ‘e comes ta ME!” Gargatok bellowed, his bad mood instantly returning. “I don’ come when called like a squighound!”
“Yeff… boff…” the lad choked.
Dat’s right ‘yes boss,’ Gargatok thought. Leaning down, he picked up a healthy-looking tooth. He pocketed it and loped across the camp. His mood lightened as he saw grots and boys alike smashing squigs. At least the lads who followed him weren’t completely stupid; they could follow orders. The trees in camp felt like an intrusion, but it kept them hidden from humie flyers. The squigs couldn’t be allowed to thrive; it would turn the forest into a proppa Ork camp. It would be seen from the air. Even the Drops had to be concealed in a local cave.
The notion of hiding ruined the little lightening to Gargatok’s mood. Hidin’ like a Blood Axe. No proppa squigs to make blue paint with. He needed more lads but smashing the squigs meant less places for yoofs to emerge.
He yearned to conquer the other clans to get more boys. The other clans weren’t up to it, though. They didn’t use Gargatok’s methods. They let their camps grow, then they got attacked before they had lots and lots of lads. So, they got krumped. Every time, the humies on this planet krumped the other clans good.
It hadn’t always been this way, though. No, Rokface Bonespitta never shut up about it. The ol’ shaman said that the lads had come to this world at the head of a mighty WAAAAGH! They smashed the humies good and took all the best loot.
Then the Beekies came. They was blue, which was why they beat the Orks, because blue was the luckiest color. At least, that’s why Gargatok thought they won. They also had lots of fire. Bonespitta always talked about how the Beekies had more fire than any Burna Boy could ever want. They was dead ‘ard. Proppa opponents. The kind that Gargatok craved to smash.
Gargatok’s feet had finally carried him to the Drops. He did what he set out to do with gusto. Lads, Nobs, and Grots alike made him feel welcome.
He smashed a few squigs on his way out, then made his way to the big Pile o’ Gunz. There was plenty of them. Just no Dakka. Can’t have gunz without Dakka. Nearby, sticking out of the needle-covered forest floor was a miniature forest of humie laz-gunz sticking stock up out of the dirt. Weedy even by humie standards. Barely hit harder than a Grot. Worse, there was no Mek to turn them into proppa shootas. Gargatok knew it was because he didn’t have enough ladz and enough loot. Meks always showed up if there was enough loot to make good tek. Nearby, his loyal Nobs added reclaimed shootas to the Pile, just as a few daring ladz were stealing a few on the other side. Gargatok didn’t mind ladz nicking a few shootas here and there, just as long as they didn’t use up the precious dakka. Lootin’ was a time-honored tradition in the Deffskulls. Getting killed by humie bombers wasn’t.
Gargatok went over to the camp and got himself a bowl of squig smashings. He grimaced around the crunchy gruel. Can’t have a roast without a fire. Can’t have a fire without getting bombed. He yearned to go hunting and kill something with huge horns or big teeth. Something that would make his blood thrum with the joy of killing.
“You been avoidin’ me, Gargatok Gitsmasha.” A raspy voice called. Gargatok turned around to see the stooped posture of ol’ Rokface Bonespitta. The hair squigs that made up his beard were so old they’d gone white, then black, then white again. He leaned his droopy frame against a verdigris-covered pole with strings of wooden beads and teeth spaced irregularly around it. His grin was full of teeth worn down to nubs.
“I ain’t avoidin’ nobody, Bonespitta.” Gitsmasha grunted. “I’m jus’ in a bad mood.”
“Oh, in a bad mood, are ya?” Bonespitta chided. “Like you’s ever in a good mood, boss.”
“Well, dere ain’t no humies to fight!” Gitsmasha shouted. “If we tried to mount a proppa WAAAAGH, we’d get bombed jus’ like Bragbog’s ladz did las’ week!”
Bonespitta burbled a laugh that made black phlegm spill down his lips. “Scared of the humies, are ya boss?”
Gargatok roared. He trundled up to Bonespitta, leaned over and got a hairsbreath away from him. “What’s got into you dat you fink you can say something like that, you runty ol’ bag o’ bones?”
“Ah, but bones say so much, boss…” Bonespitta said, his smile widening. “I talked to da bones las’ night when I saw a new star in da sky. You wanna know what da bones said?”
Gargatok growled in irritation. “You nevva shut yer gob, so you’se gonna say what da bones tol’ ya wevver anyone wants ta hear it or not. So jus’ spit it out!”
“Da bones say da Beekies are back.” Bonespitta said with more gravitas than Gargatok had ever heard from the old Weirdboy. His eyes briefly glowed with a green fire to accentuate the point.
Gargatok felt something stir within him. Something he had never felt before.
“LADZ!” he shouted. “Stop smashing those squigs! We need paint! We need gunz! We’s gonna get in a FIGHT! WIF BEEKIES!”
The bellowed WAAAAAAAAGH that his lads released in reply drowned out the world.
Gargatok Gitsmasha, the greatest Warboss on Altea, was in a good mood for the first time in his life.