Chapter 2

  The charge down the scrap-mountain was a thing of beauty. Zolk's massive legs pumped like pistons, each stride sending tremors through the rusted metal beneath us. Behind us came the thunder of a million boots, the roar of badly-tuned engines, and the beautiful cacophony of a proper Waaagh! building steam.

  Halfway down, Gitsmasha pulled alongside on his warbike, the thing belching black smoke and making noises that suggested it was held together by pure Orky belief.

  "Boss!" he shouted over the din. "Da Weirdboyz say dey's getting visions! Something about da blue gits wanting sumfing in da mountains!"

  I gave Zolk's reins a yank, steering him around a collapsed cooling tower. The Squigosaur snorted, annoyed at being directed away from the straightest path to violence.

  "Da mountains?" I bellowed back. "Dat's where Codda's got his big zappy dome fing!"

  Codda the Mekboy. Now there was a git who needed a good krumpin'. He'd built some massive shield generator out in the eastern mountains, claimed it would keep the planet safe from 'umie orbital bombardment. Fat lot of good it was doing now, with the 'umies already landing. But if the blue boys wanted it...

  "Send da Speed Freeks ahead!" I roared. "Tell 'em to set up some proper welcomes along da way! Mines, pits, maybe some of dem spinning blade fings!"

  Gitsmasha's iron jaw split into a grin that would've made a shark jealous. "Right you are, Boss!"

  Dull was clinging to the back of my saddle, his little green fingers white-knuckled on the leather straps. Every time Zolk landed from a leap over debris, the Snotling would let out a pathetic squeak.

  "Stop yer whimperin'!" I shouted at him. "You're ridin' with Grubbly the Terrible! Show some spine!"

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  "S-sorry Boss!" Dull squeaked. "It's just... Zolk seems extra hungry today!"

  As if to emphasize the point, Zolk snapped at a passing Gretchin who'd gotten too close, missing by inches. The little git ran off screaming. Zolk let out what I swear was a disappointed grumble.

  The first drop pods were hitting dirt now, their retro-thrusters scorching the scrap-plains black. I could see the 'umies through the heat-haze, already forming up in their neat little lines. They moved like clockwork, all precision and discipline. Made my teeth itch just looking at them.

  "Dull!" I barked. "When we hit 'em, you keep Zolk fed! I don't want him getting distracted by snacks when there's proper fighting to do!"

  "Fed with what, Boss?"

  "Blue boys, ya git! What else?"

  The Snotling gulped but nodded frantically. Good. Even Dull knew his place in the coming scrap.

  As we thundered closer, I could make out individual 'umies now. Their armor gleamed despite the rusty air, all covered in those pompous eagles and skulls they loved so much. Their bolters were already chattering, cutting down the first wave of Boyz who'd gotten there fastest.

  But that was fine. That was expected. The first wave was always just to get their attention.

  I stood up in my saddle, my power klaw crackling with eager energy. Zolk felt the shift in my weight and knew what it meant. He lowered his head, tusks gleaming with anticipation, muscles bunching for the final charge.

  "Remember, Boyz!" I bellowed to anyone within earshot. "We ain't just gonna krump 'em here! We're gonna lead 'em on a merry chase! Make 'em work for every step! And when they're tired and bleeding and crying for their Emperor..."

  I paused for effect, watching the drop pods disgorge more blue-armored warriors.

  "...THEN we krump 'em proper!"

  The answering roar from my Boyz shook dust from the scrap-heaps. Even Zolk joined in, his bellow so deep it made my bones vibrate.

  The gap was closing. Fifty meters. Thirty. Twenty.

  I could see their eyes now through their helmets. Some showed fear. Good. Some showed determination. Better - more fun to break. And some, the veterans, showed nothing at all. Those would be the ones worth fighting.

  Time to give these prissy blue boys a proper Orky welcome.

  The impact was seconds away when I spotted it - one of their Dreadnoughts, already deployed and standing like a metal monument to 'umie stubbornness. Perfect. Zolk needed a proper workout.