Chapter 1: Where'z Me Klan?!
“Hmm. Where iz me? Iz so dark.” The little amount of light faded.
“Wha.. Who be dat? Hrrph. Eavy metal bits on me. Hrrr gah, dats betta. Where iz dey all?”
The warp storm above filled the sky. Waves of purple and pink mixed with red spiraling clouds, purple streaks of lightning struck the ground and cut across the sky. Winds powerful enough to collapse the weaker of the ruins howled over the planets surface, kicking up ash and dirt in dark mini vortexes. Small droplets of heated liquid fell from the sky. Medusa V was dying. Hells Slingshot was tearing the planet and its atmosphere apart. In the distance meteors struck the ground, adding more ash and dust to the already choking air. Puddles and bodies of water boiled or were evaporated by the blistering winds.
“Boss!? Warboss!? Where is everywun? Dey didnt did dey?”
Crawling out of his accidental tomb, Bog looked around the immediate area. The industrial bay that his Warboss and Klan had helped to save from the 'umies was completely destroyed. Not a single identifiable building was left standing. They were either destroyed, scrapped, or left burning and smoldering. The location where the teleporter had once stood was also in complete ruin. Girders and wires lay in a tangled mess on the ground, bodies of Orks and Chaos Beakies were scattered throughout the wreckage.
“Dats it den. I'm ded. I'z got no way outta dis mess dis time.” Thought Bog. “Nope, I not gonna fink like dat. I be a memba of Klan Dregga!” Bog said out loud to the howling winds. “Da Rok ain't dat far away. I see'd dis planet fru da winda ov da Weedemshun when we'ze first come 'ere. Dis is a small planet, so I'z be gonna get ta Da Rok before dis ere swirly fing busts dis planet.” Yelled Bog defiantly.
The Oiler Grot looked around the area and found a myriad of useful items. He quickly piled up what he thought might come in handy. A belt from a fallen Ork; a piece of large metal piping; an iron bar; the broken hilt from an Imperial Guardsmen's knife; a Guardsmen's Flamer; and the fuel tanks still had fuel in them, but not much, and he had his own Grot Blaster; tools, and belt. Bog quickly got to work. Fine tuning the nozzle on the flamer, Bog fashioned a crude welder and attached the iron bar to the knife hilt, then gave the end of the bar small iron teeth cut from nearby metal from a ruin. Using his welder, he cut holes in the top of the iron tubing, and cut the tubing in half. With no knife at hand he cut the Ork belt into strips with his bare teeth and put loops of the strips through the holes in the tubing, and reconnected the two halves of the tubing back together with other leather strips. With the tubing now able to be opened and closed, Bog slid his arms through the two top rings of leather, and closed the tubing, tying it up in a shoelace type manner with the other strips. The roughly fashioned club he carried. Now armored and fully armed, he set out on his trek to reach Da Rok.
Bog moved slowly through what was left of the industrial bays streets. He knew roughly what direction to head in as he had overheard Warboss GargDregga mention that Nazdreg had crashed his hulk somewhere in the northeast. With this information at hand, and remembering which way the BattleFortress was facing at the time, Bog simply followed his nose. The ruined roads were abandoned. The streets were dark and empty. To a more intelligent life form, the howling winds would've sounded like the moans of the dead and dying, as it passed through ruins and bullet ridden walls. The air was almost unbreathable, but Bog pressed on. After a few hours of trudging through the ruined industrial bay, the Oiler Grot reached the outer defensive walls earlier constructed by the Mek konklave, and then destroyed by the attacking 'umies. Bog looked out onto a ravaged landscape. The only things not destroyed by fires or the combats that had raged on the planet, were the volcanoes that had risen from the ground all over the area. Bog looked around at the fallen bodies everywhere, and the scrap that was left behind for whatever reason. Lying on the ground nearby was a beakie standard, filled with bullet holes and partially scorched. Bog swiped the cloth from the ground and tore off a corner with his teeth. This he quickly tied around his head and covered his mouth and nose with it. The rest of the standard he shoved up inside his metal tube armor. He knew that with the hot winds blowing against him, that the metal would heat up soon enough and he hoped that the banner would help protect him from the blistering metal, at least long enough for him to reach Da Rok.
The stench of death permeated the very ground and air itself. Dead and decaying corpses covered nearly every square inch of the land that lay outside what used to be Orkestus Bay. As he continued on his march, Bog scrounged random bits of scrap from the debris and detritus that he came across. A sack here, a canteen there; he even found a small shell cart that he quickly modified into a wheelbarrow to carry his newly found belongings. The cart consisted of a metal tray with two handles and two wheels on a single axle. No sides or front or back, just a small wheeled platform, but it was good enough for Bog. Through the haze of ash and dirt, the purple streaks of lightning illuminated the ground as they struck the planets surface. Bog realized that his metal tube armor was not going to be overly comfortable if one of those bolts hit, but he had to remain protected from the other myriad of possible dangers, that the landscape held.
Bog had been on the move for hours. Crossing tentatively standing bridges, working his way through areas littered in still live shells and rockets. Constantly throwing away scrap to replace it with more useful items. Unaware that day had turned to night Bog decided to take a short rest. The Grot upturned his cart and using some of the scrap he had collected, he constructed himself a rough tent. Inside, Bog looked over his collected horde. First and foremost was what was housing the Grot at the time. The cart and a large tarpaulin. The tarpaulin was taken from a destroyed Leman Russ. While there was very little of use on the ruined tank, most things being too big and weighty for the little Grot to take with him, the tarpaulin was in perfect condition, no holes or tears and the stitching was still strong and complete on the edges. Bog already had thoughts for the tarpaulin, and not only to use it as shelter. Bog had also found many other useless items, useless to most. Small flasks that he had filled with fuel and oil from wrecked vehicles; a wheel and tire from a beakie bike; hoses; gauges; small fuel tanks from flamers; and all matter of other worky bits. The Grot laid down on the excess tarpaulin and fell asleep. His little legs aching and his shoulders sore from the weight of his hastily made armor.
Outside the Grots shelter, the warp storm tore at Medusa V's surface. The very landscape was changing. Plant life was being destroyed, volcanoes erupted from flat areas of ground, and hills were physically blown away inch by inch. The ground covered in ash and other detritus falling from the sky. Random explosions shook the ground and supplied the noise of the lightning strikes with an almost bass like background sound. Bog awoke still tired and sore but he knew he had to press on. Redressing in his armor and packing away his scrap the Grot left the relative safety of his temporary albeit mobile shelter. Movement was even slower for the Grot than before. With the storms winds blowing through the area and with nothing ruin or building size to stop them, Bog was getting battered. The only thing going in Bog's favor was that the winds were more or less blowing in the direction that the Grot was heading. At least he didn't have to fight the wind as well as the landscape. Through a small gap in the raging warp storm, Bog saw Medusa V's moon, at least he knew it was night time, and this went a certain way to explaining the Grots lethargy. Bog continued to trade good scrap for bad as he marched on with determination. He wasn't going to give Klan Dregga a bad name. If he was found, or hopefully rescued, he wanted his savior to be able to tell Warboss GargDregga that he hadn't given up.
Bogs legs began to buckle. The Grot fell numerous times only to get back up and continue on his trek. The ash on the ground was deepening and the Grots short legs were having a hard time moving the little armored body and his cart through the terrain. Bog again fell, but this time it was because he tripped. Bog spewed out all manner of cuss words in Orkish. With the anger of an Ork Nob, Bog scratched at the ash and dug down to find out what it was that he had tripped on. The small greenskin couldn't believe his luck. Lying buried under the ash was a beakie bike. It seemed intact, but the engine block had taken a direct hit and was wrecked. Bog slumped to his knees.
“Aw c'mon! I be doin dis ard enuff az it iz. Gimme a brake!” Cried the Oiler Grot into the howling winds of the warp storm. Then Bog remembered. “Me cart, and me tar cloff!”
Bog started up one of his makeshift welders and begun cutting feverishly at the bike. Removing the front end of the bike completely but keeping the steering mechanism intact, Bog welded the handlebars and wheel to the cart. The Grot then removed the rear wheel and removed the two wheels from the cart. Now having this new rear wheel, and the one he had scrounged earlier, the Grot fixed the two wheels in place of the carts old ones. Rattling through the iron rods and bars that he had collected, Bog laid out a bunch of them in an L-shape, and welded them together. He then strengthened the welds by wrapping leather strips around each weld line. The seat was then removed and attached to the tray of the cart. Heaving the heavy iron 'L' into place, the Grot stood back and looked at his masterwork. The cart now had steering, and three wheels. The L-shaped bars were in place in a rotator cup that Bog had removed from a wrecked beakie Dreadnaught. Quickly, Bog attached his tarpaulin to the L-shaped bars, and rigged long straps of leather through a simple pulley system that Bog had manufactured. He then strapped himself into the bike seat, grabbed on to the handlebars, and disengaged the bikes brakes. The wind from the warp storm pelted the makeshift sail-bike across the ground at unthinkable speeds. The weight of the construction was so light, that it almost floated on top of the ash covered earth. Bog fought the controls and did his best to maintain roughly a northeast bearing.
“Dis ere planet and itz storm ain't gonna beat a memba of Klan Dregga!” Cried Bog.
Bog was speeding across the desolate wastes of Perseus, the warp storm winds carrying the grot and his vehicle at ridiculously high speeds. The terrain around the Grot would momentarily blur then it would return to normal. The blurring of the terrain and scenery started happening more often and with shorter intervals. The speed at which the warp storms winds blew, were playing havoc with the time continuum. Bog fell in and out of consciousness, but never crashed his sail-bike. In one of the Grots more conscious moments, Bog saw in the distance, a gun battle between beakies and Chaos Beakies. Explosions lit up the ash-filled air. The screams of the different Beakies carried on the winds as the Grot sped past the battle. Underneath the sailing bike, the terrain began to change. From the scorched sands of Perseus, the grounds texture and look changed dramatically. Now the planets surface resembled hard desolate sun-baked rock. The wheels of Bogs sail-bike screeched as the bike rose and fell on the winds currents. As Bog was sped along he passed the remains of a huge mechanical system perched over the mouth of a fetid river. A vile smog hung low over the detritus that flowed down the waterway. The smog, so heavy that even the winds of the storm didn't seem to penetrate it, seemed to be massing right before Bogs eyes. Again the Grot fell unconscious. When he awoke again, the sail-bike was some thirty feet above the ground. Bog panicked and fumbled with the handlebars, applying the bikes brakes, and nearly snapping his straps as he jumped and shuddered at the sight of the ground so far below him. Again, he faded.
The constant landing and taking off of the sail-bike as it bounced across the terrain, was beginning to damage Bogs handy work. Each touch down caused the tires to screech, the wheels to loosen from their axles, and the axles to bend and loosen from their mounts under the bikes flat tray. Bog woke again, but before he dared open his eyes this time, he gripped the handlebars with every ounce of strength he could muster, and braced himself deep into the cushioning of his seat. As the Oiler Grot opened his eyes, the sail-bike landed again. Bog found himself riding through mountainous terrain. The wind blowing him along at even greater speeds than before. The bike veered and bounced violently. All Bog could do was hold on and hope that the terrain would plateau out as soon as possible. Winds blew the bike over gorges, between rocky outcrops, onto and over damaged roadways. All the while, Bog held on for his life. Even though the sky was still filled with the warp storm above and lightning and meteors struck the ground all around him, his sail-bike kept going. So far it had held together, but Bog wasn't sure how much longer it would or could last. Bog wasn't through the worst of it yet, however. Eventually the rocky terrain, gorges and chasms ended. The sail-bike was now moving so fast that Bog could hear the lightning before he saw it. As the bike took off one more time, Bog shut his eyes; the landings were getting rougher and rougher. The bike never landed. Bog opened his eyes, and passed out instantly. Below the Grot the ground had fallen away so much that he could see the warp storm broiling about beneath him. Lightning arcs zapped past his ride, and meteors fell within feet of the Oiler Grot. The bike began to roll onto its side as Bog lost consciousness.
Bog looked around at his surroundings. His bike was still being pushed along by the storms winds, but the pace was much less hectic. Behind him sprawled a huge hive. Bigger than any other the Grot had seen in this campaign. Ahead of him more mountains, but these were covered, not in ash and other detritus, but in lush green foliage, in places anyway. There was something else also. Moving towards Bog was possibly the biggest collection of Orks and Ork vehicles he had ever seen. A gigantic BattleFortress flanked by two titanic Gargants led the waaagh of Orks. Vehicles of all sorts were scattered amongst the thousands of Orks and Gretchin moving over the mountain sides.
“Wha? I.. I'z saved!” Screamed the excited Grot. Bog applied the breaks to his sail-bike, but as he did so, the worn pile of mismatched bits finally gave way. The bike flipped and cart wheeled end over end. Bits of bike, scrap, iron bars, and tarpaulin flew into the air. When the dust settled, the bits of the makeshift bike were scattered in all directions. Bog lay face down in the dirt, still strapped to his bike seat. The excited Grot jumped up from the ground and tried to run towards the oncoming Ork Horde.
“Get da 'ell of ya stoopid straps! Get off've me ya weedy seat!” Bog fought the straps loose and shook off the weight of the bike seat. He ran towards the oncoming horde waving his arms and screaming like an overly excited panzee. The Oiler Grot stopped dead. “Wot da? Wot in Gork 'n Morks name is me doin? Dese Orks are gonna see me, actin like a weel git!?” Questioned Bog to himself. The Oiler Grot quickly dropped down behind a rocky outcrop and scurried back towards his bikes wreckage. Scrounging around amongst the scattered scrap and bits, Bog began to clean himself up. He removed his armor and using a mixture of oil and dirt, he painted glyphs on his tube armor. Using his last makeshift welder, the Grot gathered some of the iron rods he had used to make his sail frame and welded them back together and then onto a steel box. The box he then covered with the sack and using some leather straps, he donned the makeshift backpack. He quickly removed it and unstuffed his armor. Laying out the beakie banner, he burnt a symbol into it, and then attached it to his newly made bannerpole. Once he was ready, he took a spot atop a small hillock and stood patiently with his Blaster in one hand and his club resting on his shoulder, waiting for the Ork Horde to advance.
As the Ork Horde passed by Bog's location, he looked out across its enormity. The BattleFortress and two Gargants that led the force were miles away from the Oiler Grots position. On the other side of them were Orks and Gretchin as far as the eye could see. Stretching from one of the Gargants back towards Bog, was the rest of the army, and nearest to Bog was one of the flanks of the Horde. As they trudged past, three units of Gretchin looked up at the hillock that Bog stood on. From behind the Oiler Grot a succession of lightning bolts struck the ground in the distance, casting a purple haze on the back of the Grot. From the front, the symbol that Bog had burnt into the beakie banner and the bullet holes in the banner lit up. The silhouette of the Grot standing there at full height with his blaster ready and his close combat weapon slung nonchalantly over his shoulder sent a shiver through the Gretchin squads. Breaking formation, some of the Gretchin approached Bog.
“Iz you some sort o' Grot Warboss or sumfin?” Asked one of the interested Gretchin, nervously.
“Me? I'm ju...
Yeah ya Git! I am Warboss Bog Dregga of Klan Dregga!” Answered Bog in a deep booming voice. “I ave sent me boyz back to me hulk, and told em ta go 'ome! Dey waz wimpz and wanted to flee, but not me. I ave stayed ere ta fight, and am lookin' fer some ovva tuff gitz ta join me. Where iz ya'z eaded to?”
“We'ze iz followin' Warlord Nazdreg inta battle at Ive U-ree-ar-leez. We'ze all from diffrent klans, but we'ze got no leader at da moment. If you iz goin' ta fight at da Ive too, we'll be appy ta fight unda ya banna.”
Bog looked over the collection of Gretchin that had assembled before him. If he was able to bring these Grots back to Warboss GargDregga and any scrap or vehicles he managed to capture, he would easily be elevated to top Grot on the BattleFortress.
“Roighty O den. You'ze gits iz now known az Bogz SkidzTrakkz. Our job in dis ere battle comin up iz ta capture az many vehikles az we kan. When we'ze get back to Da Rok wiv Warlord Nazdreg, we'ze will trade some ov da vehikles for tellyportin'ta me hulk. Ya got dat ya zoggers?” Yelled Bog.
“Aye Warboss Bog Dregga!” “Waaagh Bogz SkidzTrakkz!”
Bog joined his new army of Gretchin and moved on towards Hive Euryales with Warlord Nazdregs Horde.
Chapter 2: Gettin' of Dis Planet!
The Oiler Grot, now turned Gretchin Warboss, couldn't believe his good luck. His fortunes were good enough to rival that of the luckiest Gretchin to ever have lived, Makari. The new Warboss' followers were made up of Gretchin of all persuasions. Grot Oilers, Grot Orderlies; Ammo Grots and basic warrior grots. They all flocked to Bog's banner, and followed his every order.
The battle location had changed. Geryon Base was the location of the great battle. The fighting was fierce and quick. Those Imperial Guardsmen and beakies that were defending the base had no chance against the mighty Ork horde that cut a swathe through the outer defenses of the spaceport. Orks and Gretchin met headlong with the forces of the Imperium. Always leading the attack from the front was Warlord Nazdreg. Bog and his followers were right in the thick of the battle also. Leading sneak attacks at the rear of enemy units by using sewer entrances, was Bogs favorite tactic. He and his swarm of Gretchin would appear behind encamped units of Imperial Guardsmen, and open fire in a hail of misdirected bullets. Not really killing all that many Guardsmen, the Grot force's shooting ability wasn't what they were counting on. The incoming shower of rounds would often break the Guardsmens concentration, forcing them to turn to face their new adversary. It was at this point that the Grot force would disappear back into the sewers, or scatter amongst the debris, hiding from the enemy. Whilst the Guardsmen were busy looking for the shooters, they would be swarmed by hordes of raging Orks, and would be cut down where they stood. This tactic also proved to be useful against the Imperiums tanks. Either in conjunction with Tankbusta Orks, or as a means of looting the actual armored vehicles. Bog had engineered a tactic where they would come out of the sewers behind the tanks position, then selected 'Shokk Grots' would scale the rear of the tank, and drop fuel bombs into the hatches. While this didn't completely destroy 'most' tanks, it was certain to kill the crew inside in a huge shower of fire and flame. This not only gave Bog's Boyz some choice pieces of armored shootyness but also provided his Grots with a cooked meal. Bog nicknamed this particular tactic 'Da TeeVee Dinna' taktik.
Nazdreg ordered his boyz to rally the Grots involved in the battle and to get them to do the menial labor of loading things into the hold of a great freighter.
“Dis iz it!” Thought Bog to himself. “Dis iz me chance ta get ov dis planet!”
“Oi, ya gits! Get ta loadin' de'ze tanks of ourz wiv ammo! Any sort'll do, just load em up, and get em aboard dat ooge frayta.!” Ordered the Gretchin Warboss.
As the last of the ammunition horde was stashed aboard the freighter and the doors were closed, Bog poked his head out from behind the mechanized mounts of a hull mounted Heavy Stubber that was part of 'his'Leman Russ'armory. The holds of the freighter were huge to say the least. Orks and Gretchin moved about everywhere, stowing crates, and parking vehicles in their respective holding bays.
Over the Leman Russ' comms, Bog spoke to his second in charge. “You keep da gits unda control. I'ze iz goin' ta see what's 'appenin.”
“Hehe... Boss.” Thought Bog to himself. He was liking this being a boss thing.
Bog wandered through the halls of the freighter listening to the murmurings of passing Orks. Following his nose, Bog found himself standing near an open doorway which led onto the bridge of the ship.
...please help us!” *SNAP* The sound of crunching bone and a scream from a human, then all was momentarily silent.
“Nice wun. Right Lads, get ready.” Ordered Nazdreg. “Oi, you. Yeah you ya git! Get ovva ere!” Ordered Nazdreg looking straight at Bog. “Get down ta da holdin' bays and pass da word. We'ze iz in fer one more battle before we'ze be leavin' dis system. An get dat scrap of've ya. Ya look stupid!”
“Erm ye.. yes Warlord, boss, sir!” Answered Bog. “Take me armor off, ya gotta be daft! Stoopid Ork!” Thought the Gretchin to himself.
Bog ran through the corridors telling every Ork he came across to get ready for one last battle. Nazdreg was planning a boarding raid on the first ship that came to assist the humans. Bog also told his own boyzto be ready. He then returned to Nazdreg's location on the bridge, but he kept himself inconspicuous.
“Right ya zoggers! Dem Oomies is sendin' a Retribooshun klass battleship ta help deze Oomies.” Explained Nazdreg to the surrounding Orks.
“Terraz Defyanse is hailin' Lord Nazdreg, dey want'z ta lock in and come aboard.”
“Send em da OK code den ya git!” Ordered Nazdreg. “When dey haz locked on and opened dem doors, I want dem krumped and den all deze Oomies and dem from da Battleship can be dumped inta space when ya jetizun all da junk aboard da Battleship. Den we'ze iz outta ere.” Ordered the Ork Warlord.
The humans had no chance. The attack was swift and violent. Within hours the entire crew of the battleship and the freighter were either killed or jettisoned into space. A select few human crew members were kept to help control the Battleship as it left the system through a warp tear, they were then jettisoned soon after.
With the warp travel marked to take a while, Gob decided to put his own, and his boyz abilities to good use. Aboard the battleship, the Grots were able to locate smaller patrol style ships and drop pods. It was here that Warboss Bog and his army of Grots showed their true talents. Work begun in earnest. The building of their own hulk of sorts had begun. The only requirements - the ability to hold Warboss Bog's acquired tanks and his crew, and the fuel holding capacity to get him home and back to 'his' Klan.