And we're back! Chapter 3 - Discovery

THE RANCID TUSKS OF weirdboy Anfrax produce an odour offensive even to orks, indeed the grotz tasked with holding him down had deliberately offered themselves as test subjects for Ramizead's patented 'Nu breave easi stripz'. Despite the stench, Morkloud enters the foetid hut and cautiously approaches the slumbering shaman, an anaesthetic hammer held in readiness.

"Quit tryin' ta sneak up on mi." rumbles the prone form, "Yer embarassin' yerself"

As the ex-kommando sits up slowly, Morkloud lowers the hammer and sighs with relief that he is in a rare lucid moment although as he watches, ghost fire begins to flicker around Anthrax's dark eyes and the grotz tighten their grip on the restraining chains.

"Wotcha want?" asks the psyker wearily. "I herd yer were da nu Banna boy so I presoom dis 'az sumfink ta do wiv Orkeez?"

"Yeah, da boss wantz ta know if yer 'ad visions yet like da humies do?" asks Morkloud fingering the hilt of the hammer and wishing he'd been allowed to wear his klaw.

Anfrax snorts and shakes his head, "Don't yer know anyfin?" he replies "Da powerz of Gork n Mork iz fer shapin' da battle not fer lookin ta see oo iz gonna be da next boss"

Morkloud makes a decision and drops the hammer as he moves closer.

A snarl crosses Anfrax's face. "Der's onli two reasons an ork drops iz weapon an' I hope yer picked da right un" he threatens.

"I 'aven't got a deff wish." says Morkloud shaking his head as he creeps closer "wot would I do wiv dat teeny hamma anyway?"

"Not much before I stripped the flesh from yer bones" boasts Anfrax, his eyes flaring brighter as Morkloud stands face to face with him, "so den if youz not challenging mi why izn't yer grovellin' on da floor?"

"I sed I din't 'ave a deffwish, I never sed I wosn't challenging yer" smirks Morkloud as he pivots under Anthrax's power laden gaze and kicks out at one of the Grot handlers catapulting it into the air. In it's terror the pitiful creature clings desperately to it's chain and completes two full orbits of Anfrax's neck before it's grasp fails and it soars out through the window.

Roaring in fury, Anfrax sweeps the floor of the hut with his burning gaze setting alight anything combustible. But this does not include Morkloud who uses the distraction to manoeuvre behind the weirdboy, where he grabs the dangling chain. Yanking hard on the tether, he plants a boot on Anfrax's back to ensure the shaman cannot bring him into the dangerous line of sight as he chokes the air out of him and grunts "If yer could ... see da future ... den yer woulda known ... wot I woz gonna do!"

Anfrax starts a hacking laugh as he begins to lose consciousness, realising how cleverly the Banna bearer had played him.

...

WATCHING IMPASSIVELY AS the hut burns down and the large ork lopes toward an equally ramshackle hovel, he tries once more to loosen the steel cable embedded in his armour. Several of his brethren lie centimetres away, limbs and torsos mutilated by the same crude mesh that holds them in a fatal embrace and, as the net slips free of his heraldry, he hears the last of them succumb to their wounds. He closes his eyes momentarily in brief prayer and clasps the bolter to his chest, listening to the chatter of the creatures.

"Oi, Mek! ‘ow many did I get?" comes a cry from the cockpit of the fighta-bomba that captured him. A voice answers from much closer with "Six", but this causes the pilot to make confused noises so the Mek clarifies "More an’ one grotz". Gloating, the pilot demands to know about "da haul" and as the Mek approaches the Marine can hold back his righteous fury no longer. A short burst from his bolter tears it apart and he struggles free of the net, clambering over the bodies of his fallen comrades and quickly seeking cover beneath the hulking aircraft.

Moments pass and discerning no retaliation to his actions, he pauses to take in more fully his surroundings. As he watches the large ork enter the hovel, another bursts through the wall and the largest, meanest looking ork peers out of the newly created gap. "Wen I sez tek da Battlewagon, I mean tek da Battlewagon!" it hollers through the twisted gap at the prone ork, then it notices the dazed Wierdboy and turns to address the ork he saw earlier. He hopes to garner some idea of their plans but despite his enhanced senses, he is too far away to hear what is said.

He tests his comm-link and hears nothing but static, even though he broadcasts his status; "Command, this is forward squad three. My brothers are dead. We were captured whilst attempting to shoot down an ork aircraft. Be aware, these orks are employing crude dragnets. Advise seeking cover before attempting to bring down aircraft." He repeats his message twice more before crouching under the broad wing of the fighta-bomba and slipping under one of the large bombs. Suddenly, small hands grasp at his helmet and he hears shrill screams of "Intruda" from above him. Turning, he tears free of the puny grip and seeing the small creature tied to the bomb, silences the screaming grot with a single punch.

From all directions the green horde descends and his bolter spits death until it clicks empty. He draws his mono-bladed knife and takes up a combat-stance, calmly waiting as the first ork reaches him. A side-step and a pinpoint strike rips the throat out of the first ork, a crouching spin hamstrings the next and then there are too many and he strikes out desperately, making no effort to fight defensively, either his armour would hold or it wouldn’t. In a matter of seconds it is all over, pinned under the green tide, he dispassionately assesses inflicted on him and concludes none of it is fatal.

"Let 'im go" comes the muffled command and as the orks relieve the pressure on him, the purple armoured marine quickly climbs to his feet dropping once more into a combat stance before the powerful Warboss and his retinue.

"Relax an’ tek yer 'at off lad, it ain't gonna mek dat much diff'rence." instructs Orkeez

The marine glances around and is forced to admit the Warlord is correct in his assumption, so begrudgingly removes his helmet. His voice full of righteous fury he exclaims "Foul xeno! How dare you lay hands one of the Emperors Mailed Fists? Through low animal cunning alone were you able to capture me!"

"Cunning? Dat meanz subtle don't it?" queries Ramizead, then tilts his head in the direction of the plane "Wot's subtle 'bout a bloody great metal net attached t' back o' fighta-bomma?"

The marine stares mouth agog at the unbarbaric thinking, though he quickly regains his composure only to have Orkeez scream into his face. "Subtle? SUBTLE! Oo do yer fink we iz, da stinkin' Eldar?"

He spots his opportunity and dropping his helmet exclaims "Xeno filth, the Emperor longs for your blood!" as he leaps for Orkeez. He powers through the air faster than most of his captors can comprehend, arm raised then punching swiftly forward, fingers extended for a killing blow that never connects. His forward motion is arrested as the first counter punch cracks his chest plate and as he curls around the fist he briefly sees the uppercut that snaps his head back crushing vertebrae. Dazed and held aloft by a powerful grasp around his throat, he gazes into the harsh red eyes.

"Wotcha go an’ do dat for?" queries Orkeez, "I just wont’d yer to tek a message ta yer boss an’ tell ‘im we’z comin’ coz we’z want a good fight dis time. Now I’z gonna hav’ ta hurt yer"

He manages to remain conscious for a whole minute while the orks play ‘Bash’, a crude game where two victims are held by their arms and legs and swung into each other, the winner being the one who doesn’t fall unconscious or die.

...

LAID UPON THE cold steel operating table, he completes his debrief to the Chaplain while the Apothecary examines him. With rattling breath he tells of his capture and of his subsequent release from the bomb bay of a fighta-bomba and asks how his brethren have faired.

He is told how the Emperor’s Mailled Fists suffered significant casualties. Almost an entire assault squad was sucked into the warp by a machine the Imperium hoped the Orks would never rediscover and a venerable brother was lost forever. How, despite his warning, their commander had presumed these to be regular Orks and prepared accordingly. How it was only the commander’s intervention with a squad of Terminators that turned the tide of battle.

From the corner of his eye he sees the Apothecary give an almost imperceptible shake of his head and closes his eyes as the Chaplain leads him in the prayer of service. He feels acutely the gentle pressure of the cold steel tube against his temple, relaxed in the knowledge that once the Emperor’s Mercy is administered his gene-seed will be harvested and implanted into the next generation of the chapter he has served for over a hundred years.

He knows