Evil Sun Rising

by Guy Haley

  ‘What happens if we break down?’ asked Bozgat.

  Shocked silence greeted his words. Fat Mork’s engine seemed to grumble less loudly. It was quiet enough to hear the grots whimpering for a second.

  ‘You what? You what?’ shouted Snikgob.

  Uggrim roared furiously. ‘None of us stuff never, ever, breaks down. You got that! We is the Red Sunz meks!’

  ‘Except for last time,’ said Bozgat.

  ‘Sabotage!’ protested Uggrim.

  ‘What about all the other last times?’

  ‘Shut it, you!’

  ‘Just sayin’,’ said Bozgat.

  ‘Bleep,’ said Talker.

  Evidently Grimgutz did get bored. As Big Mouth was almost in the rear arc of Fat Mork, where his armour was thinnest, Big Mouth pivoted and came right at them.

  ‘Fi–!’ began Uggrim, but he stopped and pressed his eye harder against his periscope. He upped the magnification. ‘Oh, that’s new,’ he said.

  Big Mouth had been modified more extensively than Uggrim had suspected. His motion brought into view a weapon the meks had not seen before. A panel in Big Mouth’s right side below the gigashoota swung open. Held up by chains, in the manner of a drawbridge, this dropped hatch allowed a rack of rockets to extend outwards. Not your usual fat, short-bodied rockets, but sleek, deadly, and more importantly accurate looking rockets. They were the business.

  I am not the only sneaky one, Uggrim thought. I am not the only sneaky one.

  Big Mouth let out a deafening roar, and all the rockets whooshed off their rack to streak at Fat Mork. The Red Sunz’ Stompa was turning as the shoal of missiles hit it. Bozgat had got the narrow-arc humie shield to cover some of the threatened area, but not all. Six of the rockets exploded harmlessly on the looted energy field, another three on Fat Mork’s bubble field. Two got through, armour-piercing heads smacking into the side of the Stompa. The steel core of each warhead was instantly melted and squirted forwards by the explosions, drilling through the layered plates of Fat Mork’s side. Grots screamed as they were splashed with molten metal. There was a massive bang and screeching. The acrid smell of burning filled Uggrim’s cockpit and made his eyes water. A bell clanged – not the same bell that had rung when Urdgrub’s grots had opened the reactor, because Fat Mork had a lot of bells, but equally loud and equally alarming.

  ‘Fire! Fire!’ wailed a grot.

  ‘You don’t give the orders, runt!’ shouted Uggrim, wrestling with the drive sticks to bring Fat Mork back under control.

  ‘No, boss, no! We is burning! Burning!’

  On the gun deck, a second bell, this one a hand bell, was rung: the bell to summon all the grots to fire-fighting duty. Uggrim’s eyes widened at the smoke coming up from below. He looked over his shoulder down the ladder well to the middle deck. Gretchin were passing buckets of sand to each other. They were dappled by the light of flames.

  Big Mouth’s rubbish gunner had finally drawn a bead on the rival Stompa, and massive bullets were smacking into the Red Sunz’ own protective bubble field. Bozgat swung the stolen ion shield to cover the weakened area, just in case.

  ‘Bozgat!’ Uggrim called.

  ‘Still going, boss – reactor’s fine.’

  ‘Snikgob!’

  ‘Just waiting for the word,’ replied the other.

  ‘Talker!’

  Talker made a noise like a squig being trodden on. Uggrim took that for a yes.

  ‘Fire!’ shouted Uggrim.

  ‘I know!’ yelled Frikk. ‘I’m on it, boss!’

  ‘No! Fire the guns – all of ’em!’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Snikgob. ‘Now?’

  ‘Now!’

  The belly gun boomed. Snikgob tossed his lump of wreckage at the rival Stompa. Uggrim roared and banged the big red button that activated Fat Mork’s killy eye.

  With a noise like a backwards cough building to a whoop, a wobbly, braided stream of green energy slammed out of Fat Mork and into Big Mouth’s shields. Uggrim kept it on as long as possible. The bubble field burned bright, green lightning playing over it in crackling starbursts, so much of it the shield resembled some great membrane patterned with veins. Talker gibbered and let off three rapid shots. Snikgob was tossing pieces of junk at the Stompa like a snot at the drops hurling dung. Snikgob was an artist with the lifta. He waved the thing around like a painter with a brush – a dab here, a flick there. Uggrim sometimes wondered what it would be like if they had two liftas. Snikgob could rip a limb off a Dread with one; with two they could grab hold like he possessed the hands of Mork himself, and rend such machines in two.

  He stored that idea for later, mainly because he was getting hot. He glanced from the viewing slit to the wall by his chair. It was glowing a dull red.

  ‘Whoops!’ he said. ‘Got to keep going, a couple of moments more…’

  Big Mouth carried on coming at them, its power field making warbling and boinging noises as it deflected Fat Mork’s attacks. Grimgutz was cackling over the squawker.

  ‘Can’t get me! Can’t get me!’ he laughed. ‘Oh, you is dead, so dead! Soon, I’m going to have me two Stompas!’

  ‘Not after you, am I? Dumb zogger,’ muttered Uggrim. He pressed his eye to the periscope. Big Mouth turned from side to side, a monstrous runtherd admonishing a soon to be dead runt. Its chainsword revved in anticipation of the coming crumping.

  ‘That’s right, that’s right. Come on, come on!’

  The wall between Uggrim and the killy eye glowed hotter and hotter. Worrying fizz-pops sounded from the mechanisms on the other side.

  It was Talker that did it. One last battle cannon round, and the power field round Big Mouth burst like a soap bubble. Fat Mork’s gaze suddenly burned unhindered, slicing into the Bad Moon walker, shearing Big Mouth’s top shoota bunker off its struts and sending it crashing down. Uggrim hastily turned the eye off before it cooked him. Snikgob’s next piece of wreckage, a large, solidly built buggy that must have been the pride of its owner, slammed squarely into Big Mouth’s mouth. His music stopped as his speakers were smashed to bits, and the Stompa rocked back on its heels, sending the stream of its gigashoota streaking off sideways.

  ‘Charge!’ shouted Uggrim. He slammed the drive sticks for both feet forwards as far as they would go, and bashed his speed dial from ‘dead stop’ to ‘fastest’.

  A dinging below indicated Bozgat had the order. Fat Mork’s reactor roared and the Stompa ran full tilt at its damaged opponent.

  In too close to use the lifta-droppa, Snikgob slipped out of his chair straps and ran over to the far side of the room, jumping up into the new chain-choppa’s operator’s cage. Uggrim heard him hooting with glee as he powered the stolen weapon up. The edge of it blurred as Snikgob raised it up past the head, ready to strike.

  Grimgutz’s mek raised his own chainblade to block the blow. Snikgob, jiggling about madly in the operator’s cage, slashed down. The two weapons met with a terrific racket. Metal clashed together, teeth squeaked off each other and gears ground as their chains locked.

  Big Mouth’s gave out. The toothed chain whipped off its mount, striking sparks from the armoured aprons of both Stompas. Snikgob swung back for another hit. Big Mouth’s gigashoota came up. Snikgob smashed it aside. Two more chops at its vulnerable joints and it hung uselessly from Big Mouth’s shoulder. Too late, Grimgutz began to reverse away. Fat Mork was on him. Snikgob brought the Mork machine’s blade down hard onto that of its rival. The toothless weapon was forced back, juddering. The Stompas remained locked a moment, then Fat Mork jolted as the Knight’s stolen sword cut Big Mouth’s weapon clean in half. Fat Mork lurched forwards with the release of energy, his entire weight bearing down hard upon the chest of Big Mouth.

  The sword squealed on Big Mouth’s armour. Teeth screeched on metal, putting shiny scars in the Stompa’s bright yellow paint. Another swing knocked Big Mouth’s head askew. Uggrim backed up a couple of paces.

  ‘Talker! Fire!’

  The battle cannon boo
med once more, blasting Big Mouth at point-blank range. The explosion swept around both Stompas, but Fat Mork was protected by his bubble field. Big Mouth, who bore the brunt of it, was not.

  A gaping hole opened in the lower level of the Bad Moon Stompa. Fire licked out of it. Grots ran screaming from the burning Big Mouth, followed by Grimgutz’s ork crew. As the machine tried to move, one of its feet came off its mountings, and Big Mouth fell sideways to rest at a steep angle. It moved no more.

  Smoke gushed from Big Mouth’s mouth. Grimgutz popped out of the head hatch. He threw his helmet down hard at the shoulders of his wrecked creation. He was screaming and gesticulating at Fat Mork. What he said, they could not hear, because the meks were helpless with laughter. They laughed louder still when Grimgutz took out his shoota and started blasting hopelessly at Fat Mork.

  ‘Not so loud now, are you?’ crowed Uggrim out of Fat Mork’s speakers.

  ‘Shall we finish him, boss?’ shouted Bozgat. ‘Say the word, and Talker’ll do the honours.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Uggrim. ‘Let him stew. We’s the best, that’s all that matters, and now everybody knows it! He’s learned his lesson.’

  With that, Fat Mork pivoted, took two steps backwards, swung about, and swaggered off towards the rust-camp, Grimgutz’s curses chasing him home.

  CHAPTER 10

  MOGROK COMES CLEAN

  No one was going to say anything about the fight. It was nobody else’s business. Orks fought and that was that, and it had been a good fight. The story of the Stompa battle got round the camp, growing with each telling. Uggrim received much praise; Grimgutz was laughed at when he finally came limping home, smeared in soot and so ashamed he seemed a good half-metre shorter. The Red Sunz Mob were all there, drinking beer outside his work shack, beating up his grots and waiting to mock him.

  ‘Loser! Loser!’ they shouted as the Bad Moon approached.

  ‘I’m not done with you yet,’ said Grimgutz.

  ‘Right here, right now then!’ said Uggrim.

  Grimgutz growled but shrunk a little more into himself. ‘That’d prove nothing.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what it does prove,’ said Snikgob.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who’s got the best Stompa,’ said Bozgat.

  ‘Steady, lads. I think that’s changed to who’s got the only Stompa,’ said Uggrim. The Red Sunz meks laughed in Grimgutz’s face.

  Grimgutz growled, went into his work shack and slammed the door hard.

  ‘Now that’s what I call a sore loser,’ said Uggrim.

  He whistled happily and walked away, swinging his biggest spanner by his side. He stopped abruptly when they got back to their own workspace.

  The Red Sunz had their own visitors. Mogrok was waiting for them, sitting in a chair under an awning anchored to Fat Mork, a handful of very big bodyguards lounging around him.

  He got up when they came in through their new scrap wall, and gave them a hard stare. ‘Bit of a mess you made today, lads,’ he said.

  Uggrim shrugged. ‘Grimgutz had it comin’.’ Snikgob was tensing up at Uggrim’s shoulder; Bozgat was dismayed.

  ‘Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, but that was Gashrakk da Flash’s Stompa you totalled. Grimgutz built it, sure, but Gashrakk paid for it. What am I supposed to tell him? He’s a good mate of mine. What are you going to do about it?’

  Uggrim shrugged again.

  ‘I tell you what you’re going to do – you’re going to build me a little evil sun. Bigger. Like what we agreed.’

  Uggrim didn’t remember agreeing anything of the sort. ‘All right,’ he said.

  ‘You do agree, then?’

  ‘Orks what don’t agree with you die,’ said Uggrim.

  ‘Terrible, terrible these accidents we’re having,’ said Mogrok. ‘There should be a committee.’

  ‘Ha,’ said Uggrim. ‘It’s not that, though. It’ll be fun. Thing is, you asked me. I don’t know, gave me a turn, that. But together, I reckon we Red Sunz meks can do it again, no worries. Because if you ain’t got yer mates, what have you got? You got any mates, Mogrok?’

  Mogrok glared at him.

  ‘Not a good idea to try and nick it off us, though, is it lads? I’m not so sure Grimgutz was working off his own back there. Two Bad Moons? Thick as thieves you are, and bossing Deathskulls for a while. I’ve known some pretty thick thieves.’

  Mogrok’s fury was frightening. He stood up tall, hand on his gun. His bodyguards were up behind him in an instant.

  ‘What did you say? Listen, you jumped up grot coddler, I asked you all nice to cooperate. And you didn’t. By rights, you should be dead, and if you cheek me like that again, you will be.’

  ‘Uggrim…’ warned Snikgob.

  Uggrim was undeterred. ‘You kill us, you’ll have to find another bunch of experts, won’t you?’

  Mogrok’s hand relaxed a little. A twitch in his eye betrayed his anger, no more. He smiled.

  ‘Don’t see how’s you can go believing a word what the likes of Grimgutz says to you.’

  ‘Look,’ said Uggrim. ‘Let’s be honest. We’s orks, not grots.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Mogrok.

  ‘Everyone knows you is the real power round here,’ continued Uggrim. ‘I do, you do. Everyone does. I don’t want to fight you, Mogrok. But me secrets is me secrets. You’re a mek, you know that. Tell me how you make such good bubble fields,’ said Uggrim.

  ‘No,’ said Mogrok. ‘Don’t you be Morking at me, Uggrim. You are smart, it’s true. But is you smart enough?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Uggrim. ‘Smart enough not to get got by you, that’s for sure.’

  Mogrok’s hand was still on his slugga, a plain-looking weapon for such a powerful mekaniak. No gubbins or whirly bits, no extra juicing chambers or blasta mods. Simple steel, well oiled, well made. All the bits looked like they fit together without being persuaded by a bit of hammering; a proper gun. Uggrim folded his hands behind his back, lightly grasping the handle of his second favourite blasta pistol, ready to draw.

  For a moment, it looked like Mogrok was going to go for it. Then he laughed, a snorting wheeze, once, twice. He slumped down and hooked his thumbs into his broad yellow belt. His bodyguards relaxed.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘All right. We’ll leave it be. But you is going to have to demonstrate your loyalty to me, Uggrim. You’ve been standoffish, little bit… proud. The other meks respect you. They like your work.’ He thrust his diseased face close to Uggrim. ‘And I don’t like that. Makes me nervous – don’t want you getting ideas. You led a tribe to war once.’

  ‘Not a big one,’ said Uggrim. ‘And they was thieving Deathskulls, like I said. Couldn’t wait to be rid of ’em,’ said Uggrim. ‘Blue zoggers.’

  ‘That’s as may be, but you done it once – mebbe you could do it again.’ He poked a finger at Uggrim, careful not to prod him just the same. The tension had not left their encounter by a long shot. ‘You prove to me that you’re just interested in mekking, we can rub along fine.’ He plucked a grub from under his shirt, popped it in his mouth and bit down.

  ‘I got an idea, but I need your know-wots, that’s all I want. It’s for me grabber, see.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Need more power, don’t I? The kind of power your little sun can provide. Only I want a big one.’

  Uggrim scuffed the dirt with the toe of his boot. ‘You need to get something big back up into space? Snikgob is well impressed with your tricks.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Snikgob flatly. ‘I am.’

  Mogrok smiled wider. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to put stuff up. I want to bring it down. You help me, we’ll get this war done and dusted and have the biggest Waaagh! on our hands since… Well, since forever!’ Mogrok was excited, his sour breath panting out in strong gusts as he related his plan. ‘We’ll smash the humies to bits, and take on the galaxy! Mark my words, what I’m going to do will be remembered for all time.’

  ‘What are you goin’ to do?’ said
Uggrim, who was intrigued despite himself.

  ‘Simple,’ said Mogrok. ‘I’m going to drop a comet on the humies.’

  ‘What?’ said Snikgob. ‘You what?’

  ‘You heard. Now shut it, I’m talking to your boss. Are you in, or do I have to kill you all?’

  Uggrim looked to his companions. Snikgob’s smoke hung from his bottom lip, his mouth agape. Bozgat’s eyes glowed with the possibilities presented. Through them Uggrim could almost see the mekky dreams parading through Bozgat’s skull. They didn’t need to say anything. Uggrim reached out his hand. He tried not to flinch when Mogrok gripped it with his scabby fingers.

  ‘We’re in all right, oh we are in!’

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A prolific freelance author and journalist, Guy Haley is the author of Space Marine Battles: Death of Integrity, the Warhammer 40,000 novels Valedor and Baneblade, and the novellas The Last Days of Ector and Broken Sword, for Damocles. His enthusiasm for all things greenskin has also led him to pen the eponymous Warhammer novel Skarsnik. He lives in Somerset with his wife and son.

  Taking refuge from deadly desert storms, the Imperial Guardsmen of the Cadian 267th find themselves in even more danger as they face the might of a Morkanaut.

  For Guzgrob Stuntyripper, even though he never won.

  A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

  Published in 2014 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd., Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

  Cover illustration by Nacho Molina.

  © Games Workshop Limited 2014. All rights reserved.

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  A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.