Lost and Found

by Chris Hutchings

Thousands of years ago, in the forgotten catacombs of time, a deep space battle was waged by mammoth titans of zero-g warfare.  A cat-in-the-cradle weave of crackling laser light arced across the cavernous space between warships as their respective crews of millions pounded at their vast machinery in hopes of breaching the decameter thick armored shells of their opponets' hull.

Eventually, someone lost.  Eventually, the massive bulk of that tattered and broken fleet found it's way into the swirling chaos of a warp storm and disappeared without a trace.  Eventually, the names of the proud and massive cruisers that lead that fleet became as relevant as the name of the lone crewman that manned the 3rd engineering chair of the smallest assault boat.

Now, after countless years in the reality-bending warp, the fleet has re-emerged into real space with an altered shape and a new name...

"We should call it 'Oomie-dung'!"

The collection of Orks gathered around the mek's display all chortled and guffawed with peals of laughter.  The smaller gretchin assistants joined in as well while they performed the necessary tasks needed to keep the complicated tangle of gears and steam-drivers running.  A rather large counter-weighted arm smacked a giggling grot upside the head and sent him sprawling-- sending the gathered mob into even deeper tears of laughter.

The grot, Gubbinz, a "chief operashunz assistunt second klass" shook out the ringing that still buzzed in his ear as he struggled to his feet.  He blinked a few times, teetered, and then took a few cautious steps back toward his position.

The large mek, Crank-butt, who was standing proudly before his console, stabbed a meaty finger at the screen, "See dere, boyz?  Dat'z wot we'z gonna jump an' strip!   Someone yell fer Gargrazz and Kaptin Dunkmug an' tell 'em we've found a 'ulk..."

One of the assembled Orks, probably a lesser mek, teared out of the radar room and down a ladder cobbled together with skrap and wire, bellowing the whole way.  Ork ships in a space-faring fleet, for the most part, are pretty low tech.  It's a wonder Orks even achieve life support.  Most of the effort put into an Ork cruiser is geared towards battle and little else.

One of the primary systems that is regarded as secondary by Ork standards is the com system.  Ork meks feel that assembling a network of communications on a ship for the sole purpose of "talkin an' gabbin" is beneath them.  So the ship's Kaptin improvises by incorporating Yellerz.

Yellerz are another quasi-class of oddboy that have particularly pronunced lungs and throats for an enormously loud and clear voice.  They also have uncanny memories and can relay messages of three to four hour's length upon only one hearing.  A system of these Orks, spaced every 500 meters or so on the ship, can carry short messages usually in the span of a few minutes.  This is the main reason Ork fleets are slow to respond to sudden enemy changes of tactic, but since the orders bellowed usually revolve around "Waaugh", "All Ahead Full" and "Dakka dakka", it doesn't matter all THAT much.

The only time this system breaks down is when ship-to-ship communication is required.   Sound does not travel well in the vacuum of space.  It takes most meks a few weeks to figure this out, but they usually strike upon a very similar solution.  They encapsulate a yeller in a sealed ball of scrap and shoot him at the desired ship.  It may take a few tries as Orks aren't known for accuracy, but it's still easier than convincing a mek to build a sub-space microwave relay.  Huge cargo nets are stretched across the entrance to a fighter bay or cargo hold of the recieving ship to catch the incoming yeller and a burna crew is waiting nearby to carve the yeller out upon his safe arrival.  The whole inter-ship system of yellers is then re-applied to reach the desired deliveree.

Upon Gargrazz and the Kaptain's receival of the message, the two formulated their responses and set the whole process in motion again.  A few days later, Crank-butt finally recieved the order to board the hulk and claim it for Gargrazz' Waaugh.  But since Orks have even less patience than a hungry grot in a Squig-feed, Crank-butt had already began his preliminary scoutings.

Taking over a recently found hulk is no small task and Crank-butt had his work cut out for him as this particular mass of derelict ships and accumulated floatsam had a small collection of Nurgle Marines in one section and a nest of Tyranid in another.  It took a few weeks of boarding parties and purgings before the orks had either slaughtered the entrenched aliens or sealed them away in an unnecessary corner of the hulk.  It was a big ship, they didn't need ALL that room.

After claiming a space hulk for your warboss, you then had to set about getting the systems up and running again.  Most systems need to be rebuilt from scratch and access needs to be carved from one pocket of life support to the other.  Most of the hard drilling and manual labor is handled by the runtherds and their numerous grot charges while being overseen by mek engineerz and big bosses.

Meanwhile, the fleet's big mek, Crank-butt, doles out "da Plan" to his mek underlings.  He'll assign different weapons systems and propulsion chambers to each of them, and they'll be responsible for getting that particular section running.   Unfortunately, this is where the cooperation breaks down and each mek devises his own unique way of dealing with his particular component.  The idea of a "network" is completely alien to the Ork race, and usually means that the mek that built the item or system will be permanently assigned to it-- not that they'd have it any other way.  If that particular mek suddenly expires from either his own devices or outside influence, then that section will be abandoned and a new mek will be told to build a new sytem nearby.

After months to years of work, a basic universal system is established and the hulk comes under Ork controll.  The work is far from done-- if it can be said that the construction of a hulk can EVER be "done"-- but the rest can be completed while they travel to their next destination.

Gargrazz keeps Crank-butt around for a reason.  Crank-butt is remarkably efficient for an Ork and has the hulk under Ork controll in less than 6 months.  Word is then sent out to the rest of the fleet.  With a direction arbitrarily decided upon by the warboss, Gargrazz, the hulk's massive rockets are fired and it begins its long, slow journey to Gork-knows-where...

* * *

If there's one thing the Ork psyche was not meant to deal with, its interstellar space travel.  Orks quickly develop their own special brand of cabin fever and start exhibiting symptoms very quickly in the journey.  Since a fleet, for the most part, is run by the meks and the grot population, there isn't much for an Ork to do while waiting to reach their destination.

Some Orks, to break the tedium, spend time souping up fighta-bomberz and racing them through densely packed systems.  These inner-system drag races serve doubly as entertainment and loosely organized scouting parties.

Dunk-mug, the Fleet Kaptin, was watching a few of these craft weave their way chaotically through the rings of a nearby gas giant.  He cheered and whooped along with the rest of his crew that were gathered around the look-bitz that kept tabs on the race.  A lesser mek bustled about the room keeping the sputtering and fizzing display up and running by yanking on odd levers and cranking assorted wheels.

* * *

The lead racer, Krump-Kop roared into his scratch built com, "Waaaugh! Eat me ion, ya weedy squig-dung, Mugginz!  Haw haw haw!"

Fighter-bomba pilots don't have the luxury of extra krew or a few dozen yellaz for inter-ship communication, so they've been fitted with rarely seen and often coveted radios for banter and the odd order or two in combat.  Mugginz switched his com off.  He flipped a metal toggle and grinned broadly as he barely banked around a chaotically sprawling chunk of ice and iron.  Somewhere in the gubbinz of his craft a metal ker-chunk sounded as weapons were fed into his forward gunz.  Mugginz guffawed and screamed as he depressed the firing stud on his yoke, "Dakka, dakka, dakka!"

Solid slugs poured from the blackened barrels of his fighta-bomba in a rapid staccato.  They ripped across the void into the starboard engine of Krump-Kop's fighta-bomba.  Flames gouted for a half second before the engine blew and sent the fighta-bomba reeling in a lazy spin that ended against the surface of a medium sized asteroid.  The ship erupted into a ball of expanding debris and torn, flaming wreckage.

* * *

On Dunk-mug's ship, the assembled on-lookers cheered and wailed.  Teeth exchanged hands and fist fights broke out between winners and losers. Mugginz must have switched his com back on because his long, drawn eruptions of laughter were crackling over the radio receiver.  The chaos of the race was quickly overshadowed by the chaos of that Orkoid audience as sluggas and choppas were produced and fighting broke out throughout the room.

* * *

Meanwhile, Mugginz, the new leader, had spotted something over the horizon of the gas giant.  A glint of red caught his eye.  Deciding the best bit of the race was over, Mugginz sharply banked left and threw his fighter-bomba out of the dense ring to get a better look at the mysterious object.  The three remaining fighta-bomberz in the race pulled out of the rings as well, thinking that Mugginz was changing the rules (as leader of the race, he could do that).  Mugginz arced around and gunned his thrusters straight toward the glint of red.

* * *

The orks on the observation deck continued to skrap, the race completely forgotten.  Even the mek left his post and was clubbing a boy on the head with his spanner.  In the middle of it was Kaptin Dunk-mug, flailing with his powerfist and exercising his prerogative to keep the boyz in line through whatever means necessary.

Suddenly, over the vox com was a crackle of static and then, "Waaaugh! Ere we go!  Ere we go!  Ere we go!"

Bursts of gunfire could then be heard as well as the scream of ion drivers powering the fighta-bomberz' bombz out of their holds.

Kaptin dunk-mug broke from the scuffle and glanced into the look bitz that the mek was furiously trying to get back under control.  As the static cleared from the screen, Dunk-mug could see the four remaining racers screaming towards a fleet of unconfirmed enemy ships.  At that moment, the yeller posted outside the door burst into the room and bellowed, "Oomie gitz off da uvver side!"

Dunk-mug spun, "Oomanz?!  Stationz, boyz!  We'ze gonna skrap!"

The fighting dissipated immediately as the boyz scrambled about the room heading towards their respective posts, some leaking ichor from gaping wounds.  Others bolted from the room, heading to the assault boats, laughing and hollering the whole way.  Dunk-mug relayed a quick order for the fleet to attack to the yeller and then hopped into his chair. Before the yeller was even out the door, the Kaptin was issuing new orders to his crew to bring the massive Kroozer about on a heading straight for the distant red fleet.

* * *

Mugginz squinted as flack bursts and arcs of lance batteries flared around him.  Still screaming at the top of his lungs, he saw the three other fighta-bomberz pull into a loose formation around him.  They had the surprise, so it would take a while for the stupid Oomanz to get their bitz together to launch their own fighters.  They would have just enough time for one good and proppa' run before scrambling to take on the retaliated Ooman fighters.

Mugginz didn't need to tell the other fighta-boyz where to go, they all had the same thought.  Straight for the biggest ship in the fleet.  the four fighta-bomberz streaked across the prow of a cruiser, peppering it with useless solid slug shots and banked up and to the right for the tail end of the massive Capital ship that led the fleet.  Wasting no time, each of the orks depressed the buttons that sent surges of Crank-butt's "speshul sauce" into the ion drives of their fightas.  The mixture mingled and compressed and sent the fighta-bombas rocketing towards the massive ship that was just now beginning to open up with its gun batteries...

* * *

Crank-butt's dreams were realized.  His massive beauty, Warp 'Ulk og Gargrazz was going to be used in space combat.  This would be a true test of his know-wotz and would push his abilities to their very limits.  As the ranking Ork on board, he bolted for the command center that rested atop a sharp peak of the massive hulk.

Pushing aside assorted crew and scurrying grots, Crank-butt tore up the access ladder and launched himself into the huge metal Kaptin's chair that looked out over the bulk of the huge hulk.  His team of elite meks and a handful of yellerz all bustled around him, throwing switches, pulling levers, cranking wheels, and bellowing into vox tubes that carried orders to the next yeller relay station.

Crank-butt grinned, "Bring it about, boyz," and pointed to the ringed gas giant outside his viewing window, "Use da planet's pull an burn 'em right for da Oomiez!"

The gathered crew wailed and cheered as a few of the meks leapt into action and began working the complex array of machinery to bring the massive Ork-posessed derelict on a new heading.

Retro rockets the size of a titan fired off the side and the massive hulk defied its given vector as it carved its way towards the surface of the planet.  After a torturous eternity of silence, the four hundred million metric tons of the hulk was brought on a heading that carried it straight into the heart of the Ooman fleet. Massive ion drives came to life at the rear end of the hulk and fired tidal gouts of plasma, shoving the huge chunk of wreckage and ice forward.

* * *

Mugginz had already lost a gun wing.  Two of his fellow fighta-bomber pilots had been shattered into thousands of points of pretty white lights.  It was down to him and his remaining wing-ork to make the fighta-run count.  Mugginz yanked the yoke of his fighta and strained against the thrust that sent him careening up the front of the Capital ship's command tower.  Now that they were under the ship's guns, they could make their bombing run.

Mugginz armed his entire payload of rokkits and bundled the rest of his solid slug ammunition.  Spying what looked like a complicated tangle of radar and communications aerials, he sprung the doors of his fighta-bomba and dumped the whole payload into the heart of it.

He gave his yoke a final yank to peel his fighta away from the Capital ship then released his controls and spun around to see the result.  He felt a soothing vibration in the nape of his neck as the dizzying vertigo of speed and G-forces threw him away from the small bundle of explosives that were careening down towards the Capital ship.  Glancing to his left, he saw the other fighta-bomba dump its own payload and bank just before it got caught in the crossfire of a half dozen guns batteries.

The two bundles impacted simultaneously.  Two columns of fire and debris erupted from the Oomie Capital ship's command tower.  Mugginz bellowed and raised his ropy arms in victory, "Waaaugh! Banga! Dakka dakka dakka!"

Two direct hits.  Smaller explosions rippled across the surface of the ship as compartments under the skin ruptured from the sudden expansion of super-heated gas.  It by no means crippled the Capital ship in any noticeable way, but it was sure to cause some confusion and terror amongst the crew as they fought to extinguish the flames.

Mugginz swung back around and grabbed the controls just as he noticed a phalanx of Ooman fighters screaming towards him.  Dashes of super-heated plasma scorched by his fighta as they opened up with their guns. Mugginz grimaced and threw himself at an Ooman escort ship that was nearby, their turrets were going to be easier to evade than the maneuverable and quick Ooman fighters.

* * *

Dunk-mug had gotten his Kill Kroozer into range.  His once bored and irritable crew was now throwing themselves at their posts in eager anticipation of the coming fight.  Pockets of fire had already broken out across the ship from Ooman fire and grot fire crewz threw their every terrified ounce of effort into quenching the spreading flames. None-the-less, all systems were up and running and he'd gotten the thumb's up from his mek gunner-boss.

Dunk-mug grinned a broad toothy grin and leaned forward in the Kaptin's chair.  His gnarled hamfist came to rest on the big red button that acted as the firing stud for his forward gunz.  The assorted gunner-bosses around the room sent out orders to fire their section's batteries.  Yellers barked in all directions, sending out the order to fire at will.

Dunk-mug waited for the yeller chain of communication to reach their intended crews.  The batteries closest to the Kaptin's position were the first to react.  Beams of light from the massive siege-gun sized zzappas lanced out and smaller kannon artillery popped with the release of their massive explosive slugs.  Dunk-mug waited for his opening...

The initial volley tore gaping holes in a closing cruiser.  Starboard gunz had reduced a fleet of five escorts to three...

Dunk-mug's target-bitz locked on with the forward cruiser.  He arched the brow of an eye and his tongue pushed out the side of his awkward grin.  His hamfist dropped and smashed the red button flat.

Huge pulsa kannonz mounted on the nose of the Kill Kroozer belched forth massive columns of searing, crackling light.  They stabbed out across the void and descended upon the prow of the crippled Ooman cruiser. They punctured deep into the weakened hull, avoiding the downed shields of the Ooman cruiser and tearing it out from the inside with a destructive enema of light and anti-matter.

Dunk-mug watched the Ooman cruiser silently shatter as great folds of steel and iron peeled off the ravaged ship.  Internal explosions were tearing it apart from within, "Uh... brace yerselves, boyz... this is gonna be a big'un."

The ship's plasma drive collapsed.  It silently went super-nova. Escorts that flanked the ship were engulfed by the expanding sphere, nearby cruisers were rocked and shoved violently off course.  The white-hot sphere continued to expand-- rushing straight for the Kill Kroozer that was rocketing full tilt toward the heart of the explosion...

* * *

Mugginz was having the time of his life.  After dive-bombing the escort ship and dodging the turrets of a neighboring cruiser, he'd ducked back into the debris-laden ring of the gas giant.  A half dozen fighters still on his tail.  He whooped and hollered as he ducked and weaved around the treacherous field of rock and ice.  Two Ooman fighters had already miscalculated and slammed into wayward asteroids and the remaining four were falling behind.

Mugginz regretted dumping his solid slug, because he wanted nothing more than to turn around and mix it up with these weedy Oomanz, but he was forced into a race.  He'll show them a thing or many once he gets reloaded and back out into the fray.

Suddenly, he was thrown forward.  His face smashed against the controls of his fighta-bomba.  He spun around, tearing his helmet off as he struggled to find what hit him.  A shower of sparks shot out from behind him and oil sprayed him from a ruptured line below his feet.  Green ichor spilled from his battered nose.  He furiously wiped oil from his brow and threw a toggle that killed the shower of sparks.  Alarms and klaxons wailed as Mugginz' situation went critical.  He wasn't far from his Karrier, but his controls were responding erratically and the Ooman fighters were closing...

* * *

The mek big-boss, Crank-Butt, bustled around his command center on the hulk, guiding the efforts of his crew with a few well-placed thumps on the respective skulls as the ship slowly carved its way through the middle of the Ooman fleet.  Smaller Ork escort ships dove in and around the hulk, using its bulk as cover from the dangerous lance batteries that were raining out from the Ooman ships.  A squadron of six ramships ducked and weaved through the fire, hoping to draw a line on the massive Ooman Capital ship.  The hulk, an enormous, slow-moving weapons platform, was leaving a wake of destruction in its path, but it was simultaneously being eroded by enemy fire.  The warp-fused rock and ice that composed the majority of the hulk stood little chance of fending off even the smallest volleys of fire.

Crank-butt started coordinating attacks with the aggressive fighters and ram ships that were focusing their fire on the smoking Capital ship. Hastily loaded torpedo salvoes and heavy guns combined with sharp lance attacks until the ship was crippled by fire.  Ooman squadrons of cobra escort ships scrambled to deal with the hulk, but it was too late, the Capital ship's shields dropped, leaving it exposed to any and all Ork attacks.

Just as Crank-butt was ready to rejoice in the destruction of the Ooman flagship, he got word from the yellerz that the hulk was breaking up. The continued fire on the massive ship had torn a large chunk of the hulk away from the middle and it was barely being held together by hastily cobbled webs of tractor kannon beams.  There was little time left in the life span of the Warp 'Ulk og Gargrazz.

Devastated, Crank-Butt ordered the release of the last of the assault boats and fighta-bomberz.  He ordered the last few tweaks and nudges to the ship and then, with his crew, retreated to the escape boats and transports.  The hulk was going to have a final hurrah as a massive battering ram to finish off the Ooman capital ship...

* * *

Dunk-mug and his crew threw themselves behind banks of machinery and down assorted chutes to brace for impact with the plasma-wave.  The white field of plasma filled the view ports as shafts of light poured through the ports leaving bright disks of light on the far wall.

The wave hit the ship.

The entirety of the Kill Kroozer shuddered and bucked.  Huge rivets, the size of orks themselves, popped from the hull and whole plates sprung from the surface.  Waves of violent energy rocked the ship and sent it into reverberations that further dislodged control towers and weapons batteries up and down the ship.

Dunk-mug wrapped his arms around his head as he fought back against the vibration of his teeth.  It felt as if the roaring in his ears would never stop.  Then everything was suddenly silent.  Dunk-mug peered up from behind his command console.  The fleet battle silently raged on ahead in the view port.  The air in his lungs still remained and the awful vacuum of space was held at bay by the trusty skin of the Kill Kroozer.  The only thing left of the destroyed Ooman cruiser was a small cloud of swirling ethereal miasma.  An enormously small event in space compared to the cataclysm they had just survived.  It seems they had weathered it.

"Roight.  That was ded 'ard, mates."

Dunk-mug looked around the room to his Orkoid crew and smiled.  The gathered Orks slowly got up from their cowardly positions and exchanged goofy, embarrassed looks around the room while they retook their chairs.  A smaller mek started to chortle.  It was contagious.  Soon, the whole room was chanting and laughing as they threw themselves at their controls to realign the ship and send it hurtling back into the fray...

* * *

Mugginz fought his controls.  He fought the urge to bash them too.  He settled for a violent application of boot leather to the main gearbox that his control yoke was attached to.  The fighta-bomba suddenly caromed right and down directly towards a sharp asteroid that was coming point first, right at him.

Reflexively, Mugginz yanked on the yoke and he banked left!  He had control back!  He threw the throttle forward and punched one of his "special-sauce" reserve buttons.  The ion engines screamed with a nearly euphoric sound and Mugginz was pressed back into the hard metal pilot's chair of his fighta-bomba.  He blinked back tears as the ship violently wobbled on its trajectory, leaving the dangerously close Ooman fighters and the treacherous rings of the planet behind.  He watched the Karrier rush towards him.  He was heading in the general direction of the hanger bay, but it was going to be too close for comfort.  Oh well, there was very little he could do about it now.

He mindlessly watched the Ork Karrier Krew erect the cargo-net for slowing his velocity before entering the small opening.  At the last moment, he burned his retros and then curled up fetal in his chair.

The fighta-bomba's retros flared and barely slowed its descent.  The battle-torn ship hit the cargo net at speeds four times what it was meant to stop.  The fighta-bomba tore the net and it's support struts from its moorings and dragged the whole tangled mess into the carrier bay.  The fighta-bomba grazed the ceiling of the bay and then ricocheted to the floor where it bounced once and then went into a slow spin that scraped the walls and smacked machinery aside like they were children's blocks.  Hapless crew trying to duck out of the way were little more than green stains after the fighta-bomba grabbed them in its death march.  Finally, the whole mess slammed against the back wall and came grinding to a halt.

Sparks gouted from around the ship.  Grot fire crews rushed up with massive hoses and buckets of chemicals.  Steam from ruptured pipes vented around the crash site as debris and wreckage smoked and popped. A particularly old and weathered ork sauntered up to Mugginz' fighta-bomba as Mugginz popped the canopy open on his ship.

The old ork pulled a fat squig from his mouth and spat.  He looked up at Mugginz with a quizzical look, "Ya wanna reload, mate?"

Mugginz' wild eyes were a perfect match for the giddy smile that was fractured across his visage, "Ya betcher' arse, mate!  Get me back out dere!  Load me up!"

"Ded 'ard."

The old ork smiled and whistled at the boyz that were still picking themselves up off the floor, "You boyz!  Getcher arses movin, and get this boy some more rokkits loaded!"

* * *

The massive Warp 'Ulk og Gargrazz, now devoid of most its crew, was on a collision course with the Ooman Capital ship.  A stringing shower of debris, ice, iron, and smaller derelict ships trailed off behind it as Crank-butt's proud mass of effort and sweat gently plied the space between it and the flagship.

The Oomans put great effort into stopping the momentum of the hulk by breaking it apart with cannon before impact, but it was obvious that it wouldn't be enough.  The Capital ship, damaged to the point of near non-operation, had taken too many critical hits to change course. Escape boats streamed from it like a cloud of dust.

Crank-Butt pressed his face against the escape boat's view port and silently watched while the orks around him cheered and whooped while they reveled in the event.

At first, there was nothing.  The hulk's front end made first contact with the Capital ship's midsection, a-beam.  The Capital ship bent just slightly and accepted its new vector.  The hulk shuddered as its mass telescoped and then sprung back.  Shockwaves moving up and down the length of it.  The Capital ship then suddenly snapped like a twig as structures gave and support sections lost their hold on the rest of the ship.  It folded around the point of impact and became just as much hulk as it was Capital ship, the two had become tangled into a single mass. Smaller explosions blossomed in a thousand different parts of the wreckage, but for the most part, integrity of both ships was maintained.  A vast river of debris trailed out from behind the now diagonal-vectored mass of garbage.  The sighing weight of the apocalyptic crash slowly settled into its new form and then eased gently into its trajectory-- destined to drift, tangled together, for the remainder of time.

Then it was over.

The Ooman fleet, having lost its flagship and one of its cruisers, brought itself around and fired their drives at all ahead full.  The ships converged into a single formation and used the gravity of the gas planet as a slingshot to rocket them away from the ork fleet.  A few squadrons of Ork escorts made a half-hearted attempt to chase, but the battle was over and the Ork fleet was starting to regroup so they could better communicate with the yellerz.

Crank-butt furrowed his brow and turned from the window.  He shuffled off to be alone for a while.  The rest of the Orks chanted until they were picked up by an escort ship four hours later.

Epilogue:

The two massive crafts continued their embrace for hundreds of years. Untouched, forgotten, and eventually devoid of Ooman or Ork life.  The pair grazed foreign systems, drifted through phenomenon hundreds of thousands of miles across, and eventually... got swallowed by a warp storm on the edge of the spiral arm.

--
Chris Hutchings
Visit Da Kamp: http://www.40k.org/gargrazz

RETURN TO ADVENTUROUS TALES

E-MAIL THE LOREMASTER