Chapta Twentyfour: If I Only Had A Crane

Say of Da Day: "Quick! STOMP SUMFIN'!" – Killa Kan

Ongrat had a visitor in the loft; not the culprit who wrote the note, but someone he had captured himself, and was now interrogating.
"Whadoya mean ya don't know nuffin'? Yer one ov Shilf's lot!" Ongrat said impatiently, trying to keep his voice down.
Glim was hanging upside down in Jawge's coils from the rafters. After the Goff Nobs had well and truly cleared out of the yard for the night, having decided to work on Destroya after the completion of the first trukk, Glim had come out of his hiding spot and, tempted by the opportunity before him, had began filching a few things from Shilf's trukks (such as left behind shootas, cigars and teef). He had been so preoccupied painting everything blue (even the cigars) he hadn't noticed Ongrat sneak up on him. As an ex Deffskull, Glim enjoyed obliging his old habits; he just never let Shilf catch him. He had always been sneaky enough to avoid being caught, until now; Glim was very confused. He'd done everything right, hadn't he? He'd taken his newly acquired goods out of sight behind a shed to paint them. Now his things were piled in the loft, including his burna. They had been confiscated by the Weirdboy.

"I've been out 'ere da whole aftanoon," Glim explained, his brow creased with worry over his tight welding goggles. "I dunno what's been goin' on in da workshop! Oi, can ya at least close da door if ya gonna keep me 'ere all night? Dat breeze is chilly an' I aint gots me burna to warm fings up wiv, fanks ter yew!"

Ongrat looked down from where he sat on the edge of the raised loft; the door was open ajar. He thought he recalled closing it; perhaps the latch was just dodgy. He climbed down to close it. Not out of the kindness of his heart, but to help muffle any sounds that would give him away. He'd gone to the effort of stuffing cloth in his bells, he'd be more than a little peeved if someone overheard them talking and sprang him.

He was pushing the door closed with his shoulder to make sure the latch clicked into place when he heard someone speak behind him.

"Don't move, or I'll pull da trigga!"

Ongrat froze. That wasn't Glim. The voice was too high.

"Turn 'round slowly!"

The Weirdboy did as he was told; he was shocked when he saw a runty yoof was holding him up. The Ork was very small indeed, and it was wrapped from head to toe in black cloth, except for its eyes and fingers. The shoota it held was as long as the small Ork was tall, but somehow it managed to hold it upright, aimed at Ongrat's chest; he had leather armour on, but that wasn't going to stop bullets. This was bad. Ongrat was so embarrassed he just growled in fury; no words came to his mouth.

Ilgil, during her short life as a Goff, had learnt two valuable lessons: the best way to an Ork's heart was through his chest, the best way to an Ork's brain was through his face. She opted for the former this time around because she didn't want to kill the Snakebite Weirdboy. Goffs did not encourage the use of long range weapons, but being a particularly small Ork, Ilgil preferred to keep her distance than loose her head. She was also not particularly fond of waagh energy build up.
"Ya got da message, yeah?" She asked, looking up at her hostage.

Ongrat was surprised. "Dat was yew? Wot da zoggin' 'ell do ya want? An' 'oo are ya?"

"Lissen' up, I don't wanna 'ave ta repeat meself." She replied, and began explaining her situation... and Ongrat's.

While two of the Evil Sunz members were being carried off across the desert to be delivered to the Goff warcamp, and Ilgil and Ongrat were having a long one sided discussion, Oglak and Murkagro were doing their clan very proud indeed. They had liberated three trukks with the help of Uurgrin's warriors, and were just arriving back at the hideout; they parked the trukks around the back, unable to fit them in the building. The disguised Snakebites went out to see what the boys had managed to get their hands on.

"'Ey Boss, look what dem Deffskullz lads got!" A Nob yelled out to Uugrin excitedly.

Uurgrin lumbered his way to the front of the crowd and was amazed at the sight before him; he had half expected the Orks he'd sent on the mission to end up dead or run off, or just plain forget what it is they were supposed to do. He now knew he'd done the right thing sending Jamz and Oric along; here they were with three vehicles, it was just what they needed to fit the whole clan on and get the zog out of Squigopolis. Gork and Mork had blessed his clan.

The eight Orks jumped out of the trukks, lapping up the attention and admiration of their comrades; they were neither modest nor humble in savouring their victory. Jamz and Oric were especially jovial, but were more intent on getting another drink down their gullets than hanging around with the trukks. The pair figured they didn't need to try and impress anyone with words, they themselves already impressive to look at (or so their logic went). The Nobs would save their breaths for shouting later, and let someone else retell the account while they went to satisfy their bellies.

"'Ow'd ya do it?" A snakebite asked Oglak.

Puffing up his chest, Oglak replied, "Dat's a trade secret."

The four snakebites who had participated weren't quite so ambiguous; they were rather energetically explaining to everyone who would listen how and where they got their new rides.

"...We saw da trukks parked by a pub, wiv only a few boys ta gaurd 'em. It waz da perfic opportunity! Seein' as we 'ad big 'ole Jamz an' Oric wiv us, not da sneakiest Nobz 'round but very killy, we lured da gaurds away so's da Deffskullz boys could work dere magik on dem trukks.

"Oi! Yew lot looks weakerer dan a bunch of small, pink, 'oomies!" We shouted to da gaurds; dat got dere attenshun. Shoulda seen da looks on dere faces! Dey waz real mad; but da biggest ov 'em, a big Nob, smacked 'is boys inta stayin' put, an' dey frew stikkbommz at us from da trukks. But dey missed, mostly. So's from a safer place, a bit more aways, we started slingin' more insults. "Gretchin'd put up more ov a fight den yew lot! Or are ya too scared ta take us on like real Orks? Yeah, dat's right Nob, we'z talkin' 'bout ya!"

An' den dat's when da biggun finally got off da trukk, got 'is choppa, 'n' ee an' da uvvers jumped down an' started runnin' at us! But dat's okay, coz we 'ad a little suprise waitin' for 'em round da corner hur hur... so when dey got a little closa, we legged it! An' dey followed us, right inta Jamz and Oric's killy fings. Dey didn't know what hit 'em, heh heh heh. We got stuck into 'em too, ov course, but we lets da Evil Sunz ladz 'ave a bit o' fun first. In da end, we croaked 'em all real good. Got some nice gubbins, too."

"Let's'ave a look at dem gubbins den," someone rudely interrupted.

"Yeah yeah, when I's finished retellin' da story," the snakebite replied, unwilling to stop until he had fully gloried himself. "So anyway's... no sooner waz dem boyz deaded when da Deffskullz an' one'v our lads pulled up wiv da trukks. It took a bit ov pushin' an' heavin' ta get Jamz on da back ov da biggest one, but once 'ee waz on dere, we took off – an jus' in time! Hur! Hur! Hur! A horde ov Goffs came runnin' after us, when dey saw dere trukks beltin' down da road, but dey jus' got ta suck up da fumes an' our bullets. We waz –"
"YA IDIOTS!" Uurgrin bellowed, booting the unfortunate storyteller up and over the trukk he had been standing beside. The Snakebite Boss rounded on the other participants, snarling furiously at them, "CAN'T DO NUFFIN' RIGHT!"

Thump! Crack! Oof!

"Ow! Boss, what's wrong? We got trukks like ya told us!"

"Ya stole GOFF TRUKKS! Dat's WHAT'S WRONG!"

Oglak and Murkagro tried to pacify the tipsy Snakebite Boss who was very quickly building into a rage. "It's no problem Uurgrin," Murkagro said keeping a safe distance, "we jus' gotta paint 'em blue an' da Goffs'll fink dese 'ere trukks're Deffskullz property. Wiv ya boys all dressed up, yew'll look like a right propa Deffskullz warband."

Uurgrin glowered at the Deffskull, he wasn't calming down any. Oglak piped up, "Oh, an' dere's some cigars for ya... even a few teef dem Goffs left in da trukks!"

The mention of cigars pacified the Boss somewhat, but he was still in a foul mood. "Well den, wot ya waitin' for? Get da trukks painted, NOW! An' fetch me dem cigars. An' I'll be lookin' at yer gubbins, too. GET DA LOOT!"

The Orks scrambled to do as they were told, thankful their heads were still connected to their bodies.

Inside the hideout, Oric, Jamz, Orlen and some of the other Nobs were drinking the last of the kegs. Nobody begrudged Jamz of his much loved beer, but they made a serious effort to try and have a good share before it all vanished down the seemingly endless abyss that was Jamz' mouth. Nobody, that is, except Oric who was most irritated by his greedy comrade.

"Ya aint gettin' dat one!" Oric snapped, swooping up the keg before Jamz could grab it with his mega claw. "Diss's MINE!"

Jamz had made the fatal error of sitting down; he was unable to get up quick enough to thrash Oric. However he did have a nice big shoota. Everyone fled when they saw his free hand going for it; Orlen was especially fast on his feet, he'd already lost two hands once before. He didn't want to lose anything else; not while the Dok was on hiatus.

Oric threw the keg at Jamz' exposed head, clouting him a good one, and picked up his squiggoth tusk club. He swung it just as Jamz pulled the trigger of his shoota, smacking the gun out of Jamz' massive hand and breaking a few fingers; most of the rounds put holes in the walls, but a few found a home in Oric's abdomen.

Ignoring the pain, or simply unable to feel the pain, Oric tackled Jamz onto his back, and the two Nobs began to wrestle. This wasn't such a problem for Jamz who was well equipped for close combat encounters. All he had to do was try and cut Oric's head off with his mega claw, or beat the stuffing out of him with his fist; his inch-thick platting kept most of Jamz relatively safe. In the end though, he simply rolled over and pinned Oric beneath his massive bulk, and was about to start chewing on Oric's skull when something big, metal and blue came crashing down on the pair. It was the now empty Deffskullz beer cooler.

"GET UP!" Uurgrin roared, his loud voice rattling the rickety walls. "Yer on paintin' duty! Make sure da boyz don't slack off; we're leavin' soon as de trukks're blue. Any objecshuns?"

Neither Jamz nor Oric were in the postion (literally) to be arguing with an angry Boss who had his recently resharpened axe on hand. The Nobs reluctantly agreed to supervise; Oric helped heft Jamz to his feet.

"Least I gots meself a couple ov nice new scars," Oric said to Jamz, pulling out the bits of metal that were buried in his flesh. That was the extent of his self preservation skills.
Jamz tried to think of something better to say, but he wasn't very good at thinking at all on short notice. "Yer jus' lucky I'm painted blue instead o' red at da moment." He groused sourly, and stomped off out the back.

The trukks, which originally were mostly black with white checking on the trims and a lot of rust for show, were very quickly becoming a Deffskulls shade of blue; in half an hour, the Orks under Uurgrin's command had painted two trukks and were almost done with the third. Orlen had also been giving the trukks a quick check over and topped up the fuel, acquired from the hideout.

All had been going well, until, out of nowhere, a spiky looking squig with a big snout came around the side of the building sniffing at the ground madly. When it got to the trukks, it was snuffling all around them, getting blue paint over its hyperactive hooter. It started howling very loudly; Oric walked over and grabbed the squig by its scruff, lifting it up. The squig squealed and snarled, obviously not very approving of the way in which it was being handled. There was something familiar about the squig, but Oric couldn't put his finger on it.

Deciding it would be a tasty treat, he unsheathed his choppa and forced the squig flat on the ground; Oric made quick work of the now shrieking beast and beheaded it in one swing. Something else fell off the squig, other than its head. Oric picked up the strap of leather with what looked like a decorative metal skull hanging off it.

"...Snuffles." Oric flipped the object over. "...Bozd's squig. Don't steal."

Oric was still inspecting the squig's name tag when Oglak came over and picked up the head. "Hmm, looks like one ov dem sniffer squigs," he said casually. "C'n I 'ave da 'ead? I'm 'ungry."

The penny dropped; Oric remembered now: they'd rented a sniffer squig off Bozd the Squig Herder to follow Brudz' trail. The Nob, however, had not made the obvious connection.

One of the Snakebite lookouts came running full pelt around the corner of the hideout, yelling to Uurgrin who was standing back admiring his new trukks, "Boss! Boss! We gots company, dem Goffs're stampin' up da road, an' dey looks angry!"

Oglak dropped the squig head and ran for the buckets of paint; they had to finish the trukks! They could totally deny theft if the trukks were blue. Ripping the lid off a paint can, he threw the contents onto the unpainted side of the remaining trukk and began spreading the paint with his brush; if only they had a sprayer, the job would have been so much easier and quicker.

Uurgrin reacted with a mix of eagerness and uncertainty; he wasn't ready for the fight yet, not against Kargust and his lads, as much as he hated to admit it. The Snakebites were out numbered... but, they did have three trukks now.

He stirred his tribe, and his plus-somes, into action with orders. "Quick ladz, get all da dakka ya c'n lay yer 'ands on an' get on da back ov dem trukks! We're gonna take da fight to dem Goffs, an' show 'em whys we aint dead – coz we's da toughest Orkses dere is! We beat 'em at da camp, we'll beat 'em 'ere. Gork an' Mork's rootin' fer us, so's we betta not disappoint. Oh, an 'elp Jamz up! 'Ee's a bit clumsy when et comes ter climbin' on trukks."

The clock was ticking; the war cries of the Goffs could clearly be heard now. Uurgrin and Orlen went out the front to try and assess the situation. They could also hear the growing thunder of a mass of warbikes and several trukks, the headlights to which lit up the night as they drove closer.

"Boss, I finks dey gots a few more boys den us," Orlen said bluntly.

He was acknowledged by a clip to the back of his head from Uurgrin. "I can see dat!"

Uurgrin tried to think; he couldn't remember what the original plan had even been. Why the hell were his boys dressed as Deffskulls! Oh that's right. It was an attempt to disguise themselves. He wasn't the greatest tactician, it wasn't a very Orky skill and didn't come naturally, but he did possess certain cunning. It was this cunning which had lead to him becoming the Snakebite clan's Boss in the first place.

"I could wrap ya in a tarp an' hide yer on da trukk, Boss," Orlen suggested. "Dey might leave if dey don't know we're Snakebites."

"I've already hid, dis's da Gods tellin' me ta get out dere an fight good 'n' proper," Uurgrin surmised. He felt in his gut this must be it; first, Gork and Mork gave him some new trukks. Then, they brought an army of willing fighters to his doorstep. And this was all after the miraculous deliverance of a Dok and a Mek to his camp right when he needed some the most. If this wasn't divine Orky intervention of some kind, he didn't know what was. "We gets on dem trukks Orlen, an' we gives da Goffs what for!"

There wasn't much time left; Uugrin and Orlen ran through the hideout, grabbed a shoota each from the Deffskulls stash. Orlen also acquired a simple but effective thumping weapon (an I beam) and the pair ran out the back door. The trukks' engines were already rumbling, and Orlen jumped on the back of the biggest one. Uurgrin sat on the back of the wartrakk, behind Oric who was in the driver's seat. Uurgrin preferred this to the trukks, he could get a good swing in with his axe. He ordered Oric to drive out in front of the trukks, so he could lead the charge.

"Which trukk is Ongrat on?" Uurgrin yelled over the shouts of his lively tribe. He was very fond of the sparky Weirdboy, Ongrat was very useful for making things explode. Fights weren't quite as entertaining without his Weirdboy around to spice things up.

"Uh... he's no wiv us, Boss," Orlen replied gingerly.

The Boss clearly had forgotten he had sent Ongrat off with the girls, asking, "What? Is 'ee dead?"

"No, er, well I don't fink so. 'Ee went ta Shilf's wiv da Dok an' Mek, rememba? Dat big 'ole snake too?" Orlen tried to remind him.

"ZOG! I waz lookin' forward to da fireworks," Uurgrin sounded disappointed, but he explained the crude plan of attack. "Oh well. Get ready boys, soon as dem Goffs get close, we flies out shootas blazin', choppa's swingin', an' mow 'em down wiv da trukks! Don't start ya waagh cries til we gets movin', we don't want da Goffs ta know we're waitin' for 'em. It'll be da 'ighlight ov dere day when dey sees us chargin' 'em."

One of the Orks didn't sound terribly impressed. "So's we gonna sneak attack 'em den, Boss?"

Uurgrin glared over his shoulder trying to find the git who questioned him; one of his Orks was getting a bit big for their boots. He made a mental note to wallop the culprit if the loud mouth survived the battle. "It aint sneaky, its cunnin'. DERE'S A BIG DIFF'RENCE!"

Hard dark shadows panned across the yard as the first bikes drove past neighbouring buildings; this was it. Uurgrin gave Oric a tap on the shoulder to signal the advance; the wartrakk lurched forward, trukks following behind. Oric and Uurgrin bellowed out a loud, savage war cry as they emerged out onto the street.

"WAAAAAAAAGHHHH!"

Simultaneously, Ilgil's plan had been unfolding at Shilf's workshop. It was the kind of plan most Orks despised; complicated, sneaky, and, even by Ork standards, very dangerous and stupid. Glim was the exception; he looked forward to finally getting what he wanted, whilst also setting a great many things on fire. It was the stuff of dreams for him.

The workshop was quiet and dark; it was locked down for the night, Shilf's crew and the Goffs were above in the mess hall and living quarters. Those who weren't already asleep were finishing off a card game or two and having another beer.

Ilgil and Glim would be doing most of the slippery business; Ongrat simply had to wait until the time was right, and pray things turned out. The Goff Weirdgirl followed Glim, who was now re-equipped with his trusty burna, to the back entrance of the workshop. The Burnaboy lit his torch, cutting through the padlocks, chains and the door itself as if they were made from butter. The thin elongate blue flame was so intense it could melt metal almost instantaneously when it was on its highest setting; it was useful for close-encounters and getting through armour plating. But tonight, it was carving a hole through anything that got in their way - including two guard squigs which came hurling towards the m.

The pair gently lay the cut-out down. Ilgil went in first, to make sure there were no more surprises waiting. After she gave the all-clear, Glim climbed through.

"Dere's dem fings I waz talkin' 'bout," he whispered, pointing to a barrel piled to the brim with the caltrops he and Brudz had made earlier that day. "An' over dere's da bottles we needs."

Glim snuck over to the storage room and grabbed a crate, bringing it over to the Goff trukks. They were fully repaired, just awaiting another coat of black paint and a few extra gubbins to be added, because it would have been a shame not to slap on a few more spiky bits here and there seeing as the trukks were already in a Mek shop (the Goffs agreed their Boss would have approved, it only made sense to make their trukks even better). This was a problem for three fleeing Orks, which is why Glim was going to personally see that both Shilf's and the Goffs' vehicles were not going to be driving far at all. There were many ways an Ork could sabotage a fleet of vehicles; the options were endless, the outcome simply dependant on personal preferences and the resources available. Thankfully, Glim's tastes suited the need for discretion.

He used his burna to slice through the axles and taped them together again with duct tape; Glim was no Mek, but he was sure this would prove to be interesting for the passengers. That wasn't the only surprise he had lined up: to ensure that the vehicles did not pursue them far, in case the cut-through axles did not have the desired effect, he'd do an improved potato-in-the-muffler job. He pried the crate open with a crow bar and applied the final touches with its contents. When he was finished with the Goff trukks, he went back out into the yard, crate in tow, and did the same to Shilf's vehicles. The only vehicles left unscathed were the warbikes belonging to the Meks and Burnaboys (they were parked elsewhere) and Destroya, the latter of which Ilgil had loaded with as much loot as she physically could (it was a long climb up for a small Ork).

Glim was helping Ilgil prepare the final bon voyage when he spotted a black tarp covering something; he knew what it was – it was Brudz' bike. She'd hidden it in an attempt to prevent it becoming spare parts after the Evil Sunz had unexpectedly dropped by again. He'd almost forgotten about that. What a great bargaining chip that could be... or just a really good ride. Either way, he wasn't leaving it behind.

"Wot ya smirkin' 'bout?" Ilgil asked suspiciously; she didn't trust smirkers. That generally meant trouble for her.

"Slight change o' plans," Glim replied. "You finish tiein' up dem bottles, I'll jus' be a sec."

There wasn't much else Glim could do except very roughly tie, in a hideous mass of chains, the bike to the back of the Destroya's cabin. Unfortunately, the clanking and banging of metal on metal woke up unwanted company. A window opened somewhere above, and a voice rang out.

"OI! Someone's in da yard messin' wiv DESTROYA!"

Lights flooded the yard; Glim pulled his welding goggles over his eyes to stop the glare from blinding him. He had just secured the chains when bullets started raining from above; he jumped down from the crane's cabin, and ran like a bat from hell into the workshop, feeling a few of the bullets find their mark in his hide.

"Quick! Get Ongrat! I'll set it off." Glim ordered, though it wasn't necessary; Ilgil was already hurrying past the Burnaboy.

He didn't have time to admire the stunning work of Ilgil; she had managed to up-end nine propane cylinders, tying them all together with whatever she could find, and then suspended them with one of the unused portable engine mounting cranes. It was situated directly beneath the sleeping quarters were. Glim adjusted the nozzle of his bruna until he had a metre long thin flame; standing as far back as possible, shielding himself with a trash can lid with in one hand, and reaching out as much as his other arm would stretch, he used the flame to melt as many of the nozzles as he could manage all together.

In a matter of seconds the cylinders became crude rockets when their back ends burst and spewed out flames, propelling the mass up into the floor above creating chaos. Glim ran back outside patting out his clothes which had caught fire in spots. He'd been crisped, but it was worth it, and his burns would heal in no time; the night's adventure would be something to brag about with his fellow pyromaniac enthusiasts if he lived long enough. He headed directly for the crane, now able to pass through the yard without being shot at (much). The side of the building burst open sending debris flying when more of the propane cylinders exploded. Glim jumped up and heaved himself into the relative safety of the cabin. He started the engine, and for the first time, was able to play with the controls; the only thing that would make the moment even more enjoyable for the Deffskull was if the crane had some kind of burna built onto it. For now, the wrecking ball would have to suffice.

Another explosion erupted; this one however was bright green, and it had come from the shed. Ongrat had done his main task: waking up and aggravating the Killa Kans, so he and Ilgil could quickly build up waagh energy in very little time. They needed to be pumped if their escape plan was to work.

Jawge slithered towards Destroya with Ongrat and Ilgil on his back; Glim couldn't help but crease his brow when saw confused and angry giant metal death machines come barging out of what was left of their shed, yelling in their unusually computerised chatter.

"Oo woke me up? I woz sleepin'!"

"I'll kill 'ooever put dents in me lubly body!"

"Youz c'n run but yaz can't 'ide!"

"Quick! STOMP SUMFIN'!"
"WAAAAAGH!"

He grinned though when the first of the Goffs and freebooters come running out, only to be facing the Kans. Shilf's part Ork part machine creations turned their attention, and their guns, to the closer and more numerous opposition.

"Stop starin' an' start smashin'!" Ongrat snapped as he climbed in with Ilgil; Jawge remained outside, wrapping himself around Brudz' bike. It was becoming rather squashy in the cabin, and both psykers were sparking with green energy.

Glim saluted sarcastically, but was not unhappy to start throwing Destroya's giant spiky wrecking ball around. He couldn't help but laugh and scream a little psychotically while revelling in the devastation he was unleashing.

The first casualties were a couple of Goffs; the unlucky Orks were lifted of their feet, skewered on the ball, and then smashed into the side of the workshop. As the ball swung back, it knocked a Kan of its feet, and sent the ball careening into another unfortunate Ork pin cushion.

"I 'ope dis works," Ongrat said to Ilgil. He hated having to rely on the word of a smaller Ork – it was unnatural. "How's ya know ya aint gonna jus' pop like a bloated corpse?"

Ilgil was growling menacingly; not at anyone in particular, just from the exertion of containing the waagh energy in her small body. "I don't!"

She put her hands onto Ongrat's back, giving him instructions. "Jus' fink ov where ya wants to go! Picture it in ya 'ead; ya need to see where ya wanna be, or who ya want to be near."

Glim ignored the psykers as they prepared the escape. He swung the cabin around and the ball came flying by, smashing into the fortified gates, ripping them off their hinges. He drove through the hole, Kans and Orks chasing them. He had assumed the crane was a fast machine, but to his disappointment, it moved with the pace of a legless squig. He may have thought twice about fleeing from angry mobs in Destroya if he had known the Goffs had had to tow it with them to Squigopolis because it was so slow. The only reason it was actually in for repairs was because the engine had become clogged with dust and it blew a piston when they went to drive it through the city.

"Make et go FASTA!" Ongrat yelled, glowing with energy. "AAAAAH!"

Ilgil had to release a blast of energy, melting the passenger door's window. "Shuddup an' take yer armour off, et's 'ard ta feed my waagh energy frew et."

Fumbling with the leather chest piece, Ongrat accidently bumped the controls; the crane swerved hard right, throwing the occupants around, and sending the ball swinging madly.

Glim regained control, swerving again, to avoid running into the side of a building. "KEEP YA MITS OFF DA STIKS!" He bellowed, his angry glare flicking between the windscreen and the Weirdboy.

Ilgil helped Ongrat get the leather over his head, and she threw it out the melted window. Ongrat would have throttled her, but he had more pressing matters to worry about. As soon as Ilgil put her hands on his bare skin, he felt the extra waagh energy surge into him; his brain was quickly building pressure.

"Fink ov where ya gotta be!" She instructed, unsure if Ongrat was coping.

Six Killa Kans had caught up with the crane, and were surrounding it; they began attacking with their massive circular saw blades, and slowing the crane down, grabbing on with hydraulically operated claws. More Kans were lumbering over, firing their shootas; Glim swung the wrecking ball, trying to clear a path, but it wasn't working fast enough.

A green crackling mist began to surround the crane and the Kans. Mokka, having fought his way through the herd of Kans still in the yard, wanted to bring down the thieves; he very nearly exploded when he saw the unmistakable waagh energy – he had felt Ongrat's presence as soon as his rival had instigated the pandemonium with the Killa Kans, but to have him running off with his apprentice – as annoying as Ilgil was, the git was still his personal slave – and his favourite vehicle? That was just outrageous!

Mokka took a deep breath and raised his copper staff, gripping it tightly in both hands as he built up a particularly big energy wave. He released the waagh energy; it gushed from his nose, mouth, and eyes; a materialisation of his fury and the animalistic urge to maim and kill all those who were weaker than he.

Pop! KA-KRAK!

For a moment, Mokka felt victorious; but when his vision cleared from the bright waagh energy, he knew something strange... something weird had happened. The Killa Kans that had surrounded Destroya, and the crane itself, had vanished; there was nothing but a building with a smoking hole in its side twenty metres away. There were no scraps, no bodies, only a few discarded shells from the Kans' shootas lying around. Mokka had been cheated.