Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 11

The meeting of any two Ork tribes was an explosive situation and this was no exception. Under the sulphurous yellow sky two tribes met to parley, standing just outside of shoota range on the empty plain. Beady eyes glared as fangs gnashed, glaring at counterparts on the other side in threat. Meaty paws gripped shootas and Rokket launchers tight, just waiting for the first signs of treachery. None of them dared to fire first though, Hed'breka had made it clear what he'd do to the first Boy to break ranks.

"Dis ain't rite Boss," Masha growled, "We should beats dem up and nick their grubbins."

"We needs more boyz, not blastas," Hed'breka growled, "I needs dem to sign up for me Waaagh."

Gut'twista called from inside his Killa Kan, "Can I squish em?"

"Not yet ya berk," Hed'breka snarled, "Just be scary looking, kay?"

"Squishin stuff is scary," the Grot protested forlornly.

Hed'breka ignored the whining as he stepped forward, Mega armour grinding against itself as he walked into no-man's land. His army stayed behind as Masha and Gut'twista followed, their footsteps kicking up sulphur dust in their wake. As they walked Hed'breka eyed the rival horde, smaller than his own but owning far more vehicles. There were tracked buggies and bikes with wheeled spikes, growling Trukks with humongous engines and Battlewagons galore, all stripped back for maximum speed. The banner of the grinning star was everywhere, on every flag and battlepole. This army was made of Evil Sunz clan, the notorious Kult of Speed. Nowhere was this more evident than their boss, the infamous Razzor.

Razzor stepped forward to meet them halfway. He was shorter than Hed'breka and more slim, with skin mottled by ashen dust striking him at high velocity. He looked too slight to be a warboss but he grinned with confidence as his lips chewed a well-mashed cheroot cigar and his head bore a leather cap with thick goggles pushed well up. He carried a shoota pistol at his belt and a notched cutlass, no match for Hed'breka's armaments but perfectly suited to striking from the saddle.

Razzor paused before they met and called, "That's far enuff, whatcha want?"

Hed'breka rolled to a halt and spat, "I called ya to join me Waaagh."

Razzor flexed his hands, covered by half leather gloves with the fingers missing and sniffed, "Maybe I heard bout dat, what's it to me?"

Hed'breka' first instinct was to pulp his head flat but forced himself to say, "Bloody Red-hands is pissin about with da Boyz."

Razzor sniffed, "Maybe I heard bout dat too. I don' care, he aint messing with my lot."

"He's twistin da Orks, making dem weak pussy's. Kaos,, he want's us to bow to Kaos. Gork an Mork ain't havin with dat crap. Dey calls us to Waaagh!"

Razzor threw back his head and laughed, "Da Gods can piss off! I ain't given dem squat. I got's me bikes, and me wagons, I don't need dem."

"Gork an Mork are proper Orks!" Hed'breka snarled, "Not some weak hoomie god."

"Can I squish him Boss?!" Gut'twista yelped, "Squish him good!"

Hed'breka gripped the paddle of his drill but Razzor held up both hands and squawked, "Woah, woah, woah... I never says I wouldn't fite with ya. Jus' gotta give me somting too.

"Watcha after?" Hed'breka growled.

Razzor chewed his cigar for a moment then said, "I wants fuel, lodsa fuel. And bullets for me Dakka."

"I can do dat," Hed'breka affirmed, "Swears to me and I'll deliver you the goods."

"Gettin' ahead of youself," Razzor snorted, "First ya gotta beat me."

Hed'breka lifted his drill and took a ponderous step forward, growling, "Bring it on."

"Not like dat," Razzor laughed, "Gotta beat me in a race!"

He waved to his mobs and two bikers shot away, riding in tandem. Behind them they dragged large spikes, tearing through the dirt like an anchor. They created parallel furrows through the dirt, broad enough for a battlewagon to pass between. A snaking course they described, winding and with sharp turns, leading back to the pair of waiting bosses. A racetrack, laid out ready for them to enter.

The bikers peeled off as Razzor guffawed, "Scared to face me?"

"All I gotta do is be first over the finish line and your mobs are mine?"

"Dat's rite," Razzor agreed, "All's fair, so long as you first."

"Bring it," Hed'breka growled.

Two bikes were pushed out of the crowd, each with spiked wheels and Razzor waved, "You pick first, so no berk calls me a cheat." Hed'breka glared as he strode over to the nearest and hoicked his leg over. The bike squealed alarmingly under his weight, mega armour weighing it down so far the engine touched the ground. He gripped the handlebars and slapped a big red button, starting the engine. Chugging fumes erupted out the back and made his throat itch with thick exhaust, but he refused to cough as Razzor mounted his bike and fixed his goggles.

Masha wandered over and muttered, "Boss, this aint a hot idea. Dat armour will slow you down, you can't beat him."

Hed'breka retorted, "Dis is why you ain't da boss. You gotta be like Gork, Brutal but Kunnin' too. I gots me a plan and it's Kunnin as a really kunnin grot."

Razzor gripped his bars and called, "On da count of three. One..." With that Razzor shot away, leaving a cloud of smoke and dirt in his wake. He tore off, laughing evilly as he shot down a straight, heading for the first turn at tremendous speed. Hed'breka however didn't follow, he sat on his idling bike and watched as his rival hurtled away, becoming a small dot in the distance.

Gut'twista yelped, "Boss! The race has started, he's getting away. Boss! Boss! Boss!"

Hed'breka ignored him as Masha hissed, "You're lozin'"

"Wait for it," Hed'breka muttered as Razzor turned a hairpin bend and came racing back.

Hed'breka saw him swelling in his vision, growing into a laughing biker who gunned his engine harder as his mobs cheered. They came within spitting distance of each other and Razzor lifted his hand, middle finger extended as he angled to shoot by. In return Hed'breka lifted his left arm and opened up with his double-shoota. A furious hail of hot lead engulfed Razzor, punching into his flesh with wet thuds. The Ork shuddered as his front became a mass of craters, blasted head to toe with shells. His bike faired no better, metal breaking apart under the force of the impacts.. One bullet struck his front wheel and shattered it, sending him head over heels in a mad tumble. The fuel tank ruptured and the contents met hot metal, then Razzor disappeared into a rolling fireball, tumbling off the course and falling into heap of flaming wreckage.

Silence fell as Hed'breka started off, heading down the track. The bike squealed as its engine laboured under his weight, dragging his rear wheel along as it ploughed through the ground. In shocked silence Hed'breka negotiated the course, shuffling past the wreckage of his rival without a sniff of regret. He got to the end and the bike wheezed as he lifted his weight off it. He stood before the crowds and declared, "Iz da winner!"

Hundreds of stunned eyes looked upon him then the Orks broke out into cheering applause, laughing and slapping each other on the back as they cried, "Dat was Beootiful! See how he went up?! Bang, just like dat. Old Razzor never seez it comin', da look on his stoopid face! I gotta get me a big shoota like dat!"

Hed'breka accepted their cheering by raising both hands over his head and crying, "You'ze mine now! Dis iz but da start, soon we'll have the makin of a proper Waaagh!"