Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 37
A flurry of bolt rounds pinged off Hed'breka's armour, banging harmlessly against the thick plates. The warlord snarled in fury as he pushed on, stepping off the rickety boarding pod to enter the starfort. More rounds bore in, coming from various angles to catch him in a crossfire but he was not concerned, nothing short of an anti-tank gun could slow him down now. Behind him a score of Orks jostled to get out, fighting to be the next to step within the base but Hed'breka didn't wait, he wanted these kills for himself.
The warlord pressed on into the storm of fire, a low growl escaping his lips as he began his charge. Ahead a trio of darkly-armoured shapes ducked behind cover, popping up alternatively to unleash barrages of firepower. Beakies, the defenders of this starfort, caught unawares by the Ork's unexpected assault but fighting back anyway. Hed'breka didn't know why this hidden fastness had suddenly started wailing into the night but hadn't questioned his good luck, merely seized the chance to attack.
Hed'breka tucked his chin in as he closed on the barricade, a hastily overturned laundry cart still with servitor attached, flailing uselessly as it tried to comprehend its horizontal position. Bolt rounds pinged from his plate but he didn't let that slow him down as he crashed into the cart, sending it skidding backwards and knocking over the Beakies hiding behind. They reacted with blinding speed, surging back to their feet, only for the nearest to be caught in the spinning heads of his drill. Ceramite splinters pinged into the walls and hoomie blood painted the walls as the warlord punched the drill through the dying Beakie, tearing his innards out.
The other pair took full advantage of his distraction to pile in, serrated knives flashing. Hed'breka snarled as one found a gap in his hip and drew thick blood, working the blade side to side to increase the damage done. Hed'breka swept his arm about and caught the foe by the side of the head, shearing a tiny wing off his helm. The warrior staggered with the impact and fell to his knees, only to be crushed into the floor by Hed'breka's boot slamming into his spine, bearing down with inexorable weight.
Two were down but the third Beakie drew back, knife held point down, ready to stab into the Warlord's neck. Hed'breka was distracted and exposed, but just as the point started to move a missile shot out from nowhere and caught the Beakie straight in the head. There was a soft crump and then the hoomie collapsed, charred stump of his neck smoking. Free to act Hed'breka bore down on the pinned hoomie with his drill, obliterating him without allowing any chance to fight back.
The fight ended but the noise didn't. The Orks continued to growl and spit as they entered the base followed by the mechanical grinding of Gut'twista, who was missing a rocket from his arm. "Nice shot," Hed'breka grunted.
"Was aimin' fer iz arm," Gut'twista admitted.
"Never mind dat, we gotta be fast. Bloody Red-hands iz ere, I can smells him. Get movin ya runts!"
Hed'breka didn't bother to wait for the rest as he set off, driving deeper into the starfort. He passed into the dimly lit space, seeking his target. From all quarters came the thin screams of hoomies dying, mixed with the feral glee of Orks at war. The Starfort was being overrun by boarding parties, streaming in from every vector in a tide of Green aggression. Hed'breka knew Roks and frigates and his Kroozer were circling the base, disgorging ever more Orks in a constant stream, more than could possibly be withstood. Battle was all around but Hed'breka ignored it, searching for his elusive quarry.
From ahead he heard the distinct banging of bolters and he increased speed. Drool leaked around his fangs as he anticipated the kill to come. Bloody Red-hands was at last within his grasp and he would take great pleasure in ripping that cur limb from limb. For all he'd done, for his insults to the gods, the fiend would finally die and Hed'breka would be the one to do it.
He burst into a broad loading dock, where Ork landing parties were confronted by teams of Beakies firing in tandem. The hoomies occupied high-standing gantries and lurked behind heavy machinery, sniping off Orks with precise bursts of fire before relocating. The Orks returned torrents of bullets but could not pin down the Beakies, so swift and coordinated was their defence. Among them stood a warrior with a long billhook in hand, directing their firepower with short commands. He boasted wings thrice the size of any other on his helm and wore skinned faces upon his shoulders. He stood proud in the midst of the carnage, unbowed by the numbers set against him.
Hed'breka screeched to a halt and snarled, "You ain't Bloody Red-Hands!"
"I am Oersh, the Reeve Unholy, and I will claim the glory of ending you!"
"Doez wings makes you look stoopid," Hed'breka snarled as he lurched to attack.
His mighty drill swung about, intending to end this fight in one punch. Oersh however ducked low, letting it pass over him as his billhook stabbed. The point flared with energy as he struck, tearing through thick metal and letting blood flow. Hed'breka growled furiously as he brought his arm back around but Oresh swayed aside and let it pass without making contact. The warlords grew angry at the dancing of his foe and lumbered forward, trying to bodyslam him off his feet but Oersh wasn't there.
The hoomie moved like mist as he spun left, coming about on the flank. His billhook stabbed again and Hed'breka's right leg gave out, bleeding terribly from a stab to the back of the knee. He fell to one knee with a cry of frustration, waving his arm about defensively. From nowhere the curved blade lining the hook swooped in, catching the drill behind the heads and pulling it to one side. Hed'breka felt like his arm was about to be ripped from the socket as Oersh heaved back with both hands, levering the drill out of position and leaving Hed'breka exposed for the finishing blow that must surely come.
Oersh laughed, "Give my regards to your filthy gods!"
"You fight like a poncy knife-ear," Hed'breka growled as he swung his other arm to bear, bringing up his shoota.
A squeeze of his fist and the shoota spoke a cacophony of bangs that accompanied tongues of flame. Oersh was inundated with a flurry of burning rounds, sundering his plate with flaming bullets that punched cherry red holes into the armour. He juddered under the impacts, shaking like a tree in gale as he staggered backwards. The torrent slammed into him without cease, making a ruin of his visage and then a bullet found his eyelens and punched through, blowing out his brains.
Oersh died swiftly but Hed'breka was not amused. He lurched back to his feet and roared, "Find me Bloody Red-hands! Find him!" Waves of Orks obeyed, rushing the bay and overrunning the last defenders with sheer numbers. They poured into the starfort in an avalanche of green, filling the base with savage killers. None could stand against them and they swept the place end to end, seeking their quarry. Yet so focused were they on what was occurring within that they failed to spot a tiny gunship detaching from the nether regions of the base. As Orks annihilated the last of Kharkul's followers the insurrectionists slipped away, Taken by Sedaxus into the dark between planets to plot their next moves.