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The two chaos space marines known only as “The Disgraced Lord” and “The Clandestine One” stood on a high rocky outcrop and stared through magnavisors at a distant hive city. Although it was dozens, maybe hundreds, of leagues away and the details of the immense structure were lost in the haze, the gigantic urban spire clearly dominated the surrounding landscape. Also distinctly visible was the immense bulk of a space ork kroozer approaching the hive at a sharp angle from the Pendana IV’s upper atmosphere.
The slightly smaller space marine, wearing a jump pack marked with the insignia of a Night Lords raptor, spoke first. “And there they go! Space Orks! We arrived here four days before them and yet you made us sit and wait! That could have been our ship capturing Istanopolis!” He was clearly agitated.
“Those green primitives are going to beat us there –I swear, you really are losing it! No wonder they call you “The Disgraced Lord!” All we have encountered on this rock are degenerate savages, mad men, and mutants. That hive was ours for the taking and yet you made us wait. Soumouro would never…”
At that point the larger chaos marine’s right arm lunged out and grabbed his colleague by the throat. He pulled the raptor’s face to within inches of his own. “Look my clandestine friend, you no longer serve Soumouro, because you betrayed him to follow me! Would you like me to return you to him?”
The raptor shook his head violently back and forth. “For the Haunter’s sake, no! I may have spoken rashly.”
The Disgraced Lord responded “I don’t believe this planet has nothing but deranged lunatics on it. I think there are still loyal sons of the False Emperor in that hive city, and perhaps some of the other larger ones. And I think they are well-armed. Now watch and learn!” He gestured towards the distant hive city.
The chaos raptor was stunned to see a sudden wave of massive lascannon fire begin to arc up towards the ork vessel.
Meanwhile on board the command bridge of “The Green Hurl,” Warboss Big Barf was feeling quite pleased with himself. Rather than drag his feet, the big ork and his forces aboard the kroozer had immediately decided to launch a direct orbital assault at Istanopolis. “I is a lot smarter den all dem other bosses round here.” he slowly calculated.
Suddenly a heavy, tearing explosion was heard and the ship seemed to lurch. Sparks and smoke filled the bridge and some rivets burst free and shot around the room like ricocheting bullets. One buried itself deep in the skull of a gretchen sitting at the helmsman’s station. The small green creature slumped forward onto the control panel. A pool of blood quickly formed around its crumpled head.
“Nobody touch that!” shrieked Big Barf as he pointed at the dead gretchin. “That’s gonna be me lunch! First one of you lot who touches it is gonna be dead!”
The big ork looked at the new wreckage around the bridge. “Damage report!” he bellowed.
A little gretchen at a different control panel held an old tin can in the air in front of him. A short string dangled from the back of the can. “Sorry boss, communications is out!” he squealed.
“Well youse all go look out the windows then! Tell me what you see that’s busted!” snarled Boss Big Barf. Little gretchens leapt down from their various posts and ran helter skelter around the bridge headed towards different windows. Two of them collided head on and fell down before scrambling to their feet and scurrying away.
“Hey boss! Somefink weird back here!” shouted a gretchin looking out a porthole at the rear of the bridge. “It looks like da back half of our ship is flying widout us! You know, da half wid da engines on it? Its kinda making a big corkscrew in da sky!”
“Somefink funny up here too boss!” yelled another gretchin peering out a porthole at the front of the bridge. “Out dis window it looks like da ground’s gettin’ bigger! We’s headed at the planet faster n’ faster!”
“You lot don’t make no sense never!!!!” roared the ork warboss. “How can we be goin’ faster if we don’t got no engines! Just in case, somebody better grab da helm and press da ‘Stop’ button!”
The gretchins collectively turned to look at the helmsman’s position with their dead colleague sprawled across it. One dared to speak. “But boss, you said we can’t touch ‘im or we’s was gonna be dead.”
“Look you…!” began the war boss, but he never finished the sentence.
The Clandestine One watched the rear half of the ork kroozer corkscrew into the landscape. A bright mushroom cloud began growing not too far from a second, larger cloud. “There goes the other half.” he said approvingly.
The smaller chaos marine turned towards The Disgraced Lord and sank to one knee, bending his head in deference. “You were correct, my liege lord. I apologize for doubting your leadership.” He smiled. “Before me stands the warrior I left Soumoaro to follow.”
The larger warlord looked down at his once-again-loyal subordinate and allowed him a brief nod. “I appreciate you knocking some sense back into me a few weeks ago.” He changed the subject suddenly, looking back at the two mushroom clouds. “Small scale aerial operations should still be a go, but a direct orbital assault is clearly out of the question. We are going to have to get to Istanopolis the hard way: a ground fight!”
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