Fluff Article - Death in Space

 
The Tyranid Hive is running another short story competition this month, and this time we were called to write about Orks as they explore space. During their journeys, they are interrupted by Tyranids. The following is my piece for this competition, following the Goff Warboss Gitsmasha as he runs foul of a trap involving Tyranids. Enjoy!

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Gitsmasha was in trouble, but he would never admit it.

The Warboss bellowed and sprayed the encroaching Genestealers with his shoota, cutting through their carapace and leaving several of them in a blasted heap. One slipped through the deafening barrage and closed a vice-like claw on his chest, crushing armor plating and ripping a wad of tissue free. Gitsmasha roared again and crushed the Tyranid into the deck with his choppa.

“You’ll haf ta try harder than dat, you puny bugs!” he challenged, firing another blast into the survivors. As their ichor splattered onto the deck he turned and ran, followed by his Nobz. Their breath came out in ragged snorts and snuffles, their weary limbs carrying them back towards their boarding torpedo.

It wasn’t natural for a Goff to run away. Gitsmasha cursed the Deathskull Nob again, his slow mind finally catching up to the trap he had walked into. He stomped backwards a few more steps, firing his crude weapon into the moving shadows. The light from his muzzle blast bounced crazily around the corridor, leaving the impression that the Tyranids had him surrounded. He shot the wall and the ceiling, just to make sure.

He’d beaten the Deathskull Warboss fair and square, the head on his pointy stick was a testament to that. The next biggest Nob quickly capitulated, grimacing as Gitsmasha lifted him with one arm. The Goff had pulled him closer, staring into his swollen and bloody face.

“You’re boss raided me Mek’s shop,” Gitsmasha said with a growl. “Where’d ya run off to wiv me dakka?”

He’d been surprised at how quickly the Deathskull gibbered out a response, directing him to the other end of the system. He’d extended one arm, painted with blue ink, towards the silent hulk that drifted through space in front of them. The Goff boss wasted no time in going to take back his dakka.

“I’ll go too,” stammered the Deathskull hopefully.

“No you won’t. You think I’m dat stupid?” Gitsmasha left him on the bridge with his biggest Nob, Ruzbad.

Now Gitsmasha saw the game. There were no shootas hidden away here, just a Rok filled with killy bugs. He’d go back to his ship, clobber that Deathskull coward, and come back with all the lads to finish this fight.

Gitsmasha pushed through his Nobz as they bunched up at the boarding torpedo. He climbed quickly aboard and mashed the communicator, kicking the panel to ensure it turned on quickly. Outside, the Nobz opened up with their deafening weapons, trying to beat back the wall of hissing chitin.

“Ruzbad!” Gitsmasha yelled into the microphone. “Dat Deathskull’s a sneaky git! Don’t let ‘im outta your sight!”

Gitsmasha never saw the Lictor. It dropped quietly from the roof and drove its scything talons down through both clavicles. The Goff was dead before he hit the floor.

Ruzbad was never known as the sharpest choppa in the armory, and the Deathskull’s lead pipe reached his cerebral cortex long before the meaning of the words. As he crumpled, the Deathskulls had a brief shootout with the other Goff muscle on the bridge. The Deathskull Nob waved away the clouds of spent cordite.

“Dis ‘ere ship belongs ta me, and me Deathskull ladz!”

A roar of approval swept over the rusted bridge.

“Get ta lootin’, boyz!”

The Deathskull turned in time to see that he had been mistaken; Gitsmasha hadn’t died on a Rok after all. The Tyranid ship came to life, lowering organic tendrils from a cratered hide and turning toward the Ork vessel.

“Oy crud…ready da dakka! ‘Ere come da bugs!”