(This is a Warhammer flash fiction piece I wrote, it was meant to be for a Cold Open competition but didn’t quite fit the theme and not sure it’s good enough to win, but I’m quite happy with it. I love the Warhammer universes, and am nerding out big over them. I’m still fairly new to it all, so apologies for any mistakes/inaccuracies. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.)
Tupzin threw an elbow into his neighbour’s face and darted forward, scrapping a few more feet in the swirling scrum at the mob’s centre.
He’d been pushed forward at first, but had no interest in being first to face the humie guns, but the rear held the threat of Brazgot’s lashes and squig hounds.
The best place to be was in the middle of the horde. Unfortunately, every other git knew this, and there was a mass of conniving cowardice at work.
It didn’t help that countless squabbles and grudges were getting settled in the ruck too.
Tupzin, hissing angrily, shoved off a grot who tried climbing over him.
That’s when he saw Loonza the Mad Grot.
Loonza was angry, he’d wanted to get a place right at the front.
They was fighting humies, and he wanted to get stuck in straight away.
He was sure if Gork or Mork saw him go down scrapping, they might let him come back as an ork or something, a proppa fighter!
He’d charged up his beloved laspistol, but when unplugging it from the frayed wires, he’d been zapped and woken up to find most of the other grots already scrapping.
That’s what they called him, Loonza knew. But they were just as mad as him. Fighting for a few more moments of life.
Nope, he knew he’d die eventually, but he was gonna go down swinging and blasting.
He’d had to fight his way through a bit, but most grots, seeing his determined expression, cleared out.
The eagerness for a fight and determination marked him out as different right away.
There were his clothes too, which were more warlike than the usual grot rags. He’s scrounged up plenty of blue, wanting the luck to kill some humies before they got ‘im.
And wedged on his head was a metal pot serving as a helmet. He had his laspistol in hand and a crude knife strapped across his back.
Loonza was ready for a fight.
Tupzin shrieked, running towards the human guns.
He needed a place to hide!
The ship had landed, or rather crashed, into the planet, and Brazgot had forced them into a charge.
Tupzin had been with hundreds of others but now ran with a small clutch of fellow grots.
Hopefully, they’d catch any shots sent their way.
The gang ducked behind some rubble, jabbering nervously.
“I think Brazgot’s dead! We can just stay here.”
“If ‘e’s dead, his squigs loose! I ain’t gonna sit and wait to get eaten!”
There was a demented whoop, and Loonza rushed over to them.
Figures. All that blue makes 'im lucky, Tupzin thought. Tho’ real luck woulda been not being a grot to start with.
Loonza had his pistol slung over his shoulder and his bloody knife in hand. He’d found a humie hiding in a tower with some fancy gun with a tellyscope on it.
Typical humie nonsense! Aiming was cheating, and took the fun outta the fight. Better to just blast away and let Gork and Mork sort it out, innit?
“Wot you lot doing? Fights over there.” He grinned, nodding towards the enemy.
“Get lost you daft snot!” Tupzin snapped. “We is using cover for tacti-kal vantage, ain’t we?”
“Youse is hiding!” Loonza cackled. “Well, not me, lads! Loonza’s gonna fight!”
He ran off hooting and hollering.
“That mad git is gonna get 'imself killed.” Tupzin sneered. “Shoulda stayed here, nice and sa-”
That’s when the shell hit.
Loonza had swiped a grenade from a dead humie and now held it like a prize as he ran along a rubble wall that ran through the human lines.
Three humies were crouched behind a big shoota on three legs, blasting away at the orks attacking.
Loonza watched for a moment, mesmerised by the awesome firepower.
'Cor, what I wouldn’t give to have a shoota like that one day, Loonza thought, even though the gun was far bigger than him.
Well, if he couldn’t have it, why should they?
He armed the grenade and lobbed it into their little nest.
One humie gave a little shriek, and then the gun and the three men vanished in a blast of flame, gore and smoke.
Loonza hopped down and ran along the humie line, occasionally finding a humie hunkered down in the mud.
They was all looking the other way, so he shot them in the back. Nuffin’ wrong with that.
Then he found a whole bunch of 'em all huddled together. Looking away and shooting at the charging greenskins off in the distance.
“Well, this’ll do! Hope yer watching, Mork! You too, Gork!” Loonza said cheerfully.
Then with a manic whoop, he charged them.
Diving down into the foxhole he unleashed a volley of lasblasts, scorching the air and catching two of the humies in the head and neck.
The humans yelled, spinning around at this surprise attack and firing in panic.
One humie’s shotgun cut down another, and the humie froze, staring at his dead mate, giving Loonza an easy target.
Then Loonza was thrown forward as a shot hit him in the back. He rolled over, dropping the humie who’d shot him, the last survivor in the place.
“Hope you enjoyed the show…” The grot muttered, before everything went black.
Fixxbash looked at the towering metal form in front of him.
This was the mastapiece of kans, and he’d not wanted to waste it on another cowardly grot who’d still run even when inside his magnificent creation.
But Brazgot assured him this grot was different. They’d called him the Mad Grot, and the little git had killed a buncha humies before getting hisself shot.
The grot he barked at hesitated a moment, saw Fixxbash’s heavy wrench and then obeyed, jabbing a wire in through the top of the Killa Kan.
There was a flash, the smell of burnt grot and then the machine roared into life, belching thick fumes from the exhausts.
From inside came a manic cackle, and the arms moved, testing the giant pincers on the left and inspecting the heavy gun on the right.
“Oh, yeah! This is more like it!” A voice cried excitedly.
