Foreword: This story is my attempt at writing something less character driven, instead focusing on a series of rapid viewpoint shifts while still hopefully establishing some hooks in each scene. I took some inspiration from Necropolis by Dan Abnett with what I wanted to accomplish with this one. It is also my first attempt at showing some non-human viewpoints. This has only seen me do a quick twice-over edit so far, so any help, comments, or criticisms will be very much appreciated.
This is another 40k story – Warhammer 40,000, Orks, Space Marines, etc, are all the property of Games Workshop, etc.

Pride Goeth

by Tim Sweeney

“This is my world Captain, not yours,”

The Governor leaned back in his chair, feet placed on the colossal beatiwood desk in a gesture of nonchalance rarely shown in the presence of a warrior-lord of the Adeptus Astartes.

The Captain simply snarled at him, not bothering to speak.

“The mistake you made was hubris,” the Governor withdrew a cigar from the Aquila-stamped case on the desk, voice echoing strangely from his augmetic jaw and throat, “You should have stayed in the void and commanded the fleet,”

He drew the pungent smoke deep into his lungs, the cigar mashed awkwardly between his flesh and iron lips.

“Instead, you decided to play politics on my planet,” the Governor laughed; it came out as a series of harsh buzzes and clicks, “Well, you can see where that got you.”

Bzzt-click.  Bzzt-click.  Bzzt-click.

Captain Kirov of the Hearteaters Chapter of Space Marines, resplendent in iron and ochre artificer armour, stared across the desk, desperate to lash out.

Unfortunately for him, his arms and legs had been removed hours ago, literally torn from their sockets.

Kirov sat there, little more than shredded armour and mangled torso, Astartes blood leaking slowly from wounds that would have killed a normal man thrice over.

Utterly helpless.

Bzzt-click.  Bzzt-click.  Bzzt-click.

The Governor continued to laugh.

***

+++Begin Transmission+++

Hail, Citizens of Saint Paedrig’s Pride!

The Imperial VoxProp Network has received exclusive reports that the xenos Ork fleet has broken anchor around Lurina III, and even now approaches our magnificent shrine-world through the Empyrean.

But fear not!  For the forces of our Almighty Emperor – Praise his name! – stand ready to receive the bestial invader, and even now the strength of two whole companies of the Adeptus Astartes have joined the valiant Imperial Navy in high orbit.

All that the Emperor and the Saint require of you, loyal citizens of the Pride, is to go about your usual duties and obey your curfews; our loyal warriors in the void above will take care of the rest.

Remember: Those found outside after curfew will be executed.

All is well.

The Emperor and the Saint protect.

All is well.

+++End Transmission+++

***

The aliens disgusted him.

The worst part – the thing that made them almost comical – was that they honestly thought they were being stealthy.

Crouched on the ridge above them, hidden by tall grass and taller trees, he snarled in contempt at their clattering and creaking; their muttering and their whining.

He was no more than six feet away from their leader, and the putrid thing had no idea he was even there.

It was hard to maintain discipline in a situation like this; there were only twenty of them after all.  It was harder still to keep his squad in line. They had been hidden in this accursed forest for days, unable to give in to the desperate need to slay their hated foe.

But – finally – the order had come through, and that was how they found themselves doing what they did best: hunting the hunters.

He withdrew back into the undergrowth, careful not to let his uniform catch and tear – something his soon-to-be victims could use a lesson in when stalking through the forest.

The Sergeant was especially concerned with his armoured chest plate, knowing that the sound of ceramite striking wood or rock would immediately give away his position. He also took great pains to avoid damaging the golden eagle taking pride of place on his chest.

Once he was certain he was out of sight of the patrol, the Sergeant raised his hand and made a quick circling gesture.  Within seconds, he was joined by the other six members of his squad, all moving as silently as ghosts through the dense trees.

He gestured rapidly to his men – they had been told in very distinct terms that they were not to speak at all until after the mission – and laid out the plan in the simple combat sign language the squad had developed over their years of constant warfare.

Wait five.  Circle around.  Bird call.  One alive each, kill rest. No guns. No screams. Kill you if fail.

His squad was too professional to be obvious about it, but the Sergeant could sense their excitement as they quickly checked over their equipment, not even noticing the threat at the end of the silent exchange.

Drawing his own blackened blade, he couldn’t resist a grin himself; finally, they were going to fight!

His men slipped away as quietly as they had arrived, and once again he was alone.  He ghosted forward quickly, moving to an ambush position he knew the prey should reach within the next five minutes or so, assuming they stayed predictable.

He moved up the trunk of the gigantic tree like a huge, armoured spider, moving into a concealed position amongst the branches.  As the enemy patrol finally moved into view, he chose his targets amongst the aliens and brought his fingers to his mouth, making a passable rendition of the call of the local equivalent of a hawk.

As one, his men rose up around the patrol – Two had somehow gotten right in amongst them, hiding in a bush that would have struggled to obscure a small forest creature, never mind a warrior of his stature.

Ten of the aliens were down before they even realised they had been ambushed, the attack uncanny in its complete silence.

The Sergeant stood, branches creaking under his weight.  He spotted one of the enemy struggling to pull some sort of communication device to its lips.

The Sergeant dropped from the tree, landing feet first on the unfortunate thing.  The impact killed it before it could scream, leaving a bloody, splintered mess lying amongst the fallen leaves.

The leader of these wretches hadn’t even drawn its sword before it was over. The Sergeant’s squad were already subduing the other survivors, tying and gagging them in anticipation of the next phase of the plan.

The leader-thing was quivering, apparently paralysed with fear.  The Sergeant might have pitied it, if he were capable of feeling such an emotion.

All he felt was contempt.

He walked and stood in front of the weak little creature, towering over its tiny frame.  Slowly, almost gently, he reached out with a massive hand and lifted it by the throat.

The Sergeant had been ordered to conduct his mission in strict silence, but the argument could be made that that particular mission was now over.

Besides, he just couldn’t resist.

Face to face, nose to nose, the Sergeant raised the disgusting, mewling, wretched pink creature before him and whispered a single word.

“Waaagh.”

And then, listening to the harsh laughter of his men, Sergeant Urgak of the Blood Axe Clan snapped the pathetic little human’s neck.

***

“Commander Lontilles?”

Lontilles’ eyes snapped up from his work at the cogitator, back stiffening at the approach of the Admiral, “Aye sir?”

“Any word from Lord Kirov?” Frustration coloured the Admiral’s words, almost undetectable under an iron-hard layer of military poise.

Lontilles shook his head, unable to give voice to something the head of the fleet obviously did not want to hear.

“Incoming transmission from White Cloud Admiral!”  The Communications Officer called suddenly from the other side of the war room, a nervous squeak in his voice.

Even veteran officers felt uncomfortable dealing with Astartes.

The eyes of every man in the room turned toward the holoprojector adorning the centre table.  A dark-skinned face, oddly proportioned and heavily bionic, had already appeared, floating in a ghostly green haze that set off the strange tattoos carved into what little of his flesh remained.

“I am Ship-Commander Manu of the Hearteaters vessel White Cloud,” the Space Marine’s voice was an unpleasant, raspy growl, the accent so strong as to be almost unintelligible. “My Captain is in conference with your Governor on the world below, and is unable to attend your strategy meeting,”

Lontilles bristled at the contempt with which the giant had said “your strategy meeting”, as though the Astartes were not a part of the defence of this world at all.

“He has left orders that I am to allow you to command our vessels until such a time as he returns,” with that the feed cut out as quickly as it had begun.

The Admiral stood in the utter silence of the war room, mouth still hanging open with a question he had had no chance to voice.  Sudden outrage broke out across the chamber, the various Captains and Commanders of the fleet crying out at the lack of respect shown for their beloved leader.

But only when they were sure the Space Marine was no longer listening, Lantilles thought with a hint of contempt.

The Admiral’s jaw snapped shut.  All noise in the room cut off as quickly as it had started.

“Well gentlemen, it seems we have an Astartes battlebarge and three frigates to add to our fleet; let’s make the most of it shall we?”

***

+++Begin Transmission+++

Hail, Citizens of Saint Paedrig’s Pride!

If you gaze into the heavens above our beautiful world, you will notice the first flashes of the void war between our noble defenders and the degenerate ork invader.

But fear not, for though the Greenskin horde appears without number, already Governor Helladrioux has informed us that the Imperial Navy and noble Space Marines are inflicting a fearsome toll on the invader!

For your own safety and protection, PDF and Imperial Guard patrols have been deployed throughout the hive cities and surrounding forests.  Know that, however, these forces are here solely to maintain order during these trying times, as Captain Kirov of the Hearteaters Chapter has sworn that not a single vile ork shall touch the soil of our sacred home!

Remember: The Emperor condemns those who do not ration wisely; the Arbites execute those who do not ration at all.

All is well.

The Emperor and the Saint protect.

All is well.

+++End Transmission+++

***

“The footsloggers should be back from their hunting trip by oh-four-hundred boys, set the table and crack the amasec, will you?”

Strapped into his pilots couch, Flight Lieutenant Bisk rolled his eyes at the Captain’s flippant attitude toward vox protocol.  The worst part was that Bisk knew that the two non-coms manning the door guns already loved the loud-mouthed Captain a damn sight better than him, their usual pilot.

Thumbing the vox off, Captain Corley turned to Bisk, “Not a bad landing really, considering what a fat sow your Valkyrie is!” He grinned sardonically.

It was always like that; ‘your Valkyrie’, ‘your fat sow’, ‘your ugly old barge’.  Bisk desperately wanted to mention that the only reason the hotshot Captain was on board his Valkyrie was due to a string of crashed Vultures, Lightnings, and a Thunderbolt that was still in the process of being extricated from the third floor of a building in the Mercantile Quarter.

Instead the Lieutenant shut his mouth and did his best to ignore his so-called superior’s ongoing – and rather unflattering – description of his aircraft.

It was this steadfast attempt to ignore the blithering idiot in his cockpit that led to Lieutenant Bisk noticing another idiot; several of them in fact.

“What are those morons doing?” the Captain appeared to be thinking along the same lines as Bisk for once.

The morons in question consisted of four rather naked PDF troopers stumbling through the trees towards the idling transport.

“Bloody drunken PDF,” grumbled Corley, “alone in the bush for a few days and they decide to have a party!”

Something wasn’t right.  Sure, the quality of the PDF infantry may have been a running joke amongst the Paedrigian Air Command, but even they wouldn’t get drunk out on patrol.  He keyed the controls on the viewfinder, zooming in on the stumbling soldiers.

“Honestly Lanton, I don’t know how you can put up with ferrying these inbred imbeciles around, I-”

“Captain,” Bisk attempted to interject.

“Don’t you bloody well interrupt me barge-driver, as I-”

“SHUT UP YOU IGNORANT FOOL AND LOOK!”

Corley stood there, mouth hanging open and face turning purple, before he finally looked at his screen and saw what Bisk had noticed moments before.

The PDF troopers had their mouths gagged, and their arms were obviously restrained behind them; worse still, they were all covered in blood.

“Right, these idiots have obviously gotten out of control.  Keep her idling Lieutenant and I’ll take the men out for a look,” Corley had already unstrapped and was moving towards the cockpit door.

“Sir, I don’t think-” It was Bisk’s turn to be interrupted, this time by a swift backhand.

“You obviously don’t think, peasant; I will deal with your little display after I have dealt with that scum outside,” Without another word, Corley stormed from the cabin.

Bisk wiped the blood from his lip, momentarily forgetting what was happening outside the cockpit.  I wonder what it will be like being court-martialled?

At least being dead will get me out from under that idiot’s thumb.  He turned to look out the cockpit once more.

Corley, Donno, and Pillins had left the Valkyrie and were attempting to approach the bloodied soldiers.  The only problem was that the PDFers were now back-pedalling drunkenly, staring at their approaching allies with what looked to Bisk like pure, unadulterated terror.

The Lieutenant noticed that one of the soldiers had managed to work his gag loose, and appeared to be screaming at the top of his lungs, even as his eyes rolled around like he was having some sort of narcotic-induced seizure.

“What is he saying?” Bisk mumbled to himself, staring at the crazed trooper on his monitor.

“I fink dey’re sayin’ ‘Itz a trap’”

Flight Lieutenant Lanton Bisk didn’t have time to register shock at this unexpected response to what had been intended as a rhetorical question.

His throat had already been cut from ear to ear.

***

Captain Anitol Hupt Corley had had enough.

First Bisk’s sheer arrogance – by the Saint, who the hell did the snivelling little worm think he was? – then these drunken PDF slugs stumbling around like sailors on shore leave, and always with the deafening, mind-numbing whine of the big, ugly transport in the background, piercing his brain like the world’s most irritating needle.

He was on the verge of drawing his autopistol and just shooting the bastard PDF troopers when a peculiar thing happened: one of the door gunners – Corley had never bothered learning their names – was just managing to gain on one of the drunken soldiers when he appeared to disintegrate right before their very eyes.

Corley and Gunner Number Two stopped and stared stupidly at where Number One had been just a moment before; even the troopers halted their flight, frozen to the spot.

The Captain was still blinking away what felt rather like the after-image of a lascannon blast when the latest in what was becoming a long list of peculiar things happened:

The PDF troopers began to explode.

Staring up at the sky – how did I wind up on my back? – Captain Corley saw the world turn dark as the Valkyrie flew slowly overhead, wobbling slightly.

“Bisk, you idiot,” Corley began; or at least, he tried to.  Words seemed to be difficult at the moment, as did moving.

Looking up at the hovering Valkyrie, Bisk noticed the damndest thing: there were orks – orks! – standing at the side door of the transport; one of them appeared to be waving lazily, or maybe preparing to throw something.

For a second the Captain thought about waving back.  Then he noticed the large piece of femur-shaped shrapnel transfixing his chest, and all thoughts of green-skinned aliens and exploding soldiers became rather moot.

***

+++Begin Transmission+++

Hail, Citizens of Saint Paedrig’s Pride!

The Imperial war machine has won a great victory in space, turning back the ork armada before they could even enter the orbit of our sacred world.

Captain Kirov of the Hearteaters Chapter has led his Astartes in several boarding actions, scuttling many of the brutish alien vessels.  Even as the noble Space Marines attacked the invader from within, the might of the Imperial Navy intercepted several large, retrofitted asteroids and pounded them to dust.  While the orks may come again, they are weakened to the point of ineffectuality!

The battle in the void will soon be won, but our men and women in the skies still depend upon the support of those they protect on the surface of our world!

As you labour at your stations, noble children of the Pride, look to the brave Planetary Defence Force troopers guarding your homes; look to the skies for the air patrols standing ever vigilant for surprise attack by the cunning ork; look to your Houses and the Governor for inspiration in these trying times.

Remember: If you shirk your duty in the manufactorum, you are murdering the heroes doing their duty for this world.  Murder is a crime punishable by death or servitorism.

All is well.

The Emperor and the Saint protect.

All is well.

+++End Transmission+++

***

“Keep ‘er steady ya dolt!”

Sergeant Urgak gave the Flyboy an encouraging punch to the back of the head which almost sent the already-wobbly Valkyrie plummeting out of control.

The Blood Axe pilot gave him a quick snarl and a muttered curse before getting back to the job at hand; their clan was professional like that.

Urgak moved back into the troop area, shoving none-too-gently through the mass of ork kommandos until he reached the area that his fellow squad leaders had set up as a makeshift briefing area.

Boss Murdok of Squad Stickyfingaz and Kolonel Blodstugg of the Eyepokerz were huddled around a human radio, listening intently to whatever gibberish the aliens were spouting and occasionally twisting some knobs or dials.   Murdok appeared to be making notes, scribbling glyphs on the flayed skin of what was probably the original pilot of their stolen aircraft.

They looked up as they sensed Urgak approach, and nodded deferentially. Urgak and the Throatcuttaz were well known throughout Barkstudd Blitzdakka’s army as the toughest Ork mob of all.

Some even whispered that Urgak would be a Warboss in his own right if he weren’t so loyal to the Warmasta.

“Wot’s goin’ on?” Urgak growled by way of greeting.

“Da humies and beakies belted the ovva clan boyz up dere,” Murdok pointed toward the ceiling of the Valkyrie.  Murdok showed a decidedly un-Orky melancholy about the deaths of their fellow Orks in the space war; he was a bit strange like that.

Urgak didn’t bother replying. Why would anyone care that the Goffs, Bad Moonz, and other clans in orbit had been slaughtered by the Imperial forces?  Only Blood Axe lives mattered in this war.

The Sergeant looked at the decidedly strange Murdok, with his spotless white uniform and serious nature, and grinned; even Blood Axe lives could be expendable under the right circumstances.

“Da Boss knows what ‘e iz doing,” Blodstugg growled, “dem ovva Orkz wuz suppozed ta lose dis time ’round.”  The Kolonel slapped his hands together to punctuate this point, his medals jangling with the violent movement.

Urgak grunted in agreement.  What was it Barkstudd had said back on the farm world?

“It’ll give da humies a ‘false sense of sah-cure-it-ee’,” The Sergeant was quite proud of remembering the briefing considering it had been well over a month ago, even if he wasn’t completely sure of what the boss had been talking about.

That settled, Urgak adjusted his camouflage uniform – replete with black chestplate taken from a dead beakie many years ago – and moved off through the crowd, completing his rounds.

He watched with amusement as some of his squad held a grot out the side door of the aircraft by his ears, the little creature struggling desperately to sink his sharp teeth into the hand of one of his captors in an utterly futile and incredibly stupid attempt at escape.

They weren’t really going to drop him anyway; gretchin-shaped missiles killing cattle in the fields outside of the city would be a serious – albeit amusing – breach of operational security.

The grot’s wailing reached an even higher pitch. One of his big, floppy ears had finally begun to tear under the strain. Urgak was about to step in and chastise his boys when Three pulled the struggling creature back inside the door and twisted its head right off, tossing the remains into a cargo locker filled with similar gretchin bits. The Sergeant’s chest swelled with pride at the display.

Now that was true Blood Axe discipline!

***

Private First Class Bohm Lershig of the Saint’s Own Planetary Defence Force was getting rather pissed off at the constant distractions.

First, the Major had come wandering over to do a spot inspection of their Hydra emplacement, leading to much awkward shuffling and strained glances amongst the gunners, and then Bohm’s blasted personal vox had gone off with a call from his wife, making him miss his turn.

Now there was an incredibly annoying high pitched whine coming from the west, sounding like the nagging voice of his Mother-in-Law magnified to an Emperor-damned degree.

It was hard to tear his eyes off the naked forms of the two joy-girls as they writhed around in the muddy trench with a cluster of his fellow PDFers, but the piercing cry was getting closer to their position, and it was accompanied now by a throaty rumble.

Finally, the flotilla of Valkyries came into view, flying in a loose – very loose – chevron formation.  Bohm rolled his eyes in disgust as he noticed one or two of the flyers juddering awkwardly and dropping out of formation.

Bloody flyboys were the laughing stock of the planet, their lack of discipline was extraordinary!

Shrugging his shoulders, Bohm dropped his pants and jumped down into the trench with the girls, deciding not to worry about stupid, arrogant Air Command and their complete lack of piloting skill or basic military precision.

He failed to notice when some of the Valkyries peeled off from the formation, flying towards various important military bases and government facilities spread throughout the city.

Fully half flew towards the Governor’s palace.

One of them came directly towards their cluster of anti-air emplacements.

“What in the Saint’s name is that?”

Bohm heard the shouted oath coming from outside the trench, could sense his squad starting to move around behind him.  He didn’t really care, it was finally his turn with these luscious beauties before him!

He didn’t register the green-skinned xenos dropping toward his position on pillars of smoke and fire, freshly disgorged from a passing Valkyrie.

He only noticed something was amiss when the girls started screaming, and at first he entirely misinterpreted that little detail.

Finally Bohm looked up as the shadow of the hulking aliens with their whirring blades and strange jetpacks fell over him, and then he began screaming as well.

As it turned out for Private First Class Bohm Lershig, dying with your pants down was far less enjoyable than it sounds.

***

+++Begin Transmission+++

Hail, Citizens of Saint Paedrig’s Pride!

As expected, the alien menace has rallied at the edge of our solar system, preparing to once again attack our most valiant defenders in orbit around The Pride.

The barbaric xenos attack will be utterly futile, of that there can be no doubt.

Led by the Astartes battlebarge ‘White Cloud’, our fleet shall soon triumph once and for all!

Remember: Planetary Defence Force soldiers caught-what?!

*static*

+++End Transmission+++

***

Urgak kicked the door off its hinges, pistols in his hands and a wicked blade held in his teeth.

“…soldiers caught-what?!”

The scrawny human cut off with a squawk as the Sergeant led his Throatcuttaz into the propaganda studio.

The cry of surprise turned to a scream of terror as Two and Five opened fire with their guns, punching large holes in expensive equipment and a couple of humans too paralysed by fear to get out of the way.

“Dat’s enuff you lot!” the Sergeant bellowed.  Two and Five reluctantly released their triggers, moving to join Three, Four, Six, and Lotz by the door, assuming a defensive position in case the building guards tried to stage a counter attack.

Urgak grabbed the one sitting behind the desk, lifting it by its long hair.  The pathetic, pink thing began to squeal like a snotling, crying and gibbering in its piping, irritating voice.  The Sergeant got in close, nose to nose.  He could feel his tusks starting to slowly pierce the soft skin, its uncontrollable shaking only making it worse.

“Read dis.” He growled, dropping it back down into the oversized chair.  The piece of paper the Warmasta had personally given him was not covered in good, honest ork glyphs; instead, it contained the undignified scrawl of the humans, a mass of spindly lines and dots that were completely unintelligible.

The little creature was still mewling and crying.  Urgak slammed his fists onto the desk.  Hard.

“Read dis or die!”

***

+++Begin Transmission+++

H-h-hail, Citizens of Saint Paedrig’s Pride!

*sound of paper shuffling*

We apologise for the technical difficulties experienced earlier, but w-we come to you now with terrible news.

The Imperial VoxProp Network has discovered that the Hearteaters Chapter of Space Marines are in fact renegades excommunicated by the Inquisition, and have been undermining our defences against the hated Orks.

T-t-these traitors have planted explosives all across our world, and even now move to assassinate our beloved governor.

Rise up, beloved citizens of the Pride, rise up and slaughter these treacherous-

*sound of gunfire*

W-wait no, no, I did everything you as-

*human female scream, cut off*

+++End Transmission+++

***

Lontilles’ stared at the vox, struck dumb by the news report.  Surely there could be no truth to the accusations?

“Any word from Lord Kirov?” Frustration once again coloured the Admiral’s words, a bizarre echo of their earlier conversation regarding the enigmatic Astartes.

“No Admiral,” said Lontilles, still staring at the vox in confusion.

“Admiral!” The cry came from one of the lesser fleet officers, who protocol dictated should never even make eye contact with the Admiral, never mind shout at him across the bridge.

“Reports are coming in bearing the Governor’s personal code. There have been several large explosions near the Palace, mostly anti-air defences and munitions depots.”

The officer paused for a moment, trying to find the courage to continue.

“Sir, PDF Valkyries have apparently engaged the Astartes honour guard at the Governor’s order, and at least one Thunderhawk has been knocked out of the sky by Hydras.  It is pandemonium down there!”

Thoughts of proper protocol forgotten, Lontilles looked to the Admiral for guidance.

“Well it appears that that particular question has been answered,” the Admiral muttered to him, before continuing in a louder tone, “Very well then.  Lontilles, order the fleet to bring weapons and shields online.  Ignore the escorts, all vessels are to target White Cloud.“

“Aye, Admiral.”  Lontilles began barking orders into the vox.  After a moment of hesitation, the vessels of the defence fleet began to shift out of position, weapons powering up.

“White Cloud is powering up, Admiral!  They’re hailing us!”

Before the Admiral could so much as open his mouth, the face of Ship-Commander Manu filled the bridge comms-display, his bionic eye glowing with a fierce orange light.

“What is the meaning of this madness?  Your people would attack the Emperor’s own Angels of Death?”

The Admiral stood straight-backed and proud, the perfect image of the indomitable naval officer.  Only Commander Lontilles was in a position to see the slight shake of his hands.

“We have received reports that your Chapter are traitors, sir, and that you have undermined the planet below in order to allow the xenos to capture this world.  Even now your forces are attacking the Governor’s palace.”

Manu spat to the side of the display, “This is an outrage, how dare yo-”

“Sir, I am an Admiral of the Imperial Navy, and I demand that you surrender your vessel pending a full investigation-”

“You demand?” Manu growled, spittle flying, “Pathetic, insignificant, mortal worm, you would demand anything from your betters?”

“Multiple weapon locks,” buzzed one of the shield servitors.

“A Hearteater never surrenders.  Perhaps you will realise that when we have scuttled your vessel.”

The display cut before the Admiral could respond.

For one lingering moment, Lontilles stared into the Admiral’s eyes, the eyes of a man who had fought for almost two centuries in the Emperor’s name.

Those eyes were terrified.

***

Urgak stared out of one of the massive windows of the Imperial VoxProp Network tower, looking over a city covered in smoke and belching flames.

His soldiers had worked their way through the entire building, slaughtering any humans they came across.  Resistance had been light, and they had managed to prevent word of their attack getting out.

Urgak grinned toothily.  It wouldn’t have made much difference if word had gotten out, not with the chaos that the Warmasta’s plan had caused amongst the human and beakie defenders.

He gazed up into the night sky, watching the flashes of weapon strikes as the ships protecting Saint Paedrig’s Pride turned upon each other.  The void war would be every bit as fierce as the orgy of bloodshed the ork kommandos had begun on the surface.

Even as he watched, a squad of jump-pack equipped space marines landed on a nearby roof, carving their way through the defenders of the anti-air battery therein like so much raw squig meat.  It was like that all through the city, humans slaughtering humans without any idea that their real enemy was already amongst them.

Sergeant Urgak looked to the sky again, awaiting the telltale signs that would indicate that the regrouped ork fleet had come back for another go.

This time the result would be quite different.

***

“Do you hear that Captain?”

The explosions were close now, and with them the faint echo of gunfire.

“That is the sound of my world rising up against the treacherous Hearteaters, the animals who would dare threaten their beloved governor!”

Bzzt-click.  Bzzt-click.  Bzzt-click.

The Governor laughed and laughed and laughed.

“ENOUGH!” cried Kirov, unable to stand it anymore. “Why have you done this?”

“Why, Captain?”

The Governor shifted forward, finally moving into the light.  Kirov could not feel fear, but he felt a spike of something very close to it.

The Governor was huge, easily taller than even the largest of the Astartes, but cadaverous, like a desperate, starving predator.  He wore a uniform patterned along the same lines as that of a Titan Princeps, only midnight black with red piping, stretched tight across his massive shoulders.  One sleeve was cut off to accommodate a mechanical fist easily capable of crushing a man, the fingers razor-edged talons.   His huge augmetic jaw, still chewing a priceless cigar, was stamped with the cog-and-skull symbol of the Mechanicus.

His skin was a green so dark as to be almost black.

“I did this because I could,” said Barkstudd Blitzdakka, ork warlord, self-proclaimed Warmasta and recently named Governor of Saint Paedrig’s Pride. As he spoke his flawless, cultured Gothic, he glanced briefly at the remains of the previous Imperial Governor, whose last words had been to name this monster his successor.

The distinction had seemed quite important to the ork at the time.

“I did this because your Imperium did something to me a long time ago,” he reached across the desk, claw closing almost gently around Captain Kirov’s skull.

“I did this because your Imperium created an abomination in me, a not-quite-human, not-quite-ork, not-quite-anything.”

He began to squeeze.  Kirov squirmed, eyes bulging, tensing against the vice-grip of the monstrous xenos.

“I did this,” Blitzdakka grunted, his voice suddenly losing all pretence of culture or humanity “to send a message,”

Kirov struggled not to scream as the pressure increased; the claws were piercing his skin, his bones, his brain.

“The Warmaster wants to play.”

Captain Kirov felt no more.

***

+++Begin Transmission+++

Citizens of Saint Paedrig’s Pride.

This is your new Governor speaking.

The Space Marines and Imperial Navy in orbit have been wiped out by the combined ork fleet.  Ork warriors on the ground have already cut the heart from your defences, and even now are mopping up what pathetic remnants still hold out against them.

In short, you are helpless.

If you look to the sky, you will see asteroids populated by thousands of greenskins falling toward the earth, even as landing craft begin to ferry the rest of the orks to the surface.

There is no hope left in fighting. There is only death.

Surrender and you will be spared.  I have need of labourers and administrators to help build new vehicles and equipment for my forces, to manage my army and resources.

Your Imperium will come soon.  They will not try to save you, they will slaughter you in an attempt to hurt my own troops. They care nothing for you or your loyalty.

Your only chance of survival is compliance.

I am the Warmaster Barkstudd Blitzdakka, Warlord of the Blood Axe orks and Governor of Saint Paedrig’s Pride.

You belong to me now.

+++End Transmission+++