Chapter 16

  The big fire-tank was magnificent. It ploughed through the burning plains, its twin flamers spewing great gouts of fire at nothing in particular. Rocks melted. Scrap-heaps glowed red-hot. It was loud, it was pointless, and it was shooting at things for no reason. For a moment, I felt a surge of pride. The blue boy was learning.

  “Heh heh heh,” a low chuckle rumbled beside me. Gitsmasha was watching the spectacle, his iron jaw hanging open in admiration. “Look at ‘im go, Boss. He’s a natural.”

  “He’s a fake,” I grunted, though I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “A good fake, mind you. But he ain’t one of us.”

  Rukkit’s voice crackled over the vox again, filled with the pure, unadulterated joy of a Speed Freek who’d just been given the best gift imaginable. “Boss! What’re yer orders? Do we krump it? Or do we race it?”

  “You play with it, Rukkit,” I ordered, my eyes scanning the terrain south of the besieged forge. “It’s a new toy. Don’t break it too fast. Make a show of it. Let all the Boyz see what happens when a ‘Umie tries to be kunnin’.”

  The Speed Freeks needed no further encouragement. A swarm of Warbuggies and bikes erupted from the gloom, not charging the Redeemer head-on, but swerving and circling it like squig-hounds around a wounded beast. They fired their guns into the air, whooped and hollered over their engines, and generally treated the whole affair as a grand parade held in their honour. The blue boys’ big, scary distraction was now the main attraction in a Speed Freek circus.

  Dull, who had been hiding behind my throne, peeked out. “Is… is that it, Boss? Is that their big plan?”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Nah, ya git,” I said, patting Zolk’s neck. The Squigosaur was watching the distant Land Raider with a bored expression. He knew, just like I did, that it wasn’t the real fight. “That’s the shiny bit. The thing you’re s’posed to look at.”

  My gaze settled on a squat, ugly-looking building a few klicks from the forge, connected by a series of massive, rusty pipes. The aqueduct pumping station. The place where Nob Murg and his Boyz had had so much fun smashing things up a few days ago.

  “The real fight,” I said, mostly to myself, “is the quiet bit you’re not s’posed to see.”

  It was clever. Orky, even. The blue boy knew we’d all be drawn to the big, noisy, flaming tank. He was counting on it. While we were all laughing at the Redeemer, he’d send a smaller mob of his best Boyz to take back the water-pump. He was thinking like a Runtherd, creating a distraction to move the herd.

  But I was a Warboss. And I see the whole field.

  “Gitsmasha,” I barked. The big Nob tore his eyes away from the fire-show. “Get Murg and his smasha-nobz. And get Skraggit’s boyz, the sneaky ones. Tell ‘em to go wait by the big pipes. Tell ‘em the blue boys are comin’ to try and turn the water back on.”

  Gitsmasha’s grin was pure murder. “A proper ambush, Boss?”

  “Nah,” I said, heaving myself up. “An ambush is sneaky. This is a welcome party. I want ‘em to let the ‘Umies get right inside the pump-house. Let ‘em think they’ve won. Then, you lock the doors, and you show ‘em what a proper Ork scrap looks like up close.”

  “Heh heh. Right you are, Boss.” Gitsmasha lumbered off, bellowing orders into his vox.

  I gave Zolk a kick. “Come on, lad. Let’s go get a good spot. The real show’s about to start.”

  We thundered off the ridge, leaving the sounds of Rukkit’s party behind us. Zolk was practically vibrating with excitement now, the low growl returning to his chest. He could smell it. The scent of a real, proper, bloody fight. The blue boy had tried to out-Ork me. He’d made a loud, pointless, fiery distraction, and it was brilliant. But he’d made one mistake. He’d forgotten that while some Orks are watching the show, the rest of us are waiting for the main event.