Gettin' Things Rollin'

Blue was making her way back to the Mek shop, with the arm load of scrap she'd bought off some boys with her eccess teef. She had some good bits from a hover tank she wanted to try to use in her Drohn Shield to make it good for smakkin' gits. She reaches her personal corner and walks by Mr Squigg, who was lieing lazily on the floor. Dumping her load on her work table, she pulls out some schematics and pours over them.

"If I c'n hook the hover pad gubbins to the outer shell, and run it on low, it should make the shield a little stronga, and then rig a pressure trigga to blast in on hi when it use it to krump somethen'..."
She plucked the converted Tau drone from the wall, and pried the metal casing open, and began to work on the insides. As she continued to work, she started hearing a sound, subtle at first, but gradually growing louder. She didn't pay it any mind at first, but it was constant and growing steadily louder, distracting her from her project. What was it? Stomping? No, that wasn't it, it sounded like several feet hitting the ground in unison. What was the word? She curled her mouth thoughtfully. That was it! Marching.

A growl from her pet caught her attention, and she turned to look outside to the ship's hold. What greeted her sight was several Grots, marching in unison. They kept getting closer to her hub, then all at once came to a halt, turning about face in her direction.
Blue was overcome with unease. Ten, fifteen, there must have been nearly thirty Grots at her doorstep. Normaly Grots didn't intimidate her at all, but with these numbers, they could probably krump a Nob without much difficulty.
She started to reach for her shoota on the wall, when a lone grot moved forward from the rest of the group. He was smartly dressed in a fitted uniform, complete with hat, and had a uncharacteristically commanding presence.

Blue tried to hide her fear as the gretchin walked inside.
"Whatcha want, ya git?" She spoke in a harsh tone, so he wouldn't get any ideas about who was boss.
"Call me Pa'mmol." the Grot answered. "I've come fa bussiness."
"Bus'ness?" she said, calming down a bit. "What kina' bus'ness?"

The Grot reached into his coat and produced a rolled paper.
"I want ya ta build this." he explained, handing it to her. She took it and unfurled it. On it was a somewhat crude, yet admittedly detailed blueprint for a small tank. She looked over it silently for over a minute. "Well?" Pa'mmol said expectantly.
"No sweat." Blue retorted. "I could build this in ma sleep." The design wasn't anything too complicated. Building it would take a little work, but it looked like fun.

"Glad to hear it." Pa'mmol said flatly. "'Cause I want twenty of them."

Blue jerked her head up. "Bwuwhahuh?!" she gargled in bewilderment. "Twenny'? Ar ya daft?! Do you have any idea how much scrap that'll take? Not to mention how much teef it cost!"
Pa'mmol raised a hand and snapped his fingers. Two more grots walked in carrying a heavy metal case. They plopped it down on the floor, and one opened it. It was full to the brim with teef. The sheer volume mesmerized blue, there could be over a thousand teef in that case.
"Is this sufficient?" Pa'mmol said.

Blue turned to him slowly. "How soon do ya need em'?"

"Take your time." he assured. "I came to ya cause I heard you did propa quality. Don't want to muck that up. My boys will assist ya in getting together any scrap y'll need."

"How'd you get all this anyhows?" the blue grot said skeptically.

Pa'mmol adjusted his hat. "Through sacrifice, perseverance, an some right proppa motivation. We as a group have no interested in dieing meaningless deaths just cause we's grots. We came to the conclushan to form this here battalion, and by pulling our resources, aim to make it a reality."
Blue couldn't help but be impressed. It was likely this grot was the reason the others could unite in such a way. She looked at the print again, then at the teef trunk. She gave an enthusiastic shrug.

"We best get started then." She said. "You lot! I'm gonna tell you what I need, and I wan ya to get it fast!"

Pa'mmol gave the slightest of smiles, then turned to his men.
"You 'erd 'er boys, look sharp!"

--

Fire and debris rained down on all around them, as Pa'mmol moved his troops forward. The Killy' Fox came to a halt, as he surveyed the battle field with his eye-scopes. A group of Chaos marines that had been ambushed by Kommandos in the distance, however they were regrouping as some armor support was moving in to join up with them.

He wasn't having any of that.
"All squads, fowad'!" he bellowed into his speaky box, as the five contingents of 4 tanks each surged forward, cutting down any stray marines they happened upon unchallenged.

"Second and third squads, circle round eastward, box them in! I dun wanna any of these gits coming out alive!"

---

Marco cursed as he fended of another Kommando with his power sword. Outmaneuvered, by orks! He had ordered his men to fall back, and they were fighting desperately to keep from getting surrounded. He saw in the distance a squadron of allied tanks making their way to his position. His forces were breaking away from the mob and managed to find some cover. Soon they would make for their armor and counter attack these savages. He looked at the tanks hopefully, then watched as they all simultaneously erupted in to flames. His eyes widened as one flipped over.

Over the horizon he saw them. Five, ten, a whole bloody battalion! They wheeled in from all sides, and he realized to his horror that all paths of escape were cut off. In the distance he could just make out the tank commander's voice.
"ON MOI MARK." the one sitting in the black tank bellowed, hand raised

Marco slumped in defeat. "Outmaneuvered..." he mutterd.

"FIRE!!" Pa'mmol roared, swinging his arm down as the battalion's guns flamed in unison. The whistling screeched in Marcos' ears.

"By Gretchin-" his last words not audible as steel rained down on their position, splattering his men and himself into a gory mess.

Tank Commanda Pa'mmol looked at their handiwork through his scopes. Satisfied, he took out his speaky box.
"Keep movin, ya gits, we got more work to be doing!"

And so the Taink Battalion got rollin', lead by a most brilliant Cammanda. By orc standards, at least.