Sooner or Later

It was long past midday, and Big Mek Tinka Zizzbitz was still asleep. Urtylug usually did not tolerate such indolence. He figured that everyone else should be up before he was, anything else was muckin’ about and punishable by a good krumpin’. But not Zizzbitz. Urtylug knew he could count on the Big Mek to be around when he was needed. Zizzbitz actually seemed to have a sixth sense about that, anything blown up or fried or borked or fallen apart, he would be there cobbling up a fix before anyone could even go report to him. At any rate, Zizzbitz literally slept with one eye open. That prosthetic eye of his constantly streamed images into his brain, and the Big Mek could be roused at a moment’s notice. But Urtylug almost never did that. Not even when they got into early morning fights or raids. The reasons were three fold.

Zizzbitz would be up as soon as anything broke anyway, if groggy and downright cranky.

 Urtylug’s own mentor, Waarakton, had once said “A good mek boy ain’t one dat’s always busy an’ ain’t one dat’s always muckin’ about. Da first never gets nuffin finished an’ da second never gets nuffin done. A good mek boy iz sometimes busy, sometimes muckin’ about. An’ da best mek boy iz seems ta be always muckin’ about, but gets busy real fast.”

And Zizzbitz had one time saved Urtylug’s life.

Orks barely have any hierarchy. There are grots, there are boyz, and there are warbosses. But all boyz are theoretically equal, and the Warboss is always one good krumpin’ away from being replaced. Orks don’t have any proper familiar bonds either. They have tribes and WAAAGHs, but both are easily banded or disbanded, joined or left. They have no fathers to revere or overthrow, no brothers to support or betray. When the Ork to your left gets his leg blown up and can’t walk anymore, that’s his problem and actually benefits you, more to krump for yourself. Sure, there is some community in a tribe, but a mekboy is as likely to fix as experiment on or sabotage completely your trukk, and a painboy is as likely to as fix you up with a prosthetic as experiment on you while you’re under. Every Ork for himself would dissolve a tribe or even a WAAAGH quickly, and having so understood the community structure of Orks somewhat, many a human and Eldar alike have concluded that Orks are really not that big of a threat. Without necessary hierarchy, the infighting would eventually ruin them. And they repeat their findings to themselves as their worlds are overcome by the green wave.

Here’s the thing. Everyone knows that Orks can be brutal in their cunnin’, but few realize that there is cunnin’ in their brutality. They recognize that you can krump far larger enemies and loot far grander prizes when you work together. They may scatter when they get their shares of the loot, but they’re just as likely to band together for more krumpin’ and lootin’, even without a hierarchy, even without familiar or any real bonds holding each other down. That’s how Orks like it and that’s how Orks do it: Chaotic faceless green masses working together for a singular goal, fightin’, krumpin’, lootin’, and winnin’.

As such, after being told how to tell a good mekboy from a bad one, not-yet-Warboss Urtylug went looking for a first mate in the pits of the Loot-Havva. If he was going to go and krump Gennarul Waarakton and become the Warboss of the Scraplootas, Urtylug was definitely sure he wanted a good Mekboy as a second hand man. It was about the loot after all. Orks came and go, but the Warboss’s loot lasted forever, even if the Warboss didn’t, and he was going to need someone he could trust to keep all of the loot and the equipment in working order at all times.

After going through the majority of the Mekboyz in the ship, he found Zizzbitz in the middle of being krumped by a nob for muckin’ about. Not that the nob was doing much of anything. The then-mekboy had simply turned his back to the nob and was picking his nose, waiting for the nob to finish kicking at him. It was probably still a good krumpin’ by any standards, Zizzbitz was just too lazy to give the nob the benefit of groveling or fighting back and showing that he was indeed quite sorry for mucking about and the nob was in the right for krumpin’ him.  Urtylug liked that style, it was easy to tell who was in control of the situation here, and it might not have been proppa Orky, but well, Urtylug wasn’t completely proppa Orky either. He intervened and krumped the git nob good.

“Oi, whut’s goin’ on here, Mekboy?”
Zizzbitz put his hands on his lower back and stretched, pretending he wasn’t covered in bruises, “Not much, ya just interrupted me afternoon massage iz all.”
“I could continue for dat git if ya want.”
“Nah. I’m all loosened up now anyhow.” Zizzbitz nodded at Urtylug in thanks, “So, ya got sumfin’ for me ta do? Tell a grot in my workshop, an’ I’ll get to it sooner or later.”
“Why iz you muckin’ about when other mekboyz ‘ave their hands full?”
Zizzbitz shrugged and looked at the bigger Ork in the eyes, “Why do the other mekboyz ‘ave their hands full when dere ain’t nuffin ta do?”
“But it’ ain’t Orky to be muckin’ about like dis.”
“Den give me sumfin’ ta do, ya git.”
“I got nuffin fer ya ta do.”
“Den dere you go. We iz done ‘ere. Whut else do I ‘ave ta do ‘sides muck about?”
Urtylug smiled despite himself, this was the mekboy he’d been looking for. “Well, den, I got a proposal fer ya. ‘Ow would ya like ta be my Big Mek when I’m Warboss?”
“An’ when’s dat?”
Real snappy this one, “Ask a grot in my workshop, ya git, I’ll get to it sooner or later,” Urtylug was real snappy himself.
The Mekboy nodded his head, not bad, “Alright den, if you ken get alla dese nobs off my case, I’ll do alla ya mek work for ya, and we can go over all dat Big Mek and Warboss talk some more sooner or later, sound good?”
“Den we got ourselves a deal. I’m Urtylug Dursnik.” He spat into his hand and extended it.
“I’m Tinka Zizzbitz,” Zizzbitz spat in his own hand and accepted Urtylug’s.
A deal between Orks mean grot fart all until it was time to collect, most times.

In the middle of battle with Dark Eldar, Urtylug felt his power klaw failing.
It was a lucky hit by one of those sneaky gits. Urtylug did shoot him in the face for it, but the damage was done, and now he might as well have slag where his choppin’ arm was. It did not abate his lust for war, but he was getting hit more and more. Suits him right for wading into the thick of it to krump more of those pointy-‘eads. It was the first clash with this particular group of Dark Eldar, and many of the Orks had underestimated their opponent. Nobs were being taken down without much of a dent in the Dark Eldar forces. Urtylug felt himself get heavier, and a blow from behind forced him to his knees. He watched in a detached manner as a Dark Eldar prepared to execute him with a particularly nasty looking sword. Ah well. At least he went down fightin’ and krumpin’. A proppa Orky end. Shame about never becoming Warboss.

Before he could lunge at the Dark Eldar in one last act of defiance, it, and everything around it was blown to bits by a rocket from the sky. Urtylug himself was also knocked on his back, but he was quickly up again. Another blast sent another group of Dark Eldar flying. It was a good sized rocket, stuffed so full of explosives that it did more dropping to earth than rocketing. Urtylug waved to the stormboy above as he made another pass, this time dropping off an Ork with a launcher.
“Whut’s da big idea, ya git? Dyin’ before I’m Big Mek.” It was Zizzbitz.
“I wuz just testin’ ta see if ya remembered, iz all.” Zizzbitz helped Urtylug up, and they both started shooting into the Dark Eldar around them.
“Whu’ts wrong wid ya power klaw? Too ‘eavy for ya?”
“Some git got a good hit on me, and it ain’t workin’ no more.”
“I fink I see da problem.” He fired off the launcher again to clear some breathing room, “Hold dem off an’ I’ll fix ya up proppa like.”
Fixes in the middle of battle were never quick and always temporary, often breaking again before the battle was through. But Urtylug felt his power klaw jerk back to life only a few moments after Zizzbitz started, and it felt like it was about as good as new. Zizzbitz stopped working on it just in time for Urtylug to catch one of the Dark Eldar and crush its head with it.
“Dat’s some nice work dere, Mekboy.”
“Only da best for you. Now ‘ow’s we go and regroup with da uddas?”
“Waarakton’s orders?”
“He wants alla ‘is Swashkrumpers an’ Kommandoz back. Need ta go back an’ plan out strategy I fink. Dese pointy-‘eads are a right cunnin’ bunch, and da Warboss wants us ta be as equally cunnin’ but more brutal.” Zizzbitz loaded another rocket into the launcher and fired it off, clearing a path back to the main group of Orks, “After you den, ya grot?”
Urtylug smiled at the Mekboy and charged into the quickly closing hole made in the Dark Eldar forces. Smashing in those pointy helmets with one hand and perforating body armor with the other, Urtylug was having a grand old time. Sure, maybe this wasn’t proper winnin’, but they would eventually. Orks always fought until they won. If they seemed to be retreating, it was just because they were done with winnin’ for the day, and would be back later.
And Urtylug would have lost his head while thinking that thought right there and then had Zizzbitz not pushed him out of the way. A Dark Eldar Dracon, with a large bladed trident like weapon snarled at Urtylug, clearly upset he didn’t kill the Ork in one blow. Urtylug bellowed out his own challenge and prepared to fight with the elite warrior.
They exchanged salvos, both of them dancing out of the way. The Dark Eldar then began his assault, first swinging low and then high. Urtylug jumped over the first and ducked the second in anticipation, closing the gap between them two, getting his power klaw in range. The Dracon choked up on his weapon and used it like a spear as Urtylug got closer, these hits Urtylug either parried with the power klaw or dodged out of the way. Then, seizing an opportunity, the Ork smashed his power klaw down, only to hit the dirt as the Dark Eldar hopped nimbly away and out of the range of Urtylug again. Seeing an opening, a Dark Eldar to Urtylug’s left then stabbed some kind of powerblade into the Ork’s side, to the hilt, holding him in place. After crushing its head and helmet with the power klaw, Urtylug concentrated all his might into removing the blade, unable to fight with it in his side. The Dracon leisurely walked towards the Ork, spinning the trident-bladed weapon in his hand. He was promptly blown to bits by a large rocket.
Gasping slightly, Urtylug looked over to Zizzbitz to thank him, but saw the Mekboy was in poor shape. That first slice with the bladed trident had taken out Zizzbitz’s left eye, and blood was pouring from the wound.
“Oi, Zizzbitz, we got ta get you ta a Mad Dok, an’ fast!”
“It’s just an eye, nuffin special. I got a spare anyhow, iz proppa engineerin’ on Mork’s part, as I see it.”
“Nah, we gotta get you patched up. Enuff muckin’ about.”
With only the frontline left and a grievous wound each, the two stumbled back into the Ork forces.

Urtylug was patched up quicker than Zizzbitz, seeing that he didn’t need any prosthetics and krumped any painboy that suggested he did. He went to go see how Zizzbitz was doing with the Painboss. Entering the Medikal Ward, he found them arguing over the procedure. Zizzbitz was trying to design his own eye, and the Painboss didn’t see anything wrong with the eyes he already had. Zizzbitz’s head was swathed in bandages, with only his right eye poking through, no doubt the work of an overzealous nurse grot. He waved as Urtylug walked into his field of vision, “I see you’re still alive, ya git.” His voice was slightly muffled.
“Disappointed? Now whut’s da ‘old up ‘ere?”
“Painboss says I gotta take one uv dese eyes, an’ I know da Mekboy dat makes dese. I might as well try seein’ wid a rock.”
“Just get one fer now an’ replace it later.”
“I ain’t trustin’ dese mad doks wid my ‘ead twice, if dey gotta put me unda, it’s only ‘appenin’ once.”
Zizzbitz had a point. You could wake up without a head if they got absentminded and overly excited.
“Den walk around like a right git wid a ‘ole in ya ‘ead den, see if I care,” Urtylug’s expression then softened, “Anyways, about dat battle today—”
“Whut? Iz you getting’ soff? ‘Ow do ya expecta become Warboss if ya not ded ‘ard?” Zizzbitz was probably smiling under all those bandages. It was hard to tell.
“I wuz gonna say dat launcha uv yours wuz proppa Orky iz all, almost enough dakka fer da moment.”
“Almost?”
“Never enough dakka.” To which Zizzbitz frowned, but nodded. It wouldn’t be proppa Orky if there was enough dakka. Time to put that on the to do list.
“Anyway, ya git, when iz you gonna be Warboss? Gonna need good gubbins fer dis new eye uv mine. And I won’t find sumfin’ like dat in scrap.”
“Sooner or later, Zizzbitz. Sooner or later.”

And it was sooner or later that Urtylug found himself contemplating his relationships over a nice mug of tea in the hallway by Zizzbitz’s door. They were both busy these days, being Big Mek and Warboss and all. Never much of a chance for a nice long chat these days. He watched a grot with its arms full teeter towards the Big Mek’s door and shouted out, “Oi, whut you think yer doin’?”
A blue face poked over the top of the box, “Not much, Warb-Kaptin. Just deliverin’ some fresh gubbins to Tinka’s room.”
“Well, da git iz sleepin’, so do dat later.”
The door to the room open, “Not any more, Kaptin,” Zizzbitz then turned his attention to Blue, “Alright ya git, whut didja find?”
Urtylug shrugged and turned to go do other Kaptin things before turning back.
“Big Mek.”
“Yeah Kaptin?”
“When do ya think you’ve got time ta muck about?”
“‘Ard ta say, Kaptin. Always sumfin’ new for the Big Mek to do.” Zizzbitz smiled though, “I fink I can find da time to muck about later today.”
“I’ll have a mug uv tea waitin’ at my Kwarters. We got lootin’ ta discuss.”
“Alright den, Kaptin. I’ll bring da monocle an’ top’at.”
“You do dat. See you later den, Zizzbitz.”
“See ya sooner, Urtylug.”