Brains everywhere

Working like a grot trying to wall up a gap in a gnasher-squig pen, I’d opened up the whole of Ghazghkull’s bonce, and laid it out in bits on the floor of his throne-chamber, all the while hoping nobody walked in on me. It was a miserable situation for brain surgery to begin with, what with the dim red emergency lights, and the stench of the squigs and all. But it got worse, fast.
When the subs at the front of the fleet burst through the defensive perimeter of the human sea wall, the hive’s defenders scrambled their bombers, and started filling the sea around us with depth charges. They launched too late to actually cause much damage, mind, since the subs were wrapped up in spaceship metal after all. Think they only managed to sink a couple of dozen boats, if I remember right. But the rocking of the hull, and the constant zoggin’ concussion waves from the blasts, really tested my detail work. For almost every bloodpipe I managed to close up in the boss’ knotted great ball of a brain, it seemed another got tore open when an explosion knocked my hand.
Still, what I lack in precision, I’ve always made up for in speed. I was makin’ progress. And as we passed under the bombardment, I got every rupture in the Prophet’s brain closed up. I even charged it with a few gobfuls of my own genius blood, so it’d have enough juice in it to think with, once I got his hearts started.
And I swear, for all that I hate both of the gits, thank Gork and Mork I managed to get his skull bolted together, with just an instant to spare, before our keel hit the beach.

Ghazghkull Thraka: Prophet of the WAAAGH!