Editing Strait Shootaz (section)

== Writefaggotry ==

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'''On the Methods of Rationality and Dakka''' by NoGoodIDNames
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"But boss, why we got to do dese drills? We ain't stormboyz, wot's der point?"

Kaptin Blu Toof opened his maw to shout, then shut it again. This, in itself, was a worrying sign. Ever since he'd talked to that Rogue Trader, ever since they'd looted those Tau, he'd started to think before he talked. To the average ork, it either meant the boss was going soft, or he was a real cunning git. Either of which was troubling.

"Boyz," he said, "I seen the troof. It be a hard troof, but dere ain't no denyin it. Da Trader showed me a piece ov it, but I had ta put it togever meself. Dis be a real theological troof, ya get me? I seen da troo difference, da divide... between Gork and Mork. Da troof about dakka itself. Me eyes 'ave beened opened."

He paused. There was silence. Every ork hung on his every word.

"Wot Gork thinks about dakka," he said, "is dat de more dakka yer firin', da better." He pivoted suddenly, leveling his new plasma gat at the ork who'd called out the question, a full two hundred meters away. Again, the orks marveled at the pause he took. The restraint it took, not to immediately fire, but to take the time to AIM.

The burst of blue plasma took the offending ork's head clean off. It staggered for a moment, then fell to the ground. The orks turned back to look at Blu Toof, who lowered his gat with a satisfied expression.

"But Mork," he said, "Mork don't believe dat. What Mork believe is, it don't matter how much dakka yer foirin."

He grinned.

"It's how much dakka HITS"

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'''A Kunnin' Rendevous''' by NoGoodIDNames
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"So why izzit," Blu Toof said, "Dat you won't join me Waaagh?"

Giblitz, Chief Diplomat of the Grotocracy, carefully studied the Warboss while he thought of a suitable response. From head to toe, Blu Toof was a classic Freeboota Kaptin; bedecked in teeth and loot with a fancy hat, and the twang of a Freeboota accent that crept into every Kaptin eventually.

But it was an act. Blu Toof played the part well, and certainly enjoyed doing it, but underneath the veneer of swashbuckelry was a mind known far and wide for bein ded cunnin. According to the orks they'd talked to, he was the wiliest ork in the sector. "When he stops talkin," they said, "dat's when he gets REAL cunnin. Dat's when hez THINKIN." This last word was always spoken in awe.

Which... was good. It was why they were doing business. When it came to cunnin, you'd be hard pressed to find warbands more Morky than the Scraplootas or the Strait Shootaz. But it also meant he had to be very, very careful.

"The Scraplootas are in a good position at the moment," he said. "We have a lot of good contracts, our numbers are growing, and we see no reason why we should give up our independence to join a Waaagh. We've got a good thing going."

Complete nonsense to a normal Warboss. The usual response would be shouting. Or confused shouting. Or violence. Generally violence. But this Kaptin, he just sat there, scratching his enormous blue fang.
 
Thinking.

After a bit he got up and started to walk around the room. It took a while. The room was enormous, a high-roofed and metal, jutting out crazily at angles and festooned with chains, hung with machinery. For the meeting they'd chosen neutral ground, the workshop of a freelance Mekboy they both did a roaring trade with. Of course, Giblitz had paid a hefty bribe to make sure... precautions, had been taken, should the meeting turn violent.

"'Ere's wot I fink." Blu Toof said. "Wot I fink, is dat you an' all yer Grotty boyz know you'se got a real lucky deal wiv dat Spikey Titan, cuz it lets ya do wot you want. An' yer scared, cuz if ye join a propah Waaagh, it'll be back de way it was before, wiv da Orks tellin yas wot ta do. So dat's why yer here, an' not Dursnik. Ta 'protect yer int-er-est'." Ye looked pointedly at Giblitz. "Duzze even know yer 'ere?"

"Of course he does," Giblitz said, stonefaced. That, at least was true. "The Warboss trusts our judgment." That was... less so. Dursnik wasn't a stupid ork, as far as Warbosses went, and he had some notion that the grots on his titan were getting a lot more cunnin than other grots. To this end, he'd asked...er, commanded the grotocracy for "a real cunnin git" to talk out a trade deal with the Strait Shootas. And the grotocracy, in the interests of maintaining the delicate balance of power between Titan and Klan, had sent Giblitz.

Blu Toof eyed him for a good long moment, and Giblitz had the unnerving thought that the Kaptin, in his patient way, was figuring out exactly that. There was silence.

Suddenly Blu Toof guffawed. "Dat's business oi can appreciate, ya sneaky grot!" He sat back down and took a swig of ale from a tanker bigger than the grot's head. Giblitz untensed the slightest bit. "Now, wot's this here deal again? You wants all der loot we'z gotz from dem spikey Koimeera Legion, so's ye can fix up yer Titan, and wot we get iz..."

As if he'd actually forgotten. "The Purvis contract, the Mon'kei contract, six barrels of finest squigale and a purebred Tootheater Squig."

"Roight, roight." The Freeboota paused. "Eard ya got a Bluie on yer Titan. Oi can always use more o'dem."

"Not for sale," Giblitz said firmly.

Blu Toof's eyes narrowed. He erupted suddenly from his chair, slamming his fists on the table and roaring full-blast at the grot.

And all hell broke loose.

At Blu Toof's roar, two Scraploota Boyz burst through the door behind Giblitz with raised choppas, only to halt as the door behind Blu Toof slammed open and four blue-painted Shoota Boyz leveled their Tau-augmented shootas at them, grinning. The same grins vanished as they felt the prick of enormous serrated knives, wielded by the Kommandos that had dropped down behind them.

A large pile of rubbish in the corner came to life as three Tin Boyz. They in turn were swarmed by a horde of grots popping from every conceivable nook and cranny in the room, who proceeded to pry at the robot's joints until they became aware of the laser sights sweeping across them from the rafters.

The rafters themselves unfolded to become long, painted railguns, the decorative lighting ('why did I think there would be decorative lighting in a mekboy shop', thought Giblitz) in fact the helmeted heads of the Strait Shootas' infamous snipers.

A crude rocket smashed itself into pieces to reveal half a dozen Scraploota Stormboyz, who rocketed towards the snipers in a blast of exhaust. Halfway there they were intercepted by the Strait Shootas' own Stormboyz, jumping from their custom drones to tackle the Scraplootas to the ground.

As the climax of the grand crescendo, an entire wall of the room fell outwards, exposing a looted Leman Russ tank crewed by grots. Everyone froze as it rumbled forward a meter or two, then stopped. The turret suddenly gave out the sound of gasping hydraulics and sagged downwards.

A grot popped up from the tank's hatch. "Pump feed's gone missin', boss," he said. "Can't find it anywhere."

Blu Toof started to chuckle. It grew and grew until he was laughing uncontrollably. "Dat sneaky mek!" he wheezed. "Looks loike e's more cunnin den either ov us!"

He managed to calm himself down. "Well den," he said, "Looks loik we've got ourselves a standoff. Wot do ya t'ink we should do about dat?"

Giblitz became aware, in the silence, of faint noises of a struggle coming from above the ceiling. He'd put his last ace in the whole up there, but judging by the cries of "OI IZ DA NOIGHT" and "Oh, yer a big one, ain't yez!", Derknitt, Snekkit, and Rockeater had become occupied with fighting some... thing, in the hidden space. They seemed to be having some difficulty.

He tried to think. It was a test, wasn't it? The average ork, he wouldn't hesitate to scrap it out like this. But Blu Toof was ded cunnin, they all said. He wouldn't waste his boyz on a fight like this.
In that case, there was only one thing to do. He set his jaw and looked at Blu Toof. "I fink we should 'ave it out," he said. "Just you an' me."

Finally, he managed to surprise the Kaptin. His mouth swung open, his tooth angled crazily. "U wot?" he managed.

"Me an' you, scrap it out." Giblitz said. "If yez think yer 'ard enuff."

There was another long pause. The temporarily paused brawl of orks, locked at each others throats, looked at the Freeboota as he stood there. Thinking.

And suddenly he was laughing again, in great bursts that were almost as intimidating as his roaring. "You cheeky grot!" he said. "Oi fink I 'ave you pinned and you go and do dat!"

As one, the ork klans released their holds and separated, standing awkwardly.

"Wot oi say iz, we getz da Purvis contract, da Monkay contract, AND de Orvitur contract," Blu Toof said. "An' I'll give ya de spoils from da next raid we hit dem spiky boyz wiv. I'll even frow in a noice 'ammerhead gun, you can mount on yer Titan." He paused. "An' dis tankard 'ere. Oi know ol' Dursnik loikes cups'n'such."

"That... will be acceptable," said Giblitz.

They shook hands, one completely enveloped in the other's. The ork forces began filing out.

At the last moment, Blu Toof turned back. "Oh, one more fing."

"Magrumm!" he shouted at the ceiling. "Give 'em back deir pump feed!"

A battered pump feed dropped from the ceiling. The sounds of fighting resumed.


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'''Excerpt from: “Under Da Boot: Slave Life among the Greenskins”'''
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My job amidst their indentured forces was to deliver ammo to the ork shootas, as they practice their aim in the grand shooting range. A task commonly filled by their smaller kin, the grots. Blue Toof’s care for not wasting materials lended him to use humans and tau while on the range, so that we didn’t just refill an ork weapon infinitely and waste valuable ammunition. To think I waited on these Xeno filth like a common house servant, it nearly stains my noble soul. But this is not the strangest twist on what I’m informed is common ork behaviour.

By only giving the orks on the range a set amount of munitions, a test of gunnery knowledge is laid. Most of the orks run out of ammunition at around the same time, roaring and complaining that they ran out of ammo and eventually leaving the grounds to eat or commit some other xeno atrocity. But a few of the boys always seem to be a bit slower, remaining in the room a while after their brethren. Often this is just a weapon malfunction, or the boy’s a git. But on occasion one of the shootas has some deeper insight. This is far more frequent to see when Blue Toof himself makes an appearance, giving the ork equivalent to a rousing speech on how important it is to hit your target when you fire at it.

Most recently, one ork named ‘Nadesmasha, remained on the range alone when the Kaptain approached him. Translated from orkish dialect, He asked the boy why he was taking so long to fire his shots. The reply was since the range targets weren’t moving, he wasn’t in danger, and could take his time shooting at them so all the targets were hit. That way he got the most dakka out of his bullets, since if they all hit, he got the most dakka out of his gun. Blue toof laughed then called me over, refilling the orks ammo with 50 shots. He then threatened the boy, giving him 1 minute to hit each of the 30 targets down range, or he’d “Krump is zoggin ‘ead off”.

I counted 60 seconds through the repeated gun shots aloud for them, not that you could well hear anything with a Ork Shoota going off next to you. Shell after shell rang out, a flurry sustained by the now terrified boys roar as he fired. When I reached 60, Blue toof yanked the gun out of the boyz hand, and counted two shells remaining. I almost interjected myself to point out the ork put to the test had only successfully hit 22 of the 30 targets, but the Kaptain didn’t even bother looking.

He grasped the boyz shoulder, and they walked off to the armory. It took me a year to realize the ork warboss knew he could just let the orks have all the ammo they want in a proper fight, and they’d turn the tides of battle. It was not wasting it under pressure that he was after. So strong is his desire for loot, and impressed that the young ork had not wasted it, that ‘Nadesmasha was given charge of some vaguely Tau looking energy weapon and told to join the ranks of the Loota’s that day.

[[Category: Warhammer 40,000]]

[[Category: /tg/ 40,000]]

[[Category: Xenos]]

[[Category: Tau]]

[[Category: Orks]]