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Da Red Gobbo's Last Stand – Extract

A Black Library Publication

eBook license

1

A high-pitched shriek filled the empty corridors of the ork Ram ship, followed by the pounding of iron-shod boots on metal. A panic-filled grot bolted through the sleeping quarters of Da Jolly Smasha, pursued by an ork foaming at the mouth, intent on murder.

‘Keep it down, Bodgit. I’m tryin’ to get sum shut-eye!’ yawned Snotz from a high perch, ignoring the drip hanging from his nose. The sticky droplet fell off the grot’s nostril and landed on Bodgit’s head with a satisfying plop.

Bodgit ignored the snot and sprinted through the chamber, his instincts driving him to escape. His breath was heavy as his lungs screamed for relief. He risked a glance over his shoulder, hoping the first mate had turned his fury towards the half-awake Snotz, but his heart sank – the ork’s bulging eyes were fixated on him.

The metal door ahead was closed, but like everything on Da Jolly Smasha, it was prone to malfunctioning. Bodgit lowered his head and charged forward, silently praying to one of the ork gods – probably Gork, definitely not Mork – that the door lock wasn’t working.

A loud clang filled the corridor as it sprung open, narrowly missing a gretchin carrying a flagon of squig grog in the next room.

‘Watch out, Bodgit!’ yelled Klutz, spinning on the spot but miraculously keeping the contents of the flagon from spilling everywhere.

‘Soz!’ wheezed Bodgit without stopping as he bolted past.

‘Wot are yoo runnin’ from anyway?’ shouted Klutz after the departing grot.

Bodgit didn’t reply; he was focused on putting as much distance as possible between him, the ork, and a kicking.

A crescendo of cursing and shrieking stopped Bodgit in his tracks. He looked back to see Klutz covered head to toe in squig grog. The pursuing first mate had tumbled over the grot and was now wearing some of the kaptin’s beverage.

‘Oi! Stay right dere!’ screamed the ork, pointing a finger at him, before slipping on the spilt grog and flattening Klutz again.

‘No chance!’ Bodgit said, sticking his tongue out as he jumped into a hole and slid down the ladder to the next level.

‘Yoo little git!’ bellowed the ork after him, but Bodgit had already scampered off into the darkness.

Scurrying through the dank cargo hold, Bodgit carefully picked a path through the assortment of humie tech, weapons and junk. He turned a corner and immediately tumbled over a crouched shape he had failed to spot in the gloom.

‘Oi! Who’s dat?’ said a gruff voice.

‘Who’s dat?’ replied Bodgit.

‘Me!’ came the predictable reply.

Bodgit fished around in his pockets, trying to remember where he put it. He cursed under his breath in realisation – the object he sought was still strapped around his head! He turned on the electro-lamp, immediately blinding a podgy, bad-tempered grot shielding his eyes.

‘Argh! Bright light!’

‘Shuddup!’ snapped Bodgit, continuing to direct his beam into the podgy gretchin’s face.

‘Where did ya get dat ’eadlamp from, anyway?’ asked the temporarily blinded Flitnog.

‘Found it, didn’t I?’ Bodgit grinned, patting the recently acquired object on his head.

Trying to pinpoint the source of the offending electro-lamp or Bodgit’s neck, Flitnog stumbled forward, hands outstretched. Finally, he got close enough to seize Bodgit and shove his head in a different direction.

‘Dat’s betta! Now den, wotcha doin’ down here?’ said Flitnog.

‘Nuffink…’ lied Bodgit.

Heavy footsteps and a screech of frustration came from the floor above.

‘Dat don’t sound like nuffink,’ whispered Flitnog. ‘Have yoo been stealin’ from da orks again?’

‘Maybe I ’ave, maybe I ’aven’t,’ replied Bodgit.

‘Maybe one of dese days, ya gonna get shoved out of da airlok,’ said Flitnog, shaking his head.

‘Wot’re yoo doin’ down ’ere?’ asked Bodgit.

‘Countin’ stikkbombs. Kaptin’s orders.’

‘In da dark? An’ just ’ow are yoo supposed to do dat?’ said Bodgit, surprised.

‘I know… I can’t even count past two! Wot’s more, two are missin’. Ya wouldn’t ’appen to know anyfink about dat, would ya?’ said Flitnog.

Bodgit didn’t wait to reply – he was already running across the cargo hold, the electro-lamp guiding his way. He knew the first mate would catch him, but maybe, if he doubled back and hid among the other grots, he could pretend it didn’t happen. But that meant sneaking past the kaptin.

The door from the cargo bay failed to open at first. After several hurried bangs, it finally whined and hissed as it slid sideways. Clanking from the level above urged him onwards through the open doorway.

A mixture of pungent aromas assaulted the grot’s nose as he stepped into a rudimentary kitchen. A mishmash of metal drums sat on burners, bubbling away. The small table in the centre was cluttered with various chopped pieces of squig, while others twitched on large rusty metal hooks swaying from the kitchen ceiling. One lucky creature had managed to hoist itself off its hook, and was now desperately trying to slide away unnoticed. Standing on a metal crate, wearing a grubby chef’s hat and an even grubbier apron, stood a thin grot. The makeshift cook was feverishly stirring away, pausing only to sip from the rusty ladle before continuing to mix the concoction in the pot.

‘Grub ain’t ready yet!’ the grot said without turning.

‘I ain’t after anyfink, Grubwort, ’onest!’ replied Bodgit, walking brazenly through the kitchen, swiping the escaped squig off the floor in the process.

The cook turned and fixed Bodgit with a disapproving stare. ‘Who’s after ya dis time?’ he scoffed.

‘Skrug,’ Bodgit said, his cheeks stuffed with squig flesh.

‘Wouldn’t wanna be yoo right now,’ said Grubwort.

‘Wouldn’t wanna be yoo right now,’ echoed Bodgit, peering over a pot to lick the top of the boiling soup.

‘Aye? ’Ow so?’ asked Grubwort, using his foot to shove Bodgit away.

‘Cos dat needs a lot more squig,’ said Bodgit, narrowly avoiding the rusty ladle thrown by the cook. He stuck out his tongue and clambered up the metal ladder towards the level above.

Lifting the hatch an inch, he peeked through the gap. An iron-shod boot thundered past as one of Kaptin Bludhook’s ork boyz stomped by, unaware the grot was there. Bodgit waited for the ork to clomp out of sight before slowly peeling the trapdoor back and climbing out. He had closed the hatch shut with the smallest of squeaks when a familiar voice broke the silence.

‘Wot do we ’ave ’ere, Skrug?’ said a rumbling voice.

‘A little git who needs a big kickin’!’ came the reply.

Bodgit saw the back of a heavy command throne, emblazoned with the clan’s insignia: a red ork skull and crossed daggers. As the chair slowly spun around, he noticed deep gouges carved into the armrests, each one marking a victory over a lesser foe. Seated in the throne was the imposing figure of Kaptin Bludhook. The ork boss scratched at a scar that stretched from his lip to the metal eye-patch bolted to his face.

Bludhook fixed Bodgit with a piercing glare. The grot quickly averted his eyes, focusing instead on the branded clan insignia adorning the kaptin’s red-and-black-trimmed hat.

Standing silently beside the kaptin was his sneering first mate, Skrug.

‘Aye, I fink yer onto sumfink dere, Skrug,’ Bludhook said, nodding. He leaned forward, pointing his wicked-looking hook at Bodgit and gesturing for him to step closer. ‘Get over ’ere!’ he bellowed.

Bodgit gulped and shuffled closer towards the kaptin.

‘Closer…’ Bludhook pointed to an empty spot in front of him, an empty spot that was within range of his fury.

As Bodgit took a second half-step forward, he felt a hefty shove from behind as another ork pushed him towards the boss. The kaptin curved his hook under the grot’s arm and yanked him close. Bodgit was now staring deep into Bludhook’s solitary real eye.

‘Skrug tells me yoo’ve been causin’ ’im sum trouble.’

‘Nah, boss. Skrug is mistaken.’

Bodgit noticed the first mate’s fingers twitching as they began to search for the slugga tucked into the front of his belt. This didn’t go unnoticed by Bludhook either.

‘Fing is, Skrug says yoo’re da one mistaken, an’ he’s an ork.’

Bodgit looked at Skrug, who had a grin stretched across his ugly face – a grin that promised the mother of all kickings. Bodgit winced, and burped as the squig he ate threatened to make an impromptu reappearance.

‘Wot’s yer name, grot?’ growled Bludhook.

Bodgit hesitated, considering whether to give the kaptin the name of one of the other grots instead. Before he could blurt out a lie, Skrug’s voice sliced through the tense air.

‘Dis one’s called Bodgit,’ he sneered, his eyes glinting with the prospect of causing the grot some misery.

Bodgit gulped.

‘Bodgit…’ snarled Bludhook, leaning closer and sniffing the air between them. ‘I’ve got me eye on yoo!’ he hissed.

‘Which one?’ asked Bodgit, his confusion genuine.

With a roar of fury, Bludhook hurled the cheeky grot across the command room.

‘He’s all yoors, Skrug.’

‘I’m gonna enjoy dis, kaptin,’ the first mate replied. He took a step towards the gretchin lying prone on the metal floor.

Bodgit’s gaze locked onto the heavy iron-shod ork boot hovering menacingly above his head. Dread settled in his gut as he shut his eyes, bracing for impact. This wasn’t the life he wanted – following orders only to get a beating for stepping out of line.

A sudden, strange sensation coursed through him, like an ancient whisper stirring within. A fragmented vision flashed in his mind: a sealed, heavily reinforced door. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving Bodgit bewildered.

Snapping back to reality, he opened his eyes, trying to focus on his predicament. He hoped the pain from the impending kicking wouldn’t last long, when something red and flashing on the console behind Kaptin Bludhook caught his attention.

‘Wot’s dat?’ pointed Bodgit, desperate to stave off Skrug’s incoming boot.

‘Stop stallin’, an’ stop crawlin’!’ snapped Skrug as Bodgit tried to scramble under a nearby console. The first mate reached down to haul the grot out and throw him back into the open. Bodgit clung to a mass of exposed wires with all his might.

‘Da light is flashin’ red! Da light is flashin’ red!’ screeched Bodgit.

‘Oi, Skrug…’

‘Kaptin?’

‘Da kickin’ will ’ave to wait. I fink Bodgit is on to sumfink.’

Skrug turned from the blinking red proximity light to gaze out of the side viewport. His mouth fell open. Intrigued, Bodgit chanced a look for himself, and his eyes widened in awe. There, on the edges of the Maelstrom, something was beginning to emerge through the swirling vortex. Something huge.

A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2025.
This eBook edition published in 2025 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd, Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Represented by: Games Workshop Limited – Irish branch, Unit 3, Lower Liffey Street, Dublin 1, D01 K199, Ireland.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Vincenzo Riccardi.

Da Red Gobbo’s Last Stand © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2025. Da Red Gobbo’s Last Stand, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.

A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978-1-83609-326-8

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

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