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The Only Good Ork – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Only Good Ork

by Sandy Mitchell

There’s never a good time to come face to face with an ork, but doing so while crawling from the wreck of a crashed Salamander is one of the least propitious. What made the surprise even less welcome was that, until that moment, I’d had no idea that any of the creatures were even in the area at all. I suppose I shouldn’t have been completely taken aback; Frumenta had been infested with them a few decades prior to the experience, until the Guard had arrived to clear them out – a job they’d performed with commendable efficiency. But, as always, there had been occasional localised outbreaks in the years since, which the Frumentan militia had been more than capable of mopping up. At least until they’d turned out to be infested with genestealers, turned on one another and sparked a full-scale civil war, which the Astra Militarum had been sent back in to deal with.

I’d been dragged into the whole dismal affair, despite being officially retired by now, by virtue of passing through the void station that the task force was assembling around at just the wrong moment. Refusing to tag along at the lord general’s personal request would have put more of a dent in my undeserved, but undeniably useful on occasion, reputation than I could afford, not to mention our personal friendship. And then there was Amberley, and my well-concealed avocation as one of her Inquisitorial errand boys – a hitherto unsuspected genestealer infestation on such a scale was sure to be of interest to the Ordo Xenos. Which meant, in turn, that she was liable to be a bit miffed with me if I passed up the chance to acquire some intelligence on the spot, a complication my life could well have done without.

So, with carefully concealed reluctance, I let my waiting sinecure on Perlia slide still further into the indefinite future, and embarked for an unremarkable agri-world little different to a score of others. On arrival I attached myself to the general staff, made sure my successor wasn’t being too much of a nuisance to Zyvan (which she wasn’t, as I’d made sure the Commissariat would appoint someone pragmatic enough to just let him get on with the job before I left) and busied myself making morale-boosting visits to whichever regiments seemed sufficiently far away from the fighting at the moment, picking up whatever scraps of information I could for Amberley along the way.

Which was how I’d eventually found myself in the Cascades, an area of high peaks, deep gorges and spectacular waterfalls, which had been a popular tourist destination away from the intensely cultivated zones in more peaceful times. Many of the genestealer cultists retreating in the face of the Guard advance had sought refuge there, counting on the rugged terrain and sparse population to let them effectively disappear. It might even have worked if the narrow, twisting roads over the mountain passes hadn’t funnelled their vehicles into a limited number of transit corridors, making them sitting waterfowl for our air corp’s Vendetta gunships. I’d just finished a typical visit to one of the forward airstrips, where I’d dispensed a few platitudes, shaken a few hands and enjoyed an indifferent lunch, when we drove into an ambush, presumably set for the supply trucks which kept the flyboys fed.

My first intimation of trouble was a las-bolt, which impacted on the rim of the Salamander’s open passenger compartment, followed by a number of others as I ducked behind the comforting solidity of the armour plate.

‘Jurgen,’ I voxed, tapping the comm-bead in my ear, ‘we’re taking fire.’ Not that I was particularly concerned. The sturdy little scout vehicle could shrug off a great deal worse than that, and had probably come as a nasty surprise to the insurgents, who’d no doubt been expecting nothing tougher than a lorry or two they could disable and loot.

I scrambled behind the pintle-mounted heavy bolter, which afforded me some protection as I stood, and pulled the trigger, hosing down the cliff face from which, judging by the angle of the incoming fire, the bulk of it had come. I was rewarded with a sudden cessation of the rain of las-bolts, and a few flickers of movement among the scrub clinging hopefully to the near-vertical surface as our assailants scrambled for something more solid to hide behind.

‘That seems to have dampened their enthusiasm.’

‘Pleased to hear it, sir,’ my aide responded from the driver’s compartment, opening the throttle as he spoke. If anyone else had been at the controls I’d have found the sudden surge of acceleration distinctly alarming, given that our left-hand tread was mere centimetres from the precipice edging the highway, but I knew Jurgen’s exceptional driving skills of old, and merely tightened my grip on the bolter a little to help maintain my balance; a reflex which might well have saved my life. I just had time to register a bright streak in the air ahead of us before a rocket hit the corner of our front armour plate, shredding one of the tracks with the resulting shower of shrapnel.

The Salamander lurched violently. Jurgen swore, or began to, his oath choked off half-finished as the sturdy little vehicle veered over the cliff-edge.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2022.
This eBook edition published in 2022 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 illustrations by Clint Langley (Cain), Alex Boyd (Ork).

The Only Good Ork © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2022. The Only Good Ork, 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.
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ISBN: 978-1-80407-116-8

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