Wazgrin's Cunnin' Plan

Garglob squinted into the squawk-box again, then banged it against the rocky outcrop the kommandos were sheltering behind. There was a delicate tinkling as a small cog dropped to the floor when he lifted the mouthpiece up. Garglob quickly rubbed it into the sand with the toe of his boot, then turned to boss Wazgrin.
"Dere's sumfin' up wiv da squawk-box, boss. Fink da humies are jammin' it."

Wazgrin scowled. He was just deciding whether or not to krump the smaller ork when Garglob made a suggestion. "'Ow about we go investigate dem buildin's over dere?" The boss followed Garglob's pointing finger towards a pair of silos a few hundred yards away, where a largish mob of orks was trading small arms fire with what looked like a full company of Imperial guardsmen. As he watched, the orks began to fall back towards the kommandos' position.

The silos certainly looked interesting, thought Wazgrin. Must be some good loot in dere if the oomies are guardin' it so fiercely. As if to punctuate his musings, a pair of Imperial fighters swooped overhead with a whoosh of displaced air, followed moments later by a series of rocket impacts between the rocks and the buildings. When the smoke of the explosions cleared, there was nothing to be seen of the retreating orks. Wazgrin raised his eyebrows. Dead shooty, that.

His idle train of thought was interrupted by Garglob continuing. "Use our inishutive, like wot boss Gron's always sayin'." Wazgrin turned to him with a snarl and raised his hand.
"Oo's da boss 'ere, Garglob?" The smaller ork shrank back. "Gron says dis, Gron says dat." Garglob pulled himself in tighter against the rocks as the other kommandos turned and grinned. "Maybe you'd like to go be in Gron's mob, eh?"
"Nah, boss, s'not like dat!" protested Garglob.
"Shaddup, yer zoggin' git. Yer just volunteered fer scout duty – go and find out what's in dem buildings." Garglob swallowed heavily, then looked from side to side. Seeing no support in the grinning faces of the rest of the Blood Axes, he reluctantly saluted and crawled over the top of the outcrop. The other kommandos settled in to see how far he'd get. Zodsnik passed his hat round to collect in their wagers.

After five minutes, the comms-ork had made it to the cover of a low wall with a corrugated iron sheet rising up from it. Wazgrin was, despite himself, impressed. He saw Garglob turn back towards the outcrop and raise a thumb, accompanying it with a broad grin. The kommandos behind the boss were rapt – all eyes were on the plucky ork. Wazgrin scowled and waved the kommando on. Sneeky zogger needs to get isself killed, thought the boss. Don't want no insurrecchsun in da ranks. He looked sideways at the rest of the mob, suspiciously, and surreptitiously drew his favourite stabbin' knife.

Garglob had nearly made it to the end of the low wall when a concussive thump resounded across the battlefield, sending him sprawling. Dust jumped and began to settle as far back as the rocky outcrop. The mob brought their weapons up immediately, bristling.
"Wot da zog was dat?" someone whispered hoarsely.
"Shut up, yer snivellin' runt –" began Wazgrin, before a second colossal thump rolled across the battlefield. The kommandos paused in checking their weapons and looked up as Wazgrin continued, simply – "Cor...!"

The shadow of the silo was moving. What Wazgrin had taken to be gantries running from near the top of the building emerged, shining and brassy. With a third mighty thump, the bowed Reaver Titan stepped clear of the arming warehouse and raised its head. Gloss yellow plates and silver trimming gleamed in the sunlight. It paused, blotting out the sun as it swept its great head back and forth, the enormous guns tracking left and right.

An echoing warhorn sounded, the strident bass challenge rolling across the battlefield, sending shivers through the orks' bones and leaving a ringing silence in its wake. The snapfire of small arms and explosions paused briefly, as if in respect, before resuming. Wazgrin was rapt. He'd never seen anything so killy – until the second one emerged from the neighbouring silo. He kept his eyes fixed on the great golden machines as Wortgor tugged on his sleeve.

"Wot do we do, boss?" The titans stepped forward once again. Wazgrin began to realise they were heading towards the outcrop. He began to regret the squig curry he'd had last night.
"Er..." he looked around for inspiration. "Get on da squawkbox and let Nuzzgrond know. 'E's gonna want to hear about dis." Wortgor gave him a funny look, and Wazgrin nearly clocked him for cheek before realisation dawned. The boss turned just in time to see the lead Reaver's foot came down heavily on the end of the low wall, flattening the corrugated iron, the brickwork support, the bemused Garglob, and his communication equipment in one fell swoop.

"Time fer a tactical retreat, boss?" asked Wortgor, scratching his jaw.
"Er... Yeah... Yeah. Let's fall back and find annuva squawk-box." Wazgrin paused for a second, then added, "Quick."