Nuzzgrond's arrival on Mellissa II

Kaptin Nuzzgrond looked out through the bridge view port of his Onslaught attack ship at the planet of Mellissa II as it spread out below him. He tried to count the cities, but gave up at five. It didn’t matter exactly how many there were anyway – more cities just meant more lootin’ for him and the ladz. A big grin split his massive face as he thought about the killing he’d soon be doing. Turning away from the viewing port, he lit another fat cigar and reached for the shoutin’ tube. After rapidly cranked the handle a few times, Nuzzgrond yelled for his Big Mek.
“Oi Wazdakka! We’s ‘ere, get us down to dere snarpish,” growled Nuzzgrond, his voice permanently deep and threatening as a combined result of his chain smoking and natural tough Orkyness. There was a few seconds wait as Wazdakka dropped what he was doing and headed for the shoutin’ tube in the engine room. Nuzzgrond fiddled impatiently with the medal pinned to his lapels; a sure sign that he felt his authority was being challenged.
“It ain’t dat simple boss,” came the slightly nervous reply, “a landin’ would bust up da ship dead good, and I ain’t sure I’ve got enough nailz to put ‘er back together!”
“You iz goin’ down to the planet, either in dis ship or outta the airlock on the end of me boot!” said Nuzzgrond with a clear edge of menace in his voice.
“You’ze da boss…” shrugged Wazdakka, hanging up his end of the shoutin’ tube and wandering off into the engine room., “Fixit? Fixit? Where are ya, yoz lazy Grot? Find me best lug wrench, we’ez got some unboltin’ to do!”

Back on the bridge, Kaptin Nuzzgrond cranked the handle again and yelled for someone different.
“Oi Doc! You der?” inquired Nuzzgrond. He could hear muffled conversation in the background; “Whatdya mean yoo lost ‘is arm? It was der a just now!”
“Dunno boss, it just came off in me ‘and! Ain’t dat it?” squeaked a second voice.
“Dat’s ‘is leg, ya dum Grot!”
“OI ZUGBERG!” bellowed Nuzzgrond, feeling thoroughly fed-up that he had to talk to his minions while they were out of hitting range. Plus the Doc was clearly a few squigs short of a meal, and it didn’t hurt to give him a whack every now and again.
“Yer boss?” replied Doc Zugberg, finally making it to his end of the shoutin’ horn “Someone need fixin’?”
“Nah, not yet, but I wantz yooz to start brewin’ up some of your special fightin’ juice – we’ze landin’ soon!”
“Righto boss!” replied the Doc with enthusiasm. Nuzzgrond dropped the shoutin’ horn and beckoned to Grimtuff, the leader of the ‘Ard Boyz and his right-hand-Ork.
“Go and get der ladz together, and get da Meks to start-up me Chi-…Chem-…Chee-…dat dead shooty tank wot I got from der ‘Umies,” ordered Nuzzgrond as he lit a fresh cigar.
“Will do boss, but why’z we coming ‘ere anyway? Ain’t der still loadz of the ladz figthin’ at Armour-geddin? We could get zoggin’ loads of fightin’ and lootin’ done der!” replied Grimtuff, making a loud clanking sound as his ‘Eavy Armour shifted.
“Nah, dem ‘Umies would know we’ze commin’ if we went der, but on dis planet they’ze not expecting da ladz! Da ‘Umie boss of dis planet is stickin’ two fingers up to der Emperor, and is gonna give uz gunz an’ tankz an’ stuff if we ‘elp dem do it, cuz dey are too weedy to do it on der own,” explained Nuzzgrond, “but the dead sneaky an’ cunnin’ thing dat we’ze gonna do iz take da stuff an’ bash ALL der ‘Umies! Hur-hur-hur!”
“Dat’s dead cunnin’ boss!” gasped Grimtuff as Nuzzgrond roared with laughter and slapped him on the back, making him stagger forward a few paces, despite his ‘Eavy Armour.

Their conversation was cut short as Wazdakka finished unbolting the engines, causing the Onslaught to steadily begin to loose altitude. One of the bridge crew began the traditional chant of ‘ere we go, ‘ere we go, ‘ere we go, and soon all the Orks throughout the ship had taken up the refrain.
‘Dats me boyz’ thought Nuzzgrond, chest swelling with pride at the Orkyness as the ground rushed up to meet them…