Tankpot

“Wot’s this then?” “It’s one of dem ‘oomie wagons innit? We’z nicked it, boss wants you to do it up.” Gobzag looked at the wreck the other Ork, some annoyingly chipper yoof called Skragalug, had dragged in. He grumbled. Aside from the huge rokkit hole in the side, it seemed in good condition. The problem was, to Gobzag’s acute mekboy eyes and teknologikal know-wots, the thing just didn’t make sense. “Deez are da wagons dat’s been zoggin’ our boyz?” he said, incredulous. “Yeah, boss sez dere ded killy,” the other Ork said. “Did a rush wiv some buggies an’ bikes and a few of deez wagons krumped da lot.” “Zog me, but how? Look at dis fing. Da arma on da side goes all da way to da bottom, got no clearance,” Skragalug looked puzzled. Gobzag rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “Means it’s got no suspenshun, dunno how it goes ova anyfing. Shouldn’t be able to drive on anyfing but a flat road!” “Yeah, but look at dat kannon. I can stick my ‘ead in dat kannon. Ded killy.” “Rig