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Get turned to goo
Get burned alive
Get torn in two
Or three, or five!
My missing leg
I wonder why
If I ever get
Back home again
That recruiter's gonna die!
Adamson smiled to himself at his handiwork. The poem was painted brightly in white paint intended for marking mines upon the wall of the old mess hall. All newly landed recruits would surely see it on their patrols. Eventually some stuffy Inquisitor or Chaplain would hear of it and have the 'heresy' purged and destroyed. Humor had no place on the deadly surface of Xhorik Prime.
He smirked one final time at his own wit and turned back into the icy cold of late night mine sweeping. It was one of the lowest and least desired positions in the legion due to the risk of encounter with orks or genestealers and the blistering chill, but it gave a man the privacy to work his art. The lyrical displays he crafted across the North and West Sectors gave him and countless other terrified guardsmen a moment of mirth during an unforgiving and often short deployment on the war-torn planet.
The fighting had been intensive all across the Zone. Orks, who were normally ill-equipped to contend
with Imperial weapons, suddenly launched a reckless assault aided by explosives somehow within their barbaric possession. Although the "missiles" were often nothing more than warheads used as thrown weapons or attached to poles to create super-javelins, the effect was devastating. Self-inflicted ork casualties were high, but human were greater and the loss of heavy armor and weapons could not be ignored.
Adamson's company was only one of nearly a hundred brought in years ago to hold the city and ensure the mining economy's success. Orks were more of an oddity or amusement to the confident guardsmen posted upon the ramparts in those early days. The remnants of some ancient Waaagh! that fell apart due to lack of leadership, the savage Orks mostly screamed empty threats from a distance and threw stones. The last drop of fuel and the last bullet were spent long ago, leaving the once-proud warriors mired in stagnation.
However, new life had been breathed into the Klan. The surge of destructive violence was their
declaration of renewed ambition, as was the deep desire of all ork hearts. Blinded with their sense of
invincibility, the green hulks hurled themselves at the Imperial defenders with reckless fervor. The orks had a belief forged from generations of being downtrodden; any ork that kills a human goes to paradise with Gork and Mork in the afterlife. Clutching frag missiles in their hands, countless ork warriors dove into bunkers and down tank hatches to the deaths of everyone inside.
The face of war had changed. What was once literal target practice had turned into a fighting retreat.
Human morale was dangerously low. It was only the fear of being killed by your superiors that kept the men in line and on the walls. The common belief was: Orks will kill you, but the Inquisitor will torture you, then kill you. The only relief to be had was the hope that eventually the orks would run out of bodies to throw in the meat grinder.
Adamson shivered so hard, it hurt his back. The planet was cold enough when the sun was up. At
night, it was only his heat-chems that kept him alive. Some members of his squad foolishly gambled with the life-saving orange pills, but Adamson treasured and horded his. The little tablets increased his natural internal metabolism, bringing his body temperature up to a balmy 105 degrees but protected his brain from damage from fever. It meant he had to double his rations before a mission to fuel his overclocked body, but it was a welcome excuse to eat. Additionally, a layer of anti-freeze cream protected his exposed face and neck.
The dark was consuming and the silence defening, but no one dared make a sound lest they draw in
Lictors and Kommandos from the surrounding gloom. To his right, Adamson saw Shaw, shaking his
head with mock disapproval at the poem he had just discovered. No doubt he would have something to say back at the bunk house. It was risky to continue the defiant displays but it was all that kept
Adamson’s soul from sinking into despair.
Several hours passed without incident, the team spotting and marking mines left by the Orks to keep
the guardsmen penned in their city. The work was boring, boring enough to allow Adamson a chance to create his next verse in his head. In spite of the harsh and grim task appointed to him, he could not keep from smiling.
Once had a friend
Since we were ten
Went in the base
But not out again
We heard him scream
We heard him cry
His only sin
Was asking “Why?”
If I ever get
Back home again
That recruiter’s gonna die!
The area around him was amply filled with short ruins unsuitable to host one of his creations, so
Adamson cast his vision all around to detect a suitable canvas. Not more than a few hundred feet away was a mostly intact silo, rising boldly amid the ruins like a silver Colossus. So far from base, only his brother and sister mine sweepers would see it but perhaps that was best to ensure its longevity, considering the especially blasphemous subject matter. No officer would venture so far into contested territory to object to the art. Adamson quietly regarded his personal liability and the punishment that awaited him for a moment but steeled himself with the thought that his life would shine more brightly than that of the average cannon fodder grunt.
Careful to scan ahead of where he stepped, Adamson hurried eagerly toward the ancient monolith, the excitement of his work urging him onward. A hundred thousand beasts with great powers to destroy existed just out of sight but only he had the power of creation . With great sweeping motions of his arm, he wrote out the rebellious verse across the side of the silo, a wide grin twisting his mouth into a shape unfamiliar to humans in the 41st Millennium. Each letter sent his soul soaring to new heights. The frustrations of a million dead men came to life on his silver canvas.
“Soldier! Cease immediately!” a booming voice thundered. Adamson spun around to see the face of his sergeant, red with fury. He was dressed in chameleon camo and had revealed his face to create the image of a ghostly head floating menacingly in the dark.
“Doing surprise inspections...” Adamson thought to himself. The Serge often did check up on his
subordinates while veiled in invisibility and the risk of being caught misbehaving always hung over them all. Those caught idle during work duties were denied rations for 2 days. Those caught misusing Imperial property were denied rations for 3 days. He didn’t dare to speculate what awaited those engaged in active insubordination.
“You... You... will come with me for an interrogation!” the Sergeant stuttered with rage. “We will see
how deep your traitorous thoughts go!” He brought his arm out from under his cloak to reveal the inferno pistol in his grip. The weapon clattered loudly in his trembling hand. The other mine sweepers watched in silence, frozen like statues.
Adamson looked back over his shoulder at what was to be his final poem, pride and dread fighting for control of his heart.
Suddenly, the sergeant’s head and body shuttered violently and separated, ropes of hot blood spurting
into the freezing night from his rent neck, thick clouds of steam filling the air. His mouth screamed
silently, eyes staring in disbelief, as the weapon in his hand thudded into the snow. A huge mirage lurked behind him, a form twice the height as a man and impossibly silent, shadowy claws turning the head thoughtfully as tentacles probed. No one among the guardsmen stirred or allowed a sound to escape their lips. Adamson stood silent, his head turned away from the carnage. The sergeant’s body dropped to its knees and forward onto its chest, a wash of hot red covering the artist’s legs and boots.
The Lictor continued about its brutal task, extracting information from the human leader’s brain through direct consumption of the brain matter. The sergeant’s face twisted and stretched horrifically as the interior of the skull was invaded and emptied. Adamson eyed the inferno pistol in the snow next to the expanding pool emptying from his former superior. He knew if he attempted to reach it, the Tyranid hunter would cut him in half before he could blink. His only hope was to appear so pathetic as to not be worth acknowledging or confronting.
With knees shaking from a combination of fear and cold, the artist took his first steps backward. His
visor highlighted the nearby mines and he could see that the Lictor was standing among several.
Perhaps he could stand with a mine between himself and the monster and lure it in to its explosive
demise. He moved agonizingly slowly, breath coming in ragged inhalations, trying to remain as
nonthreatening as possible. The distant field beyond was laden with mines. Finally, his path chosen,
Adamson bolted into the minefield at full sprint. The tyranid snapped to attention, spiking the empty skull into the ground and dashing forward with the speed and lethality of a predator making a killing blow. Adamson ran with panic hot in his veins, zigzagging between mines, eyes darting left and right. He prayed to hear the welcome sound of the monster’s fragmentation behind him.
Finally, a barely audible *click* followed by a massive explosion rocked the silent night air. Thrown
forward onto his astonished face, Adamson hurried to cover his head and curl into a desperate ball. The vibration of the overpowered ork mine sent thunderous tremors through the ground, detonating the nearby mines in a ring of horrendous force and noise. A huge ball of fire and shrapnel filled the sky. Shaw and majority of Adamson’s squadmates were liquefied by the ordeal, torn into red mist. The chain reaction of detonating mines expanded ever outwards, banging like the guns of hell. Sound waves rocked through the once-tranquil night in all directions. The artist himself was blasted with dragon’s breath but endured, rising after a few moments to survey the carnage. What had begun as such a pleasant night had truly fallen apart.
He could still hear the reverberations echoing into the distance. The night eventually returned to its
former silence, Adamson trembling with surprise and exhaustion. He was still alive.
Far off on the horizon, sirens whined to life and blared, search lights crisscrossing the dark sky. The
local legion was being roused. They feared an attack and would immediately mobilize for battle. Within moments, Valkyries screamed through the sky, searching for the enemy responsible for the commotion. All their searchlights could detect were dozens of smoldering holes and a single guardsman, waving meekly.
Adamson’s earpiece crackled loudly before producing a very stern voice, “Soldier, explain this
immediately!” The artist stammered to speak but his voice was gone from shock. “Nevermind. I will
perform an inspection personally!” the furious voice declared before logging off. Within moments, a
column of Imperial vehicles descended upon Adamson’s position, stopping just outside the minefield.
Dozens of troopers clamored out of their APCs and filled the field in a wave of well-drilled bodies. Finally, the Commander himself strode proudly onto the field, surrounded by armored heavy infantry.
"This carelessness is unacceptable!” the officer spat. “Minesweeper mortality has been only 10% since I took command of this company and I will not have some clumsy backwater planet ape ruining my numbers! You killed your entire squad! I’m going to have to file a report about...”
The Commander’s scornful monologue was cut short by a distant sound. His anger turned to fear
instantly. Engines, crude and loud, bellowed from far away. From beyond the horizon, the ear-breaking cacophony of smoke-belching steel began to build. Powerful gunshots and a chorus of deep, violent warcries began to fill the freezing air. Adamson felt his stomach churn in the throes of panic. What had begun as such a pleasant night had indeed fallen to pieces. It was still too soon to consider the night survived. In fact, the odds of his continued existence seemed to be ever diminishing.
The sight of ramshackle ork vehicles came quickly into view. They were crude but far beyond what
anyone had seen greenskins utilize before. The orks themselves were painted bright red and showed
boundless enthusiasm for carnage, blasting flame and gunfire in all directions while howling viciously in their awful tongue.
“Men! Form ranks! We are under attack!” the Commander cried, his voice rising above the savage
wave of noise and smoke crashing upon the Imperials. With only seconds to spare, the guardsmen organized themselves to counter attack, with Adamson scrambling into place among the other humans.
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ARMY SELECTION: 1450 Points
Orks: Da Blitzdreg Boys - Bill
- Warboss Filgakk Skullsplitta: 'Eavy armor, shoota, power klaw
- Weirdboy: Mastery Level 2 with Warpath, Da Krunch, Frazzle
- 2 Meks with kustom mega blastas
- 3 x Meganobz with killsaw and bosspole
- 19 x Boyz with nob with klaw and boss pole
- 14 x Boyz with shootas, 1 x rokkit launcha, and nob with boss pole
- 17 x Grotz with Runtherd with squighound
- 10 x Kommandos with burna, nob with klaw and boss pole
- 11 x 'Ard Boyz with nob with klaw and boss pole
- Trukk with rokkit launcha
- 7 x Tankbustas with nob with boss pole
- Trukk with rokkit launcha
- 7 x Warbikes with nob with klaw and boss pole
- Warbuggy with twin-linked rokkit launcha
- Skorcha Trakk
- Killa Kan with rokkit launcha
Imperials: Xhorik 87th Drop Troops and Army of House Harkhathe
Land Forces - Pete (Horus Heresy Imperial Auxilia Rules)
- Force Commander Xhaer: Iron Halo, familiar, plasma pistol, power weapon
- House Harkhathe, The Hero Hammers: 15 Grenadiers with lascarbines and 2 plasma guns. Sergeant with augmented weapon
- Xhorik 87th, 2nd Company, Veteran Squad: 12 Grenadiers with 2 rotor cannons
- Xhorik 87th, 2nd Company, Recon Squad Gamma: 5 Recon Auxiliaries with sniper rifles and cameoline
- House Harkhathe: Support squad with 2 missile launcher teams and 3 lascannon teams
- Ordnance Battery: Medusa with 4 crew
Airborne Reserves - Phil (6th Edition Drop Troopers Rules)
- 2nd Company, 3rd Platoon
- Platoon command squad: Lieutenant Gjoka, vox operator, medic, 3 troopers
- 1st Infantry squad: 10 troopers with grenade launcher
- 2nd Infantry squad: 10 troopers with melta gun, vox
- 1st Special weapons squad: 6 troopers with 3 melta guns
- 2nd Special weapons squad: 6 troopers with 3 melta guns
- 2 x Drop Sentinels with multi-lasers
- Valkyrie Iliria with heavy bolter sponsons, multi-laser, rocket pods
- Tauros with grenade launcher
- 3 x Tarantulas with twin-linked lascannon
PRE-GAME AND MISSION:
The mission is Pillage from the Battle Missions book. Gain 1 VP for each objective you hold at the start of your turn as your forces pillage or salvage the valuable equipment throughout the battle. This represents the Orks continually looting and destroying the objectives and the Imperials continually salvaging usable gear. Both sides must grab what they can before a massive rad-dust storm hits and drives both forces back (random game length). Secondary objectives: Slay the Warlord (d3 VP) and Annihilation (d3 VP).
The battlefield is a partially ruined and abandoned outpost, but some key facilities still have functional tech. The objectives are an ammo stockpipe, a water treatment plant, a communications tower and a hatch leading to an underground missile silo. The armies would be approaching the battlefield from opposite corners on a 5 ft x 8 ft table.
