I stay on Over Watch waiting for the first Ork to make its move on us.
"After this shot draw your pistol and back up. Kneecap them if you can."
One shot, and then they will be on us...
Aim for half action and fire at closest orc.
From the north the Ork in the furrow raises its gun...
...and takes a steady bead straight down the trench-line at the sniper.
The wounded and stunned Ork at Lark's feet simply rolls over and howls in pain.
The Ork that fired once at Sarge levels its still-smoking barrel right at the unit NCO as a grin creases its misshapen face.
Click! Confused, the beast turns the weapon upon itself, looking down the barrel in primitive fashion in an attempt to determine the source of malfunction.
Snarling, the well-positioned Ork in the building fires at the stormtrooper again.
The Ork engaged with Commissar Vex simply rears back and attempts to brain the political officer with the butt of its gun.
Swung with enough force to turn Vex's brain to jelly, the Greenskin aim is off and the Commissar is able to avoid the blow.
The two prone Greenskins continue to scan about, unsure as how to proceed.
Warmaster
I pop off a round at any Ork foolish enough to step away from its cover.
Blood firmly up now that he is painted the colour sanguine, Lark roars at the sky with arms wide. Sardonic smirk writ large across his face he ignores the fallen ork writhing at his feet to launch himself at another. Knife raised high, he brings it down in a jagged thrust towards the ork's neck...
Book's face is pale and he noiselessly mouths litanies... but he joins in the sporchi's bloody assault.
Seeing opportunity knock as the greenskin's gun jams, Sgt. Mire raises himself upright along the edge of the trench and levels his las-carbine to fire a burst at the ork, in an effort to oblige his new-found curiosity about the barrels of live weapons.
Knowing that even the stupidity of the ork won't last forever, he slings his carbine over his shoulder, then rips his chain-sickle from the loose earth while depressing the activation stud, fully expecting the beast to charge.
He barks back at Scope over the din of battle,
"Don't stop shooting when he comes, I know I don't need to worry about you hitting me!
"Ok this is the last spray to keep these other 2 down ill have to reload after."
The dull-witted xeno examining its weapon is further befuddled when Sarge nails it in the torso with a las-round. Its primitive armor and tough hide absorb the blow, and finally realizing what is happening the Ork bares its fangs at the sergeant and hisses.
As he continues his stubber-sweep, Gunner Dol feels his gun lighten as the magazine is near-empty.
Commissar Vex sees the massive Ork before him misstep from his failed melee attempt. The Commissar leaps inside the guard of the beast, making a broad sweep with his chainsword.
The Shoota Boy lunges away from Vex's swing and lifts its gun for another massive blow.
Blood firmly up now that he is painted the colour sanguine, Lark roars at the sky with arms wide. Sardonic smirk writ large across his face he ignores the fallen ork writhing at his feet to launch himself at another. Knife raised high, he brings it down in a jagged thrust towards the ork's neck.
Too busy taunting the Sergeant, the Greenskin fails to notice the attacking De'Lark until too late.
Warmaster
Edwin charges forward towards the orc menacing his overenthusiastic charge. He approaches as the commissar renews his attack against the xenos. The commissar's blade swings wildly, spoiling the stormtrooper's attack and nearly carving a chunk out of his shoulder.
The writhing, pain-laden ork left behind by De'Lark attempts to grab the weapons specialist's feet. The xeno rolls over in the grass and instead catches the attention of Scope who scans the field for movement.
Scope's shot hits the ork in the leg, exploding an artery. The greenskin lets loose with a load moan and dies in a pool of its own blood.
From behind the sniper hears his spotter draw a blade and and say with some sarcasm, "Boy, you really earned that notch for the gun-stock."
The shuttle continues to spew forth guardsmen including some of the Oremor 4th's light artillery units, two mortar squads. Using Sgt. Mire's men as a screen, the vast majority of Swamp Rats run north to relieve the Brontian Longknives.
Obeying the sergeant's orders, Operator Tartare and his partner Guardsman Dolf sprint along the furrow-line to where Lark's malfunctioned plasma-rifle lies. Although still steaming, the weapons has cooled enough so that Anselm may pick it up next round.
Warmater
"If your nice, I'll even let share in the glory, and carve in that kill."
I would laugh, but don't have the luxury until all the Xeno's are dead. I look down my sights and set up for Overwatch again. Looking for another Ork in my field of vision. Looking for one who is trying close the distance, or gets careless enough to stick its rear out from behind cover for me to squeeze off another shot.
I will look at our squad and, see if any are wounded that I can reach who are not in melee combat.
I will look at our squad and, see if any are wounded that I can reach who are not in melee combat.
Doc Zane lowers his rifle long enough to check out the members of his squad for an instant health assessment. Everyone seems fine, even the wounded Dol who is busy emptying the ammo drum of his heavy stubber.
Looking north the medic sees that some of the besieging Orks, a horde of greenskins and a few war bikes, begin to stream away from the Imperial station walls and turn south towards the onrushing members of the Oremor 4th.
Two of the shoota boyz struggle against the hail of fire from Heavy Gunner Dol.
The more northern one kneels upright and takes aim. In the furrow the sniper keeps his heart-rate low and breathing very steady as he eyes the battlefield. His spotter whispers a truncated warning, "[Bogey] Right 15 [degrees]." Less than a second later the sniper has the target in his reticule.
Hearing Dot whisper out the vector I adjust and fire on reflex and instinct. A game, a skill we honed over countless hours. Calling out phantom targets during our quiet times pays off when things aren't so quiet...
As the the Ork rolls to a kneeling position and lines up for a shot, a slug from the sniper's rifle punches it in the chest.
The other formerly pinned Ork moves into a shelter and pops off a round through a gaping hole in the side-boards at the heavy gunner.
Faced now with two foes, the massive Ork gives a bestial roar and swings its gun as a club, making a wild, furious assault on Trooper Drususon.
Shrugging off the sniper's fire, the kneeling Ork blasts a round at Sarge.
Hathin De'Lark knows that Orks are able to take damage. He is a bit surprised, however, when what should have been a vicious killing blow barely causes a scratch on the Ork he faces. "Look out!" yells Book as the sinewy creature rears back and tries to take the weapons specialist's head off with a swipe from its rifle.
Hearing his comrade's warning, Lark ducks under the sweeping blow and notices the xeno is now unbalanced on its forward leg.
From within the furrow, the northernmost Ork takes a shot at the Operator who checks the overheated plasma rifle.
Despite his best efforts to hug the dirt, the round hits Mire.
While lowering my weapon to get ready to reload I did not notice the xeno take a shot at me.
Edwin can't move quite fast enough and with a sickening crack, the orc's mighty blow makes contact.
Despite his best efforts to hug the dirt, the round hits Mire.
The round rips into Mire's left leg.
Another Ork fires from a building at the NCO.
Luckily the sergeant staggered and a second round just missed.
While lowering my weapon to get ready to reload I did not notice the xeno take a shot at me.
Wincing in pain, the heavy gunner nearly drops his weapon but is immediately supported by his comrade, Gerr.
Edwin can't move quite fast enough and with a sickening crack, the orc's mighty blow makes contact.
The Ork connects twice with the butt of his weapon but Trooper Drususon rolls with both punches, his superior carapace armor deflecting any damage.
Mire turns to Murjoff, a familiar gleam in his eyes.
"Cover me!"
His leg still somewhat numb from the ricocheting round that struck him, Sgt. Mire grunts with determination as he mounts the edge of furrow. Getting upright again outside of it, he lowers his head as best he can in the inimitable posture that men have unconsciously tried to perfect since the advent of flying munitions and the birth of ballistic weaponry on Terra so long ago.
Raising his chain-sickle high overhead, he charges the ork occupied with Lark, bellowing a furious cry as he closes the last meter and swings the blade down on the greenskin.
"Thanks Gerr, now lets get this changed out."
"Now save those last rounds we might need them later."
Commissar Vex watches the greenskin before him lash out against the stormtrooper. Seeing the beast ignore him, he swings his chainsword and drives it home against the ork's leg.
The teeth from the chainsword dig deep and chew into the kneecap, breaking it in half.
The ork buckles and falls prone, blood gushing onto the moist green grass.
With the orc flailing on the ground, Edwin grabs a hold of its shoulder and plunges his blade deep into its midsection.
Gritting his teeth Lark dances in the dirt with the xenos, realizing now that his only chance was to press the attack. Waiting until a lunge from Book drew the ork's attention, Hathin rammed his head into it's nose before breaking slightly to get room for a double handed thrust straight at the bastard...
...but he is overbalanced and the knife skitters off the ork's armor. "Feck it."
The ork at the feet of Drususon and Vex now bleeds profusely from both its knee and torso. It can emit only a gurgling rasp as it writhes in pain.
The stream of Oremite soldiers continues to flood north. Loaders roll ammo and equipment down the shuttle ramp and it can only be moments before some of the regiments vehicles make an appearance.
Anselm Tartare examines the weapons specialist's plasma gun. It appears to be fully functional but the operator guesses that the magnetic accelerator may have temporarily failed due to its maximal setting.
Under fire from the north, Tartare hands the plasma rifle to his comrade, Guardsman Korelo. "Take this to Lark! I've got the frag that's shooting at us!"
Dolf leaps out of the furrow and races to where Lark stands toe to toe with a massive greenskin. Tartare squeezes off a round.
I continue my over watch, as opportunities for clean shots will get trickier and trickier. If needed and one of my Squad is in dire straits in the melee I will shoot the they are in melee with.
I will take aim at ork #8 for 2 rounds.
The orks continue their attack despite the large number of guardsmen in the general vicinity.
The ork steps towards the weapons specialist and tries to take out Lark's feet with a backhanded swipe with its gun.
Lark make a parry or dodge attempt to avoid damage.
The ork's misshapen gun gashes the specialist's leg and a blood stain spreads across the trooper's fatigues.
From the furrow-line the squad sniper sees Lark's legs taken out from under his and that a sinewy ork now looms over him.
The Ork freezes long enough for me to line up the perfect head shot. I squeeze the trigger, and I feel the bullet lodge in the chamber.
The words that fly out of my mouth could make a grizzled drill sergeant blush. I drop my rifle as I slide back further into the ditch and pull my side arm.
Knowing Dot's twisted humor...
"Not a word."
I start lining up on the next Ork.
Gritting his teeth against the pain Hathin spits in the ork's face... before trying to bury his knife in it...
... though scores only a glancing blow.
The hard round impacts Sgt. Mire's chest with enough force to nearly knock him off his feet, but he somehow manages to remain upright despite the pain spreading through his right side.
Good thing I'm left-handed...
He swings the chain-sickle in a sweeping overhand arc, ignoring his own safety, while trying to bury it in the ork's head.
With a final smack to the magazine to seat it I turn back to the xenos and open fire.
The Ork freezes long enough for me to line up the perfect head shot. I squeeze the trigger, and I feel the bullet lodge in the chamber.
The words that fly out of my mouth could make a grizzled drill sergeant blush. I drop my rifle as I slide back further into the ditch and pull my side arm.
Knowing Dot's twisted humor...
"Not a word."
.
Despite the somewhat dire nature of the situation, Scope hears the spotter feign a cough containing a not so subtle message: "kkkROOKkk!"
.
Full action to All Out Attack Greenskin #5 +10 from comrade ganging up:
WS (39 +30 +10 =79): 1d100 ⇒ 71 for 1d5 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4 pen 2... though scores only a glancing blow.
.
The hard round impacts Sgt. Mire's chest with enough force to nearly knock him off his feet, but he somehow manages to remain upright despite the pain spreading through his right side.
Good thing I'm left-handed...
He swings the chain-sickle in a sweeping overhand arc, ignoring his own safety, while trying to bury it in the ork's head.
.
The slavering ork spins to face the sergeant. The non-com smells its overwhelming stench of blood, grime, and rot. Trophies of teeth, human hands, and other unnameable blackened bits hang from its torso. With an overhand strike, the sergeant misses the head but nonetheless buries his chain-sickle deep into the chest of the slavering greenskin. Sarge keeps the weapon toggle on and blood and bone and flesh spit from a rend. The greenskin falls back to the earth, nearly crippled but still somehow alive.
.
With a final smack to the magazine to seat it I turn back to the xenos and open fire.
.
Like a well-oiled machine the gunner and his ally quickly replace the empty drum. The stubber burps forth a hailstorm of lead, ripping into the structure immediately east of the guardsmen.
.
Commissar Vex reverses his grip on the chainsword and drives it towards the ork at his feet.
As the blade is about the strike home, incredibly the ork rolls at the last second and the chainsword is now buried in the wet, moist turf.
Seeing the Commissar should be capable of handling the downed ork in his own inept way, Edwin moves to flank lone ork hiding in the building to the south.
From beside a structure, an ork fires at the trench-line.
A bolt round kicks up dirt where the sniper attempts to clear a jam.
In between short bursts by the heavy gunner, the stormtrooper crosses the field of fire and swings to the south of the building containing a pinned ork.
Behind the firing line the bulk of the Oremor 4th has moved past Squad Mire and approaches Supply Depot 31. A horde of orks moves away from the walled imperial station and charges the Oremites over open ground.
From underneath the shuttle emerges the first of the Swamp Rats' vehicles. It is only a simple ground car transport but the good news for the guardsmen is that the shuttle's machine elevator is operable and unit armor will follow soon.
Operator Tartare again targets the ork north of his position.
The ork in the furrow line has its leg and groin cooked from the operator's las-rifle. Its dying howl lasts only a few seconds as it topples like a tree.
I draw my las pistol and aim at the Ork who fired upon me. Have to clear the area of immediate threats before I attempt to clear the chamber of my sniper rifle.
Until things look like we secure our immediate position. I won't take my eyes off the Green skinned threat in front of me.
Hearing a whine and a pffttt from my pistol as it does nothing. I am beside myself.
"Who the frak is the piece of Churraptus excrement of a Quarter Master who issued this piece of $&@*."
First day of the campaign and I already have to consider throwing rocks at the enemy.
"Who the frak is the piece of Churraptus excrement of a Quarter Master who issued this piece of $&@*."
Dot unshoulders a las-rifle and says, "Wasn't using it anyways," tossing it to you. Brandishing a pistol, the spotter blasts a shot towards the buildings.
I catch the las rifle.
"Thanks."
I adjust my grip to the feel of the rifle, and start lining up targets.
Hit w/ 1 degree of success. Damage = 1d10+3
De'Lark sees a round punch the earth but still has a live Ork at his feet to deal with. The xeno leaps up and swings its gun like a club.
The greenskin before Commissar Vex somehow shakes its grievous wounds and rolls to its feet. It leaps into the air, swinging its shoota.
Vex dodges as the monster sweeps by.
Nearby another ork steps into the shelter of a building and opens up.
The commissar readies to swing his chainsword again but he feels something funny. He looks down and sees a stream of blood pour from his right leg.
In the southern building the ork senses a new threat from the storm trooper and it attempts to fire under the duress of Dol's heavy stubber.