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Made in de
Lone Wolf Sentinel Pilot






So, Oldmate and me put our heads together again and even if took its time here is a continuation of the deliverance of Thoth during the night of a thousand rebellions.
Formating ha been a bit fidly, I hope its good to read:



Ninshasa Favelas K27 – 13 days after the Night of a thousand rebellions


Tambo – the peacekeeper


As every day around mid-afternoon, the thick, darkened clouds covering the sky above the rainforest were about to break into the heavy daily rains, relieving man and nature alike from the damp, sultry hotness and wetness of the day. Tambo wiped some sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his peacekeeper uniform that was wet from sweat and helped himself to a large gulp of water from his flask. He was surrounded by the loud clamor of countless people digging what might – with luck – resemble a makeshift strongpoint somewhere in the future. Nobody had really ever done something like this before and the stern looking imperial soldiers that by the emperor’s grace had joined them to defend the megacity were too thinly stretched to really oversee their work. Either way, it did not really matter that much. At least it gave the people the illusion of doing something to protect their homes… their world… and keep them from panicking. A small girl, barely ten, almost vanishing under a sack full of calabashs passed him with a look of determination and handed out her water filled load to the workers raising up the earthworks. Part of him thought he should tell her to get lost and get to safety closer to the shore, but deep down he knew that there would not be anything resembling safety soon enough.


As the first relieving raindrops began to fall, turning the broken earth all around into mud, Tambo climbed out of the forming stretch of trenchline to make his way towards the small square that served as kind of a village centre and impromptu scrumball field for the inhabitants of K27. All around him were shabby dwellings, made from wood, corrugated steel and most often just random junk, crisscrossing and stacking on top of each other in gravity defying manner. In “better” times he would not have dared to enter the favelas without armored support but now with the enemy clearly approaching everyone knew what was at stake. It was hard to miss. Columns of smoke and the occasional sound of explosions rose everywhere from the deep, ever encroaching jungles to the north – smaller settlements being ravaged and burned by the invaders. There was nothing they could do for them, just hope that the heretics would take their time with slaughtering.


Still, as he crossed an alley shrouded in darkness by the buildings on each side arching over until they almost touched each other he had a queasy feeling, rooted deep into his bones. As much as he hoped to be wrong, he did not really trust the trenchline to hold of the invaders. But what he believed in right to the bone was that the favelas were a deathtrap. They would not hold back a determined, disciplined attacker for long and it would be a slaughter for the people living here, but everyone trying to get through would pay a heavy blood price. At least that was what he hoped for.
Finally he reached his destination and found it positively crowded. It had been declared the meeting point for what – lacking a better word for it – would be K27s “militia” force. He saw some dozen older men and women in ragged PDF clothing – at least they knew how to point a gun, but most were way past their sixties. Others were… ordinary people, just thinking they might as well die standing with a weapon in their hands. Apart from a hand full with personal guns, they were armed with machetes, knifes and bamboo spears. Under any other circumstances he would have send them home, but that was a luxury they could not afford. And then again, in one of the countless dark alleys of this hellhole a local with a knife knowing every corner and little hidey-hole might have a chance of standing up to a soldier with a gun.

And then there were those he simultaneously had feared and hoped the most would join in. A rabble of some score youngsters, tattooed, scared, some obviously drugged up and a lot of them armed heavier than anyone could feel comfortable with. They had autoguns, stubbers, explosives and as he knew too well some frakking missile launchers that had blown up Kappa squads APC a month ago, killing them all. And more than that, from the looks of it they had stashed away enough firearms to hand them out to everyone – if one could convince them to share. Tambo was pretty sure he had seen some of those faces in the arrest cells and sometimes bleeding below his truncheon. From the murder looming in their eyes they recognized him too. Nonetheless they kept their cool, if you wanted to call it that way, reined in by their leaders.
Both of them, a tall young woman with a long scar on the right side of her face disappearing under an eye patch and a stocky man with a demon skull tattooed on his bare chest greeted him with a barely noticeable nod before spitting in the dirt before him – raising some laughter and cheers from their posse. Tambo ignored it. They might be dregs, but they were willing to fight and might put their aggression to something productive for once in their life. Nonetheless as he was talking through the “tactics” of their coming deployment he couldn’t shake the thought that he would most likely be dead tomorrow, if not by the hand of the enemy than surely due to an unfortunate case of friendly fire…

Eola – the ganger

Eola peeked over the makeshift barricade they had piled up from some rubble and junk, gripping her sturdy autogun tight. While the sounds of gunfire and occasional explosions rang from everywhere around the frontline, it had been suspiciously calm over there for the last few minutes. The rough dozen of men they had shot down trying to run up through the muddy alleyway between the ramshackle huts had finally stopped wriggling and groaning, but there seemed to be movement again somewhere up ahead. “More of them comin’ boss.” she told Paku, the older gangmember in command of this part of their hood. The man turned round towards the rest of their little “defense force”, raising his long, razor-sharp machete and beating his other fist on his muscular barrel chest covered in tattoos. “Seem like some of those Frakheads still haven’t learned their lesson boys!” he laughed out loudly for all of them to hear “This is OUR turf! And if any sucker whose face I don’t like dares to set his foot on it, I throw him out again, and his stinking foot after him!” which granted him some answering hooting and a wild mix of shouted personal battle cries from her gang brothers and sisters, while he urged them on to be louder, rallying them and hyping them up with grandiose gestures and poses.

Eola had to chuckle too, feeling a strange mix of adrenalin, excitement and anticipation run through her veins – most likely boosted by some of the pills she had popped to keep the pain and fear away. That damn copper was just a stupid coward for being so anxious about this attack when they had met at the scrumball pitch. Maybe he and his cronies had forgotten how to fight and maybe those SoBs attacking thought they were worth their salt, but they sure as hell had not grown up in the slums like all of them here and would learn their lesson soon enough. Her posse was armed to the teeth and every one of them knew this labyrinth like the back of their hand and would not let anyone fool around with them. Her thought was interrupted by the deep rattling of the machine gun nest to her right opening fire at something. Risking another glance over the solid cover of a thrown over refrigerator she could make out roughly a score of enemies diving for cover from the hail of bullets, doing their best to return fire. They wore some rugged kind of uniform, adorned on their chest with the strange symbol some of them had even carved into their forehead, which hurt when you looked at it for too long. Fortunately it also made for a quite compelling target as she noted again putting a slug of her own through the torso of a bearded fanatic with sharp filed teeth trying to lob a grenade over the obstruction. A lucky shot in the best of senses, as the primed grenade peppered some of his friends with shrapnel leaving them wailing and spilling their blood in the reddening mud.

Yet this time they seemed to have brought some heavier stuff, as Eola heard engines roaring and the unmistakable crushing and breaking sound of something big waltzing its way through the huts. She barely had a glance at something looking like a military grade version of the boxy armored transport the Guardians sometimes used, before a staccato of Multilaser bolts punched through the gun shield of the machine gun emplacement, turning the gunners into a red mist. A moment later a whole section of barricade to her right crumbled and burst, blown to pieces by a series of explosions ringing in her ears. Shrapnel and junk flew all over the place and a shard of metal sped past so close that it would have quite literally “disarmed” her, if it had hit a couple of inches to closer. Struggling to get a grip again, she heard the sound of running footsteps on the battered pavement and realization hit that the foot soldiers tried to seize the opportunity and rush the barricade while its defenders where in disarray. So Eola legged it to the nearest side alley. Not a moment too soon, as the first men started pouring through the small opening the heavy bolter had created, led by a screaming and raging madman with a crude, two handed chainblade in hand. With a wide bone shattering swing, he cut down two of her gangbrothers that had not found their senses as fast as she had. Eola matched his gaze opening her arms “Come on! Get me if you can!” and retreated back into the alleyway, when he rushed towards her, foam and spittle in the corner of his mouth. She dodged his first attack, blocking the backhand swing with the butt of her autogun and kicking him in his groin – unfortunately without the amount of response she had hoped for - before retreating some more steps into the alley. In the main street behind him she could hear the remains of the barricade bursting under the impact of the Chimera ramming it to pieces to support its allies and being greeted by a hail of stubber rounds ricocheting of its armor plates before the collaps of a building somewhere to their west drowned out all other noises for some moments again. Meanwhile her adversery advanced after her, bloodlust in his crazy, wide open eyes but unfortunately adept at handling his two handed blade even in this relative confined space. Checking one last of his crushing blows, her trusty autogun broke in two, leaving her no other chance than to try and roll away in a desperate act of evasion. She came up in a hunched position, her long knife pulled out – not quite a fair match for the heavy blade. In that very moment the characteristic hissing of two missiles from the main alley was followed by an explosion mixed with the screaming sound of a large metal box rupturing like a safe in an uphive heist. The shockwave echoing through their narrow battlefield was deafening and pushed her attacker off balance for a moment, just enough for the teeth of his chainblade to bite into some crumbling rusty corrugated metal sheet and jam to a halt. Before he could even try to pull it out Eola was on him, forcing her own blade through his throat into his skull. To her horror he turned around, starring into her eyes with a look long devoid of any trace of sanity. Letting go of the Chainblades handle his hands closed around her throat, careless of his deadly wound. The next moment she could see his body shudder under an impact and be pushed away by a long bamboo spear hitting him in the chest. Laying on his back, trying to pull it out, he seemed more annoyed than aware of the situation, while his live dwindled away in an expanding puddle of blood.

Sinking to her knees and coughing she turned to see a wrinkly, grey haired old man, with sinewy muscles under his simple working gown and another bamboo spear hefted in his hands. He stared at the dying body looking shaken to the core before turning to her again. Noticing the flour covering his apron and arms, mixing with drops of blood, she remembered having seen him in one of the bakeries before. A face in the crowd, paying his protection money and trying to make a living as best as he could.

Eola rallied herself and got up, inspecting the broken remains of her gun with a bit of frustration before realizing that the sound of fighting seemed to have calm down again. Leaving the old man behind she returned to the main alley, where the enemies advance had been broken with the bulk of them retreating under fire where they came from, a hand full of survivors pinned behind broken remains of the barricade and about to take their last stand. Nonetheless a bunch of her gang brothers already shot their guns in the air celebrating their victory, the wreckage of the chimera crackling and burning in the background surrounded by the corpses of the would be attackers. Normally she would have joined in but this time… something felt wrong. She just couldn’t really put her finger on it. Turning around from the noise of gunfire she looked back into the narrow alleyway she had just come from and saw the old man looking to the sky with an impression of puzzlement. The next moment his eyes widened and he gestured something towards her that she did not understand before turning around and apparently running for shelter. Expectant she looked around, puzzled what the old geezer had seen, that made him loose his cool. It was almost too late to dive for cover when she realized the high pitched whistling of the approaching Earthshaker shells…

M’Baka – the baker

With a plucky jump, M’Baka threw himself down the steps leading to the basement of the brewery he had reached just in time. It was chiseled directly into the hard rock the building was standing on, meaning that it came as close to a good hideout as it came but also that he banged his back pretty badly in the process. Groaning he was just about to curse this stupid idea, when the first shell dropped and send a shockwave through the alley that pressed even in his little sanctuary. The next seconds the world around him turned into an apocalyptic storm of explosions, collapsing buildings and clouds of debris being thrown around. M’Baka cowered in his corner, covering his ears in vain against the raging destruction and trying to protect himself against the bricks, planks and shards of glass raining down on him from the shaking brewery.

He could not have said how long the bombardment had lasted, as what most likely had been minutes at best had felt like an eternity. Crawling out from the debris covering him he stood for a moment in eerie silence, all sounds muffled by thick clouds of ochre dust hanging heavy in the air blocking out the sun. Barely able to see more than 10 meters he started to stumble through the twilight trying to orient himself, but most of the huts and buildings had been flattened to heaps of rubble. Suddenly M’Baka became aware of a hushed groaning to his left as the whistling in his ears started to fade. Clueless what else to do he headed for the sound and soon found an arm sticking out under a heap of bricks, futile trying to wriggle its buried owner free. “I’m coming!” the old baker announced, as he pulled at the heavy rock on top of the heap, lifting it up on his shoulder, as he had countless of sacks of flour in his life. The face of the man under it was covered in dust looking like a ghost – M’Baka most likely looking the same – coughing and breazing heavily as he looked up at his savior, the seven pointed star on his forehead still visible. M’Baka hesitated only for a moment, before he lifted the boulder up above his head again and smashed it down on the heretic symbol with all his strength. The next moment he bent down and threw up heartily. When he felt a little better he raise up again, his legs still shaking. All his life he had never even fought in a bar brawl and now he had killed… twice. And what was even more upsetting was his realization that what they said was true: it was easier the second time…

A trickle of debris behind him made him turn around, only to see another survivor, her leg trapped under a collapsed wall together with the smashed remains of a fellow that did not have that much luck. Just when he was about to take up the bolder again he recognized her, it was the young woman that had fought in the alleyway with him. “Wait I’ll help you!” he said, stumbling over but trying to pull her out he achieved little more than a scream of pain “If that’s how you help, stop helping me you Frakhead! Get a lever or something!” Looking around he soon found a long iron bar that stood up to the task and managed to free the ganger. Her left foot was shattered and twisted, so he pulled her up to support her on his shoulder. As she got her first good look at him, she gave a rattling, pained laugh “You? What are you, my personal guardian angel? Hell of a job you are doing here.” M’Baka looked at her, lost for words, a long learned fear of getting cross with the gangs rooted deep in his bones. “Never mind. I’m Eola. What’s your name?” “M’Baka. I…” before he could say more, they were interrupted by a series of loud whistles, seemingly coming from all along a long line to their left. “What’s that?” he asked and with a grim look on her face the ganger answered “They are coming. And this time they are regulars.” Her words were underlined by the sound of countless footsteps in marching order underlined with the roaring of hundreds of engines being fired up.

Zantana - The Priestess

Yet another wave of dust clouds filled the plaza in front of the Skyfathers holy temple as the last remaining factorium bordering it gave in to the damage done by the shelling, collapsing like a dying behemoth succumbing to its wounds. The rumbling of falling bricks and screaming of metal beams bending and breaking like twigs drowned out the sounds of battle for a moment, but soon the crack of Lasgun fire and deep rumble of explosions returned. Seeing some more stragglers limping through the debris running from the traitors homing in on the house of him on earth, Zantana rallied a score of the remaining defenders to give them cover fire while she and a hand full of brave souls ran to meet them and bring them in.

The temple was more or less the last real building standing for half a mile around. Every shard of glass had been shattered and most of the roof had collapsed but the massive, meter thick rockcrete walls and pillars stood defiant of those that wanted to desecrate this world. What little was left of the PDF and militia had rallied here, to join her in protecting the holy ground, yet Zatana was well aware that most of them had come because they had nowhere else to hide, the noose of the attackers finally closing around this isle of loyalists and beginning to tighten by the minute. She had barely reached the all-over tattooed woman leaning heavily on the short, heavy set man making their way towards her, when the bullets started flying again. One of her companions went down in a spray of blood, a cry of agony on his lips, before the shooter was silenced by the snipers in the temples large belltower, driving the other assailants into cover. At least it bought enough time to bring everyone back into the safety provided by the sacred halls and the makeshift barricade made from the detritus that had fallen from above. Zantana was the last to jump to safety, hitting the ground beside the old paecekeeper leading the desperate defenders. He cracked of some shots with his bolt pistol – judging by his grudgingly satisfied look hitting someone who deserved it. He still looked like a ghost, pale from the shock and trauma, yet the lasbolts that had taken his left arm off had at least cauterized the wound and kept him from bleeding out. “Get those two a weapon!” he shouted to the children hurrying around with buckets of laspacks and ammo, nudging his head towards the two newcomers. A woman in a blood soaked PDF uniform came running from the northern portal reporting “That’s it. Cordon’s closed, they have us surrounded. Twenty men are down at north portal and the Eastern portal is still under artillery fire. And there is heavy fighting in the catacombs.” She tried to keep her voice down, yet still enough heard what was meant only for the Peacekeepers and her own ears. Then again, it didn’t really matter anymore, they all had eyes to see.

Zantana looked around her and had to admit that for every look of grim resolve she found two wavering on the brink of desperation. So she straightened herself again, unsheathed her chainsword and raised it high intonating the choral of Saint Sabat with all the might and conviction she could muster. It was just this moment that the heretics pushed the assault, the first two men over the barricade falling under the whining slashes of her blade. Inspired by her example, the fierce spirit of the Skyfather rose again in her companions, and the tattered remains of Ninshasas Defenders raised up one last time to make their final stand, lots of them falling in with the holy choral Zantana was still singing like a battlecry. It would be a slaughter, but they would not go down cowering in fear. They would stand their ground as long as they could, just like their ancestors against the evil witches of old - a thought that filled her with pride.
As Zantana jumped down the barricade with her comrades, they found themselves faced not only by swarms of screaming charging heretics, but also starring down the barrel of a battle tank, turning through the boulders of debris onto the plaza surrounding the temple. Just as the multibarreled gatling on the tank was about to spin into motion it disappeared in a hail of impacts from above, going out in a spectacular explosion. The pressure wave almost took her from her feet – just like the lunatic jumping out on her left with a rusty axe – but she found her footing quicker, taking of his head on a desperate backswing. Her ears rang from the explosion but still she could hear the roaring of impacts hammering the ground all around her. Puzzled what was going on, they witnessed the swat of heretics being turned into red mist and dust clouds around them as streams of fire and bolts of light rained down around them.

As they raised their eyes to the sky, tears filled Zantana eyes as she realized that him on earth had graced Thoth by hearing their prayers and sending their deliverance, just as he had done centuries ago…

Lieutenant Maurus – the navy officer

Second Lieutenant Maurus stood at the bridge of the Urothrian navy gunboat. It was one of the smaller vessels of the Urothrian navy detachment assigned to the 2nd Legion. But it was what he’d always wanted to captain. Ever since he’d seen a squadron of them coming low, cutting through the greasy clouds that encased the Sueiba hives on Urothria. The memory made his skin tingle and the skin on the back of his skull throb. He was captain of the Dimachaerus a fine vessel as any, and these past months it made his heart sick with pride.


There had been more than a few hairy scrapes since practically the entire sector had rebelled almost overnight and Dimachaerus had never let them down. She was battered and beaten but never in dock with the mother-ship for more than a day. She’d entered atmosphere and escorted the landers pulling Commonwealth troops off half a dozen planets and a handful of installations in the past week. She’d engaged and destroyed three enemy craft twice her class from the concealment of asteroid fields or debris.


He checked the watch his wife had given him. Lucky he had it. He slipped on his old coat, the one where the navy green was faded, where it was lightly scorched and even boasted light battle damage from a boarding action by pirates all those years ago. He ran his hand over his hair and replaced his cap upon his head then ran a finger over the face of his watch the way one might tenderly over their lover's cheek. This time it didn’t even warrant a glance from the crew. Everyone was doing their personal last minute good-luck rituals.

“All crews battle order.” He called.

“Vulcan is ready sir.” it was called up from down the centerline of the craft. Dimachaerus had already proven she could punch well above her draught.

“Auxiliary weapons ready sir.” 2nd Officer Hodji said. That meant the two automatic 6 inchers and the two punishers in their turrets.

“Void shields at full.”

On the command holofield he could see the battlecruisers Valiant and Adamant approach from reserve towards the enemy eager to bring vengeance to the traitors. The ships were fast, faster and harder hitting than anything the heretics had. Their sudden and violent turn of speed had caught the enemy unaware and they were scrambling to do something.


He rubbed at the stubs of hairs on his top lip. Hadn’t had access to a good razor in too long. Much like the combat situation his morning ritual had been reduced what one could consider a few hairy scrapes. The result was a perpetual itch. In truth the supply situation was direr than just dull razors. He didn’t want to think about how long rationing could go on. He’d not heard good things back at the hanger. This rock had loyalists, so perhaps their prayers had been answered and that was why they were doing this.



“Missile pods primed sir.” They’d been able to scrounge up the full complement this time. Nothing made Maurus happier than having the full complement and being underway. He saw the battlecruisers reach combat distances and the first few charged lance sots streak out across space. He’d liked to have seen the results of the strikes, he’d loved to have watched the battlecruisers and their escorts charge in and brush aside the weakened platform and the flotilla of auxiliary craft. That’s what they called an ore hauler or passenger ship when you put guns on it and took it to battle, an auxiliary. The command line opened up. And two words committed his crew to action.


Their mission was a city area in the planet’s polar ocean region. “Punching into atmosphere.” He said by way of acknowledgment then took the tiller. He slid Dimachaerus from her concealed position in the debris field and fifty small ships and the larger Centaur did the same. Centaur was a ship not designed for atmosphere, she was designed to act as an orbital logistical base or as now an aircraft carrier.

“All crews be advised this is Centaur, deploying rocket sleds now.”

The maneuver was meticulously drilled at the Naval academy. Maurus was careful to keep Dimachaerus on course as not to crush any of the tiny and fragile aircraft with her heavily armored and void-shielded bulk. Through a small optical aperture, he could see them formed up in Vs, the discardable rocket sleds harnessed to them burning bright in the void.

“This is Centaur to all crews. Disengaging and returning to fleet.” Maurus thought the pilot had signed off but the commlink came alive a moment later, “Give them hell.”
He had to smile at that, everyone did. This rock had loyalists and that was a damn good change. Their target wad directly below the now distracted enemy fleet. The holofield ahead of him displayed what the tiny and heavily reinforced direct optics could not and he adjusted accordingly. The ships came down in a great swoop, monitors and missileboats above and in front of the gunboats to carry out the first pass of bombardment, landing ships in behind.

“Enemy atmospheric craft moving to engage.” Came the voice of one of his officers.

“Airwings are moving into position to protect the transports.” The aircraft accompanying them would engage the enemy only after they were above the mission area and had jettisoned their rocket sleds. But they’d lay down much more gunfire should anything get in their way.

The monitors and gunboats would put up a wall of fire and flak to greet the enemy. But the mission was too important to chase the smaller and more agile craft.

Their escort consisted of M21 Bazas and A42 Comets. There was even a contingent of B432 Aurelians kitted out to fight as super heavy fighters, they were fast enough when you did away with the bomb load.

“All auxiliary weapons free.” He could see streams of liquid fire rushing out to meet the bursts of flak shells ahead of him and he tried to imagine being out there in a flimsy little airframe.

Dimachaerus had three thirty milimetre rotary cannons and a pair of six inchers. You’d not want to approach her from her firing arcs.

“Shields being struck. Holding.” They lowered their altitude coming in over the sea.

“Sir. The platform is entering atmosphere.” Said ensign Victoria. He was always shocked by her youth, fresh out of academy and thrust into this. But she’d put her head down like the rest of them. He looked through the aperture. Fire was raining from the sky. Millions of tiny meteors of ruin trailing down from the heavens filling the sky with fire and smoke. He found himself hoping it’d not fall on allied positions. Dimachaerus screamed closer to the coast and they could see columns of smoke and individual flashes of explosions. Suddenly they were above land and were slowing to make their pass onto the objective. Out of the aperture he saw the flight of Bazas dropping sleds and peeling off.

“Requesting permission to engage ground targets sir.”

“If you can identify them.” He replied. He turned the tiller towards the part of the city that the holofield identified as the landing zone. The map indicated that he was to hold position above a temple. He could see battle raging across the greater region on the holofield. Pockets of resistance still held to the west and south and were indicated with markers. The flash to his left caught his eye even through the void tinted aperture. A brilliant flash that carried over the horizon. One of the pockets disappeared and he watched it expand on the holofield like a ripple on a pond. Signatures disappeared in the vicinity rapidly, it could only mean one thing.

“A vraking nuclear strike?” Someone breathed.

No, someone did the last thing they could. He could see on one of the ships screens camera feed from punisher cannon two. Enemy trucks strung and trying to scatter on the main highway, being engaged by a troop of light tanks at close quarters. Gun two locked onto some enemy tanks that were moving to engage the allied vehicles and rattled off a few bursts of fire. Against the top armour of the vehicles the AP rounds would be devastating. One of the six inchers leant it’s firepower.

Two minutes later and gun two spotted what had been a running battle between allied remnants and a strong enemy force. It had been a losing battle to the loyalists. Gun two spooled up and sent a short hosing burst of liquid fire to the enemy.

Then they were over the rainforest, and almost suddenly the falling debris was ahead and above them, it loomed ahead and above them, smoke and fire in what seemed to be a continuous rain from the heavens.

“We’re going to enter that.” Ensign Victoria breathed.

We’re going to enter that.

“This is Zero actual. All aircraft decelerate and drop rocket sleds.” The leader of the operation’s voice came over the coms. “All voidcraft to your allotted landing zones.” The aircraft dropped back, to ditch a rocket sled at full speed was suicidal, they’d generally have to throttle back to almost a stall.

Dimacharus was assigned to ‘landing zone Quail’ in the favela district, which had been largely levelled by artillery fire and didn’t seem to have any buildings sturdy enough to resist a lander. Well aside from the temple. The artillery fire had stopped. A squadron of monitors was making a pass over the landing zone, their heavy guns pounded the enemy troops into the surface of the planet. He took Dimacharus in for her final approach. Both punishers were lighting up ground targets. He pointed her outwards and above his part of the district. He saw gunfire from the small and damaged temple. The punishers lay down a curtain of tracers that looked like molten gold flowing down to the enemy in streams.

“Sir we’ve got incoming Vendettas.” There came a volley of las-cannon fire that struck Dimacharus.

“Void shields holding”

He couldn’t shift from formation, if they got to the lander they could damage it. He wheeled her so that punisher one was on target but the pilot put his craft into an evasive maneuver. Dimacharus was much zippier in the void, as designed for atmosphere warfare that she was there was always a tradeoff.

Another volley struck them.

“Gun two is damaged. Bow shields are down, taking ground fire from anti-tank missile launchers.” For a moment he could feel it. The first Vendetta firing a volley, Dimacharus being pinned in place. Sometimes in an attack you lose a ship, it just happens, part of the job.

Punisher one was straining to get the first vendetta on target whilst punisher one was struck by ground fire and its housing damaged. It was like the bite of an ant and yet...

The Vendetta came around and he locked eyes on it through a direct vision port. It paused in the air a moment. He could see the energy building in its cannon batteries. The moment seemed to stretch out into forever.

Vrak it’s aiming for the bridge. This is a veteran pilot.

An instant later the Valykrie Vendetta was shredded. A heavy volley of automatic cannon fire instantly rendered the flyer into scrap metal. Despite this he had not forgotten the other enemy gunship, he turned his attention to it knowing he’d have maybe a second to deal with it before it could fire again. The last remaining six incher was jammed, a feeding issue which had been common enough with the shells they had been forced to use of late. He hauled the ship around to point the last remaining punisher. But a moment later the second Vendetta was struck this time by an air to air missile.

A shark mouthed B432 Aurelian barrel rolled past showing three pairs of smoking auto cannon barrels in a pod where the bomb bay was and sought more victims. Maurus took a deep breath in and let the feeling of pins and needles in his spine and the back of his head subside.

“Stoppage cleared. Gun operational.”

“Punisher one operational.” Called Demetrius, his wonder mechanic.

“Void shields at 100% on bow arc.”

“This is Odessa landing at Quail successful.”


Captain Brown – the army officer


Captain Brown led her troops from the hold of giant landing craft named the Odessa. The world was filled with the roaring of the carrier’s engines and swirling clouds of dust and smoke. She could hear the booming of the gunboat’s cannons up above like lightning in a bank of clouds. An entire battalion of the Klomn 252nd Line Regiment was landing.

Troops and light vehicles spread out to form a perimeter around the landing area. But her company’s objective was beyond ring of guns somewhere in the choking clouds of dust and smoke. And it was too vital to wait for the maelstrom to clear.

Not for the first time in a week, and probably not the last. She bit her lip, she hoped it was the last time, that this nightmare would be over and they’d realise they promoted the wrong person.

She hadn’t felt ready a month ago when they’d given her a platoon readying to go into action against the xenos on the sector’s fringe.

Then the war had come to them. It was like a riot first, and then, well it was the entire planet. And they’d gotten off that rock only by a miracle. But the legion was deployed across several systems, and it was hours before the Klomn 252nd Line Regiment was being deployed to secure the evacuation of the legion. And that was what it had become. Flight, from one sector to the next, landing and evacuating the remnants of the legion, hitting the supply hub a Druanis IV, just so the legion would not starve. That was where the body of her predecessor had been left. For every evacuation and for every raid there were bodies left behind. Even so her soldiers were keen as ever to fight.

She pushed towards the imperial shrine and gestured to her soldiers to follow. It looked like they’d landed in a scrapyard, the world was covered in half collapsed buildings of timber and iron. It had once been a shanty town but the concussion of heavy artillery had collapsed most of the buildings. It was like a kick in the stomach, there was meant to be allied troops operating in the area. Nothing moved in the scene of ruin. First second and third platoon were fanning out to in her sector leading with 2nd. Every inch of the ground was covered with debris.

The swirling clouds enveloped them completely; the company moved forwards for what felt like hours but could only have been a few minutes. They passed a body and then another. It felt like the world was holding its breathe in, it felt like any moment the world would explode in gunfire and muzzle flashes. The dust was greasy on her sweaty hands and face, the gripped the service rifle a bit tighter.

“We on point Captain?” Came master sergeant Rhys’s voice behind her. It was as ever a well-timed prompt. She paused and took a heading on the digital map, it was the only way they’d find the chapel in this.

There was a noise above the sound of the Odessa’s engines. She realized with horror that it was getting louder. Something big was pounding towards them. She could hear it clattering on the corrugated metal and drumming on the mud. Captain Brown pressed her fingers into the fore grip of the KSR83. Whatever it was it sounded like it was heading straight for her. The pounding of feet grew louder till it sounded like it was on top of her, it sounded like surely any moment something would erupt from the swirling dust and smoke.

Something struck her. The sheer familiarity of the pounding rhythm, in that moment she could almost imagine the creaking of leather harness.

The first thing she could see of it in the dust as that the horse was rider less. She leapt to the right and it thundered by at full gallop. She caught a flash of eyes wild with fear and foam at its mouth and flanks before it was gone again.

Captain Brown closed her eyes,took a deep breathe and cleaned the dust from her face and goggles.

“Sir, sir we have a live one!” A trooper called to her left.

She rushed over to the trooper as the corporal of his section did. He was lifting a heavy sheet of metal that had collapsed over the foxhole the wounded soldier had been in. Another Trooper dragged him out of the hole by his armpits. The man was covered in blood from a hundred small cuts and nicks, his legs were shredded with what seemed like shrapnel wounds, and were damp with blood. It looked like they’d reached him just in time. It wasn’t even a consideration. The legion had survived because no matter what you did not leave people behind.

“Medic!” Captain Brown screamed.

“Medi…” The word died on her tongue as she saw the tattoos on the man’s face; seeing the mark up close on his flesh was a perversion of the purity of terra and the emperor’s light, it was like a physical force had struck her. There came a gunshot next to her, she felt the blast up behind her eyes, the man’s head exploded and she caught the whiff of powder wafting up from the corporal’s rifle.

She looked down to see a grenade next to her foot. She gave it a soft kick, enough to send it skittling into the foxhole. Someone’s arm caught her around the waist, and she felt the ground rushing sideways to meet her. The impact knocked the wind out of her lungs and her helmet slammed into something hard. The grenade exploded and she felt it through the ground.

The corporal got off her and she climbed to her feet. She’d taken heavier tackles. The only difference was this time it wasn’t on the sports field and she hadn’t been holding the ball.

Master Sergeant Rhys walked over to her, he seemed completely at home. “Captain?” He sounded at least a little concerned. The tough NCO had somehow remained a model of calm pragmatism and discipline throughout the ordeal and his example had helped her as much as it helped the troopers. It was a curt reminder that she’d arrived with the legion only a month ago, Rhys had been in the Legion for years.

She checked the nav-point again and they pressed towards the imperial shrine. It was her company’s honour to secure the hallowed site.

“Medic! We’ve got a live imperial here.” A trooper called out. Their voice strange in the dust and smoke.

Outside of her com set she could hear nothing but the dulled rumbling of the guns above them and the blasts of the shells that were landing further and further away.

A burst of las-fire snapped out from ahead. Everyone dropped to the ground. She could feel a stinging sensation on the outside of her leg like someone had touched it hot iron.

She pulled herself to her feet. She somehow felt calmer than she’d been before. There was no room for fear, instead there was a cold rage, that like the legion the last weeks had bitten at her and that this time they were not at circumstance’s mercy, this time they’d take not one step backwards.

A figure came sprinting straight towards her with some kind of hatchet. Screaming, stripped to the waist and covered in tattoos of the mark. He looked absurd, like a caricature of a chaos warrior.

She put a round into the traitor and another as she stepped to the side. The hatchet came towards her but she parried with the receiver of the KSR83. She countered with a strike with the butt stock to the opponent’s chin. Even as they went backwards, she saw the hatchet coming around again to strike, in a figure of eight motion.

Captain Brown raised the rifle and caught the head of the axe near the arc of the swing so she kept it pinned above the adversaries’ head, so they were unable to retrieve it.
She could not kick, she’d end up arse-up in the mud in an instant with the axe wielding traitor raining blows on her.

The traitor glared at her. They lashed out with their other fist. It struck her in the face. She felt the blow deep in her skull, she felt her head snap back and she felt a brief weakening before something in her body held on.

She felt the next blow coming, fast and hard on the tail of the first, she knew it must come. Captain Brown lowered her head and felt the impact on the helmet. Strong enough to break bones, a small victory but it was a matter of time at this point; the traitor was still stronger.

She felt the opponent’s strength weaken suddenly. She looked up to get spattered with hot wet stuff. The traitors neck was snapped to the side, cracked bone showing where the entrenching tool had cut into the skull.

Master Sergeant Rhys turned and attacked another oncoming traitor with the other edge of the spade. Captain Brown stepped back and wiped the blood and brains from her face.

More gunshots rang out nearby. She ducked low and checked over the rifle, the receiver looked damaged from the hatchet strike but when she pulled the charging lever and a live round flew out and the next fed flawlessly.

She heard the chatter of automatic gunfire in the distance around her. Another figure was running from the dust, they caught a burst of gunfire but didn’t stop, she raised her rifle and fired into the traitor’s legs, a shin bone shattered and they crashed to the ground.

Somehow she heard footsteps coming from behind, she swivelled on her heel, the man was carrying a hefty machete, and had an aquila pendant around his neck.

For some reason. He raised his hands.

“Praise Aquila.”

A bullet snapped out of the smoke and struck the civilian through the collar. She could see the bone protruding and blood welling from the wound. She ran over to the injured man to give him aid but more shapes were darting in and out of the smoke and clouds.

She felt someone tugging at her pistol holster as she shot at a figure that was attempting to rush them. She could feel the blasts of the pistol beside her and the bursts from the master sergeant’s rifle.

One of her soldiers moved towards them, a round came out and hit him in the throat and he went down.

More figures rushed from the smoke. She put a burst into one and he dropped. The injured militiaman handed her the machete, another figure erupted was charging towards her, bayonet
raised. She felt absurd calm come over her, suddenly she was in uncle’s fencing class back in Sebam.

She advanced at the charging man and at the last moment took a half step to the right, she battered the bayonet away with the strong of the blade and with a simple turn of the hand brought it down in a slash to the back of the opponent’s neck. The machete was both heavy and sharp and it dug deep.

Someone fired a burst from a machine pistol at her but nothing struck and after a few rounds the weapon seized. She turned towards them. The traitor dropped the gun and went for a knife, but she was too close, she lunged and put a solid swing in, felt the power almost come up from the ground as seemingly every inch of her being twisted to put power in that strike.

The traitor’s arm came off below the elbow and beneath his chest plate his unarmored stomach was slit open. She twisted her arm and cut at his neck cutting through a few fingers that the opponent had put in the way. She turned to see one of her troopers clubbing someone with a chunk of rubble whilst the wounded militiaman aided him with what looked like a rock in a sock.

Captain Brown pushed the tip of the machete into the mud. She emptied the spent magazine from her rifle and grabbed a fresh one, but then dropped it quickly because someone was trying to kill her again. She parried a sabre cut with the receiver of the rifle. Bent at the knees and closed her hand around the handle of the machete.

She saw the next swing coming towards her neck, lowered her head and caught it on the helmet. Felt the blade switch and a drawing cut across the back of her neck but the gap was narrow between her helmet and shoulder plate. The sabre was sharp and she felt it like a hot razor on the back of her neck.

The traitor was readying for another strike when he turned and caught a dagger wielding militia man with a strike and a thrust she barely even saw. He turned back towards her. The traitor was good, he had the reach and speed and she regretted not having a proper sword, not having proper hand protection. She readied the rifle as an improvised shield.

The traitor officer was ripped apart in a hail of heavy gunfire. She turned to see specialist Tarrence crouched, firing his machinegun like a rifle. He swivelled on the spot putting a short burst into another two figures.

Another soldier was nearby laying down heavy fire with a light machinegun. The enemy were letting up. She ran over to the downed trooper. Captain Brown turned the body over. It was the corporal that had tackled her quite clear they were too late.

She put a new magazine into the rifle and made sure it was feeding correctly.



They pressed forwards and found what looked like a trench. She dropped into it then crouched and checked the nav-point. They were within a hundred meters of the chapel but they might as well have been on another planet.

“How far to go Captain?” Master Sergeant Rhys asked.

“It’s just over that way. We’ll be on the grounds s...” The world was filled with noise.

The roar of the Odessa’s engines droned out everything. The world became a swiring mess, she pushed herself against the edge of the trench, pushed her elbow over her face as the dust tore at it. She heard the Odessa accelerate, and came a strong breeze that ripped the dust and smoke from the air.

She stood up and wiped her goggles clean.

In the trench there was eight other soldiers. None of them were imperials. Behind them was what looked like an abandoned chimera.

Someone raised their weapon at her and pulled the trigger. Stoppage.

Captain Brown threw herself behind a jag in the trench. The trench was particularly well crafted, shored up with corrugated metal, zig zagged and with plentiful supply of grenade sumps and ammunition stowage points. Someone who knew their craft had overseen the construction.

Tarrence opened up. He shredded the first three of them. Someone got to cover.

A grenade landed nearby and she kicked it into a grenade sump. She heard the sharp cracking of a heavy multi-laser and the dull thud thud thudding of a heavy bolter. She could feel the concussion of the rounds exploding nearby.

She peeked out. The chimera was very much in action and the enemy troops were using its covering fire to press towards her. She fired a burst out and caught two. Someone threw another grenade and she managed to scoop it into the sump again.
There was a loud thud and the ground shook again.

It was too close for bayonets. Captain Brown pulled unclipped it from the rifle and held it reverse grip then got back to her feet.
Someone came around the corner. She lunged and the blade went up under their chin.

Tarrence rolled and fell into the trench next to her, she grabbed him to drag him into the cover of the trench. More rounds snapped towards them, enemy troops were flooding over the high ground towards them and the chimera had turned it’s multilaser to them.

A stream of fire came own from the heavens and cut through the vehicle from rear to front. A moment later a shell landed behind it and then another and another. A line of commonwealth soldiers dropped into the trench and started pressing forwards.

For the first time since landing she could see her platoons, each one readying a small aquila flag for the approach on friendly lines.

She could see the planet’s sun and feel the warmth of her skin and the earth soft under her boots. Trails of debris rained down like meteorites and las bolts streaked out from the upper levels of the temple as the defenders lent their fire against the retreating traitors.

“Captain.” The Master Sergeant helped her to her feet again, this time with a relieved smile.

“Sergeant.” She returned the grin.

She felt joy, joy for the sun on her face, and the mud under her boots, joy for the enemy ships burning up on entry into the atmosphere above them and joy for that their flight had stopped. That finally the legion would take not one step back.

There came calls and shouts from the temple and she felt her eyes misting over to hear the friendliness and joy in the voices.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2021/04/01 13:50:57


~5600 build and painted 
   
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Lone Wolf Sentinel Pilot






Finally got around to finish a whole bunch of my stuff:
First of: bunkers:

these ones I build from 3D printed turret emplacements intended for Leman Russ turrets, printed at about 80% size to put the (also printed) Gryphonne pattern Chimera turrets on top. I purposely got the bunker bodies printed with not that good of a resolution to get a rough, hastily produced look.

Baneblade Bunker "Asya"

Something I always wanted to do. Baneblade turret from a bitsshop, tank commander from a FW Malcador. The bunker-body is made from foamboard. "Asya" is an African name meaning something like "Born in a time of grief", because the bunker was build from a wrack after a battle that went badly for the imperials. I'm currently waiting for a white enamel pencil to write the name somewhere.
Together I could see all three bunkers as Fortification complex. Pointswise they should be in the ballpark of a Baneblade without sponsons. The only difference would be a second twin heavy bolter instead of the Demolisher canon.


Next some tank kitbashes:
Light tank "Chensira"

This was based on an idea I found on thingiverse. A Gryphonne Chimera turret on the hull of an M8 Scott. Really cute little thingy and a nice Sentinel proxy. Fluff wise I imagine the Askaris got their hands on a couple of Chimera turret spare parts. And as they desperatly need tanks, they put the spare turrets on some local tracked chassis to make them usable until a real Chimera hull "gets free".
Chensira is an African name roughly meaning "born during traveling"

Pegasus Scout tank "Nahisisa"

The Centaur/Pegasus kitbashing project I mentioned in another threat. Inspired by an old white dwarf article. Consisting of a combination of Leman Russ/Chimera hull, a 3D printed Gryphonne pattern Chimera turret and lots of little accessories. Nahisisa is an african name meaning something like "Child of the shadows", as it is a scout. I really like the look with all the little equipments. Really looks like something scouting on its own.


Last but not least: Inquisitor Lady Natasha:

An Inquisitor put together from parts of an Anvil Industry rejected bits bag. I'm not yet sure with the color of the roses on her forcestaff and the feather at her hat (I tried them in red, violett, orange/yellow, but none of it really looked good). The blueish Aquilla is intended to be a Forcestaff. Also tried a little inquisitorial seal on the base.
I'm still working on her fluff but after a brainstorming in one of the threads on Dakka the rough outline is her being a member of the Ordo Barbarus that was in the region around Thoth having an eye on the various feudal and feral planet in the region, amongst others because the segmentum Pacificus was rather suspiciously peaceful (relativ to other regions of the imperium). I imagine her as not being ungrateful for this rather dull and boring task, her being not the most ambitious career beast in the Inquisition. Than the Night of a thousand rebellions happened and she was one of the few inquisitors right in the thick of the action and rose to the task.
I also consider my "Sister Sabine" that I so far had filed under "SoB Canoness" being another Inquisitor instead (most likely Ordo Maleus as she really looks like a demon hunter). She was send to look what Lady Natasha was doing in this region, her supervisors suspicious of the Ordo Barbarus. When Lady Natashas superiors heard of Lady Sabine arriving they ordered the Barbarus Inquisitor to find out what she was up to, so both women ended up being task to watch each other. After realizing what was going on they have developed something like a friendship, peppered with pointed word duells etc.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2021/04/24 09:36:40


~5600 build and painted 
   
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Lone Wolf Sentinel Pilot






"... negative eagle 23. The 56th is to depleted and was struck from the army groups rooster by Munitorum decree. You are to hold position and cover the retrat while evacuation commences and then await further orders. Over and out." and with that, the final nail was put into the coffin of the Elysian 56th. Sergeant Johnson felt cold and empty, yet in some strange way... a sense of conclusion? It was hard to say. The first hit had come years ago, when they lost their material support. After it had dwindled for quite some time, the Forgeworlds in the sector had just stopped producing the equipment used by his beloved airborne regiment and if he was really honest to himself the 56th had been dead men walking from then on. Without replacements, every loss shrunk them smaller, they had to pull their damaged Tauris assunder to get the spare parts to keep at least some of them running. The number of their gravchutes had dwindled, but that wasn't even that problematic as there were fewer and fewer to even wear them. This mission as part of army group Long Spear had been the final act. All that was left were him and the three other elysians, crewing a single surviving Tauros Venator and assault vehicle each - and they didn't even have a single functioning gravchute amongst them...
And now the regiment had been struck from the rooster by the munitorum. So for the administration they were killed in action. The fact that corporal Smith, trooper Kyle and Langdon still draw breath was only a minor detail. It hadn't been said through the vox, but Johnson didn't believe there would be a place on the troop ships for them. They would just be left here to the approaching nids and forgotten, either dying in the fires of orbital bombardment or eaten by the bugs.
Looking around he met the eyes of his comrades and saw that they new. To break the awkward silence he opened his personal lockerbox to retrieve what he had saved for exactly this occasion. As he pulled out the bottle of finest Elysian amasec a sergeants pay could buy, the boys smiled and he poured each of them a healthy swig into their canteen cups. "Raise the glasses! For the 56th!" "For Elysia" Smith replied. "For Colonell Porter, captain Powel, Smitty and Jake" Kyle replied "And all the others. We miss you guys. See you soon" Langdon finished. "FROM THE CLOUDS!" they all chorussed their unit motto.
-----------------------------
The Carnifex kept on moving several paces, until his body realized that its head and a chunk of its upper torso had just been vaporized by the Tauros twin lascannons. When collapes it kept on shuddering and twitching for quite some time, until one of the approaching soldiers torched it with a flamer. That seemed to be the last of them. The commander of the approaching column of Guardsmen that Johnson and his men had helped out reiled the strange, two humped animal he used as steed around towards them and saluted, pulling down his shemagh so that they could see his face. It was a dark, sunburned one, but friendly. "Beg Mustafah ben Kemir, 45th Thoth Askari cavalry. My thanks Sergeant. You really safed our behinds there." "It was our pleasure. The emperor protects." answered Johnson returing the gesture of respect. The officer - beg being a major or something as far as he could see and not from Tallarn even if he very much looked like it - turned around to his unit mixed of rough riders and a hand full of scout cars and said something in a heavy, throaty dialect. It obviously meant they were to mount up and keep going towards the evacuation Point, while the command squad of the cavalry officer moved up to him. As he realized that Johnson and the other Elysians did not move to follow Beg Mustafah asked them in clear low gothic "You're not coming?" Johnson shrugg resigned and explained their situation and what he thought about the piles of groxdroppings in the munitorum. It felt relieving to vent a bit and what did it matter now, they could hardly court marshal a sergeant that didn't even exist in their files anymore.

The Beg listened intently "You are good soldiers and good men. It's a shame." He seemed to consider something. "Do you want to die here?" "Hell no, but what choice do we have?" Mustafah nodden, turned to his vox-trooper and took the handle "Call up the command staff... Chamsin 3 to command, over? Status report. Got attacked by Tyranids at 33'24'' to 89'16''. Two Elysian Tauros moved in to support. They fought valiantly but were destroyed, Emperor rest their souls.", Johnson lifted a puzzled eybrow, for a moment concerned regarding the intentions of the major "We continue towards extraction point Gamma with 87 cavalry two trucks and 8 scout cars, over". The vox crackled a bit before the voice of a young man answered "Chiroko 1 to Chamsin 3. Please confirm numbers. You went out with 10 scout cars and reported 4 KIA. I'm no scholar, but that's not 8, is it?" "Things got a bit confusing, we have 8." vox discipline detoriated a even more as the soldier at the other end of the line answered "Awww... come on Mustafah, we already put them on the casualty list. You know what a bi*** the paperwork will be?" "Don't be such a baby Raffah, just note it down as some vox interference or something." "Fine... Just hurry up, the troop ships leave in 6 hours."

Mustaffah had just turned around towards the Elysians as the vox crackled another time and an older female voice with a tone of calm autority came through "Beg ben Kemir, a word please..." The begs facial expression dropped, and he cursed silently, looking as if being caught at some shady buiseness. "Lord Commissar Jacquard, as always a pleasure to hear you. We experience some vox scramble, you are hard to hear...." "Don't give me that crap Mustafah. I just want to remind you of our little talk back on Gorondon Prime. The one about proper unit markings and dress discipline? We have quite some officials present at the extraction side and we wouldn't want them to get a bad impression of us, would we?", Mustaffahs face lighted up "Of course not Ma'am..." he paused a moment "And thank you Ma'am. Really." "Don't mention it, Jacquard out."

As the voxlink was cut, two of the Askari soldiers were already hauling small barrels of paint and a spraygun from the flatbed of one of the trucks, while others came forward with spare shemags and baggy burnouses, beginning to dress up their battle brothers. Beg Mustafah had meanwhile pulled a andfull of dogtags out of his pockets and threw them over to them. "So, if anyone at the extraction side askes, you are Hassan, Jamila, Omar and Ali. Now lets go and leave this rock..."






These are the big and small buggy from Mortian. I took part in the kickstarter and got one of each. Nice models, even if the drivers sold seperatly unfortunatly fit poorly into the driver position. They look really cool though.The red wing markings and the (for my regiment) unusual stenciled numbers are meant as a reference to the elysian pilots former regiment. Some time after the events from the piece of fluff they were safe enough to get back in their old clothes. As you can see in the size comparison to the Forgeworld Tauros, they are much beefier than these. For the paint scheme I tested out some airbrush putty from Greenstuff world. Also really useful stuff, I can recommend.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2021/05/07 19:50:04


~5600 build and painted 
   
Made in au
Storm Trooper with Maglight







Those mortian buggies are nice. I love the paint schemes, they both look really cool, a neat addition to your forces.

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2021/05/08 21:27:36


   
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Lone Wolf Sentinel Pilot






Thanks Oldmate. On a more fluffy point: I really wonder if the heavy flamer weapon option on the smaller buggy (and the old Tauros Assault vehicle) makes sense. It is a flame weapon directly over the driver in its open cockpit. I never saw a flamer live, but wouldn't fuel drop down from time to time? And even worse: sometimes still burning?
I know ruleswise the flamer is pretty good, but I guess my dudes will keep to the Grenade launcher.

~5600 build and painted 
   
Made in au
Storm Trooper with Maglight







Yeah I think you might want a particularly long barreled flame thrower.
Spoiler:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aPQYK5ZMbWY 18:38 onwards. It dribbles fuel and fire so I think that is pretty worrying XD

This message was edited 1 time. Last update was at 2021/05/09 11:24:20


   
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Another note regarding the paint schemes of the Tauris: the intense blue on the "tubes" beside the cockpit, on top of the Twin Lascannon, on some parts of the larger buggies flatbad and at the armor plates of the drivers are intend to give both vehicles a kind of distinct link to each other, while separating them a bit from the rest of my desert colored vehicles. Of Course it's not really sensible for camouflage, but it works well with their fluff of being originally Elysians that got picked up. When mixed with my other vehicles one immediatly sees that the two of them belong together and are somewhat Special from the rest.

And as for modelling: While it seems the Twin (Multi)laser parts are meant as push fit, at least mine hat some slight miscast that made this difficult. An easy fix is to drill a whole in the mounting and the twin weapon, glue a strong wire (I used a cut wirespear from some Macedonian Sarissas) into one of them and use it as pin. The mounting is really thick, so one can easily drill 1-1.5 cms deep and get a real stable mounting.

For the smaller Buggy I would recommend either a lot of dryfitting or glueing the arms of the gunner last, after everything is put together. I had some problems because I did not dryfit enough and then had the arms a bit to high, so that the guns were pointing downwards. Therefore I had to modyfy the mounting a bit.

~5600 build and painted 
   
Made in de
Lone Wolf Sentinel Pilot






Next off: a Wolverine tank from Archons modular Terrain Kickstarter:
Fluff: Like the Jackal Scout tank, the honeybadger is another of Thoths domestically developed vehicle types. It is based on the badger infantry carrier that more or less went obsolete after the reestablishment of contact to the Imperium and the following switch to Chimeras for mass production as those are easier to manufacture and supply offworld. While the badger lacked the lasgun arrays and hull weapon for self defense, it did provide a larger and sturdier hull and a significantly wider turret ring, able to support a heavier turret. In an attempt to put the spare chassis to use, the Forges of Bagwa developed the honeybadger by putting an experimental high velocity anti tank gun into a rather massive turret - a feat that could only be achieved by mounting the gun in a side position. The idea behind the type was to provide the infantry with a long range anti tank option, specifically as Thoths Regiment has so far been unsuccessful in applying for one of the ever rarer Leman Russ Vanquisher. The result, munitorum referenced as Chimedon, Bagwa Pattern, is kind of a mixed bag. While the gun does indeed provide relatively heavy firepower for a troop transport, using it as an ambush tank hunter is kind of counterintuitive, while its armor is not sufficient to be used in an assault. The lack of self defense weaponry also reduces the combat use somewhat. The Honeybadger will therefore like be phased out, with no new items being produced.


Interesting and very detailed model. I liked how much little equipment stuff it has and also that the intererior is quite detailed, even if one doesn't see it. Even in the drivers compartment are quite some details. The driver even has a small escape hatch on the floor. But the model does not come with driverseats which is kind of strange when they took the time to put so much other stuff in there. Note that it has "only" ten seats in the transport compartment, no hull weapon and no Lasgun array, so is no real WYSIWYG for a Chimera. In my fluff it is a Chimedon preferably with some kind of "poor mans Vanquisher" as this thing looks like a high velocity gun. They had to remove the other weapons to fit the gun on it. Ruleswise it's likely just a stormchimera without a Hull Bolter.

As you can see the former is significantly bigger, has a much bigger turret and broader tracks.

"The old gang"

I already owned a Carnodon, but as a Christmas gift I helped myself to a Leman Russ Incinerator and a Malcador. All three tanks were in the same vacuum sealed storage facility, dating back to the last days of the Horus Heresy. While the Malcador did see some short combat use, the other ones were practically mothballed right from the production line, as the Forges moved over to Leman Russ and Baneblades. Rediscovered in the 42nd Millenium, the Askaris have been granted these old types in a seldom fit of generosity of the Munitorum. While it might have played a roll that few other regiments were keen on the rather outdated Malcador or the Leman Russ with its unknown - and upon discovery disfunctioning - gun, the Askaris hold all three tanks in highest regard, especially the Malcador that prowled on the battlefields when the Primarchs were still Walking between the mortals. Only the best tank crews are honored to drive such a renown machine and they naturally have the highest priority when it comes to repairs, ammunition or fuel. The Techpriests have noted that this respect seems to indeed calm and please the machine spirits as can be seen by the old types performing significantly better in Thoths regiments than reported from other regiments.


Bagwas Tech priest did not really understand the technical wonders of the Leman Russ energy gun. Yet they were able to rewire it in a way to make it usable, producing a focussed high energy stream, tuned to melt through heavy tank armor at very long range, at the cost of a rather low fire rate to keep the heat dissipation coils from melting.



I really like the Malcador, not only its rustic look, but also its lore as being a really old tank. I got a 3D printed demolisher cannon as possible weapons swap for the hull and have ordered a twin laser to turn it into a Malcador Annihilator if I want. I put two magnets at different positions into the demolisher, so that I can add it either in a raised, or hull down position. The writing on the sides is Pashtu (an Afghan/Pakistan dialect) for "Grandfather", but I don't know how it is pronounced



Really a beautiful model. The Mars Alpha Pattern (at least I think it's one) has so much flavor and the turret looks much better than the normal one. I did the best I can currently achieve with the gun and tried a bit of a glowing effect. I know that technically the position in the lower right is correct and the one on the lower left is upside down, but I like the upside down more (and who cares). I intend to use it as Leman Russ Vanquisher, as I imagine the Cogboys didn't really understand the HH-era Volkite and rewired it as long range energy weapon instead. Mostly because I find the gun looks like something that can seriously hurt a tank. The name is "Tariq" and means "Morning star" - the celestial body, not the weapon.

~5600 build and painted 
   
Made in de
Lone Wolf Sentinel Pilot






The Munitorum clerk tasked with overseeing the embarkment of the Askaris massaged his temple trying to chase away the beginning migraine. "No, definitly not. This thing does not go on our ship! And where did you get it anyway?" "He came by our camp for food and followed us afterwards. Became kind of our mascott during the fighting. Can't we just keep him? I mean, it's even stated in the Infantrymans uplifting primer, look!" the sergant of the squad of soldiers in front of him insisted, his low gothic heavy from his foreign accent. The Clerk raised a questioning eyebrow and took the primer, opened at a specific passage. Reading it he groaned and replied in a frustrated voice "It reads 'you have the right to bear arms', not 'the right to arm bears' you.... Ahh.. feth, forget it. Take it with you, but when it eats one of you morons, it's your own damn fault!"





A very cool armored bear I got from Atlantis Miniatures. He will be an Ogryn Bodyguard. The Slabshield is optional. I tried something else with the metal armor and the base and am pretty satisfied with both. Overall a beautiful model, easy to paint and looks impressive. It comes with kind of a platform that can be attached to the back, originally for a dwarfen rider. But it looks kind of strange because the "rider" would only be comfortable if the bear stands on its hind legs. But as far as I know they are much faster running on all fours. So I left it out.

~5600 build and painted 
   
Made in au
Storm Trooper with Maglight







Wow that armoured bear looks great, glad you decided to for-go the rider, becasue seriously a giant armoured bear with a slabshield is awesome enough!

   
Made in de
Lone Wolf Sentinel Pilot






Yeah, regarding the size again: he can easily look my elephants in the eyes. They are one height approximatly.

~5600 build and painted 
   
Made in au
Storm Trooper with Maglight







Well a rider is just going to slow him down in that case. XD

   
 
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