Hi everyone. Had an excellent game the other day at my local club, which inspired me to write it up as story as I find the battles really get my imagination going!
I didn't have my camera with me so only got a couple of crude pictures from my phone but importantly this included the set up. Which i think helps when written up as a story because you know where everything is starting.
So here are the two forces (excuse minor errors as from memory). We were playing Seize Ground and Pitched Battle with Alex's Guard going first:
Commander Handren's Imperial Gunline
Chimera with command squad inc 2 x plasma guns, commander, medic (Handren's squad)
Chimera with 10 man vet squad inc 2 meltas (Artem's squad)
Third chimera, not sure what troops within
Basilisk
Leman Russ
Lemen Russ
Hellhound
Vendetta gunship with ten vets
Marbo
3 x Scout sentinels
Graznak's Reddunblooz
Battlewagon (deffrolla and kannon) with 11 burna boys and big mek w/
KFF &
PK
Battlewagon (boarding planks and big shoota) with 17 boys, nob w/
PK and Graznak (Ghazghull)
Trukk with 11 boys and nob w/
PK
Trukk with 11 boys and nob w/
PK
2 Killakans w/rokkit launchers
13 lootas
14 gretchin w/ runtherd
Setup
Story
Commander Handren leapt from the rear doors of his chimera and climbed up to a vantage point to survey the ruined city. The green tide had thrown everything at the metropolis yet victory was within his grasp.
Handren thought back to earlier that day and could almost hear the raspy voice of commissar Drake echoing in his ears.
“We’ve wiped a 20 klick zone on the outskirts of the city completely clear with the last of our orbitals. Now you get out there and get those shield generators back online. If we can’t do that then we’re going to have about 40,000 green skins on top of us by sun down.”
“Yes commissar”, Handren had replied. “We’ll arm up and leave for the destination within the hour.”
“No goddamit Handren”, Drake had screamed. “The brutes will be gearing up their fastest heaps of junk, trucks and bikes as we speak. You leave NOW, cos the first of us to the generators doesn’t just take the city, they likely take the planet.”
Handren could hear the roar of the ork trucks heading his way and through his binoculars made out the sight of two battlewagons. He lifted his vox broadcaster to his mouth and relayed his commands to the small, but in his opinion significant task force he’d managed to scrape together, including two worn but functional Leman Russ battle tanks. The monstrous war machines moved up to take firing positions side by side followed by Sergeant Artem’s squad, who were holed up in the second of the forces’ remaining chimeras, guarding the basilisk artillery tank to Handren’s left.
Next to the basilisk was the commander’s trusty Hellhound tank, a hissing coming from the vehicle’s primary weapon as it prepared to unleash the fires of hell upon the approaching orks. The only noise to drown out the hellhound came from Handren’s ‘ace in the hole’ – a vendetta gunship, which hovered to the right of his command chimera, waiting for its weapons to find range.
Moments before giving the order to fire, he finally saw the force that the enemy had sent to claim the generators. Two trucks were flying down the middle of the battlefield with ork boys dangling from every jut, an almost comical site if not for the true deadly nature of the vehicles’ inhabitants. The trucks flanked two mighty battlewagons, similarly packed to the brim with screaming and blood-thirsty warriors.
To the left of the convoy ran two ramshackle contraptions known by the horde as ‘kans’, which were smaller but deadly equivalents of the larger ork dreadnoughts. Finally, behind the roaring advance gretchin poured into the surrounding buildings, carrying ammunition for what looked to be some sort of makeshift artillery unit – ork boys carrying a bizarre range of looted heavy weapons and high-velocity guns.
Before these creatures were able to settle and aim their weapons, Handren clicked his voxcaster on and screamed to his troops. “FIRE!”
As ordered, the vendetta unleashed the full force of its arsenal at the central battlewagon, which flared into light as some installed force-field attempted to absorb the energy blast. It was useless. The lascannons ripped through the engine and took off the rear tracks from the vehicle, stopping it almost dead. The force generated by the wagon suddenly stopping resulted in green skins fly from its carriage and scattering around the wreck.
Handren allowed himself a slight smile. The enemy’s toughest fighting vehicle had folded like paper before his war machines.
Yet the smile flickered and then reversed as the commander saw the front of the vehicle buckle, twist and burst open. From the debris strode a monstrous creature clad in what seemed to be three-inch thick iron armour and carrying a mechanised claw and large heavy weapon. The large gun spat bullets left and right, showering the area in front of him with hundreds of rounds and leaving a trail of shells in the massive ork’s wake. The huge figure of warboss Graznak strode out and towards the imperial line, grinning with a devious glint in his blood-red eyes.
So, the warboss himself had chosen to take on this mission, thought Handren. “Ha...” mumbled Handren, “This would end now.”
The Leman Russ battle tanks fired their cannons with deadly accuracy, landing huge blasts around the wreckage of the battlewagon and decimating any ork warriors who weren’t quick enough to use the vehicles heavy armour plates as makeshift cover. Similarly the ork heavy weapon boys ducked and dived around their occupied building as a huge blast landed in the ruin they were holed up in. Gretchin unlucky enough to still be encumbered with large ammo crates were not only unable to take cover, but were obliterated as the boxes exploded in their hands.
Handren’s own chimera also made its mark, lighting up the right-most truck with fire from its multilaser. One of the blasts found its way through the driver’s viewing grill and took off the creature’s head. The vehicle decelerated sharply and then stopped and the orks attached to it began to shout and grumble amongst themselves.
Things were going well, but as the sound of the ork artillery starting up rang in his ears, Handren knew that things wouldn’t continue this way. The hellhound, advancing with the objective of burning the heavy weapon bearers from their positions, was hit with the hail of fire from the now well dug in orks. Sparks flew from its carapace and the tracks on the left side of the tank were blasted clean off. Handren winced, knowing that one of his key weapons had been stopped just meters out of range of the ork position.
The remaining truck and battlewagon that had survived the initial volley of fire screamed through the wreckage debris, pushing on toward the imperial line, veering left toward the Leman Russ tanks and basilisk. Handren would have to hope that they could be stopped and would rely on Artemis to command the firepower to the left of his position now, as emerging from the truck that had ground to a halt was a mob load of ork boys with rage in their eyes. Despite being such lumbering beasts, orks could move fast, and were demonstrating their agility by advancing towards his very vehicle, using craters and ruins to shield themselves from the worst of the imperial lasgun fire.
A second volley from the vendetta blasted the second battlewagon apart, once again scattering orks from the open-topped vehicle, yet as a cheer went up from his crew, the orks struck back. One of the gretchin ‘kans’ let fly with a volley of rockets which blew the immobilised hellhound apart, just as it was beginning to cover the orks in the recently wrecked battlewagon with flames. The ork heavy gunners also battered Artemis’s chimera with fire, blasting it’s heavy bolter emplacement off and causing the crew to panic and stall the engine of the transport vehicle.
Handren’s com-port lit up on his tactical display unit, as an incoming message sounded. “Alpha one, we are approaching the target zone on recon and will assist. Unit strength: three scout sentinels. Confirm requested targets, over.”
“Received scout group,” replied the agitated commander, “move in on my positions and take down enemy infantry as soon as possible, over.”
But it was too late. The noise he dreaded echoed across the battlefield. An almighty, guttural roar emanating from the gigantic warboss and amplified by his surrounding foot soldiers.
“Waaaaaaaarrrrgh! Cruunch dose humies. Cruush dem tanx and get me dare hedz on stikks,” screamed Graznak, phlegm flying from his mouth as he strode over debris towards the closest Leman Russ.
Before any further action could be taken the orks were upon his chimera. It’s armour held out but soon an enormous ork armed with a power claw smashed through the front of the vehicle, detonating the heavy bolter’s ammunition reserves in the front of the APC. Handren’s world went dark.
Echo’s of shouts and gun fire rose in volume as Handren came to. He had been catapulted from his chimera in the explosion and was currently on his back looking back across the wreckage. He smacked his chest and arms, both to kick-start the blood flow to his extremities but also to feel for any damage. He began to recover and thanked Throne that his medic had injected him with combat drugs just before the battle. He and his men rose to their feet, just one of the five man squad missing. Yet before Handren could gather his wits, the shadow of ork warriors appeared through the smoke by the wreckage of the chimera.
“Commander!” yelled a voice behind him, “move out of the way!”.
It was his trusted veterans led by sergeant Tradek, who had leapt from the rear of the vendetta behind them. Handren dived into a ruin to his right and the veterans lit up the approaching ork warriors with laser fire. They fell before the pure rate of fire. Handren took particular pleasure in picking out the large ork that had destroyed his APC, blasting the beast in the heart with his plasma pistol.
“Move out now! Let’s take the fight to the green skins!” yelled Handren, and his troops moved over the still warm wreckage of his chimera blasting orks as they approached from left and right through the ruins.
Handren crouched down and spoke into his comm-link. “Artemis, report.”
The comm gave off only static. Handren’s heart almost stopped. He fumbled for his binoculars and climbed up to the closest piece of terrain. What he saw made him feel a combination of terror and rage.
Orks were swarming across his defensive lines, climbing all over his Leman Russ tanks, ripping weapons out of their emplacements and dropping stick bombs into exposed armour. His basilisk sat smoking and inanimate, the crew nowhere to be seen, and Artemis lay slain with his troops retreating from the battlefield.
Handren let out a scream of rage and frustration and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Then his face changed to one of grim determination. If he couldn’t win this mission he would certainly make sure the ork warlord would not get to enjoy the victory.
Handren strode from the ruins, his team surrounding him. His pistol fired over and over, stopping approaching ork boys in their tracks. His team’s special weapons similarly made short work of the creatures. Blasts went off around him as stick bombs detonated around Handren, his team and also Tradek’s veterans, who responded by sprinting towards the enemy, into the thick smoke which now covered the vicinity.
His comm-link flared to life. “Sir, scout sentinel unit reporting. 95% of advancing enemy infantry destroyed. We’ll concentrate fire on the remaining large ork.”
The next ten seconds seemed to last an eternity. Sounds of his veterans engaged in close combat came through the fog of battle, with screams of agony and mechanical whirring and snapping, presumably from the warboss’ devilish weaponry. Then the noise of the dreaded heavy weapons roared to life and Handren heard the vendetta whine and screech as the pilot lost control and buried the nose of the ship into the ground. The ensuing explosion nearly deafened Handren and as his ears recovered the noise of hundreds of rounds from the sentinels’ auto-cannons roared to life.
All was silent. Handren dared to breathe a sigh of relief, but within a split second the mechanical whirring and crunching began again.
The mist subsided and from it strode the warboss, his body covered in deep cuts, bullet holes and burns. His armoured suit clunked and clanked, looking like it might very well fall to pieces any minute, yet on he came, blood dripping from his huge maw and clawed fingers flexing around his multi-barrelled weapon in anticipation and relish for the next fight.
Graznak smiled at the remaining imperial troopers as a number of his remaining boys arrived on scene, circling the guard like sharks about to feast.
“So,” grunted the huge ork leader at Handren, pointing his giant claw at the closest generator. “How duz I turn deez thingz on den?”
Result
Ork victory (held 3/5 objectives)
2000
1500
1000 
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