The following are brief tags following my games of 40k from Wayne's Death-Yield campaign.
Perched precariously on the pipework, Gronz glanced away as the Deff Dread torn asunder the last remaining Plague Bearer and looked back for the rest of the lads. On the right flank lay the twisted remains of Warboss Hirez and his Nob Bikers, whilst on the left a twisting ball of unreality marked the passing of Big Mek Gobbins. Even Ganz and Huk were dead, so that meant...that meant...that meant there was no-one to lead the Mob! Raising his Shoota slowly, Gronz prepared to make himself Warboss the only way Orks know how...
Gronz sat up slowly in the ruins of the dilapidated building and rubbed the back of his head, finding newly fused flesh under his fingertips. "Grokking sneaky bad-stabbin' humies" he thought, blaming the injury on 'friendly fire' as he rose painfully to his feet. The newly promoted Darl, lent casually against a wall, was smoking an imported cigar and laughing as the Chaos Defiler tore through one of the Leman Russ tanks before being felled by a point blank lascannon shot from the second.
"Don't fink da Mek's gonna be too 'appy dat youz smokin' 'iz gear" Gronz stated.
"Oh, i don't fink he'z gonna mind too much" replied Darl with a nod indicating the big Mek's las-riddled corpse, "'sides if he'd built a damn field dat worked, 'e wouldn't 'ave got himsen deaded."
"True" said Gronz, helping himself to another of the cigars and lighting it from the burning Chaos Rhino. "Best see how many boyz are gonna make it and find a new owner for Huk'z klaw"
"Huk iz still alive, 'e did a runner just az we woz chargin' in. Tried ta mek it luk like 'e woz attackin' dat uvver Rhino den just carried on goin'."
Gronz smiled wickedly, "Lyk I sez, we'z need ta find a new owner for Huk'z klaw"
Gronz watched the attack unfolding below with a dispassionate eye, although the one that hadn't been replaced sparkled with excitement. Boyz had been flocking to his banner in droves as more sectors came under his sway and he was becoming hard-pressed to keep them all occupied. Added to the fact Darl was bulking up and starting to give him 'The Eye', there was only one option when the Humies had come knocking wasn't there?
Darl had amassed the boyz on the west flank, as far away from the enemy big guns as possible, one hundred and fifty slugga boyz all trying to prove their worth alongside twenty shoota boyz in the Battlewagon and yet another Big Mek trying to prove a Kustom Force Field that actually worked. And work it did to a certain extent, although once the Humies had the range they were systematic in their persecution, attempting to drive mobs to breaking point purely by dent of fire-power. Gronz smiled as Darl's boyz became the primary target, and a the smoke cleared he could see Darl's mob was down... except Darl was getting to his feet, swaying a bit yes, but technically still standing. Gronz kicked a grot over the cliff edge and was aiming a blow on a second when a scream of fury drifted over the sounds of gun-fire, Darl was charging the Hellhound that had decimated his boyz and then, in no uncertain terms, ripped it a new one before finally succumbing to a storm of lasrounds.
Sighing with relief, Gronz instructed the grotz to deliver the message.
"...report the loss of a Leman Russ, both their command squad and chimera and the Hellhound. Repairs are underway on the Punisher and we hope to have it operational within a couple of hours sir."
"And the xenos lieutenant?"
"Fire teams have been dispatched to incinerate the corpses sir"
"Very good, now..." the commander paused feeling something tugging on his trouser leg, "... the devil is.."
"Ding, ding." screamed the grot "Ding, ding", before it exploded under the force of a bolter shell.
"This is how you protect your commander?" demanded the Commissar, bolt pistol aimed at the head of the adjunctant as he strode forward.
"Sir, I'm sorry!" replied the terrorised trooper meakly.
"Then move before I put a shell into you" commanded the Commissar as he drew bead on his actual target, another grot clad in what appeared to be a sackcloth bikini holding aloft a metal banner proclaiming O II.
As it too disappeared it a shower of blood the Commander turned to the Commissar and said "O i i, is that some kind of taunt?"
The adjunctant was first to reply though, his pale face draining colour further as he looked at the dust clouds poring over the hillside. "Erm, no sir. I rather believe it was a crude attempt of saying 'Round two'!"
MEANWHILE on the solitary satellite Scabydale, hunched hulking forms huddle morosely under melting moonlight.
"Bored!" moaned the melancholy Robbin "I meanz wot da 'ell we'z doin' 'ere?"
Bazman, the nauseating Nob, stretched strong supple digits in a devastating downward clout that connected concussively "Da boss sez we'z gotta 'old dis rok so we'z gotta 'old dis rok"
A flickering figment in the faint gloom gave Alf da Red an excellent excuse to alliviate the artic atmosphere. "Sir, I belives der's a light shinin' yonder!"
Peering painfully into the perverse gloom, Bazman garners glimmers of miniscule movement.
"Der's someone out der." he mutters before manically mentioning "Tell da ladz at camp ta catch up else der gonna miss all da fun."
Hours later, the charismatic cyclopian cybork nob who now nominally led the remaining rabble gazed gape-mouthed at the climactic carnage. Over two thirds of the one hundred and eighty boyz based at their camp on the moon lay incapacitated or dead, including those supposedly surrounding the objective. That said they did have the Eldar webway portal pretty much covered and there was no chance that the Wave Serpent transport was going to contest it in time...until, thrusters flaring, the transport speed toward the Webway.
The Ork watched in shock as the Wave Serpent gathered speed, then allowed a slow grin to spread across his mutilated face as his bionic eye blurred then focused on the shocking surprise endeavouring to stymie the Eldar's exuberances.
Aboard the speeding Wave Serpent the ancient aerialist activated the intercom. "The Orks hold the Webway gate but with the Star engines engaged, we should be able to repulse them as we did earlier and secure the path for our brethren, prepare yourselves " explained the pilot to his protected passengers in the lilting elocution of his race.
A tap, tap, tapping at his cockpit canopy caused a collapse of his concentration, he turned to see a small green creature clinging to the hull. The Eldar smirked slyly as it activated the Star engines, believing the beast would be torn off by the winds, but the smile turned to terror as all power suddenly fled the vehicle and it plummeted rapidly toward the rocks. The Eldar stared in horror as the grasping Grot grappled with something in it's pocket... a piece of wraithbone, more precisely the the control relay that transferred all power to the Star engines.
Raising a single digit in a gesture of success, the grot pulled the cord on a rudimentary parachute and abandoned the ailing aerial craft as it grounded itself forever into the rocks...
Bazman and Robbin were a few of those lucky enough to be able to nurse their injuries and did so more dejectedly than before the fight had begun.
"So, wot ya fink da boss is gonna say? I meanz we'z held da moon, but da Eldar got his rok now..."