The Gauntlet Breakout Mission - Orks vs. Imperial Guard - 1500 points The force of the orks' savage war-cry hit the Imperial troops like a shock wave. They had spent weeks planning and preparing for this attack, making it seem as though they were weak in the southeast, drawing them into a trap that would hopefully end the ork threat to Resolute Bay once and for all. Fresh tank squadrons were standing by, ready to pounce. Extra troops were concealed in the nearby buildings and rubble. They wanted the orks to attack them here, where they had secretly concentrated their forces in sufficient strength to wipe them out. It was a good plan, and it was working; the orks were approaching - but the defenders were terrified. They had found what was left of the defenders after the last ork attack, buried the pieces of bodies as best they could, and burned the corpses of the enemy. It took two men to lift the bodies of these brutes, or else they had to be cut in two which released a foul stench and clouds of green vapour that dispersed on the arctic winds. Sometimes their blades would break on the orks' tough bones or else become hopelessly stuck and have to be burned along with the remains. It was disquieting to be in such close contact with them, so still, yet the violence of their natures was all too obvious from their forms; ragged tusks jutted from their heavy jaws, claws tipped the thick fingers of their massive hands, scars cris-crossed every part of their green skin. Some of the men injured themselves in disposing of these alien cadavres, and many thought that if they had barely the mettle to deal with a dead ork, what chance had they against their living comrades? The wretched defenders shuddered not only from the storm-winds that were blowing in from the north, but from fear of the approaching horde that now screamed across the plain towards them. There was a sudden explosion as the southwest section of the city wall exploded. The orks had breached the newly-repaired section of wall and were pouring in. "To hell with this! Let the Emperor fight the Greenskins!" One of the squads had left their concealed position and prepared to run, casting off their white camouflage blankets. Their sergeant was panicking and screamed to the troops. "It's hopeless you fools! They'll not feast on my bones! I'm leaving! Who's with me?!" Murmurs broke out amoung the ranks. Doubt was spreading like a grassfire. Then there was a flash and a bang. The sergeant reached up and felt a gooey hole in his forehead. "...uh..." He was pushed to the ground by a figure in a long black coat; her boot heels dug into the dead man as she stepped forward. A hush fell over the troops as she prepared to speak. "Many of you do not know me, for we were mobilized in haste to secure an unexpected front. Since we arrived at this city we have been busy making preparations for this very hour. Do not lose your courage the very moment your triumph! "I am Major Anastasia Ferrick, formerly of the Imperial Commissars and it is by my design that the orks now strike us here, where we are strongest in force and number. These orks have come for battle, and if we do not offer it on our terms, it will be on theirs. Run, and you may live for a while, hiding in holes, eating scraps until you are found, and you will be found. If you are found by the forces of the Imperium, then you will know that we won the battle without you, and you will be treated as a deserter. If you are found by the orks, then you will know that we have fallen, and if you had the courage to stand on this day then you would have come to a better end; For if you stand in courage on this day and die then you die as soldiers, not as rats. Stand and fight for the Emperor! Fight for your honour! It is I who will lead you against this foe, for you will not run, but stand and show how it is that humanity can fight!" With a mighty cheer, the troops leapt up from their foxholes, threw off their camoflage and surged towards the advancing enemy from two sides. Tarps were pulled from waiting Leman Russ tanks which revved their motors and ground forward. - - - At the head of the ork advance, Moondog noticed the humans scurrying towards a bulking shape covered with a white tarp. The defenders at the wall fell too easily. Humans are weedy, to be sure, but these buggers fled without firing a shot. Moondog smelled a trap. No matter. His real enemy lay beyond, far to the north. These poor gits just happenned to be in the way. As he advanced, he scanned the surrounding area for the signs of concealed troops - areas where the snow was excessively trodden, or wreckage that seemed too fresh to have been from their previous attack weeks before, and tank tracks that led up to a strangely large snowdrift. If the humans have concentrated their forces here, it should be simple to break through the rear of their line, if they could get past the gauntlet here in the southeast. "Rha'ghuu! Zug Zug! Mount up!" Wartrukks roared to the front, and orks piled in. Moondog climbed to the top and barked at his boyz. "No time to deal with this lot! Shagrat is waitin'! Chezz, get them grotz coverin' the rear! Everyone else; FOLLOW ME!" At that moment, the humans sprung their trap and the orks surged forward chanting like a choir of doom. - - - Colonel Breen of the Praetorian Guard was dubious of Major Ferrick's plan, yet he had strict orders to rely on her tactical advice against the orks. Inviting the orks to attack seemed like madness, but his inquiries to high command were met with denial. "Major Ferrick is experienced in fighting the orks. You are to follow her plan. The Emperor blesses those who die in His service." The orks came. The field was thick with them, marching forward, chanting fearlessly. He felt a knot rise in his throat. Sweat started to bead on his brow. He found himself hoping that the greenskins could not see him in his covered foxhole. Maybe they would just keep on marching. Then he heard the warcry and looked across. He saw Ferrick's side of the trap leap up and attack. His men looked up at him, waiting for his command. Colonel Breen looked down at the shining golden braids on his uniform, the rows of medals jingling on his chest, the jewels inlaid on the hilt of his sword; his family's sword which had been at the Emperor's service for 38 generations. Over one thousand years of honourable service to the Imperium. Perhaps it was a mere blink of an eye to one such as Himself, One Who Does Not Die. Over one thousand years of service may not impress the superhuman Adeptus Astartes who have been in His service for tens of thousands of years. But to ordinary men, those that live and die in the cities and outposts and farms and hives and settlements that make up the Empire of Humanity; those whose only strength is their faith in their God-Emperor and in each other; to such a man as Breen, one thousand years was no blink of an eye. It was a granule of divinity, a spark of grace in a galaxy of damnation. It was something that he was not always sure he was worthy of possessing. And now was the moment to see if he was. He drew his sword and held it high. "Soldiers of the Emperor! Forward! Attack!" - - - Leman Russ tanks pressed in on the orks' right flank followed by masses of troops. On their left were one Leman Russ and a Hellhound APC mounting the infamous heavy flamer also backed by a platoon of infantry. The trap was closing, but Moondog was quick. As ordered, Slaver Chezz spread the whining snickering gretchin out to the right, forming a living shield while the mass of the army pressed to the left. Zzap guns were pushed to the front, and they quickly annihilated a heavy gun position, making a hole in the line through which the army started to pour. Rather than unlimber their heavy weapons, the guard cut down the gretchin with small-arms fire. This took precious time, and the whips and commands of Slaver Chezz kept the little green blighters in tight formation,, blocking a clear shot at the bulk of the army behind them. The Trukkboyz led by Moondog himself hurtled themselves at a mortar position on the left flank. One of the trukks exploded from a hit by a shell, but the quick reflexes of the trukk boyz saved them as they all bailed out in time. In a matter of minutes, the left flank was wide open. The ruins and building offered too much cover for the tanks to be effective, and a suicide attack by Moondog's Tankbusta Boyz took out the Hellhound before they were felled by the Leman Russ. The right flank was slowed by another suicide attack by a trio of Killa Kanz that charged into a hail of ordnance, which destroyed them utterly but delayed their advance long enough for the bulk of Moondog's army to escape. In the chaos of the battle, Moondog came face-to-face with Major Ferrick and they engaged in single combat while Moondog's bodyguards clashed with Ferrick's Penal Legionnaires. It was a firece struggle, and Moondog took many blows that would have felled a lesser ork, but in the end he was triumphant and he held the Imperial officer's body over his head bellowing victoriously for all to hear before hurling her into the smoking wreckage of the Hellhound and departing the field. The Imperial forces had expected Moondog to press into the city's interior where their second and third defence lines had been made ready, but before they knew what had happened, Moondog was gone; off on his long march to vengeance. Colonel Breen, who was on the untouched right flank picked his way through the wreckage left in Moondog's wake. He stood by the blasted ruin that used to be a fearsome APC and clenched his fist. Why was it not himself that had died today? Why could not he have stood in the path of the Emperor's enemies and shown his worth? He was ready today. He had stood and charged into what he thought was certain death, but he had been cheated of his reward, his eternal glory. His ruminations were interrupted by a groan of pain. He looked down and choked. It was Major Ferrick, barely alive. He shouted into his comlink for a medic and knelt beside her. Here was a soldier, here was one of humanity's champions, who had proven herself in the field of honour. Perhaps this was not Breen's day to die, but he could prove himself nonetheless. He would show his worth by keeping Ferrick from death. Perhaps it was not saving a world, or even a city; such were tasks for Gods. This was a task for a human. by Dylan - June 4, 2001