I am currently running a linked RPG-wargaming campaign using three different Warhammer 40,000 systems: Dark Heresy, Kill Team, and the normal Warhammer 40k ruleset (8th edition). It is an ambitious project, but I’m hoping it will make for an intriguing narrative. Back in January, we had both our first Dark Heresy session and our first Warhammer 40,000 battle. Before you keep reading, just be aware that this will be a narrative post, and not my normal GM/DM tips.
The campaign storyline centers around the defense of the planet St. Jowen’s Dock, the main Imperial Navy hub for the Armageddon Sector fleet, during the Third War for Armageddon. As a major Imperial Navy base, it would be of vital importance to the ongoing void battle occurring over the course of the war. The only mention in official Warhammer 40k lore is simply that the Orks assaulted it, with no mention of the campaign or outcome of that fight. This seemed like a ripe opportunity for some storytelling in one of my favorite wars in the lore, and my favorite Imperial Guard regiment, the Armageddon Steel Legion.
The first battle we played was a mission out of the Vigilus books, modified to suit our needs. The goal was for the Imperial defenders to hold off the Orks, using the Relentless Assault special rule, for as many turns as possible while the Adeptus Mechanicus readied defenses at the main base of St. Jowen’s Dock. 4 turns would be the standard metric; any fewer turns and the defenses would be uncompleted and the next mission would reflect this with penalties to the Imperial forces. 4 turns, they would be completed, and the next battle would be fought as normal. More than 4 turns would result in the AdMech completing extra defenses, giving the Imperials a boost in the next battle. With that explanation, we begin the narrative.
THE DEFENSE OF ST. JOWEN’S DOCK
Lieutenant Werner Brandt wished one of the falling Roks had just killed him. The massive Ork asteroid-turned-spaceship would have flattened both him and his Leman Russ Executioner in a split second, a quick, painless death. The alternatives now presented to him by the Orks whooping and hollering as they charged out of the blasted Rok seemed far worse by comparison: shredded to pieces by a tankbusta bomb inside his own vehicle, incinerated by a skorcha or burna, being pulled from his tank and hacked apart by the barbarians. He was sure there were more, including a round from one of the enemy’s battlewagon kannons striking his tank’s fuel tanks or plasma cannon cells. Yes, it would have been much better to just be crushed flat by a Rok. Was that heresy? To wish for a quick death rather than to live and take as many Orks with him as possible, to buy more time for the Techpriests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to erect the shields and other defenses back at the dockyards? Perhaps, but Brandt pushed the question from his mind: that was something for the Commissars and Ecclesiarchy to concern themselves with. A Rok hadn’t crushed him, so the only alternative was to fight. His hand absent-mindedly strayed to his laspistol, holstered under one arm in a leather rig; at least if worst came to worse, and his vehicle was disabled and the enemy tearing at the hatches, he could end things on his terms.
Pulling his binoculars away from his eyes, Brandt sat back down inside his turret, pulling the armored hatch closed behind him as he returned to the cramped interior. “Well, they’re coming,” he said over the internal vox. Thumbing the transmit switch on his vehicle crewman helmet, he broadcast over his platoon’s vox, “This is 3-1, the battlewagons are your primary engagement priority. After that, Deff Dreads, then Killa Kans. Have your bolter gunners hit the enemy infantry as they get closer, but don’t waste ammo if they’re out of range.” An echo of affirmatives from the other three tank commanders in his platoon came in response.
The crack-whoomph of artillery cut through even the thick armor of the Leman Russ and the sounds of its engine, signalling the beginning of the 10th Armageddon Steel Legion Armored Regiment’s defense of St. Jowen’s Dock. Smaller echoes popped as Anvil Company’s mortars added their music to the fray. Through his tank commander’s periscope, Brandt watched as plumes of dirt, smoke, and fire erupted from the advancing Ork horde. Black-and-white-clad green bodies were jettisoned from the explosions, some of them staggering back to their feet and continuing to run, to Brandt’s dismay but not necessarily surprise. The Steel Legion had fought Orks on Armageddon itself for fifty years since the last war, leftovers and holdouts from Ghazghkull’s first invasion. They were a hardy breed, living only for war and accustomed to inhuman amounts of pain.
The infantry were not his problem for now, though. Turning his periscope a bit to the left, he sighted in on a rusty-red contraption. It was at least twice the size of his Leman Russ, rolling on a mixture of wheels and tracks. A massive dozer blade was affixed to its front, plowing through obstacles and friendly Orks alike as its crew barreled towards the Imperial lines. Armored plates of different colors were welded haphazardly to all sides, protecting the Ork riders inside. A blocky turret sat atop it, sporting a stubby, wide gun barrel which Brandt equated in his mind to something like a Demolisher cannon. The capabilities of Ork weaponry were almost impossible to distinguish without seeing them fire, but if the cannon had anything like the destructive capability of a Demolisher, Brandt knew it needed to die.
“Battlewagon, eleven o’clock,” he said, rotating a dial on his periscope to judge the distance. “Fifteen hundred meters.”
“Identified!” shouted Sergeant Alojz, his primary gunner. Private Novak, in the front hull gunner’s seat, echoed.
“Main gun, hull gun, fire!”
“On the way!”
A bolt of white-blue plasma erupted from the tank’s Executioner cannon, and a split-second later a solid beam of red las energy connected the tank’s hull lascannon with the battlewagon. Armor slagged under the heat of the plasma bolt, and smoke streamed from the hole punched by the lascannon, but the Ork vehicle kept on rolling, albeit listing heavily to the side which had been hit. “Reengage!” shouted Brandt as the battlewagon’s turret swiveled in their direction.
“On the way!”
The battlewagon fired first, sending a shower of dirt and shrapnel up in front of the Leman Russ as the shot missed. Brandt’s periscope was blocked, but he heard the Executioner fire and felt its warmth as the excess heat was vented.
“Engine kill!” reported Alozj with triumph.
“Good kill,” Brandt replied. “Find another target, my periscope’s blocked. I gotta clear it.”
“31, 33, engine kill,” Sergeant Elias, one of his platoon’s tank commanders.
“Roger.” Brandt twisted the handle on his hatch and forced it open, cautiously popping his head out over the lip of the cupola. As he reached forward to clear the blockage in front of his periscope, he glanced about at the battlefield. The main horde of Orks was still a good distance off, and it would take some time for them to cross the open area between them and the 10th’s lines. The battlewagons and other vehicles were a different matter, moving so much faster. They could deliver the initial wave, the shock troops and largest Orks, which would tie up the infantry and prevent them from firing into the horde as it got closer. The Leman Russes of his platoon, all Conqueror patterns, boomed as they engaged armored targets in his priority order, while the many Chimeras of Anvil Company added their multilasers and heavy bolters to the cacophony of destruction being directed towards the Orks.
Brandt wondered if it would be enough as he closed his hatch.
“Anvil 23, Anvil 6.” Captain von Scheel, Anvil Company’s commander, sounded calm and stoic over the vox.
“6, 23,” replied Sergeant Krakovic, using the vox handset in his squad’s Chimera. Unlike the rest of the company, his squad, 3rd Squad of 2nd Platoon, had remained in their vehicle, behind the tanks, at the back of the unit’s position with the FSO and the mortars. They were the Skulls of Hades, the most veteran squad in the company, and saved as the reserve for the most dire of situations. The first two hours of the battle had been difficult for the Skulls, waiting as they did for the call forward. It was a strange dichotomy, Krakovic thought; he and his men wanted to be called forward, to fight, but that would mean that the battle was going poorly, and that many of his comrades had died. So, did that mean he wanted them to die? Maybe. Life was cheap in the Imperial Guard, and Krakovic and his squad were some of the few who had lived long enough to become experts at their craft of killing. Some men had to die for others to survive. Now, it seemed there had, indeed, been enough death to warrant a call.
“2nd platoon is getting mauled on the right flank,” von Scheel said, his voice emotionless. “Their 2nd squad is completely gone. Orks are in the trenches. Clear them out.”
“Roger that, sir,” Krakovic replied. The Chimera, its engines already running, moved out without needing Krakovic to tell the crew anything; they were monitoring the vox, and knew their duty.
“There’s a Deff Dread there too,” von Scheel added.
Krakovic looked around at his squad in the Chimera; all of their faces were hidden by their metallic skull breathing masks, but he wondered if some were smiling. Their shotguns and meltaguns were made for close-range work; clearing the trench was the kind of fight they were made for. Less than five minutes later, the multilaser and heavy flamer on the Skulls’ Chimera opened up. The vehicle soon came to a halt, and the ramp dropped down.
Without words, the Skulls of Hades piled out of the vehicle and peeled around the sides. Shotguns cracked as the veterans put solid slugs into the heads and chests of Orks who were clambering out of the nearby trench, snarling and barking. Krakovic hefted his bolter to his shoulder and let loose a quick flurry of single shots into a large Ork with a spiked horn helmet on its head. The explosive bolts turned the Ork’s chest into a mess of shredded flesh and bone, and knocked the creature, still snorting in anger, back down into the trench. As Krakovic turned to engage another Ork, he heard the whoosh of his squad’s missile launcher, followed by an explosion. The target was close enough for him to feel the heat, and hear shards of shrapnel whistling past his helmet. He turned to see the hulking form of a Deff Dread plodding towards the squad on the other side of the trench system. It poured smoke from its bottom left side where the missile had impacted, but its four weapon arms still all functioned. It unleashed a salvo of shells from its bolter-like weapon, cutting down two of his squadmates, and its saw arm spun while its klaw arm snapped open and shut in anticipation.
A second later, three streams of white-hot energy blasted three massive holes in the Deff Dread’s torso. Armor slagged to liquid, and the top half toppled inwards and backwards onto its lower half. The skorcha on its right side shot a gout of flame upwards in the walker’s death throes, and then the Deff Dread exploded as the heat met the fuel. Some of the Orks in the trench were incinerated by the blast, others cut in half or shredded by shrapnel. Still others turned in bewilderment at the noise and heat. They lasted only seconds longer than the others, as the Skulls of Hades leapt down into the trench with them, shotguns blasting and meltaguns cutting down swathes of the enemy like reapers in a field. In a matter of minutes, the trench was clear, the flank secure.
A plasma blast from Lieutenant Brandt’s Executioner cannon impacted against a battlewagon, and the vehicle exploded. The hit was a direct one, but Captain Erich von Scheel knew the massive explosion which followed had not been due to the plasma alone; his gunner must have hit a fuel tank or an ammunition stowage in the vehicle’s hull. The fireball spread out nearly 15 meters in all directions, consuming a Deff Dread, a horde of the lumbering Orks known as Nobz to their kind, and the heavily-armored brute of an Ork wearing a backpack which had been projecting some sort of force field to protect the nearby Orks and vehicles in his charge. Dozens of Orks who had been riding in the back of the battlewagon were jettisoned upwards, and came screaming back down to the earth like burning meteors. When the fireball subsided, everything in the 15 meter radius was dead or melted.
Von Scheel turned around to look at Brandt’s tank and nodded in approval. He doubted the Lieutenant was paying attention to him, but he felt the gesture was warranted nonetheless. The young man had performed well in the six-hour battle so far, racking up numerous engine kills while positioning his platoon well without von Scheel needing to direct him to do so. Anvil Company, and the 10th as a whole, had held far longer than anyone had projected, but von Scheel knew the battle was coming to a close. The Steel Legion had taken severe casualties, and Dominus Velkan had informed Colonel Bauer two hours ago that the defenses had been completed; all of this time was now bonus for the Tech Priests to improve the inner works of Saint Jowen’s Docks, and it made little sense to sacrifice the entire 10th for bonus time.
“Prepare yourself, Captain,” said Commissar Fioris from von Scheel’s left. Von Scheel glanced over at Fioris, and then in the direction the Commissar was pointing with his power sword. In the center of the line, the Company’s troops were wavering. Orks wearing some scrap smattering version of power armor were breaching the trench, and behind them, the largest Ork von Scheel had ever seen was charging forward. The Ork wielded a weapon that looked like a bolter and missile launcher welded together in one of its massive hands, while the other sported a red power klaw that hissed steam. Several lasgun and heavy bolter shots peppered the Ork Warboss as he charged forward, but it hardly seemed to slow the beast. He smashed into the trench line, sweeping his kombi weapon like a club and severing Legionnaires in half with his power klaw. Von Scheel drew his plasma pistol and power sword and fired at the warboss. Fioris did the same with his bolt pistol.
Like the lasgun and bolter shots before, even von Scheel’s plasma pistol seemed only to make the Warboss angrier. Even as its flesh charred and sloughed off from the superheated plasma, the Ork roared and beat its chest with his power klaw. It fixed its bloodshot eyes on von Scheel, pointed its power klaw at the Captain, and charged foward. It barreled through Legionnaire and Ork alike, and von Scheel continued to fire, standing his ground. Just as the Ork Warboss was only five meters away and raising his power klaw to slam down, he suddenly lurched and toppled forward, one of his legs separated from his body. Von Scheel turned in surprise to see Tech Priest Marius standing over the Warboss, his Omnissian Axe dark with Ork blood. Marius had spent the entire battle tending to the company’s battle-damaged vehicles, repairing whatever he could, and von Scheel was surprised to see him so close to the front. Surprised, but thankful. The Warboss began to roll over to attack Marius, but the Tech Priest raised his axe and brought it down, severing the Ork’s head. The Tech Priest raised his head to look at Captain von Scheel and nodded in acknowledgement. “Good afternoon, Captain,” Marius said, before turning and walking back towards the nearest Leman Russ as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
“All Anvil elements, Anvil 6. Begin withdrawal. Disengage from the Orks and proceed back to the dockyards. Maintain rear security with turret weapons and sponsons. Mount up, let’s get out of here.”
Lieutenant Brandt could hardly believe that he was actually hearing von Scheel correctly. He glanced at his chrono; they had held for seven hours. Seven hours against the Orks. Casualties among the infantry had been horrendous, and his tanks had taken a good amount of damage themselves, but they had held the line. The Tech Priests back at the docks had better have made good use of their three extra hours. “You heard the commander, fall back to the dockyards,” Brandt said hoarsely over his platoon vox. “This fight’s over.”