40K Battle Report: The Lost Temple (Space Marines vs Orks 2500pts)

Detecting anomalous readings from a ruined temple on the outskirts of an ancient imperial settlement, the 5th company of the Tempest Lords space marines were dispatched to investigate.  Upon arrival, they discovered that the planet was occupied by ork forces lead by non other than Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, the Beast of Armageddon.

Both forces approached the ruined temple, presenting a broad front.  The heavy support elements of the Tempest Lords set up in a ruined building and fortification, the scout elements advanced on the temple, and the remainder of the company advanced in force embarked on their transports.  The force was lead by a captain and a chaplain both equipped with jump packs and joining the company's assault squad.  The ork forces were a motley mix of light and heavy vehicles, heavy gunners in another building, and a large mob of crazed green-skins with rockets strapped to their backs known as stormboyz.  Ghazghkull was joined by a big mek and a weirdboy.

Seeing the heavy vehicles arrayed against them filled with mobs of orks, the Tempest Lords called reinforcements from orbit and a drop pod containing a veteran squad armed with meltaguns shot through the atmosphere, crashing to the ground near the warboss' own battlewagon.  They took aim and fired all five meltaguns into the rear of the vehicle, causing it to instantly explode.  The explosion also killed four of the stormboyz.  Two of the veterans, however, died in the explosion as well.

In the opening moments of the battle after the explosion, the space marine forces advanced cautiously, opening fire with heavy weaponry.  The company land speeder zoomed out ahead of the battle line, however, attempting to destroy the battlewagon on the right flank but only causing minor damage.  Several of the filthy xenos fell to the hail of fire, including one of their light vehicles, but in all the opening salvo's results were underwhelming considering the amount of firepower arrayed by the Tempest Lords.

The battle proper was soon joined in the center of the table as the leaders of the space marine force used their jump packs to leap on wings of fire into the center of the temple and charge Ghazghkull and his mega-armored nob bodyguard, a tactic that would soon prove to be a fatal mistake despite it's strategic success.  Not only were half of the assault marines cut down in the opening charge by the flame throwing skorcha weapons of the orks and their massive power claws, but they were soon outnumbered as one of the battle wagons veered nearby and disgorged almost twenty more green-skins for them to contend with!

The Tempest Lords immediately sent two tactical squads to reinforce the center, and one of the scout squads went forward to join the fray in the temple.  One razorback was critically damaged and several others had already taken fire causing minor damage.  The battle in the temple was fully joined and quickly devolved into an unruly melee of swirling red armor and green flesh.  The captain and the chaplain, meanwhile, bravely held back Ghazghkull himself and killed the remainder of his bodyguard.  Elsewhere on the field of battle, heavy elements exchanged fire on the left flank with the ork lootas and their heavy weapons.  Also, a trio of crude ork gyrocopters assaulted the fire support dreadnoughts on this flank and a brutal combat was underway between the war machines.  On the right flank, another huge mob of orks had disembarked from their battlewagon.  They attempted to charge into the massed fire of several squads of marines, however, and were cut down by long range firepower before they could initiate another melee.

Both remaining battlewagons charged and rammed razorbacks, flailing at them with mechanized claws and firing rockets and crude laser cannons, but they both failed to destroy any more of the vehicles.  The dreadnoughts on the left lost one of their number, but managed to destory all three of the gyrocopters.  The return fire from the tempest lords, however, finally managed to destroy both of the battlewagons.  The forces on the left flank advanced and took the ork position in the other building with that part of the field clear of any other concerns.

On the right flank, a protracted melee between the stormboyz and a unit of burna boyz against a squad of marine veterans and a tactical squad had finally started to grind to an end.  One of the devastator combat squads and a dreadnought charged into the remaining orks and ended all questions about the right flank, leaving just the giant brawl in the ruined temple itself.

Things here were not looking good for the Tempest Lords.  Although they had already almost completely wiped out the mob of orks, Ghazkhul himself remained untouched and was now joined by his big mek.  The chaplain and captain were both down, and only one of the two tactical squads still remained.  Of the assault squad, only one was left and of the scouts, only two.  Things here were looking dire, indeed, despite the remainder of the field being under imperial control.

In the end, the rest of the tactical marines and the remaining assault marine were wiped out, but the other scout squad entered the temple to challenge the huge ork leaders.  One of the scout squads was murdered to a man by the big mek, but by the time this occured the remainder of the space marine forces were converging on the temple.

Displaying the human valor of discretion, or perhaps just the natural xenos bent towards cowardice, Ghazghkull and his big mek fled the field.  Seeing their entire warband wiped out and almost the entirety of the space marine's armored vehicles advancing past the temple, the Beast of Armageddon must have realized that it would only be a matter of time before the remaining space marines overwhelmed him.  

The day ended being a victory for the Tempest Lords, but a morbidly earned one.  The casualties included both the captain and the chaplain injured, three of six tactical squads either killed or incapacitated, several devastator marines injured or killed, a third of the scouts dead, and one dreadnought destroyed.

After Action Report:

The push to the center by the space marine assault squad and its attendant leaders was, in retrospect, suicidal.  However, they held the center open for the duration of the game, and with some reinforcements from both sides the temple quickly became the focus of the battle.  The other ork threats were few in number of units if not in size.  This was an advantage for the Tempest Lords, however, as their forces were divided into several smaller units and a number of light vehicles instead of several heavy ones.  This allowed them to more quickly respond to changing threats on the field and, as these threats were managed, re-deploy rapidly to execute changing objectives.

The ork forces, while formidable, were in the end not flexible or numerous enough to match the mobility of the space marines.  Their heavy hitters definitely did a lot of damage, wiping out almost half of the army in one melee, but the focus on heavy vehicles and shooting attacks in the hands of very poor marksmen became a detriment to their efforts, in my opinion.  Given more mass of bodies and more light transports in lieu of the heavy vehicles and big guns, I feel that they could have overwhelmed the space marines through sheer weight of numbers.

Finally, a special thanks to my opponent Phillip, who not only allowed me the opportunity to live out my fantasies of massive space marines versus ork battles, but also hosted the game and provided the terrain.   Also excuse the unpainted models as there is life, and because of reasons; also we are just doing this for fun and don't always have time to paint!  

Happy Wargaming!

Gærstfeld: An imagi-nation.

Imagi-nation:  A historically themed fictional culture and/or political region.

Galen recently posted two articles covering his nation of Odálagaard, which can be found here and here.  This article covers the nation that I am working on to provide an opposing faction in our games of Hail Caesar by Warlord Games.

Gærstfeld is based on the Anglo-Saxon era of England.  It is a country consisting mostly of open, rolling plains run through with rivers and dotted with forests.  It is an idyllic countryside; ripe for farming and rich with resources such as wood from the forests, minerals from the mountains, and a long coastline with ample fisheries.

About a thousand years ago, Gærstfeld was a sparsely populated frontier with only a few small settlements.  During the great migration, however, many clans from the South and West came to this region in search of an opportunity at a better life.  The lush and fertile countryside, fed by several river systems running from the Westhealf mountains to the coast, provided ample opportunity for the migrating clans to settle and start anew.

The people of Gærstfeld are mostly common workers such as farmers, fishermen, woodsmen, and craftsmen.  The common folk are free, working for the betterment of their local villages, towns, and their families.  Communities generally share the produce of their efforts, and any surplus is traded to nearby settlements.  A certain taxation is in effect to the extent that the lord, or thegn, of each hold receives a portion of said produce and trade income so that he may use these to re-invest into his lands and ensure the stability of his holdings.

Each thegn may be in charge of a small village or rural region, or possibly just a small collection of farms or a mill.  There are thousands of thegns in Gærstfeld, and although these landowners are more wealthy than the common folk, or ceorls, they are by no means above working with their people.  A thegn may assert some level of local authority of law, but for the most part has no say beyond his small hold.

Above the rank of thegn is the bregu, or chief, a title left over from the old days of the nomadic clans.  The bregu may lord over ten or twenty thegns, who owe loyalty to their chief usually more from ties of kinship than any political agreement.  The bregu is in charge of maintaining the safety of the holds under his control and passing judgement over any disagreements or law breakers, and to serve this function may maintain an organized militia.  The bregu usually is also the chief authority in most minor trading towns, and the thegns under his dominion usually oversee smaller settlements that trade with the bregu's town.

The bregu, in turn, owe loyalty to an ealdorman.  Each ealdorman is in charge of what is the lowest official political region, the ealde.  Each ealdorman may maintain a fortified keep and a standing garrison.  Around these usually there has developed larger towns or small cities.  The ealdorman will also be the governing figure in these settlements.  The ealdorman is answerable to his cyning, or king, and is responsible not only for maintaining order in his own ealde, but may be called upon to raise and lead a military force when the cyning summons him.

Each cyning inherited his role from ancestral high chiefs who conquered, settled, or otherwise came to control vast swathes of land.  Each of these demarcations is called a folde, and to this day operates mostly independently.  Two foldes may come to blows over a disagreement, but the conflict must be kept brief and the loss of life to a minimum, lest the high king, or cynehláford, become involved.  The foldes of Gærstfeld each used to be its own kingdom, but over two hundred years ago they were united by Bældon The Wise, the first high king.  Since then, each cyning still rules his folde and maintains his own standing army, but owes allegiance to the high king.  

There are seven foldes in Gærstfeld:  Pearroc, Dunland, Eteland, Gelenda, Bocland, Stródland, and Eardland.  Pearroc is sparsely populated and is characterized by harsh winters.  Dunland is a land of rocky foothills near the Westhealf mountains and is the main producer of mineral resources.  Eteland is, like Pearroc, not very heavily populated and consists mostly of coastal farming and fishing settlements.  Gelenda is one of the more prosperous of the foldes, and is known for it's abundantly rich farmlands.  Bocland is the seat of the cynehláford, or high king, and the center of government for the region.  It also boasts bountiful farmland and prosperous stone quarries near the plains of Eardland.  Eardland itself is the least populated and organized of the foldes, still consisting mostly of the old clan structures and not holding to the typical governmental structures as the other foldes.  There are few ealdormen here, mostly in the lands closer to Bocland, and through most of the folde the bregu is the chief authority.  The people of Eardland are known as expert horsemen.  Stródland is a region of thick marshy forests run through with three rivers.  There is not much farmland here, but the hunters and trappers of Stródland are without peer and many expert bowmen reside here.

The military of Gærstfeld is relatively small, as far as standing armies go.  Each king may have only a few hundred professional soldiers, and the ealdorman usually much less, closer to fifty.  The militia of the bregu may be full time or part time soldiers, usually the latter, and may number as few as a dozen men.  Each thegn, however, is required to maintain mail, helm, shield, sword, and spear for himself and to ensure that all able bodied men under his authority are armed with a shield and spear or javelins.  By doing this, the actual military might of Gærstfeld may be measured in the number of adult men who are fit enough to fight.  All men are trained to fight in the shield wall, a formation of interlocking shields which creates a defensive bulwark of humanity bristling with spear points.  Each man may not be a highly skilled warrior, but with hundreds of men side by side behind their shields, they must only stand their ground.

Thus concludes our brief overview of the geography, history, politics, and military of Gærstfeld.  This is just the beginning, however, and I anticipate developing this project further.

Antares Fiction: Arrival- Part Three

<<Part Two

The Command Module was in the center of the installation. It had several wings shooting off of the central hub. Jeanne imagined it looked like a snowflake from above. Aesgir led her into one of the briefing rooms, where the rest of Kilo Squad had already gathered. They leaned against a holo projector with an hologram of Vihera rotating slowly. A tall bald man stood among them, the green light of the hologram illuminating the hard features of his face. Jeanne noticed there was a dark scar across his right eye which seemed to reflect light like a cat’s. Jeanne assumed he was Commander Juywut. 

     “Good, you are all here.” His voice was gruff and gravelly. “You must be the newest member of Kilo Squad,” he barked, looking at her.

     “Yes ser.” Jeanne saluted. 

     “At ease, I’m not fond of protocol, makes me target. Gather round.” Jeanne relaxed and joined her squad mates next to the projector. 

     “I’m sending Kilo Squad up north into the Highlands, to the Gaerlei Valley. We’ve picked up some interference in Grid Sector Alfa-Charlie-Six, and all the scout drones we’ve sent up there have disappeared before they were able to transmit any intel.” Cmdr. Juywut manipulated the hologram and zoomed in on the sector to which he was referring. Jeanne was surprised to see that his left forearm was completely bio-mechanical. 

     “The IP is five-point-six kilometers from the last drone’s last known location. You are to search the area for the drone, recover it, and mark it for pick up. Then you are to scan the area in a five kilometer radius for the source of the interference. Once you complete your sweep, proceed to EZ Alpha for extraction. The SatTopo map will be uploaded to your suits TacNav. Any questions?” Cmdr. Juywut placed his hands behind his back.

     “Will we have any support?” asked Aesgir.

     “In the situation where support would be required, Fire Base Restrepo will be available with gunships and X-gun batteries,” 

     “How will we be inserting?” asked Zephor.

     “The IP is in clearing near a river, the transport will land and dust off as soon as you are clear,”the commander paused, and when no further questions arose he spoke again, “This is just a scouting op, I don’t want any unnecessary risks. You all be careful out there. Who knows what sort of nasty beasts crouch out deep in the bush. Good luck.” Everyone nodded, and filed out of the room.

As soon as they returned to their barrack module everyone pulled off their dusty fatigues and filed into the attached washroom and shower. Jeanne noticed that all of them except for Zephor had numerous tattoos. The water was hot and gave off the scent of various metals. She felt her squad mates eyes watching her as the water washed over her. She had never been particularly shameful of her body, but their stares made her uncomfortable. 

After they had showered they pulled on their under armor body suits. The suits were like a second skin and were made up of nano fibers that were impervious to traditional weapons such as slug throwers and projectile weapons. They were tight but didn’t restrict movement. The outer armor connected to the UABs and added protection from modern weaponry. 

As they suited up Jeanne spotted that each of her squad mates armor had small bits of graffiti drawn over them. Aesgir had a pair of cornix birds painted on both sides of her breast plate. Amkell had written, ‘Kill an Isorain for Mum’ in a heart, on his shoulder, and ‘Fun Here’ on his groin protector. Damari had numerous tally marks on his his arm guards, and ‘KILL ‘EM ALL’ scrawled on his shoulder. Zephor simply had a smiley face drawn on the back of his armor. How can they not be busted for that? 

Once they had suited up, they filed out with their helmets tucked beneath their arms and headed to the armory where they retrieve their plasma carbines, and grenades. Damari was equipped with a Plasma Lance. They then marched to the landing pad. As they approached they were greeted by a spotter drone. 

     “Good morning Kilo Squad,” said the drone, it’s voice was precise and mechanical.

     “Morning Zima,” grinned Zephor, “You ready for a hike?”

     “Affirmative.” Aesgir ordered them to mount up, but stopped Jeanne before she stepped into the troop compartment.

     “Hold up a moment,” she said. 

     “Yes?” asked Jeanne, her stomach clenched.

     “Are you good? ” questioned the SL, her blue eyes staring into Jeanne’s purple.

     “Yeah. I just don’t feel like I fit in with the rest of them,” admitted Jeanne. To her surprise, Aesgir grinned.

     “That’s normal. Don’t take it personally. They’re still getting over Lakan leaving. Damari likes to pretend he’s the biggest baddest motherfucker in the galaxy, but he’s really nice once you get to know him.”

     “What happened to Lakan?” 

     “He got a medical discharge. Seizures.”

     “Oh.”

     “Don’t worry about them, we’re a team. I would put my life in their hands in any situation. They’re good troopers.”

     “A-a-alright,” stammered Jeanne.

     “You’ll be fine.” Aesgir slapped her shoulder, “Mount up!”

Antares Fiction: Arrival- Part Two

Part One 

     “Hey! Cherry! Wake up!” 

Jeanne rolled over in her cot. She was having such a good dream. She had been at home, she and her brother were hanging out in the family pool. Her mother was sunbathing on the beach chair nearby and her father was grilling burgers. She smiled. It had been so long since they’d been all together.

     “HEY! Greenie! Wake the fuck up!” Someone kicked her bunk, and she jolted awake. Damari stood over her, his arms crossed with a sour look across his face.

     “What the fuck is wrong with you!?” she shouted.

     “It’s wake up time!” he growled. Jeanne groaned, and swung her feet over the rack and stretched.

     “What time is it?” she yawned.

     “0500,” replied Damari, “The rest of the squad already left for the mess.” She heard the woosh of the door as he left. 0500? Damn. She still was recovering from jump-lag. She drowsily pulled on her trousers and boots, stepped outside. She was blinded by the bright morning light. There is no way it’s 0500. He must have lied. She wandered in a daze to the module marked ‘Mess Hall’. 

The food was the usual military issue stuff, though this had a distinct metallic taste to it. She sat with her new squad and ate quietly while the rest of them talked amongst themselves freely. 

     “Hey, top?”

     “Hmmm?” groaned the SL.

     “Have you heard what’s the next patrol schedule like?” 

     “Amkell, I just woke up. At least let me have my coffee please, until then, shut up!”

     “You don’t have to be a bitch Liz,” chuckled Zephor. Jeanne looked up, unsure of who he was referring too.

     “You know I’m not a morning person…” grumbled Aesgir into her mug, "To answer your question, Amkell. No." 

Jeanne returned to her tray and toyed with her food. Her thoughts drifted back to her dream. Suddenly she couldn’t remember her brother’s face. She racked her memory, trying to conjure an image. Unable to, she tried to retrieve the image from her pocket, but realized she had left in in the barracks. She swore silently and finished her meal. She got up, deposited her tray in the receptacle and hurried back to the barracks module, hoping to get a few moments of rest before she was beset upon by Damari or one of the other members of the squad.

She sat on her rack and pulled out the image. She didn’t know why but she wished even more to be home than here. I’ve never had felt homesick before. Serving the Pan-Human Concord is something I’ve wanted to do as long as I can remember. Something about this place…

Her thoughts were interrupted as SL Aesgir poked her head inside the barracks.

     “I thought you would be here. Come on, we need to get to the command module for briefing.”  

Jeanne tucked the image back into her jacket and pulled it on. She followed Aesgir through the rows of barracks. Drones and other troopers milled about doing their tasks. No one paid her much attention, though she felt as if everyone knew that she had just arrived.

Antares Fiction: Arrival- Part One

The humid heat of Vihera hit Jeanne like an asteroid smashing into a planet’s surface, as the transport’s ramp lowered. Her uniform clung to her as sweat poured from her brow and trickled down her nose. Her chestnut bangs were plastered to her forehead. She pulled her duffle and armor crate down the ramp onto the tarmac. She was momentarily blinded by the double suns, high in the reddish sky. Heat waves made the surrounding drab buildings look shiny and distorted.  She and her fellow troopers were immediately beset upon by a dog faced sergeant who barked at them to maneuver of the tarmac and to the staging area. They double timed it and filed into a neat line. The dog-faced sergeant called for an equally gruff-looking clerk with a datapad. A pair of Interceptor bikes sped past kicking up an orangish cloud in their wake, which flew into the trooper’s faces. Jeanne resisted the urge to wipe her eyes. The sergeant stood in front of the rank and glared at them.

     “Listen up! Welcome to Fort Kyllan! Contrary to what you’ve heard, this deployment is not going to be an ice cream social! Unfortunately this post isn’t on the frontline, but we are still at war! There will be no fucking about!” he shouted over the roar of the transport lifting off, kicking up more debris.

     “Junior Sergeant Rispoli will give you your squad assignments and you will report to your Strike Leader! Rispoli if you would please!” The clerk stepped forward and began to call out names and assignments. 

Jeanne was assigned to Barracks No. 53 and Kilo Squad. She struggled to pull her crate across the dirt paths and streets that made up the installation. Her fatigues were soaked, and covered in dust, by the time she found her barracks. Pausing to take a breather, she wiped her brow with her sleeve; leaving a rusty streak across her forehead. She hit the door control and with a swoosh the entrance slid open. She tugged her crates inside, and let her eyes adjust to the artificial light. 

There were four troopers sitting around a table that looked up as she entered. She blinked and took in her surroundings. The barracks were nothing like what they had at her previous post. They were plain and mostly unadorned, save for the few pictures the troopers had pined up. The bunks were basically glorified cots. She became aware of the looks that were boring into her.

     “A greenie?” asked one of the troopers. The one who had spoke was barrel-chested and had a bandanna tied around his mellon. 

     “I guess,” shrugged a thin man with hair that matched the dust that had coated Jeanne’s uniform. A blonde woman sporting a buzzcut got up from the table and stepped up to her.

     “I’m Strike Leader Aesgir,” she introduced herself, “You must be the replacement for Lakan?”

     “Uh… I-I-I guess, ser,” she stammered. A rumble of laughter erupted from the three still seated. Aesgir cracked a smile.

     “I’m not a Ser,” she stated. What’s your name?”

     “Jeanne Lankford,” Jeanne had to force herself to not add Ser at the end.

     “Your bunk is over there.” She pointed. “Unpack and get your armor stowed.” Jeanne nodded and dragged her kit to her assigned bunk. As she unpacked she overheard the others muttering to each other.

     “She’s a cutie isn’t she?” asked the one with a square jaw and tousled hair.

     “If you say so Amkell,” grunted the one sporting the bandana, “I just see another sack of meat we are going to have to take care of in the bush.”

     “Will you bet please?” cried the Strike Leader. Jeanne heard the shuffle of cards and the clack of plastic being tossed onto the table. The redhead cursed and folded. Jeanne filled her footlocker with her effects and then moved to the armor rack and began to place her suit inside. There was an uproar as something happened at the table. 

     “How the fuck do you always win top?” shrieked Amkell.

     “Because I’m amazing,” chuckled Aesgir. 

     “But you’ve won five hands in a row!” complained the man with the bandana.

     “It’s not my fault that you have an obvious tell Damari,” grinned the SL.

     “She’s gotta be cheating. Counting cards or something,” suggested the redhead.

     “Nah, You see Zephor, she’s got a marked deck,” said Damari.

     “Well if you want to play with your deck I’ll still kick your ass,” shot Aesgir.

     “I’m broke!” complained Damari, “You got all my cash!”

     “Alright! We finished then?” grinned the SL. There was a scraping of chairs against the floor and the bustle of movement. Jeanne sat on her bed and sighed. She felt so out of place. She pulled a image of her family from her breast pocket. It was of the last time they had all been together, before her mother was deployed. Her brother left the day after that, then she was given her orders to report to training. She looked at her father’s broad grin. He had lost his arm during a accident, and it was replaced with a bionic one. Jaeson, her brother took after their father, sharing the same nose and broad grin. She smiled, remember the terrible jokes that they would share. They usually made her and her mother groan. She took after her mum. Most people thought they were sisters at first.  They had the same chestnut hair and purple eyes.

     “Hey, you got any smokes?” came a voice. Jeanne ignored it, assuming they weren’t talking to her.

     “Hey cherry!” She jumped as someone kicked the bunk.

     “Hey!” she turned to see who kicked her bunk. Damari stood at the end of her bed. 

     “Are you deaf or something?” he growled.

     “No.”

     “Then why didn’t you answer?” 

     “I, uh… thought you weren’t talking to me.”

     “Sure. Do you got any smokes?”

     “No. I don’t smoke.”

     “Damn shame.”

     “Oi! Damari! Leave her alone!” called Amkell, “I got a new carton over here. Jeez!” Damari stepped away, leaving her be. She heard him mutter something, but she couldn’t make it out. 

Part Two