Based on one of the first Warhammer 40k 6th edition game I played vs a friend’s Cadians with allied White Scars, as part of an online Eye of Terror campaign set during the 13th Black Crusade. It was a fun, bloody game, where my only ‘regret’ is rolling abysmally with my warsmith. It was also a great creative spark, and I’ve no idea why I haven’t posted it yet. More to follow, stay tuned.
– The Sentinel Worlds, Ortenes Mining World –
While a force of Iron Warriors took the gene seed stored on Hydra Cordatus, another grand company led by Warsmith Iapethon brought battle to Ortenes, a rich mining world that would be very useful in supplying the war effort. With unholy speed the men of iron landed on the planet and began fortifying their position, when the inevitable imperial counterattack struck. An infantry company of the glorious 8th Cadian advanced on the traitors’ positions, determined to drive them off their world. Their advance was spearheaded by a strike group of the ferocious Adeptus Astartes of the White Scars chapter. The imperials expected to become heroes, to drown in the glory of saving the planet from the chaos threat, under the guidance of their Holy Emperor. But the Gods of Chaos are powerful too, and while they allowed the mortals their glory, they denied them victory.
The Iron Warriors had prepared their defenses well. Already, there were bunkers here and there, connected by trench lines hastily dug by thousands of slave workers. Troops of renegades manned the trenches and prepared to spill their hatred upon the advancing cadians, while the dreaded artillery of the Legion zeroed in. What began as a determined advance turned first into a steady crawl and then almost into a rout, until Colonel Flavion rallied his troops and ordered them into a defensive formation. To go further was to die, so they dug in. In the meanwhile, a new plan was formed to flank the enemy. An infantry platoon would attack along the weaker eastern flank while the White Scars themselves, led by Khan Hanua, would charge into the heart of the enemy.
The charge of the White Scars was a glorious sight to behold. They rode their bikes nimbly through the churned earth, while a rhino APC trundled behind them making use of every nook and cranny to get the great warriors as close to the enemy as possible. They moved so swiftly the Iron Warriors could hardly target them before they already reached the first bunked manned by traitors. With their arsenal of melta weapons they blew the first bunker to pieces. Iron Warriors, their armour melting and mixing with what was left of their superhuman bodies, screamed their rage at the assailant. The survivors ran out, roaring defiance and shooting bolters and plasma guns at the attackers. Some White Scars fell, but the rest drove on, jumping over the trenches and slaying renegades, while the rhino opened its hatches so that the marines could support their brethren. The survivors from the bunker and the marines from the rhino ended up in a bitter brawl, while Khan Hanua drove his bikes ever onwards, his mind and body set upon taking down the guns.
Meanwhile, the entrenched cadians traded shots with the enemy across the crater strewn no-man’s land. They put all their hopes into hanging on, distracting the enemy while the flanking platoon did their work. It took brave souls for what those men were about to do. They had gone around the flank through a small valley but came up to find the enemy had prepared defences on that side as well. Artillery shells began to detonate among them, their only saving grace was that the enemy had not had time to range in on this side. Renegade warriors fired their stolen lasguns furiously, and when the imperials got clsoe enough, they were stunned by the enemy leaping out of their trenches and charging at them. A bloody fight ensued, with casualties mounting high on both sides.
On the other side of the battle Khan Hanua’s warriors were getting bogged down in traitors, and hope dwindled even further when Iapethon himself charged out of a bunker, intent on taking down the enemy leader and adding a trophy to his collection. Not since the Battle for Terra had he faced a White Scar in battle, and he had been a mere sergeant back then. Old, bitter memories came back to him and he almost saw himself transported back to that ancient time, when the Iron Warriors had just thrown off their shackles and unleashed their hatred upon the Imperium and the Galaxy. They had lost then, brought low by the foolishness of their Warmaster. This time though, Iapethon would win. He would win or die. He dropped his combi-weapon, refusing to use it to kill his foe, and charged past a White Scars Biker, his eyes fixed on Khan Hanua. He swung his sword in a wide ark to catch the captain as he predictively tried to jink out of the way, and felt great satisfaction as his sword drew his enemy’s blood along with a cry of pain. But the Khan was not an average warrior, he shone in combat even among the Astartes, and while he had taken a serious wound, his own sword found a weakness in the Warsmith’s armour and dealt one in return with his own master crafted blade. The Warsmith howled in pain. The White Scar’s blade had managed to puncture both a lung and his heart, and after a few more attempts to strike down his foe, Iapethon fell in a trench, almost oblivious to all but his own humiliation.
Guardsmen were dying. With the battle teetering towards defeat despite his heroics, Khan Hanua knew he had to risk all to bring down the enemy artillery. For there was only one terror of death – to die with his work incomplete. He charged between renegades and traitor marines and closed in on the first basilisk. Behind him, and Iron Warriors predator kept trying to score a hit on him or his bike, but his nearness to the valued guns made the shots overly careful and he was missed. But other Iron Warriors had noticed his mad charge, and from one of the bunkers a group of havocs set their heavy autocannons firing in his path. Shells repeatedly chinked of his armour, but the storm of fire was so thick that in fractions of a second his bike was blown apart and the captain found himself on the ground by his target. Bleeding from a dozen small wounds as well as the one caused by the Warsmith, Khan Hanua stubbornly tried to get up while he activated a krak grenade. If he could get at least one gun, his death would have meaning…
Before he could put the grenade to use, however, he was suddenly grabbed by huge, mechanical arms. A coterie of mindless servitors surrounded him and pulled his arms apart. One managed to grab his grenade and kept it from him, carelessly killing itself as the grenade detonated in its mechanical arm. Then a sinister, hooded figure with multiple glowing eyes stepped into view. It held a huge power axe with a strange symbol that looked a lot like the Cog of the Mechanicum and yet was somehow… wrong. The figure studied him for a few moments, seemingly oblivious to the battle unfolding behind it until, with a grating, metallic voice , it spoke
‘The Warsmith will be most pleased by your capture, insolent Astartes. Most pleased indeed. No one is allowed to defile the sacred machines. Not even one such as you.’
Hanua yelled his frustration at the tech-priest. His men were dying, his allies were routing or blown to bloody vapour. His mission had failed, and he was still alive…