[OW] Die Hards: Eleventh Hour

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

Wide-eyes saunters over to the Staff Sergeant, in what is either a stroke of genius...or possibly suicide.

 

"Stand still!" the Staff bellows, as Wide-eyes wisely stops short of reach.  Flecks of spittle blast over the more diminutive man like some kind of phlegm shotgun.  "Where are you from, lad? Local?"

 

The Sergeant behind him seems to be running out of tickets.

 

EDIT:

 

Beren, for good RP in playing to Stimms' "demeanour" as they say in Deathwatch, I refund your Fate Point.

Edited September 28, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Beren]

Wide-eyes jerks his head from side to side.

 

"No sir! Hitched a ride to this rock three cycles back. Been wandering around, playing bodyguard to folk with scrip. Tagging along with a doc a'the moment."

 

Stimms, keeping his eyes on Wide-eyes, begins to slowly edge towards the sergeant handing out tickets.

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

As you deliver your report, the wounded Corporal groans and waves his right hand weakly.  He's waxy and gently shaking.  His eyes are wide open, with an odd glassy look.

 

"Miss?  Miss, are you there?  I can't see."

 

Stimms:

 

The Sergeant sees you sidling closer, tears off the last leaf of his dirty, well-thumbed booklet.  It looks like there is one ticket left.

 

The Staff Sergeant half turns, and you get the sense he's eyeing you and then Wide-eyes.  You can't see his gaze, but the soldier in you can feel it.  He grunts at Wide-eyes.  "Did you come in together?"

[Beren]

Wide-eyes shrugs. 

 

"Not too long ago. Could 'ear someone kicking up a hell of a storm behind us, so we weren't too keen on sticking around."

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

Wide-eyes' comment sends a ripple through the crowd of soldiers milling around in front of the Commissar and their grumbling get's louder.

 

The Commissar speaks loudly, clean and clear.  "You men will wait - the civilians must board."

 

"This is a Guard transport!" one barks, "feth the civvies!  What are we waiting for?"

 

There's a surge of panicking and herd-brain humanity.  The bolt pistol in the Commissar's hand snaps, the rounds tearing through men, but enough get to him and tear at him.  He grips one in a choke-hold and they fall down, kicking and punching into the crowd.

 

"Move yerself!" bawls the Staff, pushing both you and Wide-eyes behind him.  The Sergeant grabs you and shoves you towards the boat, at least 8 Navy Armsmen at the rails with boarding shotguns.

 

Behind, the Staff headbutts the first man to get close, felling him.  He follows it up with a thunderous kick to the fallen man's groin, before he starts chopping with his chainsword, and friction charred meat stink and promethium fumes choke the air.

 

The engines of the transport begin to chug.  They're leaving port!

[Beren]

Stimms immediately starts bounding for the boat, though taking a moment to 'accidentally' elbow Wide-eyes in the stomach to wipe the start of a gleaming grin off his fellow Legionnare's (Ex-Legionnare, if their luck continued to hold) face, immeditely after taking hold of his arm nd dragging him along until he pciked up his usual frenetic pace again.

[Steel Company]

Scarlett hurried over to him, as she took his hand she said, “I’m right here, Corporal Haskins.”

 

“I can’t see anything, I’m scared.” He says to her, squeezing her hand.

 

Scarlett frowned as she said to him, in a gentle and soothing voice, “It’s alright, He is calling you home right now, his visage is too much for our eyes to take in.”

 

Stroke the side of his face with her free hand she asked him, “Is there anything you would like to free yourself of?” changing her voice to a whisper she said to him, “I never finished training for life with the  Sisterhood, I wasn’t cut out for it, but I can still hear any confession you would like to make.”

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

"Sister? I....I failed my duty.  There is a bridge near to here.  Intact..."  Haskins seems unable to speak, as though something drags at his tongue and his last breath is a whisper.  "Thank...you."

 

His body relaxes.

 

He's gone.

 

The other men have also perished.  Only Haskins held on long enough.

 

Judge appears at your shoulder and gently places his palm on it.  His face, so usually flint, appears to have softened.  He pulls his map out and squats beside you.  "If he means the bridge I think he does, it's a half mile Northeast.  It should have been blown by now."

 

Halbast speaks up.  "It's there.  I saw it on my way down."

 

Judge looks at the remaining Die-Hards in turn.  "This man gave us a chance.  Are we going to let him down?"

 

Navigation/Survival check to find the quickest route to the bridge.  It should take 20 mins through this foliage.  Pass by 2 DoS means you make in it 10 mins, Pass by 4 DoS and the Emperor cuts a path for you, and you do it in 5 mins (This will be reflected in the next Deadclock Update).  Fail by 4 of more DoF doubles your time.

 

​When you get to the bridge, it is a huge construction, dripping with cables and wires linked to large explosive charges.  Embellish as you wish.

 

Stimms:

 

The boat is close, but the boarding ramp has fallen away.  The crew have obviously deemed a mutiny would swamp them an so they're leaving.

 

Behind you, you can hear the loud, dolorous thunder of the Commissar - he still lives, only Throne knows how.

 

"Die cowards!  May your failing faith shame you in the halls of the Emperor!"  he stamps down on a mutineer's throat, his uniform is in tatters, but his cold fury keeps him on his feet as the main bulk of the rabble flee into the jungle.

 

Please make a Difficult (-10) Athletics/Agility check.  Failure by 2 DoF means you catch the cargo netting on the side of the ship and will have to climb.  This can be done narratively.

4 or more DoF means you fall into the water...

Edited October 2, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Beren]

Agility Check: 45( Ag 35, -10 fr difficulty, +20 for the sprint talent)

d100: 11 (3 DoS)

 

 

A lifetime of snapping to attention and rushing to fulfill, or appearing to fulfill, whatever task issued to him by his superiors rushed through Stimms veins. All in all, it seemed to do roughly as good a ob as the actual stimms rushing through Wide-eye's veins. The two of them raced way from the screaming melee behind them and towards the departing vessel, seeing the armsmen raise their shotguns but restrain from firing.

 

Wide-eyes leaps, and hits the boat's railings, before Stimms. His arm lashes out to grab the medic as the smaller man almost bounces back off the side, and this time Stimms isn't in a position to wipe the grin off his face.

 

A moment later Stimms feels stong hands grab his shoulder, as the armsmen begin to ahul the pair of them onto the vessel proper.

[Steel Company]

Wiping a single tear from her cheek she nods to Judge as she says, “It’s always hard at the end, being the one that eases their passing.”

 

Looking down at the map and thinking back to the vantage point she had when she pulled the Midshipmen out, she speaks up to Judge, “I’ll take point again.”

 

Survival Roll

 

TN: 33 ( Perception 33)

Survial roll: 1d100 14 Pass with 1 DoS

 

Keeping her carbine up, using the scope as much as she could to scan what was up a head and with careful foot falls she did her best to keep the squad moving at a steady pace. As the last grox fern leaf was pushed away she saw it, the bridge.

 

Scanning it again with her scope as she raised up her right hand with a fist while she lowered herself. Scanning the bridge, taking note of the free flowing cables and explosives she asked in a whisper over the squad level vox, “Where is the demo crew? It looks like they left the job half finished.”

[Mazer Rackham]

Moon of Horon - Terullian Sub, Dalthus Sector c.920.M41

Grid Ref: 1055-2309-6.3MN (Thunder Point Bridge).

 

Secondary Tracking:

Grid Ref: 2013-3002-01MN (Shallow Draft Riverine Supply Boat - RSB Manticore)

 

Time Until Naval Bombardment: 07:08:12

 

Scarlett:

 

As the remaining Die-Hards cross the bridge, Halbast's unnecessary command of 'Break Step' is largely ignored as you all saunter over it.  The length of a training field, the opposite side some 250 metres away, the construct stands on struts and stancions keeping you above the rapids below.  Thunder Point is well named, a churning thrash of broken branches and harried water, surging over rocks and boulders with a hammer beat of noise and cooling mist.

 

The current erodes the stones and prevents any moss clinging to them, scouring them as surely as the cruciform battleship in orbit will soon delete this entire area.

 

Looped thickly lie the black cables, a poor mechanical imitation of the vines and fronds you are familiar with, except instead of allowing crawling insects to their nests in tree boles, these lead to thick packages of fyceline and plastek-ignite, a poor man's explosive in this modern age, which is why there appears to be so much of it.

 

A terrifying amount.

 

The cables all lead in correctly bundled wire, with coded bands to the other side of the bridge, in the direction you are headed.  Lughead inspects one of the demolition charges as he wanders on the deck, the girth of the span enough to allow a single chimera in column to pass across.  100 metres across, there is no sound available, anything but the torrent subsumed, drowned by the punishing river below, so it is with some surprise that Halbast, walking beside Judge starts shoving at the Platoon Commander's shoulder and pointing behind you.

 

Then you feel it.  The deck vibrating to a rush of thumping boots.

 

Orks, not Kommandos this time, but the raucous charge and stomp of a whole pack of Boyz.

 

Stimms:

 

The boat settles into a chug, the river slapping and sloshing, but thankfully as you safely settle below deck with the other civilians, the engines burning their fuel eliminate the sound and the vibration of the boat is almost enough to rock you to sleep.  After some time resting, there is a klaxon and the sound of something metallic ringing off the hull.

 

++ All hands, to action stations! ++

 

Two Armsmen bring down a man whose torso is cut right open.  They clang and bump down the steel ladder to the background tune of rattling heavy stubbers and shotguns.  The casualty is a Naval rating, no doubt charged with loading and equipping the ship.

 

Oe of the Armsmen is obviously agitated, unable to take his eyes off the man they lie down on the deck.  The other, carrying himself with a tad more wherewithal pipes up.

 

"Is there a medic down here?"

[Steel Company]

“Go!” She shouts to the squad as she sprints over closer to the edge of the span.

 

Taking a knee, Scarlett sights up one of the det packs as she whispers to herself, “I know I’ve never been that faithful, it’s why I wasn’t cut out to be a sister. Maybe I’m sorry for almost killing that pig, but please, Lord, let my shot be true.”

 

 

Full round action Aim

 

Second full round action called shot on a Det pack

 

TN: 32? (BS 42, +20 Full round aim, -20 Called shot, -10 szie?)

 

BS test: 1d100 20 Pass with 1 DoS?

 

Damage: 1D10+5 Pen 2 (Lasgun over charge shot)

Las Gun damage: 1d10+5 13

 

Letting out a sigh, she closes her eyes and says, “Thank you, Lord, for saving my squad.”

 

As the charges go off around her, she tosses grenades towards the approaching boys as she rides the debris down to the river below.

 

Ooc; burn a fate point to live through this.

Edited October 3, 2021 by Steel Company

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

The retreating shapes of the squad as they hurry onward show you they haven't even heard you shout to them, such is the ferocity of the river below.  The cool mist is refreshing, driving away the heat of the swamplands and jungle as you kneel to take aim.

 

The scope sways, thanks mainly to the horde of Orks pounding the bridge to pieces, the whole span is shaking, rattling and you can see the cadence vibration almost shearing the rivets free as ten, twenty, thirty howling maniacs haul down the bridge towards you.

 

But your aim is true.

 

As the las-bolt strikes the very easily detonated drums and packs of plastek-ignite, the world seems to slow to a painful crawl, with a clarity so complete, you forget you are there.  Somehow, through a wall of invisible glass you hear someone shout your name.

 

Katherine!

 

It sounds like it comes from so far away.  You see the brutish Orks yell and lurch onwards, a cavalcade of porcine hatred that would roast and eat your squad if they could but lay claws upon them.  Fire blossoms, almost pretty, like ink stains across blotting paper back in the Schola, when you drew things for the Sister, the nice one.  What was her name?  It matter not, only that there's fire, and thunder and bolts blowing around like damned bullets, and the bridge is unpeeling like a Throne-cursed zipper - 

 

And then the world tilts left.

 

And keeps going, twisting and turning in that awful silence and clarity, you can count the steel fragments in the air, the intensity of the Orks' crimson eyes.  The insects hurrying in the sky, and above it all the damning cathedral of violence that is warship in low orbit.

 

For a moment, you think they've fired, that the clock has run out as everything suddenly moves faster, and the Orks are screaming, screaming as the hell you unleashed takes them and hurls them away like ragdoll toys, and then the ground is right there, the rushing water.  You dive into it, feel a punch in your back, tear at your legs, as the metallic tangle echoes and clangs down around you and you can't breathe, and you get one last close up of a rock before pain creases white lightning across your eyes and then blackness.

 

Blackness and silence, and nothing more.

 

Fate Point burned to Survive.

Edited October 3, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Beren]

Maybe if Wide-eyes ahdn't alredy told them he was a doctor, Stimms would have kept silent. Best not to draw too much attention to yourself if yiu're trying to low, but Wide-eyes hadn't and gratitude... gratitude was as much a currency as stim or scrip.

 

So Stimms shoulders is way through the crowd, until he emerges from amidst them.

 

"Here, here. I'm a doctor."

 

He half-yells, half-mutters as he drops his recently aquired bag down on the deck besides the wounded Armsman.

 

"Listen! Listen! Emperor be with you, you'll be alright! I'm going to sow you up, but you need to keep still!"

 

He turns to the towards armsen standing over him.

 

"Keep him steady, as long as you can be spared from the fight above. If not, I'll find help down here."

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

The situation is rendered moot by a fist sized hole that suddenly appears two feet above and six inches to the right of your head as you kneel over the casualty. Whatever penetrated the hull bursts through the chest of the nervous Armsman and with an odd metallic clink opens to reveal a crude grapnel, which yanks him back, pinning him to the deceptively thin wall. A sharp gasp is his only retort before his chest is crushed with a sickening snap of meat-wrapped bone.

 

Another thump echoes further along the hull  towards the bow, then another.

 

The Supply Boat begins to list heavily to port and the civilians begin jabbering or screaming, whichever is their way.

 

More hard rounds clatter from the hull of the vessel, deadly pebbles seeking entry, but it is clear anything bigger is going to turn this cargo hold into a charnel house, which may not be too long a problem - swamp water vomits through the gaps shot into the boat, slopping across the deck, soaking it in green, algae-thick sheen.

 

The man at your feet has died, and the more experienced Armsman makes himself scarce, swarming up the steps pumping his shotgun, leaving his dead colleague pinned to the wall, arms and legs swinging in time with every bump of the waves, his limbs jerking as though he's a drunken marionette.

 

A head with a peaked cap leans over.  "The bloody Greenskins are coming aboard!"

 

If you decide to go up, you will find men wounded by gunfire, or sheltering behind plasteel boarding shields on deck.  Three Heavy Stubbers are being used to repel the boarders, but thier activities are hidden by the height of the deck, albeit the roaring sound of some kind of engine and raw propellant fills the air.

 

Otherwise, it's a waiting game to see who wins the river battle, sheltering with the terrified civilians.  The pinned Armsman has dropped his shotgun, and his belt carries a knife.

[Beren]

Stimms curses and spins around.

 

"Hank! The shotgun!"

 

He's hoping that Wide-eyes understands him, but he doesn't wait to see before he scrambles up the ladder and pokes his head just above the deck. No Greenskins, not yet anyway, but plenty of injured. One of the armsmen glances in their dierction, angrily motions with their arm to get back down, but immediately turns their attention to more pressing matters. The medic turns, looks back down to see Wide-eyes holding with the knife in his belt and holding the shotgun in a direction a little to close to Stimm's own for his likeing.

 

"I need ya to watch my back."

 

Stimms doesn't give any more of an explanation before he begins to scuttle onto the deck, keeping low, looking for any armsmen lightly injured enough that a shot of stimm might be enough to get them going again.

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

The deck, once orderly and stacked with supplies is now a mess.  Blasted steel and burning wood from packing crates is giving off a stench of molten plastic and a salty-sweet tang of singed human flesh.  Armsmen are running all over the place, from port to starboard, fore and aft, shooting in all directions.

 

There is one casualty holding his arm, but there is little blood, just a strange angle at the shoulder.  He is propped up against the armoured wheelhouse of the RSB, another man beside him breathes in and out, but a large purple welt covers half his face.  Three of the Armsmen are dead, their weapons gone, likely tossed over the side by the violent manoeuvring the helmsman is doing to shrug off whatever is tormenting the boat.

 

"Braw-hahaha!" a brutish cry goes up as an Ork clambers over the railed parapet to your left, and in turn gets pulverised by a shotgun slug, tossing the ruined body back over the side.  The Armsman runs further along to kick a grapnel free, and as the ship lists sharply you get a glimpse of your attackers.

 

The river had broadened out considerably, perhaps to it's maximum girth and swell of nearly half a kilometre.  Around you, circle several crude contraptions of haphazardly nailed together scrap iron and belching engine.  Devoid of any wheels to use, it seems to be some kind of Speed Freek cult who swapped this bikes for some kind of...craft.  The rokkit-skis bounce and lurch, their pilots bawling and howling with great whoops as they ride and plunge through the turgid water, churned up by other reckless kin of their herd.

 

Some of the craft bear two, some three Orks in a row, shooting or tossing stikk-bombz. You can see the passengers are also equipped with grapnel guns, and it is no doubt these Orks who are trying to board and take over the ship.  The Armsmen are scything into the speedsters, their shotguns doing little at range, but the mounted heavy stubbers on the craft chop one rokkit-ski into a flaming orange ball of mangled metal, which catapults end over end into the distance before sinking.

 

A grapnel slams into the gunner's leg and tears him over the side with a horrific yank, his screams drowned out by engine noise and the chilling calls of the wicked aliens.

 

"Gone FISHIN'! Hahahaha!" one of them cries.

 

Encouraged by the barbarous cruelty, more grapnels clatter against the boat, but fail to purchase.

 

Maybe getting these men on their feet would help repel these devils.  Or taking the gun yourself?

 

Any Medicae Test will be Difficult (-10)  as the casualties you can treat are suffering from simple maladies, yet the boat is rocking so much, even simple things are hard.  Feel free to embellish as much as you wish.  Should you wish to man the gun, the weapons (Heavy Stubber) are mounted/braced.  The Rokkit-skis are moving at run speed, so (-20 to Hit w/BS), however, the skis are large, (Hulking) generating a (+10 to Hit).

 

The Skis are armour plated,  (Crude 4 points) with a Damage Resistance (TB) of 4 and damage track of 15 (Wounds).

 

The gun has a ballistic shield and is behind some cover (5 points to all locations except head).

 

There are 3 Rokkit-skis on the Port side, 3 on the Starboard, with 2 zooming around on the bow.  Two crewmen can take up position on two of the guns, leaving the third free.  You can assign them where you wish.

[Steel Company]

Closing her eyes as she hit the water, the cool temperature of the water was paralyzing. As she drifted under the water, her vision became dark and she was thrown into a dream, or was it a memory?

 

++++

 

Pulling off her helmet she tossed it against the wall behind her rack as she cursed out, “Throne! When did these fragging rebs get tempests kit?!”

 

“Calm down, Sister, you’ll get your knickers in a knot, again.” the squad sergeant from his bunk, as he gave her a sideways look.

 

“Sorry, Sarge.” She sighed out, pinching the bridge of her nose before pulling off her carapace armor, looking at the burn marks from the last engagement as she adds, “It still doesn’t add up, last week they were using auto-guns at us.”

 

“Speaking of that, when is our resupply coming?” asked one of her squadmates.

 

“It should’ve been here two weeks ago.” Said the Sargent started to ponder.

 

“What if someone stole it?” asked a thin man from his rack.

 

“Don’t joke about that feth, Skids.” the Sargent at Skids as he rolled over in his rack away from him.

 

She ran a hand through her bright red hair and sighed before asking, “What if it isn’t a joke, Sarge? I mean our rations haven’t shown up in a month, I haven’t seen new armor in almost a year and my power pack is still having issues.”

 

He sighs and places a hand on Sister’s shoulder as he whispers to her, “Kathrine, our next op is taking us behind lines, maybe we’ll find out.”

 

++++

Several days later

++++

 

Again Sister was in her squad’s barracks, and again she threw her helmet against the wall as she yelled out, “Fragging Throne!”

 

This time no one answered.

 

She looked around at the empty barracks, it was just her now, her squad had been wiped out, they had gone into the operation after Sarge had brought his concerns to the L.T. that was going to be overseeing the area of operations. But it wasn’t just an ambush with just basic troops from these rebels, no these ones had been using Tempestus equipment; they had shown up as friendly, right until they opened up on the squad. Skids had gone down first, he had been out front, on point. Then Jet went down as he was rear guard, after that Sparky went down when she caught a grenade in the back. Sarge had saved her, knocking her to the ground as a miniature sun hit him, from a plasma gun.

 

That left her, alone, playing dead and watching as that officer came out of the shadows, talking to the rebels as he said, “I do hope the equipment meets with your expectations.”

 

Opening her eyes again, she picked up her helmet and marched to that officer’s tent.

 

Once she got there, she could hear him laughing with his father, the general of this front. Pressing her lips together she walked into the tent, pointing at the lieutenant as she yelled at him, “You fething traitor!”

 

The room went silent, and she charged at him, diving over the table at him, knocking food everywhere. As the two of them hit the ground and she started to pummel him with her fists, tears running down her face as she continued to yell, “They’re all dead now! Dead because of you!”

 

“Attention!” called the general.

 

Sister didn’t stop, pummeling the man.

 

Eventually, someone pulled her off the man, his face bloody, her gauntlets bloody and the general said to her, “Now you’ve gone and done it, corporal.”

 

“Sir, he sold our equipment to the enemy, then walked my squad into an ambush!” she protested.

 

“I know.” He said coldly.

 

Her eyes went wide as she heard laughter in the shadow, turning her head slowly to the laughing and clapping she saw the governor of this world, how was it possible that she missed him being here she questioned herself. The fat pig of a man smiled and looked to the general as he said, “Dump her with a penal legion somewhere, I don’t want my plans interrupted by this, General.”

 

++++

Edited October 5, 2021 by Steel Company

[Beren]

Stimms scrambles across the pitching deck, staggering back and forth as he attempts to make progress until he reaches the man with what looks like a dislocated limb. He doesn't even speak s he grabs hold of it and prepares to wrench it back into its socket.

 

Behind him, he hears the third Heay Stubber start shooting again, firing in sporadic bursts. A momentary throwing back of his head reveals that Wide-Eyes has somehow weized the stubber, and is jerking it back and forth to track the marauding sailorkz.

 

 

Roll vs 70: (Int 40 + Medicae Kit(+20) + Experienced Medicae(+20) -difficulty(-10)

d100: 73

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

The roll is only a partial failure, so whilst the arm does reset, damage already sustained prevents total use of the limb, and will incur a small penalty to his aim.

 

With at least one casualty back in action, the gun on the prow of the Riverine Supply Boat opens up, cutting down and Ork, sending a Rokkit-ski plunging under the water, a diving bird after fish.  An explosion sends a jet of water into the air, along with indiscernible body parts.

 

Perhaps that's for the best.

 

Wide-eyes too is doing the Emperor's work - or perhaps he's just venting steam and mania both, cutting a Sailork in half, sending his water-borne sled into a wide spin, arcing off to the right and heading for shore in a slump of dead alien and locked controls.

 

Only one heavy stubber remains silent, but the sound of gunfire rattling is replaced by grapnels clanging and affixing to the side rails...

[Beren]

There's a general principal of survival that this advisable to both naive do-gooders and the self-interested saving others for ulterior motives when it comes to assissting others. Make sure you're still alive to do it. 

 

Stimms hear's the explosions in the water, hoping its the Orkish contraptions tearing themselves to bits, but he remains too focused on his work to give much attention.

 

The second he hears grapples clanging against the hull, this changes. Swearing, he abandons his attempts to administer medical aid and seizes the shotgun of one of the casualties he still needs to treat, aiming it just above where the hooks have latched onto the side-rails like the appendages os slinter-leeches.

 

The next xenos to poke its head above them will recieve an invasive lobotomy via method of shotgun blast.

 

So he hopes, anyway,

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

A giant green paw reaches over the rail, bulky musculature flexing in solid knots, as algae-saturated water drains from the clawed hands in runnels.  Another hand appears, only this one is bunched into a gnarled fist, filled with a cleaver as long as your own arm and three times as broad in the belly of the blade.

 

Brutish grunting accompanies the effort of bunched shoulders, as red eyes, filled with inhuman malice lift above the side of the boat, a face wrought in a forsaken parody of distorted humanity, with gross fangs jutting from a pugilistic jaw, thick and square as a mortar plate.

 

It wears some kind of odd garment, a loose-fitting shirt hangs in shredded tatters, the fabric an exceptionally garish yellow, with hideous purple flowers on it.  Once possessed no doubt by a human, this mossy ape now sports it, and long strands of pond or duckweed fall around it's shoulders and neck.  Broken sunglasses, their arms bent and wrenched hang from a cord around it's neck.  It fixes on you, oblivious of the shotgun.

 

Or maybe it doesn't care.

 

"WAAAAAGGGGGHHHH!"

 

We'll deal with this without using Structured Time, just drop any rolls in as you have been doing narratively.

[Beren]

Stimms, ignoring the orkoid's garish and improbable outfit, doesn't make a sound. He's never been the finset marksman in any of the squads he's served with, but he still knows how to hold a weapon. He simply points the shotgun straight at the behemoth's face, steadying his aim, and pulls down the trigger.

 

Ballistic Skill 28

d100: 94

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

Alerted to the boom of the shotgun, other Armsmen turn to regard the Orkoid threat.  One of its comrades begins to pull over the side, then another.  The deck violently pitches as the RSB is tugged by more and more thudding, clanking grapnels.  The Armsmen, just like the white cells in a bloodstream, attempt to repel the invaders with a barrage of shotgun fire, hurling torn and tattered bodies bodies back over the rail and into the water below with heavy splashes.

 

The Rokkit-skis are attatcked by the thundering of heavy-stubbers, but it is obvious that as the bow and starboard flank of the boat are being deserted for the port rails, where the greenskins suffer less fire, and their madcap craft can gain  purchase.

 

For each alien body smashed and hurled back, another seems to take their place, before a host of Orks wrestle with the Armsmen in bloody close-quarters.

 

A strange wrench of metal sounds from deep below the ship, and the whole deck heaves abruptly, tossing men and Orks alike from their feet.

 

Wide-eyes instinctively grips onto the heavy stubber, but the whole mount pivots, leaving him dangling perilously over the side.  Thrashing and the noise of an engine choking come from the stern and the boat pivots crazily, heading towards the riverbank.  A Slugga goes off and obliterates the head of the pilot, smearing the remaining glass with red-grey gobbets.

 

To your left, recovering Orks.  To your right, your comrade and customer.  To the stern, behind you, a small salvation launch.

 

You realise you're going to have to choose before the boat runs aground, or worse, sinks.

[Beren]

Very suddenly, it looks like Stimm's plan for a brilliant plan of escape both from immediate immolation via planetary bombardment and the fatal drudgery of the penal corps seems rather likely to end with him torn to pieces by orks, left to rot at the bottom of a river, and then suffering immediate immolation by planetary bombardment.

 

No, no, he was quite happy with being alive thank you. 

 

Ah well, fewer witnesses left to answer questions if the Comissariat came looking anyway.

 

Stimms sprinted for the small launch on the rear of the boat, tumbling into it with a brusing lack of grace. As he attempts to rig up its engine so it'll start, he looks back over his shoulder to see if Wide-eyes is still hanging from his precarious position.