[OW] Die Hards: Eleventh Hour

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

Wide-eyes' voice drifts over the sound of the boat being swamped by homicidal maniacs and the river.  He's dangling quite precariously, when an Ork appears above him, and takes a swipe, chopping the heavy stubber mount.  Wide-eyes grabs the water-cooling hoses and ammo belt.

 

"Stimms!  Help?  Please?"

[Beren]

Stimms, turns back around again, and kicks the skiff into motion. Second's later he's wheeling round the side of the boat, hunched over to make as small a target of himself as possible, to just below where Wide-eyes is dangling.

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

At the right moment, Wide-eyes lets go and drops into the skiff you're piloting, collapsing into a heap as you speed away upriver.

 

Behind you, the Orks continue to swarm the boat, the cries of pain and anguish of butchery fading into a ghostly silence the further you leave the carnage behind...

 

And with that...

 

++ ONLY WAR: THE DIE HARDS ++

 

+ END OF PART II +

 

Will our intrepid heroes escape impending doom?

Will Scarlett marry Midshipman Halbast?

Will Stimms ever blow the head off an Ork - find out soon, different time, same channel!

[Mazer Rackham]

+ ONLY WAR +

 

++ DIE HARDS: ELEVENTH HOUR ++

 

PART III: SAWTOOTH

++ Squad Disposition ++

 

Casualties:

• Nearly (KIA)
• Dagger (KIA)
• Toaster (KIA)
• Twelvetoes (KIA)
• Judge, Platoon Commander (MIA)
• Lughead (Ogryn Heavy) (MIA)
• Walker (MIA)
• Whisper (MIA)

Contact regained:

• "Scarlet" (Steel Company) Former Storm Trooper | Character Sheet
• "Stimms" (Beren) Medicae | Character Sheet
• "Wide-eyes" Stimms' Companion

 

+ Orbital Tracking Unit Gamma-Eclipse-Psirion IV +

+ Thermal Preysight and Bio-Relay Augury +

++ Attempting re-loc...FAIL

++ Attempting re-loc...FAIL

++ Attempting re-loc/switch-combine. Query: aux/lens?[03]Omicron...

== Accept...

 

== LOCSIT ESTABLISHED.

 

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

Grid Ref: 4533-7309-9.9MN (Thunder River - 3.67Km from Destroyed Bridge).

 

Secondary Tracking:

Grid Ref: 0010-1989-0.0MN (5.94Km from Firebase Sawtooth).

 

Time Until Naval Bombardment: 04:20:39

 

T

he Sawtooth River is one of the long tributaries which feed the broad river terminating in the thrashing, gnashing teeth of Thunder Point, once the site of an emergency camp for the 14^th Taurellian, and host to a magnificent bridge, raised by Arch-Magos Kulayn DeFrietas when Horon was first settled by the Explorator Mechanicus and claimed for the Imperium by the Emperor's armies.

 

Now, its mouth is a corpse-choked morass, the flotsam and jetsam of war pushing the bodies of a huge Orkoid assault downriver.  Only a few kilometres remain before you can reach the Imperial Lines noted on your maps, only this morning.  It seems like so long ago.  Stimms pulls the skiff into shore, the fuel all gone in the trip upriver, fighting the tide, and with only emergency rations in the boat, and no oars, some survival skill and sweat are going to be needed if you want to sail again.

 

The harder part will be penetrating the camp, since two civilians entering at an hour of military fury may be seen as suspicious, and there's a war on.  In the middle distance, you can hear the bang and thump of artillery, can imagine the fire-belching guns slamming back on their hydraulic suspension, breaches cranked open to present another earth-shaking shell.  Crash-whump, another gun fires in cadence, a creeping barrage tearing the hell out of the thin crust of the moon, the shadow of the huge vessels wallowing above mirrored by the large fish in the river.

 

There are a few shells left for the shotgun, but despite being obviously military issue in nature, it is your only real weapon against the creeping Orkish Kommandos and the Herds of Boyz no doubt infesting this swampland, which stretches on, unchanging as far as you can see.  In the air, gnats buzz and swoop, but these are not insects - it is the deadly game of dogfighting between the Imperial hard-bitten pilots, and the Ork's manic Fighta Jockeys.  Beyond, is a flight of Valkyries, heavily loaded and loping through the air.

 

The evacuation has begun in earnest, but close by, there is the sound of fighting.

 

Stimms/Beren:

Consulting your map, there is a village close by marked with the Imperial symbols denoting a staging outpost.  This will be at most held by a squad, but there will be supplies of fuel for the skiff, ammunition, rations and likely a change of clothes.  If you choose not to go to the village, then you can attempt survival skills if you have them, to gain fish or make oars etc.  Go ahead and write this up as you wish.  If you do not have the survival skill, there is a small copy of the Imperial Primer, which is localised for Horon within the bundle of maps you took.

 

Visiting the village is faster, but more dangerous.  Attempting survival rolls/skills is slower but safer.  Up to you.

 

Dozens of kilometres to the West, is a Kamp of a different kind.

 

Scarlett wakes, coughing and spluttering as swamp water evacuates from her stomach.  Around her is the stink of the xenos menace, and to her left, several of the hulking brutes are arranged around a campfire, across the top of which is a spit, holding an unidentifiable chunk of blackened meat.  One of the alien brutes slices off a hunk and jams it into his fanged maw, chewing with satisfied grunts.  The awful aroma of sickly-crisped pork and hair hangs low with the smoke of the fire, providing a weird ethereal light under the thick domes of the trees.

 

It is then you realise you are in a cage, roughly hewn, but strong enough to pen up a rampant alpha-squig.

 

A clawed finger jabs your arm.

 

"Girl meat tender," it drools with a cackle.  A disgusting slurping noise accompanies a cracked clay bowl shoved through the bars.  It contains a...stew...of some kind.  "Eat up, 'Umie.  Yous need more beef on dem limbs.."

 

It bellows with laughter, grasping at it's chest before standing.  Entertained by its own crude humour, it turns and stomps to the fire, leaving you to your...malodourous meal, and to stare through a break in the jungle, to see out over the nearby riverbank, nearly 200 metres away.

 

On top of that - everything hurts.  Your uniform is ragged, but plenty enough to cover your modesty.  (I have clarified this to make sure it is understood you are covered up, but your uniform has suffered being pulled over rapids, there are no silly ideas being promoted here).  At least the Orks don't care about such things, most of them are covered in hide armour and woad painted over their bodies.

 

Scarlett/Steel:

You require an awareness test to see anything beyond what has been described, and a survival/intelligence test to ascertain your injuries.  You may undertake search rolls, as well as navigation rolls to estimate from the flow of the river, how far down you've come.  Feeel free to embellish, respon as you will.

 

Gents, as always, hit up the OOC if you need more info/questions etc.

Edited October 17, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Beren]

Stimms sat in silence, hunched ver teh map as he checked their options.

 

He and Wide-eyes hadn't really talked since the larger boat went down. Stimms figured he knew what the score was, that if he hadn't been able to pick the other soldier up as easily as he had... well.

 

Ork infested swamps, or an Imperial outpost.

 

He knew a fair bit about plants, about how to pick your way across boggy ground. This wasn't Veridian, true, but things didn't really change that much.

 

There was just one particular species of fungus, that proved problematic.

 

Stimms looked over at the shotgun resting against the side of the boat.

 

No, he'd rather take his chance with the Imperials. Humans he knew how to play, and if he played his cards right, he even might be able to hitch a ride past the outer defences.

[Steel Company]

OOC: Place holder with the rolls:

 

Challenging awareness test +0 TN 33: 1d100 73 Fail 4DoF

 

Survival roll for injuries TN: 33

Survial roll: 1d100 7 Pass with 2 DoS

 

Survival Roll for travel TN: 33

 

Survial roll: 1d100 32 Pass

 

 

Once the Ork had turned its back to her, Scarlett twisted and took a sharp breath as the pain in her left leg made it clear that it was broken. Taking a moment to process the pain, she dragged herself over to the ‘bars’ of her cage, pressing her right shoulder as hard as she could into it to grab a couple of rocks and a relatively thick stick. With the stick in with her now, she tore the bottom of her top off, leaving her belly exposed to the cool air and started to tie the stick to her leg to work as a brace, pausing for a moment to center herself before making that last tug and tightening the knot to avoid crying out in pain.

 

Breathing in and out slowly to clear her mind before taking two of the rocks she had and started to chip one of the rocks. The Ork that had come over with the meat comes back and knocks the cage and growls out at her, “Stop it ‘Umi!”

 

Scarlett waited till it had returned to its fellows before continuing to chip away, again drawing the beats attention as it bellowed out, “I said stop it! Ya need to get yer ‘ead stompped?”

 

Putting her rocks down, she put her hands up in a submissive gesture, but her work had been done, she now had a crude stone blade to saw through the bindings of the cage. Slowly pulling herself over to the far side of the cage, the side closest to the river, she started the quiet task of sawing away at the bindings as she muttered, “Emperor be damned if I’m going to just die here, in a cage. I’m a Strom Trooper damn it.”

Edited October 18, 2021 by Steel Company

[Mazer Rackham]

Stimms:

 

never one to be without an escape plan, you coax Wide-eyes into helping to heave the skiff up onto the riverbank and into the knotted tangle of roots in the base of a tree.  A quick camo job with leaves and vines later, and the small boat is safe.  As you move, you catch the sounds and smells of a village.  In the background the artillery continues to rain down, and the tremors of the bombardment carry for many miles, even all this way, and up through your...borrowed boots.

 

As you pull back long reeds at the village boundary, you can see the troops wearing Taurellian uniforms, they look to be a regular line unit, not a garrison party - but that's not a surprise, everyone is hauling out of this fungi-infested cesspit.

 

Soldiers are pushing civilians towards the middle of the village, and off to your immediate left three soldiers stand over two of the citizens decanting what looks to be some kind of cooking fat or oil for domestic use into military issue jerry-cans.  There are also a pile of water bottles, and ration packs, along with requisitioned hampers of foodstuffs piled on a table.

 

The soldiers themselves are a mote unkempt, but they handle their lasguns reasonably enough.  The dirt and mulch of the swamp has been beaten into knees, elbows and boots.

 

One of the men steps away from the rest, and casually lights up a Lho stick with a gilded lighter.  He stands puffing away quite close to your position, lasgun slung on his shoulder, which carries the rank of Bombardier.

 

Scarlett:

 

Your bravado has only vaguely irritated the Orks, who no doubt are used to much more raucous behaviour.  The mouthy Git who accosted you sits now with his back to you, sharing the fire over which the carcass smoulders.  He doesn't hack a lump out this time, but just pulls a clawed handful free.  As he does so, a set of battered dog tags fall down.  He laughs in his brutish manner and continues eating.

 

The sinew thongs and bindings are sturdy, but rock beats meat, and your endeavours pay off, sawing through the gristle loosens two of the bars at the rear of the cage, which falls under the shadow of a tree.  As you appraise your handiwork, biting off the pain searing in your limbs, a subtle noise drifts up from a clod of reeds.

 

Hsst!  Hsst!

[Steel Company]

With a hole in the cage, Scarlett does her best to crawl quietly and slowly towards the river, saying her mantra over and over in her head, ‘Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, slow is fast.’

 

Checking over her shoulder ever so often to make sure she hasn’t altered the Ork to her escape.

 

 

Stealth roll to stay hidden and sneak away:

 

TN: 45 (Stat: 35, +20 from skill, -10 from Fatigue level)

 

Stealth Check: 1d100 4 Pass with 4DoS

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

As you slither towards the riverbank, the sound of hissing becomes louder.  The region familiarisation lecture warned you that swamp moccasins, a dangerous river snake nest in such places.

 

Please make either an Awareness or Survival roll.

[Steel Company]

Holding still for a moment, she tries to assure herself of the noise that is coming from the water.

 

 

Survival Roll TN: 33

 

Survial roll: 1d100 6 Pass with 2DoS

 

Emperor be blessed!

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

One of the reeds, some 3cm in width, breaks from the knot of foliage, and begins to drift closer.  The livid green colour of the reed is just right for the sinewy predators that lurk in the river.

 

Yet the hissing is odd, you can hear the difference now you're closer you can hear the subtle difference.  It's not the snake sound at all...it sounds bigger.

 

Much bigger.

 

Something large sloshes out of the water and muck, grabbing you by the wrist in an irresistible pull, almost yanking you into the water, but instead it's a slick slide into the murky depths.  The air in your lungs compresses as your chest is squeezed, thick ropes of knotted meat twisting around your body, muscled cords wrenching at your already tender bruises on hips and back.

 

Struggling is a waste of strength, whatever monster this is, you can sense it's huge presence near you, and for a moment you remember half heard tales about Croatalids, the huge dragon-crocodiles that travel from planet to planet looking for swamplands where they can make their homes and feed on unwary travellers.

 

It begins to go dark, your consciousness fading, when all of a sudden, you break the surface of the water, gasping and pulling for air, but the beast still grasps your limbs.

 

"Ello Scar-lett.  Mister 'albast sed you might need 'elp," says a low, but rumbling familiar voice.  "Sos abaht grabbin' yous like."

 

Looking back, you can see the Orkish camp thirty metres further downriver, and can even make out where you slid in.  Above you someone leans over a low hanging tree root, but his face is marred with an impromptu battle dressing, covering one eye with a strip of grotty blue uniform cloth.

 

"Well done, Lug old man.  Are you alright Katherine?" Halbast asks.

Edited October 19, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Beren]

Stimms motions to Wide-eyes to dump the shotgun, letting it slip beneath a bush.

 

They've found the camp, now they just need to not get shot.

 

"Hello?" he calls out, to alert the guards to his presence.

 

"Don't shoot! We're Imperial citizens!"

 

He waits a moment, then begins to slowly sidle out from cover, fixing a not so hard to fake expression of nervous dis-ease to his face as he does so.

[Steel Company]

Scarlett lets out a sigh of relief and pats Lug on the arm as she whispers, "No harm big guy, and thanks for the help." Turning her attention to Helbast, she forces a smile and says to him, "Broken leg and some scrapes and bruises, but otherwise I'm fit for duty, Midshipmen, and we are running behind."

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

"We certainly are," he mumbles.  The shine and air of starch has slipped from his shoulders, and he motions for Lughead to lift you up out of the water.  Together they help you over to their own small camp.  A tiny fire has placed carefully under a tall tree to dissipate smoke, and he points to a bed of leaves.

 

"Here Lug."

 

The brute abhuman gently lowers you, and Halbast goes over your injuries quickly, peeling back the tattered leg of your uniform and applying a cataplasm patch to the deepest wound he can find.  He offers you a pain-pack to take the edge off.

 

The heat of the fire is meagre, but a welcome relief from the cold cramp, and Halbast drops a long black greatcoat with gold frogging across your shoulders.  It stinks of smoke, but it's dry and warm.

 

"I'm sorry Katherine, Lug was all I could find.  Everyone else is...gone.  We saw you and did our best.  Too many Orks to charge in."

Edited October 19, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

She nods, but avoids the pain-pack as she says, "Some are better than none, but we can't just idle about here, Sir, we need to get moving, and I need to stay sharp."

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

"I hoped you'd say that," some of his recklessness returns in a smile.  "If you look over there, you'll see our escape plan."

 

Peering in the direction he's pointing you can see some kind of vehicle laager.  The mismatched and awkward formation of hapazard plating can't hide the general shape of several four-wheeled buggies of distinctly alien manufacture, complete with mounted pintle weapons.  There is one with a larger flatbed than the others, with bigger tyres and huge suspension springs.  It would easily carry Lughead as well.  As you turn back Halbast holds up a map and compass.

 

There are no Orks, they seem to be milling around their trapping camp.

 

"Drive or shoot, Sister?" he says.

[Steel Company]

She laughs and shakes her head as she says, "Shoot, driving wasn't my thing. That being said, lets hope we don't get a bolt round for using this thing later."

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

Halbast nods, and as his head dips you can see the wound running down his face that claimed his eye.  As the shadow moves, there's a play of light over raw scar tissue around his ear.  He beckons to the Ogryn.

 

"Pick up the lady Lug, nice and gentle.  We're heading for the kart, the big one, ok?"

 

"yes sah," Lughead copies Halbast's low voice.

 

As the Midshipman puts the fire out, the big abhuman collects you in his arms, the commissar's coat snugging you up in a blanket as you all head for the Orkoid "Unimokk".

 

Halbast might be sometimes a clown, but he's no fool.  The rest and warmth has allowed you to get your breath.  You may remove one level of fatigue.

 

You must now also make a Difficult (-10) Stealth Check.  This will be a communal roll and will affect your head start by how many DoS you attain.  Failure by 4 or more Degrees, will result in...bad.

[Steel Company]

Stealth Check at TN 45 (Stat 35 + 20 skill, -10 Diff): 1d100 44 pass

Edited October 19, 2021 by Steel Company

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

Once both the Little 'Uns are in, Lughead clambers into the Unimokk.  The springs creak and heave loudly, but Halbast pats him on the shoulder and he lies down, gathering into an almost pathetic foetal ball - well, for an Ogryn.

 

You are seated in the passenger side, in command of a Big Shoota, testing the pintle, it proves to have a superb traverse of movement.

 

And an exceptionally large ammunition can.

 

"Ready?"

 

"Oi, what's you doin' youse gitz!"

 

"Fething hell!" Halbast cranks and twists the levers of the open-topped vehicle, before seeing a large starter button.

 

A large, red starter button.  He grins and thumps it, and with a deafening roar of the engine - and a painful wrench in your neck - Lughead gives a whoop of joy, as you are launched down the track leading out of the camp, driven by a man with no depth perception...

Edited October 19, 2021 by Mazer Rackham

[Steel Company]

As they zip past the Orks, Scarlett sprays the camp quickly with the ork weapon that seems to work by an unknown means, not caring if she lands a shot or not.

[Mazer Rackham]

I've moved this to make it easier for Beren to catch and respond.   

 

Stimms:

 

"Oi, who's that?" the Bombardier shouts.  He hurries towards you and wide-eyes.  "Civilians, eh? Coming out of the trees?  What you doing back there?"

 

The group of other soldiers approach, one of them unslinging his gun. 

 

"Were you hiding something back there?  From us?"  he grins.  "From the Emperor?"  the man who addresses you has at least two days facial hair growth.  His uniform insignia shows he's an Armoured Fist Company soldier.

[Beren]

Stimms shakes his head violently, adding a slight stutter for effect.

 

"N..n..n.. no!"

 

He bends down low to the ground.

 

"We are devout and loyal servants of the God-Emperor! I m a travelling doctor and this is my life-ward. We were travelling in the region when word reached us of His condemnation of this region to purge it of the unclean xenos! We simply wish for passage to where we may better serve his will!"

[Mazer Rackham]

Scarlett:

 

The Orks falter as the weapon clatters in a ruddy rhythm very different to your banging rocks.  The bullets hit hard, toppling not one, but two of the assembled Orks, and chop up a brace of smaller, diminutive figures you recognise as Grot Riggers.

 

The trees part, opening up into a dirt road some four feet wide, and the Unimokk pounds through the mud and puddles, the sides of the vehicle clipping foliage down like a crude hedge-trimmer.  Halbast wrestles with the controls, trying to keep the vehicle straight and parallel to the river you can now see through the thinning trees and vegetation, the giant girth of Thunder Confluence devours boulders and tangled metal wreckage floating downriver.

 

A thick pall of black smoke marks a place ahead, and the strange smell of burning paint and blistered iron from copious fyceline explosives drifts across the water in a strange twang of accusation, along with the odd, mangled body of a Greenskin.

 

Behind you is the thunderous roar of a Speed Freek column approaching at pace.  They've had a taste of you, and are out for your rich blood.

 

The buggies kick up a dirty grey smoke cloud and a strange squawking emanates from the front console.

 

"Does ya heer me, ya theevin' gitz?  Ya think ya can run from Grabbit Geargob?  I'll 'ave yer 'hide!"

 

The enemy are not yet in sight, but the Unimokk is a lumbering beast requiring control.  For all intents and purposes Halbast will count as Scarlett's Companion for the purposes of combat and interaction.  The steering column is made for the brute strength of Orks, and will require a Strength Test (Plus any assistance) to navigate the road and bends.  I will notify you by narrative, and you may  make the roll in your posts.

 

Until then, you may indulge in smack talk, if you wish. :)

 

Stimms:

 

"Devout servants?  Did you hear that lads?"

 

There is a communal chuckle.

 

"Better follow me your worship," the smoker says, dropping the lho-stick and crushing it under foot.

 

He unlimbers his lasgun and whilst not directly menacing you with it, urges you to go in front of him.  One of his comrades joins him, going a step in front of you and Wide-eyes.  They walk, not march, you down to the village square, where the statue of some Imperial Saint sits not very proudly in the centre of a water fountain.

 

The fountain looks to have been dry for several weeks, if not months, and the face of the Imperial saint, and both hands have been destroyed by weapon-fire.  The front of the statue as you pass it cannot be identified as male or female, the damage is so significant.  Las-scoring has burnt the plascrete, and the soot-stained spall now fills the rim of the fountain where water used to sparkle.

 

In the middle of the village, you can see the villagers themselves.  They, like you are being escorted into a small building, which may have been the hamlet reclusiam.  Outside more men are standing lazily, either talking or smoking.  Different insignia stand shoulder to shoulder, not just Infantry and Armour, but Sappers and scouts formations.  There must be now at least twenty of them, and not an officer in sight.

 

"Just wait inside for safety your worship," the smoker smiles, "until we bring the armoured car around."

 

You pass a small stockpile of jerry cans just like the one you witness being filled up.  Another stack is a few feet further on.  It looks enough to fuel three Chimeras.

 

The soldiers guide you towards the entrance with strong arms on your shoulders, and the noise of frightened villagers gets louder.  As you near the doors, it seems like everyone is in here.

[Beren]

As Stimms eyes flick back and forth over the guardsmen, he realises he has critically misjudged the situation. Worse, he realises Wide-eyes has obviously perceived this too, how some of his teitches seem to be getting loser and closer to his concealed knife.

 

Which is why, halfway to the Reclusiam, Stimms suddenly doubles up with a roaring bout of laughter.

 

"Feth's sake boys! You really had me going for a moment there!"