The Fun Stuff

A long time ago in a galaxy in the millennium 40K

Lieutenant Kiffle peered out over the entrenchment and surveyed the scene laid out before him with his Power Binoculars. From his elevated position he could see the snaking network of trenches and bunkers that comprised the 13th Helmund Planetary Defence Force’s defensive lines. These stretched down from the hillside HQ where he was positioned, down across into the plain, eventually halting at the banks of the River Wilde. Through the smoke and haze he could also see to the far bank of the river. He could make out the ramshackle buildings and shoddy defensive structures that had somehow frustrated the 13th Helmund PDF thus far. He could also see the tiny green bodies of snotlings frantically ducking and diving around amidst the emplacements, reinforcing and constructing the paradoxically steadfast battlements. The scene had not changed much in the 6 months, 13 days, 2 hours and 17 minutes he had been stationed on the planet, despite intensive efforts from both parties involved.

He could see at this current moment in time the Ork Waaargh! of Warboss Rockosocko was renewing its efforts to breach the defensive line across the river. He could see the trench bound PDF defenders scurrying towards the front line to take up firing positions.
He could also see that things were not going well.

The usually solid line of bunkers and heavy weapon emplacements that stood vigilant over the Imperial side of the river and been breached on the eastern side. Ork Boyz wielding “choppas” and “shootas” were streaming out of the river through a hole in the barbed wire and meeting with little resistance. Casting his gaze further along he could see the heavy bolter nests up on the rocky outcrop were surrounded in the thick black haze produced by the Rocket Pack device utilised by Stormboyz.

This would have been a great cause for concern, but the Imperials currently had an ace up their sleeve. Kiffle slipped his Power Binoculars into his pocket and glanced back over his shoulder at said ace. The Imperial secret weapon was lounging in a deckchair at the command table scrutinising a tactical map of the situation. Kiffle hoped that he was considering decisive stratagems in order to break the deadlock, or at least hold under the current green tide surging across the river into close quarters with the remaining Guardsmen on the right flank.
On closer inspection he appeared to be gently snoozing under a tactical map of the situation. Kiffle shuffled over and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Colonel Roover, sir, I believe we have a situation that requires your attention.”
His request was met with a few snorts and grunts, with a brief wiggle of his bushy moustache the only clear sign of awakeness. Kiffle shook harder and raised his voice slightly

“Colonel Roover, sir!!”

This time he was met with a wave of the hand and a mumbles request.

“Hmm, what, tell the enemy to stop being so barbaric and hold the attack till after lunch, its not cricket”

“I don’t think they know how to play cricket sir”

Roover suddenly jolted into life, with a spark of vague awareness coming on somewhere in his head.

“Eh, what are you talking about sonny? What the Eldar is cricket?”

“I don’t know sir, you brought it up”

“I did?, hmm, darndest thing. Anywho, what’s such a big hoo-haa that you felt the need to interrupt my afternoon nap, eh?”

“The Orks have breached the eastern fortifications, sir. Without decisive action they will in our trenches within minutes.”

Roover appeared to be contemplating the situation briefly before breaking out into a huge smile.

“Bout bloody time, thought the flaming Grott chucker’s would never get round to it”

“But sir, it means we have lost Kappa and Delta squads, without prompt reserves our current position will soon be untenable!”

“Stop babbling man, I had Delta withdrawn back from the front, give the Greenies something to have a dig at, hmm, did it on Myrmidia V, works like a charm (least I think it did, can’t quite remember), what the hey, gimme that Vox-Box-a-majig.”

Kiffle passed the receiver of the Vox-Caster to Roover, watching with fevered anticipation.

“DELTA SQUAD, REPEAT, DELTA SQUAD..”

“You don’t have to shout, sir, they can hear you through the receiver just fine”

“Eh, what? Oh, Delta Squad, you still alive down there?”

The Caster crackled into life, the reply came in clear, though occasional patches of static rumblings and the roar of chainswords came through in the background.

“Colonel Roover, sir, alive and well” came the hopeful reply.

“(We’ll see about that) Good-O, right, I want you to counter charge the Ork breach, see if you can’t kick them back to their half”

“Sorry, sir, not sure I received that correctly, it sounded like you wanted us to charge the Orks”

“Damn right sonny-lad-boy, show em what your made of”

“Sir, I don’t believe this is a prudent course of action…” the voice was promptly waylaid.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have back up, it’s already on the way, just get on with it, you wanna live forever or something, wot?”

“No sir, but surviving the next five minutes would be nice”

“Smart-arse, just do your job, won’t know what hit em eh?”

A prolonged sigh was clearly audible over the Vox-Caster. The voice returned in a subdued sombre tone.

“Will do, sir.”

“Good boy, Roover out.”

Kiffle gave Roover a concerned glance. He wasn’t aware of any imminent reinforcements, and certainly wasn’t optimistic of Delta’s chances in the assault. Roover had shuffled his way over to the edge of the bunker and was looking out to the eastern fringe with his looking glass. Kiffle joined him, Power Binoculars in hand.

He saw what would later be described in battle reports as a courageous and selfless counter charge by valiant souls placing their duty to the Emperor above their own lives.

At the time it looked like about 40 bedraggled Guardsmen hesitantly charging into a 200 strong mob of Orkboyz. To Delta squad’s credit, they did seem to have the Orks confused as to what was going on, but only in the sense that a lion would be confused when the Christian climbs into its mouth.

He lower the Binoculars and looked at Roover, he was looking at his pocket watch, and glancing over to the hill immediately down to their right. Kiffle wandered over and looked.
Through a large cloud of dust and smoke he made out about10 Lemun Russ battle tanks rolling onto the crest of the hill.

“Bout bloody time, damn treadheads, always late for the party” grumbled Roover.

“What’s going on sir?” inquired Kiffle.

“The Imperium is about to strike back lad!”

He grabbed the Vox-Caster and retuned the frequency.

“Prepare to open fire”

“Sir, our own men are down there, they will be caught in the cross fire!!” Kiffle pleaded.
Roover turned to face him, a faint glimmer of insane fire in his antediluvian eye. His reply would haunt Kiffle for years to come.

“Yes, but we’ll hit theirs as well”

The frankness of this struck Kiffle speechless. What possible case was there to plead to this madman. As if to cement this impression, Roover reached over and flicked a switch on the trench network loudspeaker system. Instead of the usual motivational messages or anti-Ork propaganda (whatever the Ork equivalent of “Yo Momma” jokes are) music began to play. It was unlike anything that Kiffle had ever heard before. He couldn’t place the artist, or era, but it conjured images to mind of large warrior women, swooping down across ancient battlefields upon winged steeds.

“Open fire!”

The order snapped Kiffle out of his musical contemplation. He quickly raised his binoculars and looked down on the eastern flank. There still were about 20 or so Guardsmen, going toe to toe with the Orks, holding them fast in the breach, pinned in what would soon become a series of smoking craters.

The ground shook as the Lemun Russ opened fire, He couldn’t be sure but it seemed to Kiffle that they were in time with the music, launching their devastating barrage in time with crescendos of the blaring music. Where the brave combatants had once stood, fire and smoke remained. Kiffle had never seen such raw power launched at such a small area. Bodies flew through the air like ragdolls, limbs thrown asunder under the battlecannon’s deadly gaze.
Kiffle dropped his binoculars and turned to Roover. The Colonel stood before him as a haunting visage. He had his eyes shut and seemed to be swaying to the music. He had the index fingers on the stubby hands raised, tapping and bobbing in time with the ebb and flow of the piece. Kiffle felt an artery throbbing on his forehead as he beheld Roover, conducting his orchestra of destruction.

Suddenly the music and the barrage ended, replaced with a morbid silence. Roover levelled off his musical direction, savouring the moment like a wargamer savours a Ginsters Pasty. Slowly he raised the Vox-Caster to his mouth.

“Lets get this biscuit race underway gentlemen”

Kiffle turned and looked again. From under what had previously looked like bushed and scrubs Chimera transports burst forth, gunning towards the recently vacated breach as top speed. The smoke was just clearing, revealing a scorched path into the Ork lines. The Chimeras flew through into the soft underbelly of the fortifications on the other side of the River Wilde (Chimeras, apparently being aquatic, had no problem crossing). They were followed from concealment by Sentinel Walkers sporting Multilasers and Lascannons. These all disappeared behind the Ork walls, explosions and heavy bolter fire soon became the only indication they were present.

Roover clapped his hands together and rubbed them with a gleeful smile.

“And that’s the end of that chapter, eh wot?”

Kiffle stood perplexed, stunned into silence by the implemented tactics.

“Oh, lighten up lad, I’ve seen, and done, worse. Harsh times and harsh measures and all that. You never get anywhere without a little blood being spilt. Ends always justify the means, remember that. I call it Roover’s Law.”

He promptly produced a Hip Flask from somewhere within his large overcoat and took a long swig. He offered it over to Kiffle.

“Tot of space gin Kiff?”

“Err, no thank you, and its Kiffle sir” came the beleaguered reply.

“Whatever, you know” Roover paused to take in a large intake of air, “I love that smell. Smells like a job well done. Let me tell you something sonny, some people in this Universe some would rather sit down and solve their problems with unless banter, or bits of paper, like some hippie love in. But, y’know what? They can nonce around all they want, but they wouldn’t have a chance without the lowly likes of you and me here to do the things they are too damned scared to do. Leave em to it, we’ll still be here, enjoying what we do, enjoying this..”

“What exactly is this, sir”

“The fun stuff, Kiff, the fun stuff”