+ Battle Report: Spite Itself +
'Hypno-indoctrination,' murmured the Officio Sabatorum Agent. 'A wondrous thing.' He glanced over at his counterpart, dimly-lit in the bucking Rhino interior.
Attaché? Warder? He hadn't been able to quite put a word to how the green-plated giant saw their relationship, but – characteristically of the Chapter – he hadn't moved to respond to the Agent's musings.
He shrugged, internally. It mattered little. If the mission was successful, neither of them would remember anything. Hypno-indoctrination was a wonderful thing, and some truths were better left covered.
+++
+ Game rules: Kill Team
+ Mission: Sieze Ground
+ Combatants: Apologist, commanding the Silver Stars; vs Stuntwedge, commanding the Sons of Medusa.
+ Battleground: Thelanaxero, outskirts of the Myrean League.
Stuntwedge had built and painted a beautiful Sons of Medusa Killteam for the previous version of the game, but hadn't had a chance to take them out for a game. We played a short introductory mission, with his Sons of Medusa taking on the ill-favoured Silver Stars...
+++
+ident: Sons of Medusa [REDACTED]{:commsvox report} +
+ They were searching for something. That much was clear. The raddled city had long been depleted of its inhabitants and defenders. Perhaps they'd left something behind? +
+ There had been a great battle here – the mission briefing had given frustratingly little data, but we knew at least of the fate of the Golden Hands. Intel was valuable, but some knowledge is best unknown. Uncertainty breeds inaction. +
|
+ [REDACTED] leads the [REDACTED] against the Penarchy of Blood some days earlier. The debris and casualties still lay unclaimed amidst the ruins. + |
+ Regardless, the details didn't warrant speculation. If they were searching for it, by implication we needed to find – or destroy – it first. +
+++
|
+ In the opening turns, each Killteam claimed an objective each, and crept up on each other through the dense terrain. + |
+ We had been advancing through what had been the theatre district. The Others had been playing cat-and-mouse with auspex baffles and noospheric pings; but few knew how to ply the machine-spirits like the Sons of Medusa. They were cunningly hidden, but by identifying chordal lacunae, they appeared; one-by-one, to us. Six in total. I cautiously waved my men forward, and we claimed one of the likely locations. +
+ We found nothing, saw nothing. +
+ Which is not to say we were blind... +
+ The Others were moving out to the flanks. We played a dangerous game in allowing them to think we were unaware of their movements – but the briefing reports of them wearing Mark II plate gave us reassurance that they could not interdict our close-bead comms. +
+ Surreptitiously, we moved into cover, spreading out and moving upwards. Little did we realise that the Others were doing much the same... until the first shots rang out. +
|
+ Built for a previous version of the game, the Terminator simply counted as the squad Sergeant + |
+ Boltgun fire. Nothing heavier. We'd brought a plasma gun to cut through their antiquated plate, but they were still using tactics that had been outdated for millennia. It rang from Mark VII plate – and I berated my brethren for being caught out. +
+ Our return fire clipped one of the Others. Commendable. +
+ I was right about the armour, at least. A flurry of shots knocked one of the Others from his perch. Judging by the heavy thud, he had been dead before he hit the ground. +
+ We were clustered – better able to support each other than the Others were – and their attempt to kettle us simply meant that they were now unable to respond on the right flank. A number of the objectives would be beyond their reach in the immediate term. +
+ They didn't give up, however – and while I hadn't expected them to be caught by surprise, I hadn't expected them to respond so quickly. It was like punching a wave: as one was driven back, it forced the others forward. +
+ The shots coming in on our firebase – our plasma gunner and an attendant Tactical marine – forced them to displace, with little but minor wounds. I pressed on, keen to sack the pre-marked objectives and deny whatever value they had to the Others while it was still possible. +
|
+ Midpoint of the engagement. One Silver Star down, one wounded, and the Sons of Medusa sporting minor wounds. Each side had claimed three objectives – but the Sons of Medusa had occupied the one by the abandoned Predator. Could they activate it before the Stars could drive him off? + |
+ Tit-for-tat fire characterised the remainder of the engagement – and I felt that simple arithmetic would find in our favour. Two of their were down, and while we had sustained wounds, we were still fighting fit. The Others were out of position, too. I expected them to fall back. +
+ ...and yet they surprised us. Throne forgive me, but one of them had got past us. While the three remaining Others scurried down back-alleys to emerge on the left, one emerged on the right and gunned down my Brother by the ruined Predator. +
+ We responded admirably, and repositioned to bracket him, but the odds were suddenly evening. +
+ Frantic close-range fire erupted – and as I dropped a frag grenade to spoil the final objective, they charged. Another of my brethren was felled; his position outflanked and his securely-chosen position proving his undoing. Their Sergeant gutted him with a power blade, and none of us were able to respond. +
+ Grim-faced, both teams withdrew. Both of us had sustained casualties, but the day was ours. We had learned nothing, but more importantly, had ruined whatever they came for. +
+ This victory was spite itself. +
+++
+ Result: Sons of Medusa victory! +
+ A fun little game, we used just the basic rules and mirror-Kill Teams (with the exception that the Sons of Medusa had a plasma gun) to work through the mechanics together. +
+ Apologies for the rather vague pictures – Kill Team is great to play, but the density of terrain doesn't make for the clearest reports! +
+ I hope I'll be able to show more of Stuntwedge's awesome Sons of Medusa (and other PCRC Killteams) sometime soon. +