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/tg/ - Traditional Games

File: 1339534465133.png-(1.16 MB, 615x1116, orkattack.png)
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>I've been having posting trouble since yesterday, so this might be a very short thread. If 4chan decides I can't post anymore, this is going to end rather abruptly.
>Previous threads: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Battlefleet%20Quest

You are Tristan Aphesius Scathach, ensign of Battlefleet Victorum and gun captain of Macrocannon Turret Three aboard the Cobra-class destroyer “CT-381.” Politically blacklisted after an incident in your academy days, you were assigned to the 38th Enforcer Squadron, one of the Navy’s dumping grounds for incompetents and cowards. Being given command of an entire weapons deck should be a position of honor, especially at your young age, but aboard a Cobra-class destroyer it is akin to being the dishwasher on Iron Chef. However, your efforts to escape the blacklist have seen you temporarily assigned to the astropath tower, pending permanent reassignment and hopefully bringing you more opportunities to prove yourself to your superiors.

Right now, however, you are standing at your station in Macrocannon Three alongside your fellow gun captain and friend, ensign Elim Alvano, and your gun chiefs, Mr. Ables and Mr. Smyth. The gun crews stand ready below you, the cannons are loaded, and the Mark XXVI void suit sits on you like an ill-fitting glove. A low rumble climbs your bones through the steel deck and you realize that Lord-Captain Belgrano is accelerating to attack speed.
>One browser works, one doesn't. Weird.
You are currently studying the auspex screen embedded within Macrocannon Three’s command console. On it, you can see the five Cobras of the 38th Enforcer Squadron arrayed in a tight arrow-formation, your CT-381 in the lead. 280,000 kilometers (28 VU) in front of you, a small Ork fleet is hurtling in-system, led by a cloud of escorts and attack craft. Eight of their ramshackle roks are traveling in a tight box formation behind a large kroozer, while escorts and attack craft range around the fleet like a miasmic cloud. It takes you a while to pinpoint the seven escort craft, which continuously dart in and out of the fleet like fish in a school. The rest of the contacts, at least fifty, are Ork attack craft of unknown types, at least at this range.

The two formations are skirting the edge of the ring system of Vyan VIII, a cold gas giant surrounded by twenty-two icy, rocky moons and the thick debris of its ring. The mess of ice, rock and frozen gases must have hidden the Ork fleet from detection by the system’s auspexes, but it seems to be interfering with the inferior Ork sensors as well, as they have made no indication they are aware of your squadron’s presence. Standard Naval doctrine would have your destroyers either push further into the ice field and monitor the fleet as it passes, or pull back and gain range for a series of long-range torpedo barrages. But Lord-Captain Belgrano, the much-beloved commander of your little formation, seems intent on charging straight at the Ork fleet.

“I don’t understand what the old man’s going to do here,” Elim whispers to you as you fiddle with the auspex controls.

>How do you respond and what are you thinking?
>Do you have a strategy going into this battle?
>Any questions you want answered?
Strategy: be polite. Be efficient. And kill every thing.
Apply elegen/tg/entleman flavored death to any boarders. Work the men hard but praise them for their effort and say that we our proud of their hard work after the battle. Especially if we get boarded, then mention valor and stuff.
Well either bossman has gone crazy or he has a really clever idea. Not much we can do either way.

Strategy, keep our men's morale up, focus barrages on where they need to go.

Be prepared for boarders and pray to the God-Emperor.
>>How do you respond and what are you thinking?
"There's nothing we can do about it. We have to trust our commander's decision."
We probably shouldn't have complained about seeing no action...

>>Do you have a strategy going into this battle?
Those are ork ships, which means they're both incredibly durable and fragile at the same time.
Try to finish off ships damaged by salvos from our allies but not destroyed.

>>Any questions you want answered?
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You check the naval pistol holstered at your waist, making sure that it’s loaded with solid slugs instead of the standard shotgun shells. The next Ork you meet isn’t going to be getting a few pockmarks in the face. And you’re almost certain you’ll be meeting one today, with the course Captain Belgrano has set.

“There’s nothing to do about it; it’s the old man’s decision. All we can do is keep the men firing and look for some ships to blow up.” You shake your head and grab the vox horn, to call fire control and coordinate your first barrage.

You feel the mass of the ship shift beneath your feet as the first salvo of torpedoes is launched. On the auspex, you can see the tracks of 20 plasma torpedoes, heading straight for the Ork fleet in a ragged arrow. Traveling at a rate of 10 VU every 30 minutes, they’ll hit the Ork line long before the Enforcers come into position. However, now you understand Captain Belgrado’s strategy.
“I would NOT want to be an Ork in half an hour,” Elim says, an ugly grimace twisting his boyish face.

“I wouldn’t want to be an Ork period. Right now, I’d settle for not being the target of that flight of torpedoes.” You zoom the auspex screen in. One of the torpedoes begins to diverge from its course, heading out into the empty void of space. Orks being what they are, you hope it doesn’t scare them off their course, or this whole squadron is going to be swarmed before its ready.

“Or the one after. It’ll take those lazy bastards about 45 minutes to load up the next salvo; if we move in at full attack speed…” A smile starts to spread across Elim’s face.

“We’ll be coming in on their wake. Yeah, I noticed that too. The old Ravensburg Strike. It’s brilliant, isn’t it? Trust the captain to come up with something like this.”

“But I’ve never heard of it being used with a squadron of escorts. We don’t have the broadside firepower to use it effectively. All we’re going to do is get the Orks’ attention. Why’s he doing this?”

>Roll 1d20 for detection.
rolled 8 = 8


Maybe we have a squad flanking them?
rolled 12 = 12

High or low?
Should we even keep rolling after the first one?
>High, and you can keep rolling after the first one. Just roll once though.
rolled 6 = 6

Okay then.
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You have a hunch, and you scroll the auspex screen out to its maximum resolution. It still only shows the closest 350,000 kilometers, roughly 50 VU, so you start to pan it around the edges of its million kilometer detection range. Unfortunately, the auspex starts to fill with static as the squadron skirts closer to the planetary rings, and you can’t see anything beyond forty VU. If there was a squadron of naval ships out there, you can’t see them.

“Turret Three, Fire Control.” The vox mike buzzes and you click the switch on the horn you hold, bringing it up to your unmasked face.

“Fire Control, Three here.”

“The captain wants a forward barrage as we cut through the fleet. We’ll be turning into their wreckage as we engage, but for now mark target designated Echo-Four. Coordinate with Sub-lieutenant Sakai for discretionary fire.”

“Acknowledged, Fire Control. We’ll do our best to splat Orks. Just ask the torpedo boys to leave some for us, yeah?”
“FIRE!” The entire room rumbles as the two macrocannons fire out into the void, joining the barrage of fire unleashed by the five Cobras in your squadron. They blast into the milling ranks of the Ork fleet, dozens of shells driving into the massive Kroozer. Elim looks up from the turret’s scopes and shakes his head.

“Impacted on its forward armor. It looks like a massive mouth, really, just eating up our shots.”
“Well, let’s see if the side armor is any better. I’ll call the sub-lieutenant. One, this is Three.”

“Three, One. It looks like we’ll come up on their starboard side. Just getting a read from Fire Control, we’ll try and hit those landing bays.”

“Acknowledged, One.” The turret starts to rumble as Elim rotates the turret around. On the auspex, you can see a diagram of the twisted wreckage that makes up the Kroozer, and a series of small ports all along the lumpy mass of its starboard side.

The rest of the Ork fleet has started to collect itself. Two escorts are twisting out of the shielding influence of the planetary rings along with a swarm of Ork fighta-bommas. Another cloud is starting to swarm out of the roks behind the Kroozer, and you see some assault boats amongst them.

“All hands, prepare to repel boarders. Repeat, prepare to repel boarders.” Over the ship-wide vox, the voice of the Officer of the Watch rings out. You put a hand on your chainsword, holstered across from your naval pistol, and set it on the console. Down below you, you can see Mr. Ables leading a gang of voidsmen in loading another shell into the macrocannons. His work is made harder by the turbulence that begins to rock the ship, as the Ork escorts begin firing upon your squadron.

“Better hope this is as bad as it gets, Elim.” As you say that, the Kroozer’s prow guns light off. A barrage as large as the one your squadron just delivered strikes out, and ships seems to jump. Millions of tons of adamantium and steel, jumping like a rowboat on the open sea.

“Damage control teams to deck nineteen, section 882. Armsmen to deck nineteen, section 882.”

“Guns loaded, ensign!” Mr. Ables calls out to you as the squadron begins its split, two moving to the left of the Kroozer, three to the right.
“Thank you, Mr. Ables! One, Five, this is Three. We’re ready!”

“Five here. We’ve been sitting on these shells for five minutes.”

“Then we’re set. Fire Control has passed on the word for free firing. Just keep ‘em loading, boys.” It’s hard to tell, but sub-lieutenant Sakai sounds excited, more than you’d expect from such a soft-spoken man.

“Yes sir.” You take a look at the auspex screen, your hands on the thick brass levers that control the angle of the guns.

>roll 1d20 for accuracy
rolled 3 = 3

For the Emperor!

>in b4 "He ain't listening."
rolled 5 = 5

rolled 9 = 9

He really isn't...
rolled 18 = 18

Come on Emperor, throw us a bone.
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>The God-Emperor likes to test us.
You raise the cannons and sight the landing bays as the destroyer rocks around you. It’s a difficult shot, especially at full attack speed. You’ve been reading the artillery books you borrowed from Roswald every night, however, and you’re sure you can make it. As you watch, the barrage begins, pounding the Kroozer’s armored flank.

“BRACE FOR FIRING! FIRE!” You pound your fist down on the big red firing button, as the turret rocks again. Even as it does, the gun crews swing another pair of shells out of the stowage bays, dragging them towards the rebounding cannon barrels. More shots join the barrage from the other turrets and ships as the cannon’s open up for reloading.

You track your shots as they fly through the void. The Kroozer’s armor repels the first shots, but yours fly straight into the open landing bays. A massive explosion erupts out of them, rippling out along the Kroozer’s flank and spewing out armor, exploding munitions and presumably greenskin bodies. The other shells begin to pound the unprotected substructure.

“Confirmed hit, men! We’ve got them right where we want them! Keep up the pace!” You call out, leading to a ragged cheer as the men close the cannons. “BRACE FOR FIRING! FIRE”

Again and again, you pound the Kroozer until you pass behind it, the roks coming into view.

>Roll 1d20 for detection and accuracy
rolled 13 = 13

Come one detection.
rolled 12 = 12

Well, let's see if this roll will be better than the 3 I had last time.
As the roks come into view, the auspex picks up something in the void between them and the Kroozer. You see a series of chains, linking the roks to the Kroozer. This must be how they made the long warp jump from the Trident warzone. If you destroy the chains, you’ll be stranding the roks here and leaving them uncontrolled. On the other hand, these roks must be slowing the Kroozer down, and thus the whole Ork formation. Destroying the chains could allow the Kroozer to pull away.

>What do you do?
Vox in to command, I will be destroying chains connecting Roks to Kroozer in X time, Roks will be stranded, focus on dealing as much damage to the Kroozer right now as you can.
Report this to command and see what our boss thinks of this
>Vox it in to command
“Bridge, this is Turret Three. I’m seeing something on the auspex. It looks like a series of chains that are holding the roks to the Kroozer. Should I target them?”

“Hold off on that for now, Three. We’ll hit those on the second pass.” The voice of the bridge officer is calm and collected as you watch the first rok come into view on the auspex.

“Acknowledged, Bridge.” You put down the vox horn and resume firing, targeting the roks closest to you. As you pass the first rok, a massive rumble comes up through the main hatch and the destroyer begins to list before righting itself. One of the massive macrocannon shells nearly slips out of the chains lifting it, but the swift action of Elim and Smyth keep it from falling.

The Kroozer begins to turn towards the planetary rings as the squadron passes the roks. Boarding alarms begin to ring as the cloud of Ork strike craft ring your ships and assault boats begin to land. You feel the turret shake as fighta-bommas start making attack runs on you, many of them being shot to pieces by the fleet defense turrets mounted along the Cobra’s dorsal and ventral spines after they pull out.
Mixed in with the waves of fighta-bommas are attack boats. As your squadron turns around towards the regrouping Ork fleet, you feel a draft of wind starting to blow up from beneath you. For a moment, you ignore it. Then you remember where you are and you snap your head up. There, lodged in the roof of the turret, you can see a ragged hole, through which the toothed bow of an assault boat can be seen, framed by twisted metal and pieces of the void. The gun crews start pointing up at it as it opens up, and the vermin-like face of one of the minor greenskins peaks out from between metal red teeth.

“Armsmen to Macrocannon Three! Damage control to Macrocannon Three! Mr. Ables, Mr. Smyth, get these crews to the bunkers!” You yell out as you pull out your pistol and grab your chainsword. Elim leaps down from the command console and gets under cover as more greenskins look down, while the crews start to run towards the bunkers by the main hatch, where they will have some protection and weapons.

>What do you do in this situation?
>Roll 1d20 for your actions.
rolled 1 = 1

Our priority should be to keep everybody safe until the armsmen arrive and we can cleanse the ship of the greenskin's taint.

Be careful not to let any orks get between us and the bunker.
rolled 9 = 9

Fortunately the Orks can only come from one place. Fire into it with pistol and slice open with Chainsword what come out, hold the line until we can be reinforced.
rolled 20 = 20

Nice, our dice are bipolar. Again.
>Keep everyone safe until the armsmen get here.
>Be careful not to let the Orks get between us and the bunker.

You run down the stairs of the console as the orks start to roar, their bestial voices driving the gun crews even faster. Elim starts firing up into the assault boat as the orks…start throwing things down. Things that are big, round mouths on tiny legs, drooling and jabbering. Their beady little eyes lock on you and they howl.

*BLAM* One of them explodes like an over-ripe ploin as your slug enters its wide mouth, and the rest start charging down at you.

“Tristan! The men are at the bunkers! Let’s fall back!” Elim yells at you as the orks and their servants, tiny malformed greenskins, start jumping out of the assault boat. These look very different from the ones that boarded you before. Instead of metal armor and chain-weapons, they wield primitive morningstars or simple brutal blades of dull gray metal and are covered in leather and painted red spirals. You don’t pay much attention to them as you start running backward, pistol firing at the charging beasts.

Two more of the squigs explode in a shower of blood, brain and teeth, but the rest start leaping on you as they close. One is sliced in half by your chainsword, but the other manages to latch its incredibly powerful jaws onto your armored helmet, the glass mask cracking as it tries to bite your head off.

>Roll for removal
And I'm being called away to do some yard work. I'm gonna end it here and be back on Thursday, 17:00.
Well, it's been fun. See you then.

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