Inquisitor Locke battles the forces of Nurgle on the war-torn world of Dozaria.

Sweat poured down the face of Liam Drax as he squatted behind a large industrial pump, atop the scaffolding of an isolated promethium refinery in the southern hemisphere of Dozaria.

Fifteen meters in front of him, he knew that Inquisitor Locke was suffering as badly as himself. The sun overhead was relentless and, in the surrounding desert, Drax could see the shimmering of rising hot air as the desert sand baked.

“Enemy sighted. Traitor Astartes. Approaching on two vectors: Southeast and West.”

The voice was emotionless. The autosavant, Faustus, was a superb resource of information, but his cybernetically enhanced brain gave him the personality that was little better than that of a servitor.

“Wait for my signal.” This voice also was controlled, but there remained a menace behind it—a sense of barely controlled fury and violence. No one on the team would move a muscle until Locke gave the order.

* * *

Refinery X-151

Sarasen Pallor strode across the desert in agony. The cooling unit of his power armor had failed centuries ago, and the inner surface of his armor was so hot that it burned against the boils and lesions that inflicted his diseased skin.

Clearly Nurgle was giving His blessing to this endeavor.

One hundred meters ahead, the drill tower of the refinery rose into the sky. Hidden out of sight were 10 life-forms, hunched down, likely planning an ambush of his warband.

Fools, Pallor thought. At war for 10,000 years, the Death Guard champion was not so naive as to walk into an ambush. The energy readings of a stealth field were almost undetectable—suggesting a foe of some resources—but, although his sensors detected nothing, such a field disturbed the flow of small sand particles as they float in the air.

And his genetically enhanced vision could clearly see the trajectory of the microscopic particles divert suddenly as they bounced off the ionized field.

“We have company,” Pallor broadcasted over his helmet vox. “Ten standard humans. Deployed on the second and third levels of the refinery gantry. Advanced technology detected.”

“Maleous, advance your team through the rocks to your front. Await my signal. Everyone else, advance ahead of me. I will wait for the moment to make myself known to these fools.”

* * *

Stormtroopers of the Ordo Hereticus deploy on a refinery gantry. They will soon move into cover amidst the refinery pipes.

Locke gave the order to open fire, and his acolytes rose and shot at the enemy. Drax took aim at a traitor Astartes that was striding toward his position. He aimed at the helm of the traitor, and his shot struck an eye lens. The reinforced plas-crystal lens shattered, the high-caliber autogun shell penetrating into the traitor’s head.

He fell.

Within a second, Drax had dropped back into cover, and boltgun shells struck where he’d crouched a moment ago. Another acolyte, caught up in the moment of battle, forgot the battlefield protocols for fighting Astartes. He’d attempted a second shot on his target, and that split second was more than sufficient for another genetically engineered traitor to pull his boltgun, aim, and strike to deadly effect.

The acolyte’s head was half-gone—blown apart by the bolt shell.

Through a gap  in a metal panel that served as a makeshift hand rail, Drax could see two Astartes approaching his position. They were arrogant. As acolytes and stormtroopers fired on them, the two warriors didn’t pick up the pace. They simply strode forward as if the autogun shells and hot-shot lasgun blasts striking them were drops of rain.

* * *

Several of his battle brothers had climbed the stairs that rose to the refinery’s second-level gantry, Pallor noted. They showed no haste as they climbed, ignoring the enemy fire.

Once three of them had reached the top and began to lay down covering fire,  the Chaos champion began the climb.

On the gantry above, both sides were blasting away at one another. Two Inquisitorial agents were down but so was one of his Death Guard. That’s interesting, he thought. These people fight well.

In the distance, he saw Maleous and one of his warriors leave the cover of the rocks and take up a position below the gantry. The warrior was armed with a flamer. A moment later, a flaming bloom of promethium soared into the air, striking the open grating of the gantry above. Men began to scream.

Pallor chuckled. Although he preferred to kill up close and personal, there was great satisfaction in the agony of those that burned to death.

* * *

Death Guard warriors get under the refinery gantry and use a flamer on the Inquisitorial agents above.

His position untenable, Drax rolled away from the flames that were engulfing the gantry. Time to move, he thought. He stumbled to his feet and ran forward, determined to stand with his Inquisitor as the battle reached its crisis.

As an afterthought, he pulled a frag grenade from his hip and tossed it down at the traitor Astartes with the flamer. His throw was true, and the grenade exploded just above the fuel hose that connected the flamer and its fuel tank.

The first explosion was small but, not a moment later, the promethium in the rent hose ignited, and the traitor’s fuel tank erupted in a massive fireball that engulfed the traitor and the space marine to this side.

Drax didn’t bother to determine if the traitors were killed. There was nothing more he could do. If they lived, he would likely die. If they were down, there was a chance.

* * *

After clambering up the ladder, Pallor reaches the gantry where Inquisitor Loke and Drax fire upon Death Guard warriors.

Reaching the top of the gantry, Pallor rose to his feet. At that moment, he saw a man rise from his firing position and draw a sword. He held  up a gold amulet—an Inquisitor’s Rosette.

As he started toward the Imperial lackey, the Chaos champion saw  the Inquisitor step forward and yell a challenge at the closest Death Guard warrior. The battle-brother apparently accepted the challenge, holstering his boltgun and drawing a sword that appeared almost organic, dripping slime as the blade throbbed as if a beating heart.

Although tempted to order his marine to step aside and give him the opportunity to slay this worthy foe, Pallor stopped and watched. This will be interesting.

The two opponents approached one another. The Inquisitor crouched into a fighting pose; the traitor Astartes simply strode forward in a manner that revealed his utter arrogance and contempt for his opponent.

A moment later, the two leapt forward simultaneously, their swords meeting. The strength behind the traitor’s sword forced back the Inquisitor, who showed surprising speed by spinning and striking at the traitor’s leg joint, a weak spot of tendons of cabling that enabled the traitor to bend his joints.

The Death Guard warrior managed to block the blow. But, as he did so, the Inquisitor drew his bolt pistol and fired into the neck of the traitor. The bolt shell penetrated, exploding in the warrior’s throat and likely severing the Astartes’ spine.

The traitor fell, and Pallor chuckled. How amusing.

* * *

Inquisitor Locke engages in hand-to-hand combat with a Death Guard warrior, as Drax and a second traitor Astartes watch in anticipation.

Drax fell to his knees. After the Inquisitor’s victory over the Death Guard warrior, Locke had ordered the retreat. At first Drax was astounded by the decision, then outraged. Surely the battle was won.

But he said nothing. The Death Guard were slow in their heavy armor and, as Locke led what was left of his team in a hasty retreat, it was soon clear the Inquisitor knew what he was doing. Casualties had been heavier than Drax realized.

Indeed, by the time the Inquisitorial team outdistanced the firing range of the traitors’ weapons, the only ones still standing were Locke, Drax, and Faustus. The rest had fallen.

Drax appreciated the order to rest for a moment. Despite his excellent conditioning, the heat had sapped his remaining strength. He was exhausted.

“How are we doing, Faustus?” Locke asked.

“I compute a 23.7 percent likelihood that the Death Guard will continue the chase,” the autosavant stated. “If they do, the temperature will cause our pace of retreat to slow significantly in the next 1.4 hours, and the traitors will catch us in 3.8 hours.”

Locke pulled out a com-wand and pushed a button. The end of the want opened and a steel mesh erupted, flowering out into the shape of a a communications dish.

“Then we will call for a ride,,” the Inquisitor said. “And a bomber raid on the refinery.”

+ + +

The GM: The Gaffer and I were looking for a quick skirmish game that would further one of our many narrative campaigns in the Corvus Cluster. I suggested a fight between his Inquisitorial Kill Team and my Death Guard.

We still use Shadow War: Armageddon, a quickie rules set published by Games Workshop just before it  released Kill Team and Necromunda. Although the latter games are still supported, we really like the simpler game mechanics of SWA, and we see little reason to give up on a really nice set of skirmish rules and learn something new.

Besides, we can just borrow ideas from the newer games. The rules,. the character stats, and point values of models and equipment are compatible.

This was a game where I actually I played fairly well. I managed to pull off a double envelopment of the Gaffer’s Kill Team, and I used the terrain well..

Of course, some good die rolls didn’t hurt.

Administrative Note: This fight occurred on 6 723 744.M41.

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The artwork of Inquisitor Locke was created with the help of NightCafe’s AI photo creation service.

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The Corvus Cluster is a Warhammer 40K blog about our hobby adventures in the fantastical sci-fi universe of Games Workshop.