(May 2002)
( Note: the units that you can barely see at the extreme
bottom edge of the photos are: Balthazar Gelt, an Empire Free Company detachment
and the Empire swordsman regiment, which contains the Empire Army Standard.)
Balthazar chuckled at the second-rate efforts of the Goblin shaman. He guided his steed to soar directly above the vast mob of overgrown orcs. Their jaws dropped foolishly. Several leaped off the ground, vainly attempting to stab his mount with their spears.
As he flew, Balthazar glanced to his right, surveying enemy dispositions. In the distance loomed an enormous freak of a creature. Towering over the plain, the Giant stomped toward a battery of war machines, his wheelbarrow-sized feet mashing down the barley with a deceptively ponderous gait. At the opposite end of the battlefield, Balthazar could now see enemy cavalry streaming from a clump of trees toward his right flank. A nervous tingle tickled his spine. If these were not attended to, they could overrun his war machines, then roll up his regiments one after the next!
Clearly the solution was to bring the battle to the enemy. From the air, Balthazar motioned for a full advance. Then he landed behind the enemy forces. He spun around to face leering orcs with spears. "If you can't play nice, I have to take away your toys." He inclined his staff gently. A strange ringing vibration rang forth. In response, the rival Shaman frantically twisted his hands in arcane countermeasures. To no effect. The deftly manipulated alchemical energies converged with the unstoppable authority of a demigod -- and the big orcs bellowed in shock as their spears shattered into dust.
So many targets, so little time. The artillery rotated their deadly apertures toward the racing cavalry. (Except for a mortar crew, frantically hunting for a match after their fuze fell into in a bucket of water.) Guns boomed, smoke billowed and saddles were emptied. For a moment it looked as though the boar riders faltered, but no -- the survivors were thundering in at full speed.
With amazing gallantry, a free company detachment charged the squig herd head on. Two squigs fell. Then the herd responded, ripping into the detachment with full fury, instantly dismembering six. The rest ran, but all were eaten alive in a grisly exhibition of voracity.
A terrific crash resonated over the battlefield as the Steam Tank rammed forcefully into a huge group of orcs led by an enormous orcish warboss. The regiment, six ranks deep, bowed under the weight of the tank's charge. Green bodies were flung like ten pins. Then the tank's main gun fired, boiling orcs alive within their armor. Terrible screams arose. Already 40% of the orc regiment lay bleeding on the ground.
The battle had hardly begun, but the greenskins were already taking a tremendous beating. Only by a miracle did Cronhog's Orc Boyz forget to run when the steam tank crashed into them. Seeing the carnage, Gronk the army standard bearer turned his boar and galloped away. Cronhog roared with indignation. He swore that after the battle, he would beat some courage into that traitor.
Cronhog knew it was now or never. Raising The Battleaxe Of The Last Waaagh, he strode over to the iron clad behemoth and began smashing the axe down with demoniacal speed. Under his onslaught, the decking became splintered and useless; the upper armor became folded and torn; the boiler moaned and began weeping; the smokestack sighed as steam bled profusely. Around him, orcs mustered their courage and joined in.
Overhead, another screaming goblin was flung through the heavens, only to smash headfirst into the dirt at the feet of some unimpressed religious psychopaths.
Encouraged by a rising tide of Waaagh energy, Glich defiantly attempted some bold spellcasting. But again, the inscrutable man behind the mask of burning gold raised a disdainful hand, and the energy dissipated.
Handguns barked as the wolf riders began their final charge. Three riders fell, and the regiment faltered. But the charge slammed home, and the handgunners were cut down when they tried to run.
A few yards away, the boar riders wiped out a cannon crew.
And in the center, rampaging Squigs tore into the brave halberdiers, while the giant charged their flanks. Men fell in great heaps. The remnants fled, and were slaughtered before they could escape.
Cronhog glanced around the battlefield, and suddenly felt much much better.
