(May 2002)
( Note: the unit at the bottom edge of the photo is the
Empire swordsman regiment, which contains the Empire Army Standard.)
The Empire's right flank had caved in. Balthazar observed that his artillery crews were unprotected, and his steam tank crippled. But his primary strength, the left wing, was as yet untapped. He motioned for it to charge, then guided his pegasus in another long swoop. From this position he could suffuse the orc regiments with enervating spells while preparing to charge the incompetent Goblin wizard.
Within the steam tank, Hans Jurde was sweating. He should really try to pry open the lid to aim the turret gun, but after that huge orc had stormed up with his axe, Hans couldn't be tempted by all the beer in the empire. In fact, it was time to pull back. Now. Trembling only a little, Hans opened up the regulator. Steam built up, the driver reversed the gears, and the tank painfully started to -- WHAM! A huge hand pushed Hans square in the chest, stars danced in his eyes, and then he was peeling himself off the forward instrumentation.
Steam boiled angrily throughout the tank's interior. The driver sprawled sideways in his seat. The cracked pressure meter read zero. The damaged boiler had exploded. Hans knew it would be dangerous to attempt even a minimum amount of steam. He desperately wished the tank had a back door so he could quietly slip away. As if his predicament wasn't bad enough, Hans then heard the unmistakable sound of a mortar concussion, and a hailstorm of shrapnel bounced off the tank's armor. That idiot mortar crew! Surely they could aim better than that. Somehow, his morale sank even lower.
The remaining cannon crew loaded up with grapeshot and gave a taste of it to the Squig herd, which was moving uncomfortably close. Two squigs fell. Not enough.
On the left flank, the Flagellants had initiated a charge against the big orcs. Their advance was supported by a Free Company detachment. After a few steps, the Flagellants realized it was further than they thought, so they slowed to a walk. Meanwhile the detachment - by itself - charged the vast mob of orcs. Balthazar raised his staff against the orcs, and again his genius proved unstoppable. An acrid cloud passed among the orcs; their movements became leaden, unwieldy.
But confronted by sheer numbers,
the detachment broke and ran.
Pursuing the doomed detachment, the orc big-uns collided with the Empire's still-powerful left wing. Cronhog liked their enthusiasm but knew the big-uns were outnumbered. Faced them was a large regiment of swordsmen, not to mention a big group of insane flagellants.
Cronhog's pink eyes glinted. He was tired of smashing machinery; his axe itched to sever limbs. He leaned his head back to roar out the charge, and his boys stampeded into the flagellant's open flank. The charging orcs prevailed and the swordsman fled, but the flagellants held their ground.
Slavering squigs charged the remaining cannon crew; these ran without hesitation or regret.
A flying goblin crashed to earth barely a yard away from Balthazar.
The boar riders and the giant moved to tighten the noose on the wizard and his ridiculous flying horse.
While Cronhog's victorious
army moved to crush lingering resistance, Glich made one final attempt
to harness the Waaagh energy surging around him. A distant hand waved,
and nothing happened. Glich dreaded his next conversation with Cronhog….
Balthazar studied the situation, and quickly formulated his conclusions. It was time to withdraw. He signalled the retreat, and the remnants of his army gladly abandoned the field of battle. Only the flagellants remained. He knew they would sell their lives dearly.
He sighed. Alas, he would
have no time to collect specimens of foreign technology. Rather, he must
gather up fresh forces with which to resist these barbarous intruders.
Already the snarling hordes were tearing armor from corpses to get at the
choicest cuts. Someday he must study their culture and habits, but right
now it was time to evacuate the village. He felt a dull pounding in his
temples….
