Orphan Squadron - Only War RPG experience- Against the Savages #1

Finally, I came around to try something that caught my eye long time ago but the mechanics and the world frightened me.

Now, not to sound as amateur, most of my knowledge about Warhammer comes from video games (Dawn of War and Mark of Chaos specifically) and the stories depicted in ‘All guardsmen party’ and the articles on 1d4chan.

Not to mention, I’m a strong believer in the old Warhammer where Noise Marines are playing Heavy Metall and space biker dwarves were a thing.

Anyway, I skimmed through the core rulebook, created a bunch of grunt level guardsmen from penal regiment (Grimdark, bay-bay!) and sent them to die for an Emperor’s absolution against the most common foe of humanity - Orks.

Now, we all know that landing on the world that infested by pig-nosed is quite tricky. Orcs may not be the most accurate marksman, but they are sure as heck enthusiastic. 

So not long after entering the atmosphere, the transport bird lost one engine already. The gunners tried to assemble the heavy weapons inside the hold, all the while being strapped to their seats and sergeants tried to reason with the commissar about what to do in a fustercluck such as that.

Then the squadron heard the inner comm waking up with crackles.

‘Attention, this is your Captain speaking. You may be relieved to hear that we will be landing shortly. You may also be frustrated to hear that we also lost the second engine, so we will have to resort to crash landing.’ Then the squad heard him inhaling and snorting really hard. ‘So I’d suggest our passengers to strap on in. Cause the stigh is about to get real. For the emperoooooor!’

The landing was abrupt, rough and scary accompanied by non-stop chat between the commissar and high as Slaanesh pilot via intercom!

‘No! Nooo!’

‘Yes! Yeees!’

‘Please don’t!’

‘Please do!!’

‘Stoooooop!’

‘Too late’

After that the world became a maelstrom of racket, but it was also a world of pain for those who insisted on waiting for combat not being strapped and on their twos. So basically the commissar, com-officer and a chaplain. The grunts were more than happy with that turn of events.

Even without the evaluation the status of the bird was a total FUBAR. Through the holes, the squad could see that one of the engines was still on fire. And then there was this unsettling buzzing that was getting louder with each passing second. 

Even the chirping of the pilot couldn’t muffle it. 

‘We have arrived to our destination - guard’s supply depo number 64. If you want to adjust your chronos, it is 8048 now.

The weather is sunny with a chance of raining limbs and the temperature is 23 degrees Celsius.

We wish you a pleasant day and we hope you kill as many pigs to make even Big Daddy-E smile. On behalf of all our crew, thank you for choosing our company as your airline today.’

But you know what was even worse, besides counting broken ribs? Noticing that you find yourself in the middle of the combat with the line of the guardsmen trying to hold the green and snorting tide behind sandbags the moment cargo doors dropped down. While stealthy approaching orcs were coming from the rear. Not like screaming ’Waaaaagh!’ And shooting everywhere made it harder to notice them. At least not for just arrived and not too focused on an immediate combat squadron of losers.

The situation was getting close to SNAFU real fast. 

The orders were given. The closest thing that the squad had for engineer was to fix the birds engine before it would blow to Emperor come, while part of the squad was to cover him. As for the rest, they were preparing to do what they were trained to do - hold the bloody line.

So no fess, there they were, a newly reinstated squad of penal guardsmen in their maiden skirmish against the pig-nosed that somehow sneaked behind the line of longfangs guardsmen regiment. And it was their job to deal with the sudden greenskin’s splinter forces.

All this while tech-specialist were busy trying to repair the transport shuttle that became a time bomb ready to blow up any minute now

The first few seconds of the combat were actually pretty okay considering how dire the situation was. Armed with pattern M36-lasguns sergeant and the field medic were doing pretty good against the gobli… I mean wretches and their shepherds the Runtheads.

Couldn’t be said the same about the closest thing squad had for a sniper. His lasgun kept jamming and he himself kept missing.

The guy assured the sergeant that he is better with a slug than with this “beam-firing piece of crap”.

And then the heavy gunners finally assembled their heavy slugger and autocannon.

Now that kind of weapon may be considered not the most accurate but who cares about accuracy when you can have an orc full of holes or blow half of his body clean-off. There was nothing left of wretches upon the impact with autocannon slug. Not even a red mist. 

So yeah, midgets and their herders were dealt with really fast and the squad started to fill good about themselves. 

Then came along the main forces

Well not exactly main forces per se… But nine (p)orcs armed with machetes size of a 10 year old is a considerable threat for a squad of thieves and misfits. Not to mention the pigs were smart enough to move from cover to cover. So unorcish.

The squad shown their appreciation for unorthodox tactics from the enemy by dropping barrage of lasers and rain of bullets on them. But the snot-nosed kept coming. And they were definitely of tougher material. But hey! At least the squad lives long enough for backup to arrive. The techies finally dealt with the engine and someone else finally figured out how to unbuckle their seat belts. 

By the time when reinforcements arrived, (p)orcs had nowhere to hide.

The sergeant had a right idea: “If the enemy hides behind cover and you can’t hit him, then f**k his cover” Soon all that metal debree, rabble and a few buildings had more holes in them than the green skin themselves. The squad was hoping that none of the buildings was that of importance to the guard. 

Well, that was the sergeant who worried, but than again, it’s his job. The rest of the squad couldn’t care less. 

One of the fighters even brought the scoped slug rifle that our sniper was only happy to use and show the squad some proper shooting. He singled one the meatiest of the pigs, aiming in the head, hold the breath and pulled the trigger.

Only to graze the green swine.

The sergeant would have none of that.

‘You call that shooting?!’ He roared and pull the trigger on his lasgun and scorching the (p)orcs leg to cinders. Without aiming. Out of impact range of the rifle. Turning away from the target and lookin sniper dead in the eyes. ‘That’s how you frakking shoot!’

Maybe this small demonstration inspired the rest of the squad, or maybe the big guns were doing their part, but the ambushes were dealt with swiftly. The sounds of battle died soon enough on all fronts and as for the shuttle, it was secured and left empty. All of the forces were on their feet to die and fight if necessary. Or should it be the other way around?

Introductions were made. The commissar and the local highest ranking officer of Longfangs regiment changed pleasantries. 

He sure looked enthusiastic about the reinforcements. But it soon faded along with the smile when he realized when the squadron was not part of cardians, nore the catchans, nore irondians, nor from any other more or less famous regiments. What supply depot 64 and longfangs got was a regiment of grunts from the penal legion ‘Orphan Squadron’. The dumbest of the unluckiest.