TURN ONE- Imperial Guard: The engine of the Chimera, "Religious Right", roared to life. The scoured steel furrowed through the sand, straight towards a cluster of Termagants loping through the pass. As it had moved so quickly, the gunner could not get a clear shot and instead punched the release for the smoke launchers. As the tank was obscured, the sounds of hatches opening filled the air as the recruits vacated the protection of the tank! Their polished boots and epaulettes glinted as they lined up in front of the Chimera. As the squad lit up, and the incendiary was readied, the preacher muttered a prayer to the Emperor for cleansing. A stream of fire enveloped the herd, and six of the 19 collapsed to the sand as sizzling husks.
The courage that inspired the men to abandon their tank now put them in a tight spot. With nowhere to go, but forward, the green troops slogged forward in the sand as the termagants met their charge with frightening speed. Two of the men were knocked off their feet by the bugs and gutted as they flailed helplessly in the sand. Lasgun stocks bounced off their shells, and the Imperial bayonets skated off the sleek chitin. One of the bugs was flipped over, and a saber gouged into its underbelly. The guardsmen stared in horror at their mutilated brethren, but remained steadfast in the melee.
TURN ONE- Tyranids: Mucosa streaming from its multiple sets of jaws, the Lictor loped across the sands towards the bunker with the grace of a nomad. The Tyranids could hear the static, the panicked voices of the guardsmen screaming into their commlinks for the reserves to appear. The jumble of words was unintelligible to them, but they did comprehend one thing: fear. The bunker was so close, and once they did the bidding of the Hive Mind, there would be many delicacies after the work was done.
The Tyranids ran further towards the bunker. Only the Hive Tyrant and his brood were kept in melee. The lone Lictor was already in charge range to the bunker. An impulse raced through the minds of the Genestealers hovering at the outskirts of the battle. It was the Tyrant, and they were to aid her. The sextet of claws and fangs chittered as their glistening eyes filled with the vision of meat and blood. Sounding a shrill battle cry, they assailed the unguarded side of the guardsmen, ripping away limbs, heads, and great gobbets of flesh in their obedience to the Tyrant. Only one of the recruits remained, and his crisp white uniform was heaped with gore. Like some sort of terrified butcher, he turned to flee, but was swept up in the insects' charge and clawed apart.
With the imperial forces down to the stunned crew of the Religious Right, the bugs ran rampant across the battlefield towards the bunker.
