Magister Equito, stood up in his Pegasus scout car and scanned the horizon with his Mercury binoculars. No signs of the pestilent rat worshipping locals who had been taking infrequent pot shots at his impressive invasion forces. He straightened his uniform and gave a flamboyant gesture which unleashed the massed Cataphract tanks, Clibanarii assault guns, Antesignani armoured cars and horse mounted infantry to roar down the valley. As they’d come to expect hesitant small arms fire began to pop from the hills falling short of column and prompting the odd frustrated tank commander to return fire – in direct contradiction of Equito’s orders.
Equito ordered the column to turn on the hills while his cavalry advanced down the road….
Three hours later the battered and bleeding survivors were being counted by his staff amongst the burning armoured vehicles. Soldiers startled as ammunition cooked off or Skaven booby traps continued to go off. Equito kicked one of the rag clad dirt encrusted corpses of the small force which had inflicted such casualties on the crowning glory of the Empire. The Skaven militia man had a stylised rat hat, a scabby gaunt face and a cheap pressed metal assault carbine of Galt manufacture. They had found the mountainside riddled with tunnels, bolt holes and firing pits. Tank traps and IEDs had added to the damage done by these rat worshipping scum popping up from behind every bush and rock outcrop throwing Molotov cocktails and planting sticky bombs on stuck tanks and assault guns.
It was only then Equito realised – by Christ what would the Emperor say? They had been victorious but at such cost…