Special Forces Quar

Sylwedl M'nwryng was agitated. 

You could tell by the way he thrust his knife into the marmalade pot, as if he were attacking a Crusader, and the quick, violent strokes with which he spread it on his toast.

Through the wire!

"Damn it all, it just won't do!" He muttered, nibbling on his toast. "Won't do at all!"

"What won't do, sir?" Is-Caerten Bynti ventured. Being the junior member of the Mess, he didn't really know any better than to leave agitated Adjutants well and truly alone.

The two Caertens who were also breakfasting in the dugout, Fr'k and Bryk, exchanged knowing looks.

"Eh? What's that?" M'nwryng looked up from inspecting his tea,  where some dirt had fallen. Knocked loose by the tremor of a distant shell burst. 

Caerten Fr'k said "Young Bynti doesn't know."

"Know what? What's going on?" Bynti protested. 

Caerten Byrk said "Oh yes, all tucked up in his nest last night."

"Dreaming of pretty nurses!" Interjected Fr'k.

The Adjutant decided that not too much dirt had fallen into his tea, and used his oatmeal spoon to skim the top of his mug.

"What is it?" Bynti squeaked. "I wasn't Duty Officer. What's happened?"

Ready to bomb a dugout!

Corners are dangerous. "Shhhh... be vewy, vewy quiet."

Bryk gave a knowing look and tapped the side of his snout. "We have guests."

Fr'k nodded sagely. "Yes. Interesting guests."

"The Sneaky Snouts" said Bryk.

"It's always interesting when they come for a visit" observed Fr'k. 

"Damned inconvenient, is what it is!" The Adjutant growled. "Take over our dugouts, draw from our stores, take whatever they damn well  please without the proper requisitions. It makes my Daily Returns to Division a nightmare!"

A figure appeared at the curtain. "A gift for the Mess." He put a jar of Easky Mountain Squidgeberry jam on the table with a couple of fresh loaves, and a tin of Western Arnyaran Black tea. "Since I will be your guest for a day or two."

9 Commando

Bynti looked wide-eyed at the jam, an unheard-of treat from an enemy country. He looked at the newcomer. He was lean, wiry, and clever looking. The high collar was missing from his rhyfler's tunic, and the folds of a black sweater neck replaced it. He wore a rhyfler's harness, heavy with ammunition pouches, and a big fighting knife hung at his hip instead of an officer's sword. He set a well cared for Doru submachine gun against the wall. "Don't worry. I haven't got any grenades on me.... yet."

He turned and offered his hand to the Adjutant. "Caerten Gyrnh'm-Yng, 9 Commando, 11th Special Operations Group." He shook hands with everyone around the table. 

"Trench raiders!" Gasped Bynti. 

Grynh'm-Yng took Byrk's empty mug and filled it from the tea urns. "D'ye mind old snout? Ta much." And began drinking before Byrk could protest. He looked at Bynti. "Don't believe everything you read in the magazines. Half of it isn't true, and the other half is Classified."

"So there's going to be a raid? When? Are we helping?"

Gyrnh'm-Yng chuckled. "Eager for some adventure, eh, kit? We're always looking for bright young quar who can think fast when their snout's up a termite mound."

He used his fighting knife to hack off a chunk of bread and smear jam on it. "Now, which way to your OP? My Yawdryl and I would like a look around before it gets dark." 

He put a black knit cap on and stood up. Looking at the Adjutant. "We'll be drawing heavily from your grenade and mine stores tonight, sir." Slinging his Doru across his back, he left, munching on the bread.

M'nwryng snorted. "Damn nuisance! And why can't they polish their buttons? Eh?"

*******************

Here is the elite unit for the Royalists, some Trench Raiders, loaded up with bravado, grenades, and Doru submachine guns to bring the fight into enemy trenches. 

The troops are all 3d printed. Two different poses. The leader is a resin torso with plastic arms and head left over from the Coftyran set. The wire cutters slung across his back are metal from one of the Accessory packs I bought last year.

The Leader

Wire cutters. Appropriate because he's leading from the front, and he's the only one with a full tactical harness on to attach it to.

Most people follow the catalog and paint their masks as metal helmets, which seems to me to rather defeat the need for stealth. I went with Vallejo German Grey. I also added smears of dark grey camouflage paint, or more likely soot from a lamp, across their snouts and on their hands

Nine figures gives me three teams of three. I want to add two packs of the metal (I like those sculpts better than the new siocast) trench raiders with my next order. That will produce 3x five figure units of elites for Xenos Rampant and with some sniper and machine gun supports will be a decent force to play by itself.

In Xenos Rampant they will get either the Infiltration or Special Insertion rule to help them sneak up on Crusaders. I suppose I could also use them to play a game of Black Ops as well. 

Quar Partisans

Ryta checked her hat in the mirror and tied the ribbon carefully under her chin. "Oh c'mon you!" Jyn't shouted from the door. "We're going to be late meeting Aelf and Byrt!"

"Hush you." Ryta looked around her small house. "Now where's my purse?"

Jyn't pointed at the table. "There it is! What d'you want that for?"

"No that one!" Ryta rummaged in a closet. "Ach! Here it is!" She brandished a large shoulder bag. "I like this one. It can hold more magazines."

They regarded each other, in their best coats and nice scarves. Two respectable farm wives. Ryta pulled a submachine gun she had purchased from a Western Arnyaran trader last year out of the umbrella stand. "Right lassie. Let's be off."

******************

The truck bumped and creaked down the country road. Nog was at the wheel and Milwer Ogan sat beside him, feeling pleased even as they bounced around inside the cab. The Quarter-Master had sent them out to forage for supplies among the farms along the valley, and they'd found barns stuffed full of produce and termite boxes and worm bins just brimming. There were even a few stills with cases of homebrew that were gladly loaded onto the truck. They'd left receipts and military scrip to pay for it. They weren't marauders. It was all very legal.

The truck rounded a sharp corner and Nog stood on the brakes to keep them from crashing into a farm wagon. Muffled curses came from the back of the truck as the other two rhyflers were thrown into barrels and boxes. A wagon had lost a wheel and two dynas* were squabbling about it as one unhitched the cadier that had been pulling it.

Ogan banged on the back of the cab and shouted "Oi! You two! Get out here and help!" he turned to Nog with a sigh. "C'mon. Let's help the dearies and get the road cleared."

"Nice parking Ryta!" one in a pink coat scowled. "Oh hush you Jyn't!" the other retorted.

Milwer Ogan was all smiles. "Right then ladies! What seems to be the problem?"

The one with the large feather in her hat looked at them incredulously. "I'd think that was obvious sonny. Or are they taking blind rhyflers these days?"

Ogan turned to the other two rhyflers who had come from the back of the truck. "Right lads! Let's get this wheel back on and help these nice ladies on their way."

After some heaving and grunting, the four of them got the wheel back on. After a bit more effort a retaining pin was fashioned from a chisel in the truck's tool box.

Ogan stood back. "There you go ladies, now we can get your cadier hitched back up and you can be on your way! Going to market were you?"

"Summat like that sonny, but perhaps before you go, you can unload your truck into the back of the wagon here." Ogan looked up and found himself staring into the barrel of a large automatic rhyfle. The one with the feather in her hat had produced a submachine gun and was covering the other three.

 

Nog made a sudden step forward. The pink coat stepped back. "Eh now! Don't be clever sonny!" She gestured behind them. They heard the clicking of bolts and risked a glance over their shoulders.

A couple of Quar in workers overalls had come up behind them. One carried a Bogen and the other a submachine gun.

Another Quar stood up from the bushes where he had been well hidden. He was wearing a cloak made of leaves, common with country folk and good at keeping the rain off. They were also popular with poachers. This one levelled a long barreled Harlech at Ogan's head.

"As I said" said pink coat. "We'll be taking the harvest you've stolen."

"Stolen? This is all legitimate appropriation for the war effort!" Ogan explained. "We've paid for everything in military scrip and given receipts."

"War effort?" The country folk all laughed. "Crown or Crusade, we dinnae care."

Nog shouted "How can you not care?"

Pink coat nodded at the feathered hat. "Ryta's got a son off in the Crymuster and a nephew has run off to join the Crusade."

She nodded to the poacher. "Byrt shouldered that Harlech for the Crown when he was a lad." She gestured behind them "And Aelf there had a medal pinned on him by Alkynder himself."

Feathered hat, Ryta added. "And Jyn't's Pol never come back from the the Wars, did he love?" 

Pink coat, Jyn't, looked downcast. "No never he did. Not sure I care which side he was on. It's no matter to us. Big snouts in fancy 'owses make up ideas and get arguin' and then it's lads like my Pol get killed over it."

Ogan replied "Yes, yes, all very sad. But our requisitions are all legitimate and we've paid for everything in military scrip and given receipts!"

"Oh aye. And how's Granny Ogg up the valley with all her wee kits supposed to eat this chythwyn on your military scrip! A fine soup that'll make!"

Aelf, the one with the Bogen, said from behind them. "Supposed to be a bad 'un this year! You can tell if'n you watch the pykpyks and moths."  

Byrt, with his Harlech pointed at them, took a careful sip from a cup of something, which Ogen hoped wasn't alcoholic. "Aye. Bad chythwyn comin'" He resumed aiming at Ogen's head.

Jyn't raised her rhyfle again and sighted down the barrel between Ogan's eyes. "So, we'd rather just took what was ours and left you breathin', but we can do this another way too. No credit bein' a dead hero for a few cases of Byrt's hootch, now is there?"

Ogan swallowed loudly. "Right lads! Let's get the truck unloaded and leave these nice folks alone."

*Dyna: a female quar.

**************************

I hadn't set out to make a force of Partisans, but I saw the creative potential with the 3d printed civilian figures and the extra arms etc and couldn't help myself. The joy of 3d printing being you can have extra figures to mess about with. And if you cock it up, oh well. It's not nearly the risk as trying conversions with metal figures that cost you $4 or more.

So here they are, Faction number 3 for the Quar.

Byrt, with the harlech from the plastic frame, started as the farmer with beetle. He required a bit of surgery to reposition his arm so that the butt of the rhyfle rested on the ground. The other two males partisans are the mechanic with different arms. The submachine gun carried by the one with the pink hat comes from the Western Arnyaran set.

The two dynas are Western Arnyaran figures, and the first offical quar females. They have slightly wider hips and if they weren't obscured by their weapons, a slight bust under the coats. They also have larger eyes, which can be seen on the bareheaded one, Jyn't.

The Western Arnyaran helmet looks like a hat to me, held on with a ribbon. To make it even more hat like I added a feather made from paper glued to a length of brass wire and then glued into a hole drilled into the hat.

These were fun. With some of the men I've tried to suggest faded uniform colours on the hats, but otherwise keeping them very civilian. I even tried a plaid shirt on pink hat.

I'll wait until the plastic partisan set comes out before I expand the force. Until then I guess I might have to try the Rhyfler's Handbook skirmish rules which only require a few figures a side on a 2x2 area.

The Valley of Tears- Alithean Medium Gun Tractors

The horizon was just starting to glow to the east. Master-Yawdryl Sty'v sat in his hatch, eating a bag of oatmeal and watching. A touch at his knee and Pol, the driver, was handing up a mug of hot tea. They had found some honey a few days ago so he enjoyed the sweetness overlying the strong bitterness of the tea. He set his bag of oatmeal and the mug on top of the turret and picked up his field glasses to scan his front. They were nice field glasses, hand crafted in Cy'wnt, with very clear optics and a 10x magnification. The Blues officer he got them from wouldn't need them anymore, being dead and all.

He spotted some movement in the long shadows to his front, and dialed up that high quality magnification. A hand waved a Bogen from a ditch and carefully stood up, waving both hands.

He keyed his throat mic. "Five-One to all Five Call Signs. Patrol coming in. Check your fire." 

He waited for the other vehicles in the wedge to click in acknowledgment and then waved the figure in. Three others stood up and filed towards him. Hurrying now that safety, food, and perhaps sleep in a dug out awaited them.

The heavily camouflaged patrol filed by like so many walking bushes. A fireteam of three with a bruised and raggedy looking prisoner.

"Good night then?" Sty'v called down to the patrol leader. 

The Milwer looked up. "Good enough. In and out without any contact. Nabbed this one while he was having a pee." Sty'v laughed.

Camouflage netting is cheese cloth soaked in white glue and draped on and allowed to dry before priming.

The patrol leader looked back from where he had come. "But get ready. They're coming. And soon." He then hustled off to catch up to his fireteam who where taking their prisoner back to the HQ bunker to be interrogated.

The squadron was supporting an infantry catrawd set up in a blocking position at the head of a valley. They were protecting the flank of a larger movement that was pushing south into Coftyran lines. If the Blues broke through here, they'd cut the Corps' lines of communication and the entire offensive would fall apart.

He keyed his throat mic again. "All Five Call Signs. Be advised. Enemy attack imminent. Eat up, load up and be ready. Check your engines."

He drank his tea and watched through his binoculars and listened to the rest of the wedge as they acknowledged and started up their engines to make sure they could move.

Quar on the left is pointing with a cigar

The scream of the first shell was their notice that something was happening. Sty'v dumped the remains of his mug over the side and ducked down as dirt and shrapnel rained down around them. The air shook and the tractor rocked with the blasts. He risked a peek out of the hatch, barely lifting his snout over the rim. Infantry officer's whistles blew. Their NCOs shouting at the rhyflers to stand to in their trenches.

Every AFV has to have stowage. Being Quar these are probably boxes of rations; tins of corned moth and beetle soup.

The infantry trenches were along the top of a low rise. The tractors were just behind, using the height of their turrets to achieve a hull down position. Each tractor had a primary position marked out and secondaries to their left and right. They'd shoot, back up, move left or right, move up and shoot again. This would keep the Coftyrans from getting zeroed in on them.

Spring

The barrage moved off behind them. Sty'v was up in his hatch. "Everybody up! Here they come!" He looked front and sure enough waves of grey blue infantry were advancing out of a smoke screen, bayonets fixed with their multi-coloured gun tractors moving amongst them. Fortunately something had slowed them down and they hadn't kept up with the barrage. The infantry in the trench opened fire.

Is-Caerten Arwan got on the radio net. "Five Actual to all Five Call Signs. Enemy tractors are the priority. Open fire!"

Sty'v spoke to J'yyd, his own gunner. "You heard the quar. Load armour piercing. See that Paerwyn at 300 meters?"

"Ready!"

"Fire!"

Autumn

The turret rocked as the 78mm gun sent an armour piercing round howling down range. A solid hit made the Coftyran heavy tractor stop. "Hit 'im again!" 

Another round smashed into the front, causing the target to begin to smoke. He didn't wait to see what happed to it. A burning tractor was a death trap, so the crew would bail and be out of the fight. Hanging about to watch would just make him a target.

"Driver reverse!" They backed down below the ridge as a shell screamed past overhead. "Left!" The driver turned them left and jinked over 10 meters to their secondary position. Once the gun was clear of the ridge he called "Driver halt!"

He scanned for targets. "Target left. Chyweethl! Two five zero meters." The turret rotated slightly to aim at the new target.

"Firing!" the gunner called out and the turret bucked again.

Sty'v watched as the small, mhudd-ball shaped tractor exploded with a gratifying blossom of fire. 

"Diver reverse! Take us to the third position." Shells exploded where they had just been.

As they popped up into the third firing position he saw dozens of pillars of smoke across the field from burning tractors. The wedge was doing good work today and proving the utility of those hot days spent on the firing range. But there were many more enemy tractors still advancing and firing. 

He spotted a big boxy assault tractor moving up to help the infantry push through the thin belt of wire they had managed to string. It was like a bunker on tracks. Machine guns and heavy shotguns at the corners and sides spat flames at the infantry. A domed turret with a 70mm cannon started to train on them. "Draepkyndl, five zero meters. Fire!"

Their round smashed into the side. Smoke and flames jetted out of the multiple gun ports. With a bang that he could hear over the sound of the battle the turret blew off and sailed into the air.

Summer

"Driver reverse!" As they backed down the slope he looked over and saw Is-Caerten Arwan's tractor pulling up into a firing position, the young officer sitting up in his hatch like all Crusader Tractor Corps officers were taught. Just as they crested, a shell smashed into the top of the turret, decapitating the young quar and taking off the hatch.

The tractor stopped. Not doing anything. Sty'v keyed the throat mic. "Five Six to Five Zero. Keep fighting! Pick a target and shoot. Shoot and scoot. Remember your training!"

The tractor fired off a shot and hurriedly backed up again.

They had just blown up another Chyweethl when the his tractor rocked sideways and he was thrown against the hatch rim. Pol, the driver was screaming. Smoke started coming up from between his knees. "Bail out! Bail out!"

Sty'v jumped over the side and landed heavily in the dirt. A big hole was torn in the side with smoke coming out. The side door popped open and J'yyd the gunner pushed a bloodied Pol out and onto the ground. Sty'v checked himself. Except for some soreness from where he'd been slammed against the hatch and then hit the ground he was intact. He grabbed J'yyd by the shoulder and shouted into his dazed face. "Get Pol to the RAP!" and pointed in the direction of the Regimental Aid Post.

He looked around. Three of the wedge were still fighting. Five-Four was burning. Five-Zero, the Is-Caerten's tractor was at the bottom of the slope not doing anything. He ran over to it and climbed up the side. Arwan's headless corpse was still sitting in it's seat. He swore and grabbed the body of the young officer by it's armpits and heaved the bloody mess out of the hatch and dumped it on the ground with an apology to the lad's Ancestors. He climbed in. The gunner was dazed and covered in blood. The driver was crying.

"Derfal. DERFAL! This blood? Is it yours?" Derfal, the gunner shook his head. He grabbed the driver, Jyg, by the shoulder. "Jyg? Jyg! Hold it together!"

He climbed back into the seat and plugged his mic into the socket. "Right. Driver advance! Gunner. Load AP!" He switched to the Wedge network. "All Five Call Signs, this is Five Actual. Keep fighting! Keep firing!"

As they crested the rise he scanned for targets through the valley filled with smoke and fire and tears. "Chyweethl. One hundred meters. Fire!"

************************************

It's taken a while to finish the three Alithean tractors Don printed for me. They sat in their green base coat for a long time as I was mulling over how to finish them and debating tactical signs with myself. I used some 1/100th British armour markings but opted not to do anything more.

Initially I wasn't happy with the autumn leaf pattern, thinking it looked too muddy. I should have been patient and let things dry between each colour. But Wargames Atlantic used it in a post, so I guess it is more successful than I thought. For the third tractor I just took the easy rout and did some NATO bands of dark grey and khaki.