Subject: Re: hellfire shells
Edmund M. Metheny wrote:

>  Scene - a distant battlefield somewhere in the path of Hive Fleet
> Improbable.  Wrecked imperial vehicles lie scattered about, and
> desperate members of the XVI Necromunda IG regiment (formerly "The
> Spiders", now renamed "The Discontinued") frantically fight a losing
> battle against masses of tyranids.
>
> Private Jones of the Command HQ squad, lumbers out of the smoke
> carrying his heavy bolter, banner, and com-link.
>
> Jones:  "Sir!  Sir!"
>
> Jones stops suddenly as Colonel Mustered draws his plasma pistol and
> points it directly between Jones' eyes.  There is a long pause.
>
> Jones:  "Um, sir?"
>
> Mustered:  "Jones, isn't it?"
>
> Jones:  "Um, yes sir."
>
> Mustered (squinting):  "Your not acting...  strangely, are you?"
>
> Jones (sighing):  "No sir."
>
> The colonel holsters his plasma pistol and stares back at the
> battlefield, watching with interest as two Carnifexes play shuttlecock
> with a Leman Russ Demolisher, and a squad of ratling snipers is
> consumed by hormugants.  After a moment, Jones clears his throat.
>
> Jones:  "Um, sir?"
>
> Mustered:  "What is it trooper?"
>
> Jones:  "Well sir, I was wondering.  The regiment was raised three
> years ago back on Necromunda, with the express purpose of being sent
> out here to fight against the tyranids, right?"
>
> Mustered:  "Yes, trooper."
>
> Jones:  "And we stopped by Triplex Phall, that Forge World, especially
> to pick up some superheavy tanks, Capitol Imperialises, and other
> gigantic and expensive war machines, just so we could really give it
> to the tyranids, right?"
> Mustered:  "What's your point, trooper?"
>
> Jones:  "Well, sir, virtually every Imperial Guard vehicle has a heavy
> bolter on it, doesn't it?"
>
> Mustered (sighing as he watches a squad attempting to fend off a horde
> of genestelers with entrenching tools and pocket knives):  "Yes, yes,
> yes, they do.  Could you hurry it up?  We're going to be eaten soon,
> and I would prefer to die knowing what in the Emperor's name your
> point is!"
>
> Jones (pulling out a dog-eared copy of "Wargear"):  "Well sir, it says
> here that there are these nifty shells developed specifically for
> Heavy Bolters called 'Hellfire' shells, that are really effective
> against Tyranids.  I was wondering if we could get some?"
>
> In a single fluid motion, Mustered draws his plasma pistol and
> incinerates three nearby gargoyles.
>
> Jones:  "Nice shot, sir."
>
> Mustered:  "Thank you, trooper.  As for the hellfire shells, I'm
> afraid we can't have them, trooper.  The guard just doesn't have the
> budget for expensive shells like that.  You have no idea how expensive
> those Leviathans are."
>
> Jones:  "No sir, I'm in 40k, not Epic.  But sir, couldn't we even get
> them as additional ammunition, not standerd issue?  Couldn't we at
> least be able to buy them as special issue for our vehicles?  That
> would at least give us a chance!"
>
> Mustered (pulling a copy of "Codex Imperial Guard" from underneath his
> carapace armor and flipping to p. 75):  "Look, son, I know this is
> hard for you to accept, but it isn't listed on the wargear list for
> our army.  And the Adeptus Workshoppus has yet to issue a vehicle card
> for it."
>
> Mustered pauses as a large group of termagants pounces on Jones, who
> valiantly fights them off using the company banner pole.
>
> Jones:  "But sir!  Space Marines can have them for five points!  Five
> points, sir!  It just isn't fair!  They don't give us ANYTHING!    We
> can't even have decent personal armor!  The line troops can't have
> chainswords!  They took away our medics!  The genestealers stole all
> of our landspeeders, thudd guns, mole mortars, rapiers, and
> tarantulas!  We can't even have...  look out, sir!  AAAAAAAAARGH!"
> Jones screams as he is impaled by a half-dozen flesh hooks and dragged
> off into the smoke.
>
> Mustered shakes his head, pulls out a small red card, and tears it in
> half, then notices that with Jones scream the sounds of battle begin
> to die away.  Glowing letters and numbers appear in the sky, saying
> "Final score:  tyranids 18, guard 6."
>
> Mustered (muttering):  "Those REMFS at GW have done it to us
> again..."