“Thumper’s Last Shell”
They said the ridge couldn’t be held.
The traitor forces had dug in hard — trenches, minefields, auto-turrets powered by stolen Mechanicus tech. Chaos artillery had the high ground, pounding the 13th Necromunda’s positions like a forge hammer. Every forward push had ended in blood and retreat.
Maus was pinned.
Ma Bell was dry.
Long Tom had taken a direct hit to its optics.
The advance was stalled. The Major was wounded. Ghost Alley had lost two shooters. The Commander stared at the ridge through his magnoculars, teeth grinding, one word on his lips:
“We need a miracle.”
Down in a sunken position behind the line, wedged between a collapsed hab-stack and a crater full of bones, was Thumper.
An old artillery tank — no fancy targeting gear, no augmetic relays. Just an armored frame, a manually cranked loader, and a main gun that rang like a cathedral bell when it fired.
Most of the 13th called it a relic.
Its crew called it “home.”
The Setup
The ridge had a weak point — a munitions cache exposed on a small ledge, barely visible even on auspex. Hitting it would ignite the Chaos supply line and collapse half the enemy’s entrenchments.
There was just one problem: it was five kilometers away and obscured by fog, terrain, and enemy jamming.
“We need pinpoint accuracy,” said Bison.
“We have Thumper,” replied the Commander.
The crew — led by Artillery Sergeant Casso, a wiry man with hearing loss in both ears and a collection of cigars he never actually lit — nodded grimly.
“Range is long, angle’s bad, and if we miss, we’re dry,” Casso muttered.
“So don’t miss,” the Commander said.
The Shot
They had one shell left.
Just one.
Casso ran the numbers by hand — range tables carved into the inside of the hull. His spotter, Vigs, clambered up a nearby rusted promethium tower, voxed in the coordinates, and took a breath.
Thumper fired.
The ground bucked.
The tank shuddered.
Casso bit through his unlit cigar.
The Result
There was silence for a full minute.
Then, like a second sunrise, the top of the ridge detonated.
The Chaos supply line went up in a fireball that cracked the ridge in two. Half of the entrenched position slid into the valley, taking heavy weapons, ammo, and traitor officers with it.
The 13th charged.
Old Smokey led the way. Kelly and Lucky 13 followed, ferrying in fresh squads. Even Maus joined in, its main gun roaring back to life.
Victory was bloody… but complete.
The Aftermath
Thumper didn’t fire again that day. It couldn’t. The recoil cracked one of the support plates, and Casso’s loader dislocated his shoulder trying to ram the shell home.
But no one cared.
They painted a new message on the barrel the next morning:
“One was enough.”
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