This is for my Heavily Victorian colonial themed British (Praetorian) IG Army. A Bit long but if you can read it through hopefully you will enjoy it!

I have modified some other fluff i found to suit my army as i thought it was cool for landing bit, but the rest is all written by me with a bit of help from a friend at the local Wargames club.

Comments Welcome!

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++++ Britannia - Planetary Survey ++++

Segmentum: Ultima
Sector: Kudos
System: Britannia
Inner Planets:
Britannia Prime – Rock, no atmosphere
Britannia Secundus – Temperate atmosphere
Britannia Tertius – Rock, arid atmosphere
Outer Planets:
Abai – Gas Giant
Savage – Iceball, no atmosphere
Britannia Prime – 0
Britannia Secundus – 3
Britannia Tertius – 1
Abai – 4
Savage - 0

Britannia Secundus

Size: Equitorial Distance - 7,160 miles
Gravity: 0.98 G
Satellites: 3 Moons
Population: 98 Million
Climate Classification: Temperate - Standard
Tithe Grade: Solutio Prima

Britannia Secundus and Britannia Tertius are ruled by a hereditary planetary governor, whose royal line extends unbroken back into the Age of Strife (or so it is claimed). The current ruler is Queen Victoria XVIII. Britannia Secondus is a temperate planet, officially classified as a Feudal World. Tertius is an arid, sparsely populated mining world, which provides much of the mineral resources of the system. The native inhabitants of Tertius are sometimes conscripted into the Britannian army in times of need.

The Britannian Regiments are founded on the strengths of their highly disciplined infantry. Their home world has no ready access to a forge world to supply them with arms and materials, so they must rely on their own technology, and the courage and fighting skill of their men. Occasional examples of forge world technology exist, brought in by rogue traders and the like, and each is a sacred relic.

A standard infantryman’s equipment includes:
A local Britannian-Pattern lasrifle – a simple, single-shot weapon, with no remarkable characteristics, Britannian tactical doctrine emphasises disciplined volleys at short range; a tight formation allows vast numbers of lasrifles to be brought to bear on a small area.
A bayonet – Bayonet drill is very important to Britannain tactics, and if concentrated rifle fire cannot dislodge dug in troops or turn aside an assault, they will launch a massed charge, which may remind a historian of feudal world spear formations, assailing the foe with a wall of thrusting blades.
Uniform: A red jacket and blue trousers with a crimson stripe made of tightly woven fabric, black boots, and a flak vest, worn under the jacket. Also a distinctive white or cream-coloured helmet, with a built-in micro-bead; Britannian communications technology is of unusually high quality, and is a contributing factor to their high levels of coordination in the field.

The elite infantry are the Grenadiers, Their faces scorched black as night, eyes deep as space; their identity unknown. They stand tall, clad in heavy, white carapace, carrying the Ensign of the empire upon their shoulders. Fear surrounds them, for these are the Storm Troopers, Britannia's finest.
They are equipped with the finest relic-weapons the Royal Armoury can provide. They are the only units in the army to be armed with plasma weapons, each one a relic of great value; to be a plasma gunner in the Grenadiers is one of the highest honours a man of Britannia can receive.

The Britannian armour is very limited, with inefficient engines increasing weight and maintenance needs. Those regiments formed for offworld service are almost entirely formed of infantry and cavalry. The Britannian PDF uses field artillery and self-propelled guns, supplemented by a few heavy tanks. Lighter vehicles are rare, though a few all-terrain walkers are used in the mountainous regions.

The Britannian Expeditionary Regimental Tank – Heavy Armour, Or BERTHA, is one of the finest war machines the Britannian arsenal has. A member of the Britannian Super Heavy Armoured Cavalry, BERTHA is an ancient relic, its origins unknown, needs frequent repair work and is often modified quickly in a battlefield situation by engineers while under fire. The Super Heavy Cavalry, although looking ancient and almost obsolete next to more modern Super Heavy Armour of the Imperium, is an elite regiment, who’s training, specifically that of the gunners, allow the BERTHA to bring large amounts of firepower to bear on the enemy.

Aircraft, as a rule, are also poor, tending to be slow and not very manoeuvrable, and having a very short operational range.
A noteworthy exception is the X15 Chinook Troop Transporter, an archeotech flyer not known anywhere else in the Imperium. However, only a handful are still in service, due to a lack of spare parts which the Britannian foundries can no longer manufacture. Due to the scarcity, they, like the other Britannian armour, are unique to the PDF (specifically, Her Majesty's Grenadiers) and never deployed outside the Britannia System.*

*Grenadiers attached to Britannian Imperial Guard Regiments are not infrequently assigned temporary support from Imperial Navy Valkyries instead.

Cavalry are a common sight, and horses are frequently used as beasts of burden, both in civilian life and for military purposes; unless rails have been laid for a train, light artillery, ammunition and supplies are often transported by horse-drawn wagons.

In its distant past, Britannia was once the would-be-victim of an Ork waaagh, but the Orks were defeated. However, feral Orks still arise in the wilderness, and periodic purges are still undertaken to this day. If the Orks are allowed to build up, they can become a major threat, and several large battles have taken place when Orks have been allowed to spread unchecked. One of the most famous battles of the Britannian PDF’s history is that of Ork’s Drift, where a horde of several thousand feral Orks, fresh from a victory over the army sent to cull them, was stalled and eventually defeated by a single company of Britannians.

Notable Military Manoeuvres

"From the darkness they came, massive matt green drop ships, manufactorum sized behemoths trailed by roaring petroleum exhaust gases. They dropped from the heavens onto the especially cleared landing field surrounding Sybilla Tertius, the marshalling grounds of the Imperial Guard, touching down with a crash of thunder and a palpable tremble of the ground.

Even before the engines had silenced the huge bow doors dropped open, slamming to the ground, within moment the first of the hundred’s of brightly uniformed troops began to emerge in perfect marching order. Groups of Navy personnel and Guardsmen, themselves clothes in less elaborate uniform, watched on. Some laughed and joked at the ‘toy soldiers’, others feeling a strange swelling in their chests, martial pride, stirred by the sight of this body of men perfect uniforms crisp and clean, lasguns gleaming in the gathering light, all of them moving as one.

The masses of men began forming up in squares, company formation it seemed, each block an hundred or so strong while heavy weapons batteries formed up to their flanks, the barrels of gun metal and brass glinting in the rising sun.

Impossibly, a small group of officers emerged from the drop ships gasping maw, each mounted atop a perfect white steed, the half dozen or so men trotted to another small group of officers stood before the assembled regiment.

“Colonel West, Sir! Her Majesty's Royal Britannian, ready for inspection, sir!”

The scene was repeated over a dozen times that day, infantry, cavalry, and artillery each as immaculate and perfect in their synchronisation, a full two Brigades of Britannia’s finest troops ready to serve and die in the Emperor’s name on this doomed world."


The Battle for Orks Drift had being raging for several hours, Colonel West’s voice was beginning to show the signs of a man on the edge of exhaustion

“Hold them, Hold them!”

Three trucks were already burning, the stinking smell of burning human fat fanning out with the belching black smoke, the civilian vehicles simply weren’t built to withstand even small arms fire. The Britannian PDF stood their ground, but seriously outnumbered and lacking heavy support – their two VP-12 Heavy Armoured Tanks having been smashed to pieces in the first exchange of fire - they were fighting a losing battle.

Colour Sergeant Bourne, escort commander, didn’t know whether his distress call had been heard, his Vox man was now dead, his ruined corpse propped against one of the big trucks wheels along with far too many of his men. Popping up from behind his section of sandbag emplacement, he snapped off a couple more shots with his laspistol into the advancing mass of Orks, he prayed to the Emperor for deliverance.

With a roar of thunder two X15 Chinooks sped overhead, spilling cluster munitions from their wing mounts, the lightly armoured Orks died in droves, shrapnel cutting down many of those not engulfed by the explosive wave. The traitors went to ground in what little cover there was, ineffectively hiding their positions. The Chinooks returned again, but did not unleash another storm of hell, instead hovering high above the battlefield.

The black silhouette of the helicopter spewed heavy duty cables from the rear hatch, thudding to the ground among the Orks. What seemed to Colonel West as Angels descended from the lines, their brilliant white armour gleaming in the setting sun.

The crack of lasguns resumed once more, the Grenadiers unleashing volley after volley within the ranks of the Xenos, Colour Sergeant Borne, with a nod from the Colonel , piped up,

“Britannian 1st Company, Present!” The order was followed by the rising of Red tunics from their positions along the sandbag emplacements, and the rising of las rifles to the shoulder,

“Britannian 1st, Fire!”, The volley of lasguns ripped through the hordes of Orks, creating an almost clear field from the outpost to the Grenadiers,

“Britannian 1st , Fix Bayonets!”, The clatter of 16 inch sharpened steel meeting lasgun rang out across the plains, each man readying himself for what was to come.

“Men of Britannia, let it be known that in the face of overwhelming odds, you did not falter, and remained loyal to the Emperor,” the colours waving above the sergeant’s head, the Officer drew a glowing blue powersword and pointed it towards the foe, “Britannian 1st Company, this is your finest hour, and you shall be remembered for it!


The men of Britannian 1st, or what was left of it, threw themselves over the emplacements, the sounds of dogs barking complimenting the heavy thud of boots and the overwhelming roar of the infantry, The battle for Orks Drift was about to draw to a close.


The engine room was hot, the smell of sweat and burning fuels clung to the commander’s nostrils. The clunking of the traction mechanisms rang in his ears. This was no place for men to work; this was no place for officers to work. The huge boiler, burning to the touch engulfed most of the free space within this metal tomb, Thick black smoke being extracted into the outside world through 4 large extractor fans on the ceiling.

A voice rang down from above; “Halt!” the clanging of moving metal ground to a halt, replaced only by the roar from the flames within the metal furnace.

“Commander, I think you better see this”. The commander looked up, a glimmer of light coming from atop a set of ladders, the large bulk of a crewman blocking the full power of the light. The commander looked to his right, grasping the rung of a second ladder. He climbed. He strained hard to turn the heavy mechanism of the hatch, until it slid open with an ear piercing screech.

Light flooded into the engine room, the commander strained his eyes to see, the dust on his face being blown away by the breeze. After adjusting his eyes, the commander climbed another few steps, until his upper torso hung out of the hatch. He looked around him, getting a feeling for his surroundings. It was evening, the commander sat about 11 feet from the floor, atop a metallic structure resembling a tin can, belching smoke into the fresh air.

“Look sir,” said the young, fresh faced boy to his left, pointing towards the front of the vehicle, while keeping a single, shaking hand upon the heavy machine gun he was controlling.

As the commander looked to the front of the tank, his eyebrows dropped. The road ahead was littered with destroyed Britannian Tanks, their ensign barely visible, some nothing more than a few plates of steel upon the floor, surrounded by black scorch marks on the surface.

“Alright, stay frosty”, said the commander to the young soldier. He wiped the sweat from his brow, took a deep gulp and then continued, “This is Britannian Territory; this convoy was headed for the city of Pethus, 2 miles south. We didn’t hear anything about them losing tanks, command presumed they were on their way, steadily making repairs to the heaps of junk they call armoured cavalry”

The commander sunk down the hatch, sealing it behind him. With a roar similar to that of a pack animal, the behemoth lumbered forward again, slowly but surely. Weaving in and out of destroyed vehicles, the groans of those few survivors left among the wreckage drown out by the thud of the tracks on the hardened, cracked dirt.

Then, silence. The vehicle ground to a halt, smoke still bellowing from the extractors. “Why aren’t we moving corporal?” said the commander to the old, weathered man sat at the ancient controls.

“No idea sir, it just stopped.” The ringing of a heavy machine gun filled the air, the sounds of the expended cases clattering down the hull could be heard inside. The commander stepped to the side gunners view slit,

“Ambush! Man weapons, corporal, GET THIS THING MOBILE!”

Four more men, of roughly the same age as the corporal sprung to life, manning the side sponsons with devastating effect.

“Almost there, Almost there,” Murmured the corporal, “Got It!” the vehicle sprung to life, lunging forward into the open road. An explosion quickly followed, followed by the vehicle grinding yet again to a halt, all crewmen being thrown across the engine room to the left side.

The commander scrambled to his feet, cleared his throat, spitting on the floor, “What in gods name was that?”

“Landmine!” roared a voice from above. It could barely be heard over the ringing of the machine gun, “Its blown the tracks clean off!”

“Shit, patch me through to command.”

“This is commander Stone of the 25th Super Heavy Cavalry, currently commanding BERTHA. We have come under heavy enemy fire; Charlie convoy is utterly destroyed, requesting immediate air assistance and med evac!” The commander roared down the radio, glancing to the crumpled, lifeless body of one of the crewmen to his right.

“Roger that 25th, X15’s inbound”. The vox simply replied

The battle raged for what seemed like hours, the tank taking multiple hits from enemy AT weapons, yet still standing firm, still firing. The crewmen were becoming exhausted, the ringing of the weapons now embedded in everyone’s ears.

One by one the guns silenced, Stone counting the casualties. The corporal, 3 engineers, 2 crewmen and the fresh recruit all lay on the floor of the engine roo,, some exhausted, some with shrapnel wounds as the internal plating chipped away with every AT hit. Only the commander and 2 more crewmen fought on, manning the side sponsons, the vox sprung to life:

“Armoured 25th this is X15’s 2 and 3, we suggest you seal your hatch down there, we are coming in for a strafing run. Wouldn’t want to damage her now would we?” The vox chirped, in one of those voices riddled with sarcasm.

The commander quickly clambered to the hatch that was left open, leaned out, the whizz of bullets shooting past his helmet. He paused briefly to look forward, spotting two X15 Chinooks in the distance, rapidly approaching his position. With that he swung the hatch shut, locking it with a clang.

The Tank shook violently as the roar of the X15’s and their weapons could be heard overhead. After what must have been 10 minutes of solid firing, the battle ground to a halt. Silence filled the engine room once more. A clanging was heard on the hull of the vehicle, followed by a brisk knocking on the hatch.

The commander cautiously swung the locking mechanism around, releasing the hatch to reveal the dark, gas mask of a grenadier, “Are you alright sir?” the voice seemed to appear from nowhere. No movement could be seen due to the thick dark gas mask.

“Perfectly fine, now get my men out of here”

Assessing the damage the commander radioed into command, “this is Stone, I need an immediate tow for BERTHA, I’m recommending her for immediate track repairs, and the addition of armoured skirting to better protect her driving mechanisms from AT weapons and Landmines. Pethus will have to wait. Stone out.”

++++End Transmission++++