This is J. Harland reporting from the frontier, where the ground has begun to tremble again and the sound is not thunder. The Plague have brought up their tracked artillery.

Until now, most of us feared the rush. The claws in the dark. The infected bodies breaking from the ruins. The sudden scream from a place you thought was empty. But this is different. This is heavier. Slower. More deliberate.

Out beyond the forward line, half seen through dust and smoke, corrupted gun platforms are crawling into position. Their tracks grind over rubble and bone. Their barrels lift. Their crews move around them with the jerking purpose of things that remember just enough of what they once were to make them dangerous.

When the first shell lands, everyone knows the assault has already begun.

There is something especially unpleasant about Plague artillery. Infantry, beasts and infected monstrosities are bad enough when they come screaming across the battlefield, but artillery gives the Plague something far worse. It gives them reach. It lets the infection announce itself before the first mutant is seen.

These weapons are not clean military machines crewed by disciplined gunners. They are captured, rebuilt and corrupted systems, dragged into position by infected labour and tended by creatures that still remember just enough of their former training to make them dangerous. The barrels are stained, the mechanisms are half ruined, and the crews work with a horrible mixture of instinct, memory and mutation.

On the battlefield their role is simple. They break up defensive lines, drive troops out of cover, and force the enemy to move before the main Plague assault arrives. A shell landing among a prepared position does not merely kill. It throws men into confusion. It opens gaps. It turns a strongpoint into a place of smoke, dust and panic. That is when the rest of the horde begins to close in.

For my Mantic Plague force, the artillery adds a useful sense of weight. The army is no longer just a rush of claws, teeth and infected bodies. It now has support, depth and a nasty way of reaching across the table. It also suits the theme of the Plague perfectly. These are not elegant weapons. They are ugly, brutal and corrupted, which is exactly how Plague artillery should look.

This is J. Harland, signing off from the frontier. The guns have fallen silent for now, but silence is not safety. With the Plague, it usually just means the next barrage is being loaded.

Now for the “crabs” and “crunchies”.