The Bloody Gates

Easter · Apr 21, 2024

Part of him wanted to be up there with his comrade-in-arms, while they had talked very little Wand felt some connection to the melee-oriented woman. After all, they had been fighting together through heretics since he first got here, and as he recalled a priest once saying there was no better way to know someone's mettle than to fight in the God Emperor's name together.

But, even so, he could not bring himself to trudge up to the medical area. Every time he so much as thought of it his mind would fall back into the memories of how he got his prosthetics in a place much like where Celine was now. Then pain of his chest being wrecked would flash by, before the images of looking into the unfeeling lens of a surgeon and the feeling of barely there anesthetic would slither through his mind, leaving his hands trembling and his mind unfocused.

Finally, the feeling of his too-large lungs and the snap-hiss of his nose and mouth would cut through the memories, feeling as loud and as unnatural as when he first got them. In the end, the idea of heading over to the medical suite always left him feeling an awful blend of scared and helpless, so he could never truly go through with it if he himself wasn't hurt.

Instead, he did what he quite often did after the battle, he found a stable spot and took out his stubber. With practiced ease at this point, he pulled out a small rag and began to wipe down the weapon, saying the proper prayers to appease the spirit after a battle. Though, in the end, the stubber was not the true focus of his prayers, for all that he was giving it proper respect, rather it was Celine that he found his prayers heading to. Asking that the Emperor were to stay her death for a time, so that she may complete her duty and further the righteous cause of the imperium on the planet for just a bit longer before she rejoined He-On-High on Terra. He knew it would likely do little if it was truly Celine's time, but he felt it was the least he could do when he was too scared to be there if she died.

(Sorry for the delay, got slapped by some stuff)

Shephard · Apr 24, 2024

Jerad Sophon

Jeradresh's feet hurt. Two useful members of the platoon were dead in a failed gambit for glory (for all the fortunate of the medicae's arrival, he knew she was a goner), they'd been shot by snipers for what felt like hours, they might all be getting shot if their 'VIP' proved useless, his damned arm was still a cybernetic atrocity, and yet somehow what bothered him most was his sore feet. Even the new boots weren't helping.

He slumped against the debris for a moment, taking in a breath. He tried to pry off a boot, but after a few seconds of struggling with the laces with the clumsy digits of his new arm, he gave up in disgust.

"Kings' blood..." Jeradresh sighed. Blood, rockcrete, and sore feet. What a miserable place to fight and die over. But the Emperor's love had brought him here for a reason. For all the trials and travails, he lived. He just had to keep faith. And also keep playing the field, to not abuse that faith.

He groaned as he pushed himself back to his aching feet. He had to find the sergeants, get the story on their recon straight. Doomed youth, snipers, the priests turning heretic, the confinement of the natives, those were useful things. Surely. After that? Gods or rather, God-Emperor only knew. Maybe see if he couldn't trade some excess medical supplies for a better helmet. He'd seen too many the inside of tooo many skulls the last few days.

greendoor · Apr 24, 2024

@Shephard

Colm and Cheri are easy enough to convince. Neither wants the story to become confused, or for the officers to hold them in some kind of suspicion. A scouting report that corroborated what the young man Brom had said, along with the details of the engagement that'd killed Bellok and mortally wounded Celine.

"Emperor, I hope that Servitor is worth it." Colm mutters. The idea it could wars inside your gut. An abomination that had taken the death of two comrades in tribute seems hardly fair, but what price glory?

If you can call anything you've seen that.

After, it comes time to trade. You look through the camp looking for protection for your head. After a few questions and sorting through various contacts you've made, you find someone with what you need.

Nora, from O'Garan's squad (Hansen's now, a dark voice tells you), rummages in her kit bag, and produces an item. A battered helmet, perhaps shined once. You can tell it's been damaged badly, parts at the jaw ripped out, a large dent in the side-but it still certainly looks sturdier than your own helmet.

"I never much liked you, Sophon." The Voidborn Penal says. "But you helped us take the summit, so I'll deal fairly with you. What do you have?"

(OOC: Light Carapace Helmet, with the visor ripped off (Increased Exposure). What Jerad is willing to trade will influence the final modifier to your Charm test)

+++++++++++++++++++++

@Easter @Kensai @Sir_Travelsalot

The hope is indeed the worst part. There is nothing to do but to wait, and to pray.

Pray, and watch the passing of events around them. Smoop, climbing to the top of the hill to watch the collection of tents that is the Medical facility, can only watch mutely as additional vehicles climb the hill of rubble, rumbling down towards the base camp at the entrance of the hive. She can't even comptemplate the potential meanings, ill or else, of Commissar Shrake and a half dozen Enforcers marching past, Brom and the Servitor 9F in tow-though those parts of her brain that remained observant told her at least the man wasn't in chains.

For Albert, his sight is the gloom of the hive plaza, and the arrival of additional soldiers. More penals, certainly, but also Imperial Guard. Hezeans of the same lot who'd ridden in to medivac Celine, Bolwercs in shined armored plate, sullen Tellosi riflemen in their bowl helmets. Spreading out, forming a perimeter. Nobody pays him much mind, and he has little for them.

The hope, and the long wait is the worst part.

Minutes that feel like hours. Hours that feel like days.

Then, finally, emerging from the Surgery, a Munitorum Medicae, two hands (one steel, one flesh) and an apron covered in blood. He pauses, and as if completely unaware of the import of the task he had just handled nor the quite literal blood on his hands, strikes a lighter to a Lho stick, and lets a lazy pall of smoke drift towards the roof of the world. The ambiguity strikes line of worry through Smoop's skin. Not even the Medicaes had much reason to care for them, wretched as they are. Whose to say one of them wouldn't casually take a lho break over the detritus of a failed surgery?

Minutes more, Smoop watches, those embers of hope fading away.

Then, a pair of orderlies from the same tent flap, carrying a stretcher between them. For a moment, emotionally exhausted, Smoop doesn't even realize what she's seeing. Then, after perhaps a minute, the realization dawns.

Celine Lanate, her skin ashen, great portions of her torso hidden away by fresh bandages, chest struggling to rise with breath. She was alive, if perhaps only half concious. The two orderlies drop her off outside the Field Hospital, with only a tarp between her and the hard rockcrete beneath her.

But she was alive, and was likely to fight again.

(OOC: Having done the math, the odds of Celine surviving everything all told were about 5%. Almost a miracle she survived.)

+++++++++++++++++++

@Svend @Shephard @Easter @xjax1 @Kensai @Sir_Travelsalot

A half hour later, the remnants of two squads are called into the "Company Command Post"-a glorified term for a small sandbag wall inside the hive sheltering Captain Ansalm, his voxman, and a few ragged Penals who might be called a "Staff", were one to be extraordinarily generous.

"So it seems you can do something right." The Captain grunts. "Captured a VIP and a Servitor with vital intelligence. And given not all of you came back in one piece, didn't shirk from martyrdom either."

Sergeant Colm manages to hold his expression, but the man still recoils slightly as if slapped in the face.

"Still, there's little use for recon if nobody returns to report back." He pauses. "And the Commissiarat rightly doesn't see fit to share it's intelligence reports with lower beings such as ourselves, so speak. Tell me what you found."

(OOC: I'm not gonna make you summarize the last few posts, so just share one fact each you found noteworthy since you were sent down from the gate. You can also try to tilt the narrative to make yourself look good, but this will require Social tests)

Sir_Travelsalot · Apr 30, 2024

Celine had the sinking suspicion that she had reached a far too literal interpretation of feeling a hollowness in the pit of her stomach, far more so than even anyone being debriefed by a penal legion officer might ascribe to their nervousness. How much had had to be cut out of her, to save the rest? The bandages wrapped taut about her midsection concealed a truth she had no eagerness to unearth at all, let alone in harmful haste.

She felt as though she'd lost more weight in between her fading consciousness and coming to on the stretcher at camp than she had during the whole of her sentence upon Vankilla, and all the weaker and more sluggish for it. It hurt to breathe, and though it was drowned out by the augmetic lungs in the room, she could hear her own piteous rasping and wheezing, laboriously drawing the air in.

The pain of it all was the only thing that convinced her she was still alive. That she was still flesh and blood and bone, however withered, instead of a soul lost to the Emperor's light, haunting her squad's trail like some lingering spectre.

Surely, being dead couldn't hurt this much.

Surviving through another wretched failure was a familiar sting, by now, and it lanced through her whole being.

"The heretics have scavenged the hive's complement of Scarabs for their own use, sir. We encountered one as part of their patrol. I volunteered and snuck through their sightlines, alone and unnoticed. Clambered all the way to the open hatch unheard on the rusted plating, and threw an incendiary in before any of them knew there was an ambush upon them. But then it didn't burn up. I could smell the burning and smoke coming from inside, but accursed misfortune and sniper support saw them survive and make an escape."

(Trying for the 'make yourself look good' test.)

Shephard · Apr 30, 2024

Jerad Sophon

greendoor said:
@Shephard

Colm and Cheri are easy enough to convince. Neither wants the story to become confused, or for the officers to hold them in some kind of suspicion. A scouting report that corroborated what the young man Brom had said, along with the details of the engagement that'd killed Bellok and mortally wounded Celine.

"Emperor, I hope that Servitor is worth it." Colm mutters. The idea it could wars inside your gut. An abomination that had taken the death of two comrades in tribute seems hardly fair, but what price glory?

If you can call anything you've seen that.

After, it comes time to trade. You look through the camp looking for protection for your head. After a few questions and sorting through various contacts you've made, you find someone with what you need.

Nora, from O'Garan's squad (Hansen's now, a dark voice tells you), rummages in her kit bag, and produces an item. A battered helmet, perhaps shined once. You can tell it's been damaged badly, parts at the jaw ripped out, a large dent in the side-but it still certainly looks sturdier than your own helmet.

"I never much liked you, Sophon." The Voidborn Penal says. "But you helped us take the summit, so I'll deal fairly with you. What do you have?"

(OOC: Light Carapace Helmet, with the visor ripped off (Increased Exposure). What Jerad is willing to trade will influence the final modifier to your Charm test)

Jeradresh hummed quietly to himself, taking the helmet in hand and looking it over. All it'd take is one 'He will Rise' and he'd be testing how well the battered helmet would hold up Shrake's bolt rounds: Not too well, he suspected.

"Ah, yes. This is where we bargain, yes? I have a package of these medical supplies. Good condition. An extra stimulant injector..."Jeradresh began, feeling the weight of the coin in his pocket. No, he'd need to keep that to save his arm. But he did have a trump card, which he presented with a disarming smile. "A chocolate bar, Nora. Made, so it says upon the wrapping paper, 'With real chocolate'. And, out of the deep generosity of my heart of hearts, I shall throw in a 'legume' bar too. Is that sufficient for your desires, Void dweller?"

If not...Perhaps...there were the new boots, even if they were more comfortable than his old ones, however slightly.

Sir_Travelsalot said:
Celine had the sinking suspicion that she had reached a far too literal interpretation of feeling a hollowness in the pit of her stomach, far more so than even anyone being debriefed by a penal legion officer might ascribe to their nervousness. How much had had to be cut out of her, to save the rest? The bandages wrapped taut about her midsection concealed a truth she had no eagerness to unearth at all, let alone in harmful haste.

She felt as though she'd lost more weight in between her fading consciousness and coming to on the stretcher at camp than she had during the whole of her sentence upon Vankilla, and all the weaker and more sluggish for it. It hurt to breathe, and though it was drowned out by the augmetic lungs in the room, she could hear her own piteous rasping and wheezing, laboriously drawing the air in.

The pain of it all was the only thing that convinced her she was still alive. That she was still flesh and blood and bone, however withered, instead of a soul lost to the Emperor's light, haunting her squad's trail like some lingering spectre.

Surely, being dead couldn't hurt this much.

Surviving through another wretched failure was a familiar sting, by now, and it lanced through her whole being.

"The heretics have scavenged the hive's complement of Scarabs for their own use, sir. We encountered one as part of their patrol. I volunteered and snuck through their sightlines, alone and unnoticed. Clambered all the way to the open hatch unheard on the rusted plating, and threw an incendiary in before any of them knew there was an ambush upon them. But then it didn't burn up. I could smell the burning and smoke coming from inside, but accursed misfortune and sniper support saw them survive and make an escape."

(Trying for the 'make yourself look good' test.)

Wide eyes stared at the bandaged woman, wide with shock. How had the woman survived? How was she on her feet so quickly? Had the Emperor...Jeradresh shook his head at the thought and cleared his throat.

"The Enforcer tanks, yes. The ah, Doomed Youth we quarreled with beyond the hive seem to have seized them for their own use, so we should be expecting to see more of that breed of heretic. After Celine's heroic attempt, we managed to drive it and the 'Ess-Dee-Eff' troops supporting it into retreat, despite their sniper support."

greendoor said:
@Svend @Shephard @Easter @xjax1 @Kensai @Sir_Travelsalot

A half hour later, the remnants of two squads are called into the "Company Command Post"-a glorified term for a small sandbag wall inside the hive sheltering Captain Ansalm, his voxman, and a few ragged Penals who might be called a "Staff", were one to be extraordinarily generous.

"So it seems you can do something right." The Captain grunts. "Captured a VIP and a Servitor with vital intelligence. And given not all of you came back in one piece, didn't shirk from martyrdom either."

Sergeant Colm manages to hold his expression, but the man still recoils slightly as if slapped in the face.

"Still, there's little use for recon if nobody returns to report back." He pauses. "And the Commissiarat rightly doesn't see fit to share it's intelligence reports with lower beings such as ourselves, so speak. Tell me what you found."

(OOC: I'm not gonna make you summarize the last few posts, so just share one fact each you found noteworthy since you were sent down from the gate. You can also try to tilt the narrative to make yourself look good, but this will require Social tests)

"Ill tidings the heretics have Sorcerers amongst them," Jeradresh said, awkwardly making the sign of the Aquila in a display of piety. "The VIPs we rescued attested that, after a heretic with the Spire Lord's likeness declared their blasphemous creed and the nobility were overthrown, wretches such as Cravax the Claw were put in charge, but also ah, 'witches'. One by the name of Raurok was put in charge elsewhere in the city, but there are others. The Emperor protect us, yes?"

"Perhaps that is why the heretics sent such a force to silence our wayward VIPs? We faced at least four snipers, with hot-shot charges: That would be rare here, yes? And then they sent in their armor and infantry to try and finish the work when we stopped them. No doubt they did not want us discovering the witchcraft at their disposal until it was too late. Praise the Emperor we were able to rescue them from the heretics, and He gave me the wisdom to recognize the import of their prize and call for extraction."

(OOC: Also trying for 'make yourself look good'. Assisting Celine as well, I guess?)

Easter · Apr 30, 2024

greendoor said:
"Still, there's little use for recon if nobody returns to report back." He pauses. "And the Commissiarat rightly doesn't see fit to share it's intelligence reports with lower beings such as ourselves, so speak. Tell me what you found."

Albert remains silent as the other's speak before adding his own two Thrones. His cybernetics letting out a quiet his as he opens his mouth to report something he noticed.

"They've subverted enough of the Mechanicus or their connected servants to maintain the servitors spread throughout the hive and to maintain the armored vehicles they've looted." Wand pauses here as he collects his thoughts before continuing. "Without the guiding light of the faithful Mechanicum we may come across technology twisted from it's holy purpose or entirely new things recklessly created by the heretics." Albert shuddered slightly at the idea of the horrors the heretics have thrown at them combined with new and unholy technology.

greendoor · May 2, 2024

Shephard said:
"Ah, yes. This is where we bargain, yes? I have a package of these medical supplies. Good condition. An extra stimulant injector..."Jeradresh began, feeling the weight of the coin in his pocket. No, he'd need to keep that to save his arm. But he did have a trump card, which he presented with a disarming smile. "A chocolate bar, Nora. Made, so it says upon the wrapping paper, 'With real chocolate'. And, out of the deep generosity of my heart of hearts, I shall throw in a 'legume' bar too. Is that sufficient for your desires, Void dweller?"

"The Medical supplies will do well, but I'm not quite sure that's enough..." She says, eyeing the medical supplies you'd scrounged up earlier with the eye of a veteran soldier-a marvel given she all else you knew among this legion had only been soldiers for a few days.

Her eyes trace to the Chocolate bar as you make your offer. "Real Chocolate? Not Re-flavored Nutrient gruel or Corpse Starch?"

You simply nod sincerely and present the bar.

"Never had real chocolate before." She says, considers. "Ah, to the void with it. I'll take it."

She hands you the helmet, and you slide over the exchanged items. The helmet fits a little awkwardly, made for a man with a slightly smaller head than yours, the damaged visor making your face feel painfully vulnerable, but the heavy weight of the helmet on your head feels reassuring compared to the Flak. A solid defense that can take a hit or two.

(OOC: Charm success with reroll from Smooth Talker. Trade Medical Supplies, Stimm, and Chocolate bar for the Carapace Helmet)

Shephard said:
"Ill tidings the heretics have Sorcerers amongst them," Jeradresh said, awkwardly making the sign of the Aquila in a display of piety. "The VIPs we rescued attested that, after a heretic with the Spire Lord's likeness declared their blasphemous creed and the nobility were overthrown, wretches such as Cravax the Claw were put in charge, but also ah, 'witches'. One by the name of Raurok was put in charge elsewhere in the city, but there are others. The Emperor protect us, yes?"

"Perhaps that is why the heretics sent such a force to silence our wayward VIPs? We faced at least four snipers, with hot-shot charges: That would be rare here, yes? And then they sent in their armor and infantry to try and finish the work when we stopped them. No doubt they did not want us discovering the witchcraft at their disposal until it was too late. Praise the Emperor we were able to rescue them from the heretics, and He gave me the wisdom to recognize the import of their prize and call for extraction."

(OOC: Also trying for 'make yourself look good'. Assisting Celine as well, I guess?)

Sir_Travelsalot said:
"The heretics have scavenged the hive's complement of Scarabs for their own use, sir. We encountered one as part of their patrol. I volunteered and snuck through their sightlines, alone and unnoticed. Clambered all the way to the open hatch unheard on the rusted plating, and threw an incendiary in before any of them knew there was an ambush upon them. But then it didn't burn up. I could smell the burning and smoke coming from inside, but accursed misfortune and sniper support saw them survive and make an escape."

Easter said:
"They've subverted enough of the Mechanicus or their connected servants to maintain the servitors spread throughout the hive and to maintain the armored vehicles they've looted." Wand pauses here as he collects his thoughts before continuing. "Without the guiding light of the faithful Mechanicum we may come across technology twisted from it's holy purpose or entirely new things recklessly created by the heretics." Albert shuddered slightly at the idea of the horrors the heretics have thrown at them combined with new and unholy technology.

"You volunteered to take on an armored car on your own?" Captain Ansalm asks as Celine recites her contribution. "And you nearly burnt the heretics out, you say?" He glances at the rest of the squad, as if hunting signs of dishonesty, but is able to find none.

"A shame the enemy escaped, but that sounds well done." Ansalm says, for once seeming to regard his soldiers as less than failures. He doesn't even bring up the fact that Celine in fact failed to die, surely a sign of a good mood.

The Captain listens to the rest of the reports, nodding there, asking questions elsewhere. The talk of enemy sorcerers seems to concern him, but the potential for the enemy to have massed armor waiting with the Hive does so even more.

"I shall request command furnish us with additional demolition charges. That way, we may take a few of these Scarabs down with us." The Captain says, as Jerad and Albert finish their own reports. Seemingly too much to ask for a rational response like asking for weapons that don't require getting close to an armored vehicle-even a puffed mission report can do so much with a man like Ansalm.

"You're dismissed." He says. "Fall in with the rest of the Company, such as it is. We'll be preparing for the next phase soon."

(OOC: Success, 9 DoS thanks to Jerad's Assistance, a large bonus for telling Captain 'I love suicide missions' Ansalm that you too enjoy his hobby, and for the earlier bonus for the Vigil to Mads.)

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A day later, and what the next phase is becomes appearent.

Chimeras, towing heavy trailers full of supplies, have made their way down the hill of rubble to the small Imperial Guard base camp in the Hive's entry plaza. Already, forces are making their way deeper into the hive, each unit that arrives replacing one that has set out deeper into the hive's interior. A steady stream of vehicles are moving through the camp, and distantly one can hear the sounds of weapons fire, though not perhaps as much as one would expect.

Fortunately it seems, the ragged remnants of a Penal Brigade infantry company's duty are not to go forward, but to prepare defensive positions for the main logistics node for the ongoing fighting deep in the hive. Drudge work, suitable for Helots, or the condemned.

Compared to pushing forward into the Hive, it seems a relief.

Already heavy construction machinery is digging up the cobblestones of the plaza, exposing the layer of gravel, piping, and wires beneath the ground floor level of the Hive. Hard ground, and certainly just a layer over the bones of steel and rockcrete that make up the Hive's structure, but just soft enough to be worked with entrenching tools, sweat, and determination.

Over long hours, and under the observation and guns of the Commissariat's enforcers, the soldiers of the Penal Legion slowly work out their gunpits, firing holes, and positions for sandbags, razor wire, and mines. Cheri's Squad, so worn down by attrition, with Celine still recovering, and with many of her soldiers intellectual types who've never held a shovel in their lives, much less an entrenching tool, has a particuarly rough time of it, but manages to get something like Fighting positions dug.

(OOC: Group test to dig in successful, 2 DoS. Cheri and Jerad both take 1 Fatigue)

Now, with the sweat work done, comes the more complicated part. Sandbags, fragmentation mines, demolition charges, and razor wire has been passed along to the squad, and the intent made to improve their positions-after all they might well be dying in them-or more importantly less expendable people might well be fighting in them.

The enemy was determined and on home ground. A counter attack was more than likely at some point. Best to be prepared.

(OOC: The squad has been issued the following equipment:
-Enough Sandbags to reinforce the stretch of line held by them, Hansen's Squad, and Colm's Squad (Roughly 40m, when the map is up)
-20m of Razor wire
-2 Fragmentation Mines per squad (6 total). Can be set as part of a Tripwire or remote detonated.
-1 Demolition Charge per Squad (3 Total). Triggered by deadman's switch or a tripwire (You got this for your amazing success convincing Ansalm of your valor)
-Reloads for your weapons, +1 Stimm and Frag Grenade Each
-1 DoS each (2 for Celine) of extra equipment from the Bartering options below (Again for convincing Ansalm)

Map will be up on Roll20 by Friday, so you can place those defenses as you like on it. I will be allowing you to place defenses for all three squads if you wish.

During this time, in addition to setting up your defenses, each player character can take an action from the following list. I will be counting Players who don't post as assisting another character's action, so don't worry about wastage.

-Scavenge for Gear. Survival (+10) or Scrutiny (+0) test as usual. The detritus of battle in this area gives this a +10 bonus.
-Seek Medical Aid: Seek Medical Aid for wounds.
-Rest: Recover 2 Fatigue and 1 Wound.
-Improve Position: Make an Athletics (+10) test. On success, you can further improve your personal position on the line with increased Cover. For each DoS you can improve the position of another character.
-Barter or Steal equipment: Make an appropriate Sleight of Hand, Stealth, Charm, or Deceive test at +10 (Would be +0, but you impressed the Captain). On success, you can gain additional equipment specifically for reinforcing the defenses.
-Additional Sandbags to reinforce your position: 1 DoS for each 2 PC's worth of extra
-Additional Remote Mines or Demo Charges: 1 DoS each
-A Hunting Lance with a High Explosive Anti Tank tip: 1 DoS for two
-Tripod Heavy Stubber: 3 DoS
-Gunshield for a Heavy Stubber: 1 DoS
-One additional Charge Pack/reload for everyone's weapons, and an additional Frag Grenade each: 2 DoS
-improved Digging Tools (Athletics tests to improve positions gain a +10 bonus): 2 DoS
-Additional Backpack Auspex: 3 DoS

-Albert: 12/12 Wounds. 0/5 Fatigue, 178/200 rounds in belt
-Jerad: 16/16 wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 54/60 Shots in LAsgun
-Cheri: 11/14 Wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to All Tests)
-Gorn: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, 21/60 shots in Lasgun
-Ramona: 14/14 Wounds: 0/7 Fatigue
-Celine: 5/13 wounds. 5/6 Fatigue (-15 to all Tests)(You recovered some from sleeping wihle everyone else was digging, plus the medical care, but you're still not in great condition)
-Nyla: 13/13 wounds. 0/6 Fatigue, 22/30 Shots in Laspistol

Easter · May 11, 2024

Wand muttered half-remembered cants as he worked the vaguely familiar latchs of the gunshield onto the the heavy stubber. It was a careful operation, not helped by it only being covered once in training, the mildly niche operation almost completely requiring a number of benedictions to the machine spirit for forgiveness and tolerance for the damage likely to come it's way, along with making sure the latch was done perfectly so that it wouldn't go flying off the gun from the first hit nor would it damage the gunshield's anchor points due being jammed in too tight.

The dull, scratched, but generally effective piece of equipment had been requested from the Quartermaster via the requisition allowed to the squad from command. While it wasn't pretty, much like the Penal Legion's it would do it's job as well as can be expected. It's gunmetal, with specks of green from it's original paintjob, surface giving off a faint shine from the surrounding light and changing the outline of his heavy stubber towards a much more bulky and menacing look compared to it's standard sleeker appearance.

Finally with one last, solid click the gunshield was fully in place and the resulting check to make sure of it's solidity reassured the man of a job well done. With this new piece of gear Albert felt a little more comfortable about laying down covering fire for the squad, afterall this piece of equipment would make it more difficult for retaliating fire to hit him.

Though finally getting the gunshield on also allowed for Albert to switch over to the rest of his preparations for the battle, specifically fortifying his heavy stubber's emplacement. While the gunshield was going to be useful in a battle like this, especially one where he would certainly draw attention with his stubber fire, relying on it alone in a battle like this is liable to get him killed– quite swiftly at that.

To deal with this issue the legionnaire has decided to dedicate a large portion of preparations for the battle on making the squad's emplacement as difficult to get a shot through as possible. Though, first he would need fo hunt for a spot for his own heavy before he would help others, somewhere with preexisting cover that he could expand upon would certainly be the best…

(Essentially just spending my requisition on l a gunshield and just using my action for this turn improving our fortifications)

Shephard · May 19, 2024

greendoor said:
"The Medical supplies will do well, but I'm not quite sure that's enough..." She says, eyeing the medical supplies you'd scrounged up earlier with the eye of a veteran soldier-a marvel given she all else you knew among this legion had only been soldiers for a few days.

Her eyes trace to the Chocolate bar as you make your offer. "Real Chocolate? Not Re-flavored Nutrient gruel or Corpse Starch?"

You simply nod sincerely and present the bar.

"Never had real chocolate before." She says, considers. "Ah, to the void with it. I'll take it."

She hands you the helmet, and you slide over the exchanged items. The helmet fits a little awkwardly, made for a man with a slightly smaller head than yours, the damaged visor making your face feel painfully vulnerable, but the heavy weight of the helmet on your head feels reassuring compared to the Flak. A solid defense that can take a hit or two.

(OOC: Charm success with reroll from Smooth Talker. Trade Medical Supplies, Stimm, and Chocolate bar for the Carapace Helmet)

It didn't bear mentioning that it was real chocolate because it'd come from the body of a man from those given the 'Rite of First Ignition' (Or was it 'Right of First Ignition"?).

...Or perhaps he should have mentioned it, Jeradresh considered as he made off with his new helm. The Imperium did love their martyrs. Maybe Martyr's Chocolate would have gotten him more.

greendoor said:
++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A day later, and what the next phase is becomes appearent.

Chimeras, towing heavy trailers full of supplies, have made their way down the hill of rubble to the small Imperial Guard base camp in the Hive's entry plaza. Already, forces are making their way deeper into the hive, each unit that arrives replacing one that has set out deeper into the hive's interior. A steady stream of vehicles are moving through the camp, and distantly one can hear the sounds of weapons fire, though not perhaps as much as one would expect.

Fortunately it seems, the ragged remnants of a Penal Brigade infantry company's duty are not to go forward, but to prepare defensive positions for the main logistics node for the ongoing fighting deep in the hive. Drudge work, suitable for Helots, or the condemned.

Compared to pushing forward into the Hive, it seems a relief.

Already heavy construction machinery is digging up the cobblestones of the plaza, exposing the layer of gravel, piping, and wires beneath the ground floor level of the Hive. Hard ground, and certainly just a layer over the bones of steel and rockcrete that make up the Hive's structure, but just soft enough to be worked with entrenching tools, sweat, and determination.

Over long hours, and under the observation and guns of the Commissariat's enforcers, the soldiers of the Penal Legion slowly work out their gunpits, firing holes, and positions for sandbags, razor wire, and mines. Cheri's Squad, so worn down by attrition, with Celine still recovering, and with many of her soldiers intellectual types who've never held a shovel in their lives, much less an entrenching tool, has a particuarly rough time of it, but manages to get something like Fighting positions dug.

(OOC: Group test to dig in successful, 2 DoS. Cheri and Jerad both take 1 Fatigue)

Now, with the sweat work done, comes the more complicated part. Sandbags, fragmentation mines, demolition charges, and razor wire has been passed along to the squad, and the intent made to improve their positions-after all they might well be dying in them-or more importantly less expendable people might well be fighting in them.

The enemy was determined and on home ground. A counter attack was more than likely at some point. Best to be prepared.

(OOC: The squad has been issued the following equipment:
-Enough Sandbags to reinforce the stretch of line held by them, Hansen's Squad, and Colm's Squad (Roughly 40m, when the map is up)
-20m of Razor wire
-2 Fragmentation Mines per squad (6 total). Can be set as part of a Tripwire or remote detonated.
-1 Demolition Charge per Squad (3 Total). Triggered by deadman's switch or a tripwire (You got this for your amazing success convincing Ansalm of your valor)
-Reloads for your weapons, +1 Stimm and Frag Grenade Each
-1 DoS each (2 for Celine) of extra equipment from the Bartering options below (Again for convincing Ansalm)

Map will be up on Roll20 by Friday, so you can place those defenses as you like on it. I will be allowing you to place defenses for all three squads if you wish.

During this time, in addition to setting up your defenses, each player character can take an action from the following list. I will be counting Players who don't post as assisting another character's action, so don't worry about wastage.

-Scavenge for Gear. Survival (+10) or Scrutiny (+0) test as usual. The detritus of battle in this area gives this a +10 bonus.
-Seek Medical Aid: Seek Medical Aid for wounds.
-Rest: Recover 2 Fatigue and 1 Wound.
-Improve Position: Make an Athletics (+10) test. On success, you can further improve your personal position on the line with increased Cover. For each DoS you can improve the position of another character.
-Barter or Steal equipment: Make an appropriate Sleight of Hand, Stealth, Charm, or Deceive test at +10 (Would be +0, but you impressed the Captain). On success, you can gain additional equipment specifically for reinforcing the defenses.
-Additional Sandbags to reinforce your position: 1 DoS for each 2 PC's worth of extra
-Additional Remote Mines or Demo Charges: 1 DoS each
-A Hunting Lance with a High Explosive Anti Tank tip: 1 DoS for two
-Tripod Heavy Stubber: 3 DoS
-Gunshield for a Heavy Stubber: 1 DoS
-One additional Charge Pack/reload for everyone's weapons, and an additional Frag Grenade each: 2 DoS
-improved Digging Tools (Athletics tests to improve positions gain a +10 bonus): 2 DoS
-Additional Backpack Auspex: 3 DoS

-Albert: 12/12 Wounds. 0/5 Fatigue, 178/200 rounds in belt
-Jerad: 16/16 wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), 54/60 Shots in LAsgun
-Cheri: 11/14 Wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to All Tests)
-Gorn: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 Fatigue, 21/60 shots in Lasgun
-Ramona: 14/14 Wounds: 0/7 Fatigue
-Celine: 5/13 wounds. 5/6 Fatigue (-15 to all Tests)(You recovered some from sleeping wihle everyone else was digging, plus the medical care, but you're still not in great condition)
-Nyla: 13/13 wounds. 0/6 Fatigue, 22/30 Shots in Laspistol

Jeradresh moved up, grumbling under the weight of the shovel he was carrying. So many sandbags...so many...And yet, te quartermaster couldn't be convinced to part with even one of them, let alone the number he deserved deserved. Smoop had been lavished an absolute fortune of gear, and all he got was a better shovel and some sandbags? Some people just couldn't recognize greatness, he supposed.

@Easter

"Albert, my comrade!" The pagan called out, flashing an easy grin. "I have gifts for you!"

He triumphantly produced the superior digging tools he'd managed to convince the quartermaster to part with: a better shovel and small pickaxe. "I need to aid the others with the transport of the remaining number of the equipment, but I thought you may like some better tools."

Really, he just preferred hauling things to digging in the dirt. The former made him feel slightly less base and common. Slightly.

OOC: Apologies for the delay. Didn't know what to say since my action was done in the OOC. Grabbing improved digging tools and giving them to easter, since he's digging, and...I guess that's everything, since that's 2 DoS. Le shrug.

xjax1 · May 27, 2024

greendoor said:
A day later, and what the next phase is becomes appearent.

Chimeras, towing heavy trailers full of supplies, have made their way down the hill of rubble to the small Imperial Guard base camp in the Hive's entry plaza. Already, forces are making their way deeper into the hive, each unit that arrives replacing one that has set out deeper into the hive's interior. A steady stream of vehicles are moving through the camp, and distantly one can hear the sounds of weapons fire, though not perhaps as much as one would expect.

Fortunately it seems, the ragged remnants of a Penal Brigade infantry company's duty are not to go forward, but to prepare defensive positions for the main logistics node for the ongoing fighting deep in the hive. Drudge work, suitable for Helots, or the condemned.

Compared to pushing forward into the Hive, it seems a relief.

Already heavy construction machinery is digging up the cobblestones of the plaza, exposing the layer of gravel, piping, and wires beneath the ground floor level of the Hive. Hard ground, and certainly just a layer over the bones of steel and rockcrete that make up the Hive's structure, but just soft enough to be worked with entrenching tools, sweat, and determination.

Over long hours, and under the observation and guns of the Commissariat's enforcers, the soldiers of the Penal Legion slowly work out their gunpits, firing holes, and positions for sandbags, razor wire, and mines. Cheri's Squad, so worn down by attrition, with Celine still recovering, and with many of her soldiers intellectual types who've never held a shovel in their lives, much less an entrenching tool, has a particuarly rough time of it, but manages to get something like Fighting positions dug.

(OOC: Group test to dig in successful, 2 DoS. Cheri and Jerad both take 1 Fatigue)

Now, with the sweat work done, comes the more complicated part. Sandbags, fragmentation mines, demolition charges, and razor wire has been passed along to the squad, and the intent made to improve their positions-after all they might well be dying in them-or more importantly less expendable people might well be fighting in them.

The enemy was determined and on home ground. A counter attack was more than likely at some point. Best to be prepared.

(OOC: The squad has been issued the following equipment:
-Enough Sandbags to reinforce the stretch of line held by them, Hansen's Squad, and Colm's Squad (Roughly 40m, when the map is up)
-20m of Razor wire
-2 Fragmentation Mines per squad (6 total). Can be set as part of a Tripwire or remote detonated.
-1 Demolition Charge per Squad (3 Total). Triggered by deadman's switch or a tripwire (You got this for your amazing success convincing Ansalm of your valor)
-Reloads for your weapons, +1 Stimm and Frag Grenade Each
-1 DoS each (2 for Celine) of extra equipment from the Bartering options below (Again for convincing Ansalm)

Cheri
Cheri gently touched her crude mechanical foot as she sighed softly and leaned against a crumbling pillar, taking a short break from her endeavours. When she got out of this place, this darn foot would cause all sorts of problems when trying to walk in high heels, so she would have to see about getting a better one. The penal legion didn't let you sit still for long, though. Before she knew it, she was back walking around the camps, flashing her signature charismatic smile and, more importantly, her sergeant rank whenever someone looked at her oddly for being out of position. It was a hard life in the legion, so promises people intended to keep were hard to come by, but that didn't stop her from making quite a few a favour here and there, calling in what people owed her and making her owe other people, promising to give them something or other. Not that she planned to fulfill any of them. Perhaps it was the rest of the legion rubbing off on her. Still, she wasn't exactly the selfless or giving sort, nor a good person anymore, so whoever her appealing form and alluring smile could charm into giving up their spare supplies without much in return, at least nothing she would have to give up to these dead men walking, would work fine.

(OOC: Sucking up to the right people and trying to get us some more equipment, using charm, it should be TN 80, with a -10 RR, when it's all said and done, unless her having a Voxcaster would further help get them supplies. I am not using Cheri's DOS rn until she gets the full list so I know what I'm working with)

Ramona
Ramona grunts as she hauls sandbags into place, her leg giving out occasionally as she stacks them in a row, making machine gun nests and barriers before digging the trenches behind them. It was gruelling, physical work, but she wasn't good for much else, her talking to anyone would almost certainly land them all in a whole heap of trouble, so Cheri sent the slasher to work on her own, trying to make sure they all got out of this alive. Ramona of course, wasn't nearly selfless, so she did her best to "improve" the fortifications as she laid them out, reinforcing certain places more than others but not telling anyone unless there was room to spare, wanting to make sure that she made it out alive above anyone else, they were just chaff after all, she was the one that really mattered.

(OOC: Remona spends her 1 DOS on sandbags and then uses her action on Improve Position)

Sir_Travelsalot · May 28, 2024

She knows she should be doing more than she is now. She knows she could be helping the squad dig their fighting positions within the ruins of the shrine, hauling sandbags to brace against the fallen pillars and line up the pits left by shellfire. She knows this, and yet she cannot bring herself to join in on the work.

She knows that her being on her feet so soon is surely a miracle. Her even being alive is one, after all. But being capable of walking does not dull the deep and pervasive ache throughout her being. Nor does the excuse of her injuries numb the shame of idleness.

She knows, that even if she were too weak presently to assist with the squad's labours, then surely there should be something she can do. Perhaps go with the Sergeant, and lend her current esteem with the Captain towards additional supplies.

All these things, she knows. Far too clearly, they ring in her mind.

And yet, Celine cannot bring herself to do more than walk forward, to the first of the fighting positions dug. Tucked under her arm is a brace of blessed anti-armour warheads, affixed to poles with which to reach out and touch an enemy tank or Scarab, and beckon them to their judgement in the God-Emperor's light.

The fatigue is becoming too much to bear. The strength to keep her eyes open is fading fast.

Celine lies against the side of the foxhole, resting her helmeted head against a temple column, brace of Hunting Lances still embraced in the crook of her arm. And then, sleep claims her (dreamless, she prays), and she knows no more.

greendoor · May 28, 2024

As the Imperial Warmachine mobilizes and pushes deeper into Hive Lozepath, the Penals grimly prepare for the enemy counter attack.

While Jerad, Smoop, and Cheri wheel and deal to get the equipment they need, Albert fortifies his position. A layer of sandbags for his stubber to fire over, reinforced with a heavy plasteel gunshield to protect him from retaliatory fire. Atop the ruined church dais would give him command of the entire approach, and let him fire over his comrades heads. Yes, it would do nicely.

Down on the ground, Ramona and Gorm work on reinforcing their positions. Even with a healthy dose of self preservation, there's still time to dig out deeper fighting pits for everyone, lining them with sand bags, and construct a crude firing step out of stone, the entire edifice built behind a fallen stone arch for extra structural strength. it certainly wasn't a Tactica Imperialis approved position, but it was solid as it could be under the circumstances, and hopefully stand up to whatever attacks the enemies threw at it from range...and hopefully the mines and razor wire would prevent them from closing in. Celine meanwhile, simply sleeps, exhaustion and injury overcoming even having to sleep in the bottom of a slit trench full of rubble, with the sound of vehicles and heavy machinery all around, and a loose stack of hunting lances laid next to her.

The rest of the ragged remnants of the platoon aren't being lagardly either. Colm's squad has taken a forward position, using the remains of the wall of the Church as a fighting position, and packing their sandbags behind it to form a stout defense. Others are picking similar positions, relying on stonework and fallen masonry to protect them.

Among the troops, a man in Sergeant's bars is moving alone among the squads, adjusting positions, judging defensive works, giving orders for where stubbers should be. He passes by Cheri's squad, well positioned and dug in, and favors them with a nod. "You lot, more supplies incoming! Make this position into a fortress!" He turns to the next squad.

"You over there, establish a position covering the ground from there!" he points to Hansen's squad, "to there!"

"...Yeah, Emperor's mouth to our ears! ...Wait, who are you?" Hansen asks, glancing at the man as he passes by.

"Sergeant Doughty, as of five minutes ago, I'm your new platoon leader!" The newcomer shouts back over his shoulder. "Let's hope you last longer than my last one!"

"That's...Not very encouraging," A Legionnaire comments.

"You want encouraging, go find Shrake! Now quit your whining and get back to work! I want you dug in and secure in no more than an hour. This isn't done yet!"

Regardless of new leaders and their relative merits, the defenses go up (or more properly, down), and the Penals settle in for whatever enemy attack might come next. At least they'd be the defenders now, protected behind their masonary, flakboard, and sandbags. It's easy to ignore how little those same defenses had done for the enemy-such thoughts didn't bear thinking at a time like this.

(OOC: You managed to fortify everyone's positions thanks to good rolls on Ramona and Albert's parts. You also have 11 DoS between Cheri and Smoop that hasn't been picked yet, so please pick that by next session. You also need to choose where your mines and demo charges are emplaced).

++++++++++++++

They come in the guise of Imperial citizens. Skulking forms beyond the line, watching the Imperials, gesturing, whispering inscrutably to each other. Some in the ragged robes of scribes and adepts, other the rough coveralls of workers and lay-techs, others clerks and shopkeepers, diffuse cloud gathering where ever there is cover beyond the Imperial lines. Hands grip stubber triggers, and lasguns edge over the top of firing positions.

"What are we waiting for?" A penal grumbles, just loud enough to be heard. "Heretics all of them. Ought to kill 'em all and let the Emperor sort-"

"Shut up, damn you," Sergeant Colm snarls. "They could be true children of the Emperor. We should let them through, if they can speak the Imperial hymn-"

"And if one of them's a heretic infil-traitor with a great big bomb? I'm not losing any more people," Sergeant Hansen calls back, warily. He cups his hands to his mouth, shouting at the crowd. "Stay back! Stay where you are!"

Yet, reluctantly, the first small group of civilians dares to dart towards the defenses. Ragged, stick-thin figures, desperately glancing between the Imperial guns and the windows of the surrounding buildings for the possibility of snipers. A Penal shouts directions at them to avoid a minefield, others warily watch the civilians through the iron sights of their lasguns and stubbers. A sergeant shouts for them turn out their pockets. A woman is crying that she has nothing, nothing. A wealthy looking man shouts "God's Emperor's sake, would you rob us at a time like this?!"

This is unfolding all along the line, and the handful of officers present available are unable to offer clear guidance. Some penals wave them through, others demand they stay where they are, a scarce few even venturing out of their positions to offer scraps of ration tins or canteens. Far more shout abuse and threats at the refugees.

"Where's Captain Ansalm? Won't he know what to do?" Steed calls out from her foxhole near the front. Her shotgun is lowered, and she glances towards Sergeant Colm for an answer, the Sergeant is too busy trying to coax some of the nearby civilians towards the defenses.

"Captain Martyrdom'd probably try giving them lasguns and setting them at the heretics," Sergeant Hansen replies for him, dismissively waving a hand. "It's got to be like this across the line, right? Why ain't we getting anything from command about-"

The first and bravest few of the refugees are just about reach Imperial lines when Albert spots the cloud of dust coming down the main thoroughfare. Several vehicles-leading them one of the Scarab Armored cars that had so plagued the squad, a few more unarmored vehicles behind. They'd be on the defenses in less than a minute. No doubt an enemy probing force, testing the strength of their defenses. Couldn't have come at a worse time.

And worse, the Refugees were frozen in place. They certainly heard the vehicles coming, but as if stock still with fear, none of them move, caught between the coming enemy and a wall of guns and razor wire threatening to shoot or rob them. They'd be caught in the crossfire and torn to pieces if someone didn't do something.

There was only moments to act, before the enemy was on them.

(OOC: Enemy Armored Car plus some motorized infantry coming up off map to probe your defenses. You don't know exactly where they'll hit you, but there's a bunch of civilians in the way. If you want to clear them out-either into your positions or merely out of the way, someone is going to need to make a Command or Intimidate test to get them moving-of course, you are Imperials. Nobody will object if a few citizens die so the enemy is killed-especially if those citizens are suspect and from a traitor Hive.

-Albert: 12/12 Wounds. 0/5 Fatigue, 200/200 rounds in belt
-Jerad: 16/16 wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Cheri: 11/14 Wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to All Tests)
-Gorn: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 Fatigue
-Ramona: 14/14 Wounds: 0/7 Fatigue
-Celine: 6/13 wounds. 3/6 Fatigue (-5 to all Tests)
-Nyla: 13/13 wounds. 0/6 Fatigue

Easter · Jun 2, 2024

Shephard said:
@Easter

"Albert, my comrade!" The pagan called out, flashing an easy grin. "I have gifts for you!"

He triumphantly produced the superior digging tools he'd managed to convince the quartermaster to part with: a better shovel and small pickaxe. "I need to aid the others with the transport of the remaining number of the equipment, but I thought you may like some better tools."

Really, he just preferred hauling things to digging in the dirt. The former made him feel slightly less base and common. Slightly.

OOC: Apologies for the delay. Didn't know what to say since my action was done in the OOC. Grabbing improved digging tools and giving them to easter, since he's digging, and...I guess that's everything, since that's 2 DoS. Le shrug.

Albert glanced up at the other man when he heard his name called, he was quietly surprised since it was rare for someone actually to seek him out for something these days, his main interaction nowadays was for orders and occasionally giving suggestions during group conversations. He might not of been anti-social but his prosthetics and the stress of the battlefield had left him with little interest to seek out others.

However, when he glanced down to see the tools in Jeradresh's hands he perked up, while alot of his work was getting sandbags set up a shovel and pickaxe would help quite a bit in breaking up some of the rubble blocking his work and to let him get some dirt and rock around his cover to better reinforce it. Overall quite a boon for his fortification efforts.

"Thank you" was Albert's hissing response, his prosthetic crackling slightly as it relayed what he said. The thumbs-up he also gave before accepting the tools likely came off as more genuine than the mechanical words even as he turned back to hurry back to work, after all, they only had a little time left and he doubted Jeradresh nor Command would be interested in it being spent talking.

Albert squinted through his gunshield port as he looked out at the civilians that dotted the outside of the legion's defenses. Past his fellow penals stood an eclectic mix of civilians from various backgrounds, some clearly underhivers, others seemed like they could be mid-to-upper hivers, and at least one most certainly came from up high. Though ones he was most wary of had to be what looked to be some gangers, a gene-hulk, and what looked to be some kind of combatant near a definite upper hiver. While not a truly threatening mass by any means, there was certainly enough of them that things could get complicated if they were enemies, but there was no easy way to be sure. His first instinct, of course, was to trust the refugees due to the priest and medicae amongst them, but it's just as likely that it could be merely disguised traitors.
Not that it mattered too much, since he couldn't exactly pop out from behind his fortified position to interrogate them or get any better of a look. After all, there was no point in putting all the work into his position only to get killed because he stuck his head out for any possible sniper or saboteur to take it off.

Instead, he kept his heavy stubber hovering above the possible hostile's heads, ready to depress at any moment to stitch a line of rounds through them if they made any sudden moves. While also in a good position to push the gun up and lay into anyone further out. A box of stubber rounds, from his large backpack, was laid out next to him for when he will need to reload. The rest of the ammo and explosives are resting within the bag in case he needs to leave in a hurry. The recently gifted digging tools dangling from previously empty loops along the pack's sides, cleaned and ready to be put to use in the future.

Shephard · Jun 21, 2024

greendoor said:
They come in the guise of Imperial citizens. Skulking forms beyond the line, watching the Imperials, gesturing, whispering inscrutably to each other. Some in the ragged robes of scribes and adepts, other the rough coveralls of workers and lay-techs, others clerks and shopkeepers, diffuse cloud gathering where ever there is cover beyond the Imperial lines. Hands grip stubber triggers, and lasguns edge over the top of firing positions.

"What are we waiting for?" A penal grumbles, just loud enough to be heard. "Heretics all of them. Ought to kill 'em all and let the Emperor sort-"

"Shut up, damn you," Sergeant Colm snarls. "They could be true children of the Emperor. We should let them through, if they can speak the Imperial hymn-"

"And if one of them's a heretic infil-traitor with a great big bomb? I'm not losing any more people," Sergeant Hansen calls back, warily. He cups his hands to his mouth, shouting at the crowd. "Stay back! Stay where you are!"

Yet, reluctantly, the first small group of civilians dares to dart towards the defenses. Ragged, stick-thin figures, desperately glancing between the Imperial guns and the windows of the surrounding buildings for the possibility of snipers. A Penal shouts directions at them to avoid a minefield, others warily watch the civilians through the iron sights of their lasguns and stubbers. A sergeant shouts for them turn out their pockets. A woman is crying that she has nothing, nothing. A wealthy looking man shouts "God's Emperor's sake, would you rob us at a time like this?!"

This is unfolding all along the line, and the handful of officers present available are unable to offer clear guidance. Some penals wave them through, others demand they stay where they are, a scarce few even venturing out of their positions to offer scraps of ration tins or canteens. Far more shout abuse and threats at the refugees.

"Where's Captain Ansalm? Won't he know what to do?" Steed calls out from her foxhole near the front. Her shotgun is lowered, and she glances towards Sergeant Colm for an answer, the Sergeant is too busy trying to coax some of the nearby civilians towards the defenses.

"Captain Martyrdom'd probably try giving them lasguns and setting them at the heretics," Sergeant Hansen replies for him, dismissively waving a hand. "It's got to be like this across the line, right? Why ain't we getting anything from command about-"

The first and bravest few of the refugees are just about reach Imperial lines when Albert spots the cloud of dust coming down the main thoroughfare. Several vehicles-leading them one of the Scarab Armored cars that had so plagued the squad, a few more unarmored vehicles behind. They'd be on the defenses in less than a minute. No doubt an enemy probing force, testing the strength of their defenses. Couldn't have come at a worse time.

And worse, the Refugees were frozen in place. They certainly heard the vehicles coming, but as if stock still with fear, none of them move, caught between the coming enemy and a wall of guns and razor wire threatening to shoot or rob them. They'd be caught in the crossfire and torn to pieces if someone didn't do something.

There was only moments to act, before the enemy was on them.

(OOC: Enemy Armored Car plus some motorized infantry coming up off map to probe your defenses. You don't know exactly where they'll hit you, but there's a bunch of civilians in the way. If you want to clear them out-either into your positions or merely out of the way, someone is going to need to make a Command or Intimidate test to get them moving-of course, you are Imperials. Nobody will object if a few citizens die so the enemy is killed-especially if those citizens are suspect and from a traitor Hive.

-Albert: 12/12 Wounds. 0/5 Fatigue, 200/200 rounds in belt
-Jerad: 16/16 wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Cheri: 11/14 Wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to All Tests)
-Gorn: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 Fatigue
-Ramona: 14/14 Wounds: 0/7 Fatigue
-Celine: 6/13 wounds. 3/6 Fatigue (-5 to all Tests)
-Nyla: 13/13 wounds. 0/6 Fatigue

The lost, the wretched, the desperate. Jeradresh was sure the light of those poor souls beyond the wire could move a man to tears. Another man. Who had seen significantly fewer people die over their life-time. Jeradresh, of course, knew better. Right? Yes.

Furthermore, over his admittedly brief life, Jeradresh had learned one of the foremost skills of a noble, a soldier, and especially a penal legionnaire: The ability to recognize a disaster in the making, and to stay well clear of it. As his mother had aptly said, there was no use crying over dead peasants (performative crying over nobles was allowed when politically convenient). Unfortunately, based on the arguing of the other surviving legionnaires in the platoon, not everyone had learned to skate well clear as well as he had.

"Wonderful, wonderful," he muttered under his breath. He doubted many of the people beyond the wire would survive the next five minutes, but it wouldn't be wise to fall out of step with the rest of the squad. Prayerfully, they'd focus their attention on the enemy. If not well...It was not wont for him to waste ammo on possible heretics. Let the people who actually understood Imperial doctrine (in theory) handle knowing their own. Perhaps they'd shout orders. He could certainly make a show of shouting orders. He was a noble. He was good at that.

Elsewise, nothing to do but enjoy their hard-earned trenchworks and fire off a few lasgun shots. They'd built the damn things for a reason.

OOC: Stay low, stay defensive, fire off bursts of lasgun fire at enemy targets. If the players try to save the refugees, throw in my social abilities to aid.

Sir_Travelsalot · Jun 21, 2024

@Shephard @xjax1
Celine looks out to the crowd of afeared hive-dwellers. Lozepath hadn't been her home in particular upon Rorschach Mundi, and yet, she can see plain enough the telltale marks of a dizzying array of lots in life. Achingly familiar ones. Folk from every strata look to have scrambled here, in desperate hope of salvation from the heretics.

There is only one easy gap in their line by which they might flee the encroaching tide of darkness, the blighted souls that had cast away the Emperor's light. And those souls had come from amongst them. Who among mortals could say which of this crowd were true, and who was harbouring deceitful intentions?

She looks upon the crowd at the sound of the approaching assault, and grips one of the hunting lances hard enough for her knuckles to pale through the tattoos. There were yet faithful in this hive, and to the Warp with abandoning them to this pallor of death and despair overtaking them.

"Sergeant, Corporal. There is space enough in this ruined chapel for them if they crowd in and stay low, behind Colm's squad. Let them seek a sign of the God-Emperor's grace in the grave of their home's piety. Please."

Svend · Jun 21, 2024

Gorm raises his head over the railments, watching the faithful masses beg for safe passage through the fortifications. Theres really no good options here, if even one among them is a traitor, opening up the doors to them could lead disaster, but if they are pious souls then leaving them outside will see them slaughtered. Theres no more time to delibirate. Gorm runs towards Celine, Colm, Hansen and Steed as he shouts
"We must let them through! I can lead them in prayer within the chapel if need be but we cannot just let the faithful die like this!"

greendoor · Jun 22, 2024

@xjax1 @Kensai @Sir_Travelsalot @Shephard @Svend @Easter
Seeing both Celine and Gorm pleading, Sergeant Colm wastes no time. "Into the Chapel! Into the Chapel! The Emperor will protect his own!"

With the help of Gorm and Celine shouting what prayers they can and madly waving, the Civilians are shocked into motion, streaming into the ruined Chapel, behind the wall of guns, barbed wire, and infantry. Celine can see a ganger, tears of relief running down her face as she stares at a broken piece of Aquila, while what looks like a mid-hive noble holds the hand of a woman who he could've had flogged had she touched him in times of peace.

Jerad, eyes on the defenses, turns towards Hansen's squad, where he can see Nora and two others raising their lasguns to fire. Whatever one might think of the merits of this particular action, firing into the crowd would do no good now-the former Noble raises a hand and shouts for them to lower their damn weapons. To be certain he had no official authority, but after a split second, both Sergeants Hansen and Doughty repeat his command.

"Hold fire, hold fire dammit!"

(OOC: Prayer test to get them into the defenses is a massive success with Celine and Colm's assistance. Jerad passes a Charm test to prevent your allies from panicking and opening fire)

A massacre prevented...and just in time for the enemy to arrive. The Scarab Armored Car is the first down the road, Twin-Linked Heavy Stubbers firing on the defenses, Penals scrambing to take cover as it's fat bullets scour the western side of the defenses. Next is a trio of heavy trucks, laden with Militia and SDF infantry. Each has a Heavy Stubber over the cab, and their own hails of bullets reach out for the defenses, blasting away at sandbags and stonework, sending storms of stone chips and sand back into the faces of the defenders, forcing heads down, the defenders well aware of the horrors the weapons could wrack upon even protected human bodies.

The convoy screams to a halt, their heavy stubbers slicing a protected zone out of bullets and men's fear of them, protected enough to let the infantry exit their vehicles, to screen the armored car and perhaps assault those defenses if they were feeling bold. The movement is rapid, it is efficient...and it is blind.

Crouched behind the defenses, Nyla Smoop dares to look over the edge of the defenses for one second, then two. In their haste, the enemy hadn't noticed the trio of fragmines she'd hastily placed along the route. Their only attribute of stealth was their small size-but the enemy had advanced in big, heavy vehicles, and been so focused on dismounting and getting ready to attack it'd somehow slipped all of their notices-and now the Mines were pointing directly at the squad of dismounted infantry closest to the armored car, it's most immeadiate support.

Smoop doesnt' wait for confirmation. She hits the trigger.

The effect is almost indescribable. Where once there was more than a dozen human beings, armored SDF troopers and light militia, there is only fire and smoke-and then there is only carnage. Bodies, and pieces of bodies. Scraps of flak cloth, broken weapons, all of them painted red with the detritus of human death. The truck that'd carried them is rocked back on it's wheels, a wet crack as the driver's face hits the steering wheel and he goes still. The gunner nearly tumbles out of his seat, his hails of bullets momentarily disrupted by the blast.

An SDF trooper, her lower half missing, manages to crawl two meters towards the safety of the back of the truck, then goes still. There is not a single other survivor.

(OOC: Enemy got three TN 35 tests to notice those three Fragmines, and failed them all. If they hadn't failed, the infantry might not have dismounted, and if they did, they would've had a chance to get prone at least. Now...well, you can see the results)

If the enemy were truly well disciplined-perhaps if it's infantry were not majority hive militia and it's vehicles not piloted by upjumped gangers, they might've reacted correctly. Kept going, getting into the teeth of the enemy before they can react, or else pulling back under hails of bullets. To their detriment, and to the Penal's advantage, they were not. The Stubbers keep firing, but the vehicles do not move, the infantry do not push forward immediately to fill the gap.

The enemy is knocked back on their heels. Captain Ansalm, any of the squad could assume, would be shouting to go over the top with Demo Charge and lance, to seek glory in death-but Captain Martyrdom wasn't here, and all Sergeant Doughty was demanding was to "Keep them back!"

A reasonable demand, certainly.

But Freedom and redemption answered only to glory, not reason.

(OOC: Enemy will begin to advance starting next update, but you havea slim window to rush the Armored Car with your hunting lances. The enemy infantry and vehicles are not stunned-they're merely caught in the middle of the OODA loop-which means they will shoot at you and react to your charge. People can and probably will die if you do it.

But what price glory?

Easter · Jun 29, 2024

Albert grimaced, well as much as he could anyway, at the explosions and the gore left behind. Even if they were heretics, part of him still rebelled at the sight of a human turned into little more than giblets and scraps of equipment. Though after another moment of staring he wrenched his vision and mind from the sight and back into the battle, there was no time to be disgusted by dead heretics and rebels.

Instead, he took in the rest of the situation, from the Scarab, which he discounted firing at due to its armor, and the three trucks behind it, richer targets with their lack of armor and open-air turrets. Threat analysis that he had rapidly learned to do since arriving to this planet kicked in as he chose his targets. It took him only a second or two to prioritize a target to eliminate and already deciding on who would be next to hit.

With one truck looking mangled by mines and the other partially hidden behind the scarab, the best target at this time was the truck to the right of the one that had run into the planted mines. Decision made it only took Albert a moment more to tilt his heavy stubber, the distance making it easy to bring his target to bear with only the slightest movements, towards the turret gunner on the farthest truck. Taking only a second or two to line the sight up he depressed the trigger and unleashed a stream of lead towards the heretic gunner. With any luck or the God Emperor's favor, he'll take out the gunner and could start working on the partially hidden gunner on the other car and perhaps even the gunner still hanging on in the mangled car. That way the heretics would have to rely entirely on their scarab and infantry, a much easier threat to deal with than a fight with three heavy stubber's firing away.

(Fairly simple tbh, aim for the turret gunner on the right, if he gets killed aim for the leftmost gunner, if somehow he is killed this turn then aim for the middle truck.)

Shephard · Jul 1, 2024

Jerad Sophon

Jeradresh grunted as he dropped onto the rockcrete, bits of gravel scraping uncomfortably against his armor. He squinted through the lasgun sights, eying the street between Colm's position and the penals on their left. If they tried pushing through there, he'd have a clean shot.

...Cleanish. The former nobleman called out, hoarsely at the pack of cowering refugees. "A little further to the right, if you please! ...Ah, get on your knees and pray!"

Or at least cower outside of where his lasgun rounds would be going, the man thought. He needed those for the enemy.

Sir_Travelsalot · Jul 1, 2024

That accursed car again. Well, Celine supposes, it might not be the same one; it would be a nice thought, that the firebomb had managed to inflict some harm to the internals of the machine, enough to force this assault to use another of what must surely be limited stocks.

But pleasant hopes have no place in this maelstrom of battle, as that wretched machine spews forth a stream of bullets.

Hunting Lance in hand, Celine creeps forward on the defensive lines. She took hold of these for just such a purpose, after all, and she'll not do her squad any good lingering behind the sandbags. Not with a laspistol, not with how her hands still quiver from the lingering agonies of today's wounds.

This is her way of contributing to victory here. This is her way to guard the souls huddled before her from the depredations of the heretics charging towards them.

She cannot fail. Not this time. Not with this.

That Scarab will be reduced to a burning wreck. She swears it then and then. Let death take her this time, if that is what success demands.

greendoor · Jul 2, 2024

@Sir_Travelsalot @Shephard @xjax1 @Svend @Kensai @Easter

It comes down to bullets.

It comes down, in the mind of the defenders and attackers both, to a contest of who can fire enough bullets into eachother, fast enough, with enough force, to prevent the other side from achieving their objectives. To keep the defenders heads down and allow an assault, or to force the enemy infantry to cower behind their vehicles.

In the opening seconds of this engagement, the heretics happen to be winning. The front line of dug in penal squads are pinned down by an advancing wall of lead, everyone who dares poke their head over cover sent down again by the lashing whips of tracers. Just head of the squad, Colm and his men are kept down by the hails of fire, Dormer, the only man who dares to raise head to fire knocked down a second later by a stubber round that deflects off his helmet. With that near miss, the rest take it as a sign to not push their luck-the same occurs down the line, where Hansen's squad doesn't bother to attempt to resist.

Deeper in the defenses, protected by the men at the front line, Albert's stubber lays out a line of fire in response, but he can't get a good shot to stick, the hails of bullets only deflecting off the frontal armor of the trucks to vanishing into the depths of the hive, no time to aim with the return fire probing at his position. Jerad's shouts for the Refugees to move, to clear his firing lane are unheeded, even as Gorm stands up in his position, draws a frag grenade, and hurls it over the defenses towards the enemy infantry cowering behind their trucks. The throw is at long range, and off target-it scatters to the left side ofthe truck instead of behind it as intended, but the throw is still rewarded by a pair of screams and a flash of scarlet as two men go down, shrapnel maiming unprotected limbs.

Amid this chaos, Celine scrambles forward to a position at the front of the defenses, preparing for her charge. She is not as stealthy as she'd like-her exhausted, leaden limbs leave her slowly pushing forward through the rubble, teeth gritted to prevent a scream. The enemy could not miss such a slow obvious target, nor the heavy lance she fumbles with as she gets to into position for the charge. Indeed, the enemy does not miss her, for as she stumbles forward to the edge of the defenses, she can see one of the Militia pointing, yelling. Slowly and inevitably, the Heavy Stubbers mounted atop the Scarab crank around. Celine ducks behind a wall, not daring to throw herself prone and ruin whatever chance she might have left-a hail of rounds slashes into the broken masonry, leaving a stitched line through them. One round punches through the weakened masonry and slams into her chestplate, the round flattening against the flak, and sending her stumbling back, barely keeping her feet as she feels something inside her chest cavity crack.

For a moment, as smoke rises from the barrels of the twin stubbers, her vision narrows into a cone pointing directly at the vehicle, her pained mind working out if she could make the sprint before being killed, if the Car's gun would be able to track fast enough to gun her down mid-charge.

Then, whatever hestitation might've existed within her pained mind vanishes as a 30mm rifle grenade strikes the front plate of the Scarab, deflects into to the air and bursts into a pall of greasy smoke that expands over the car like a funeral shroud. Somewhere along the line, a Penal Legionaire ducks back into cover with his grenade launcher, and shouts "Go! Go now!"

Celine launches herself like a missile for the Armored Car. She eats the dozen or two meters between her and the edge of the cloud in what feels like no time at all, the passing of a human lightning bolt. She stumbles into the smoke, Lance held out before her like a bayonet. She fumbles, blind for a second, then two-and finally the tip of the Lance strikes metal. The world heavy with smoke and gunfire and shouting, she takes no further chances and hits the trigger.

The Lance's High Explosive Anti Tank tip, one of the many variants of explosives known informally among Imperial Military establishments as a 'Krak' charge, detonates. A preformed cone of liquid metal melted and proppeled by the explosive charge punches through the side armor of the Scarab like a spear through a wounded animal's gut. The lance was barely aimed, and struck low on the vehicle's carriage, so It slashes through the vehicle's axle, immeadiately rendering it immobile and mortally wounding it's Machine Spirit. What remains of the axle and part of the engine cuts through the cabin as shrapnel, ripping apart the driver entirely in a spray of gore. The Gunner lives only seconds longer, a steel splinter opening her chest from collar bone to groin, and spilling out the preforated remains of the contents of her chest cavity across the vehicle's controls.

Outside, Celine can only her a brief screaming of tortured metal, then the vehicle goes entirely silent and still, sagging on it's sundered suspension.

It takes time for the enemy to realize what has happened, the smoke obscuring the details, and by the time they do, they've already committed to at least a raid. Miltiia and SDF Infantry storm forward onto the far left of the Penal's defenses, bayonets, maces, and knives crashing into the sandbags there and turning it into a mess of melee fighting. On the right, infantry move forward through rubble, ducking and keeping low as those Penals brave enough to risk the stubbers firing into their advance. One man drops, his arm blasted off by a lucky shot from Nora, but the rest manage to push forward to better cover just across the street from the defenses.

Celine has just barely enough time to contemptlate a possible escape when the enemy begins to respond. Ahead, the pall of smoke is cast into a fiery hell as a heavy stubber position on a truck fires at her, the hail of bullets only barely missing, the rounds leaving burning trails through the smoke. An SDF trooper who appears at the rear of the now lightly smoldering Armored Car leans out and fires a burst from his lasgun, and Celine is not fast enough in trying to dive into the limited cover the burning vehicle provides her. Pain screams across her shoulder, and she is dimly aware of falling to her knees, tears stinging at her eyes amid the choking smoke.

"You're going to die for that, heretic," the SDF Trooper proclaims through his gasmask. Even as Celine struggles to her feet, she can see the man lining up the killing shot on her, as if it would change anything. She'd already won, after all. The enemy could throw themselves upon the defenses and die-their armored support was gone, and Celine had killed it.

Now it was just up lasgun and bayonet work for her Comrades.

(OOC: Armored Car down. Celine is in a very bad spot though-1 wound left, 2 fatigue away from unconciousness, exposed except for the smoke cloud and missing a half action next turn.

-Albert: 12/12 Wounds. 0/5 Fatigue, 176/200 rounds in belt
-Jerad: 16/16 wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Cheri: 11/14 Wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to All Tests)
-Gorn: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 Fatigue
-Ramona: 14/14 Wounds: 0/7 Fatigue
-Celine: 0/13 wounds. 5/6 Fatigue (-15 to all Tests), only a Half Action on her next turn
-Nyla: 13/13 wounds. 0/6 Fatigue

Sir_Travelsalot · Jul 6, 2024

It's done. The Scarab is a burning wreck. The rest of the trucks and the heretics carried within them, shall follow in due course. The faithful in flight will be safe. The enemy's assault has no teeth left to it, not against a stoutly prepared line.

Celine is many things, in this moment. Joyous, certainly. Relieved, without a doubt. In horrific agony, absolutely. But above all, she is tired, the last scraps of strength lingering in her flesh ebbing away by the second. She needs rest. a chance for respite, to check upon the Chirurgeon's work and ensure the day's previous injuries have not torn open anew.

So, with the cover of smoke, Celine ducks beneath the wreck of the Scarab. Even slain, this mass of steel shall offer shelter to the Emperor's faithful.

She just needed a moment to catch her breath. Frankly, she could do with at least a full half-day of sleep, but a chance to let the agony settle into the morass of aches and fatigue she has carried for much of today.

The rest of the legion have all this in hand.

Easter · Jul 7, 2024

Albert cursed as the smoke appeared around the scareb, obscuring his vision of the western enemies to the point that firing at them would likely be useless. Any spray would probably splatter uselessly around the smoke, and what enemies he could see were mixed into melee with friendlies, he certainly couldn't interfere there without hitting someone on his side.

No, while the left flank might of looked the worse off he couldn't do much for it in his current postion. No, he needed to try and finally land that shot onto the far right truck gunner and move on to suppressing the squad on the right, if he can get that done it might let off pressure on the center squads enough to let them assist the left flank to deal with their mess. Even if it can't it'll make it easier on the central and right sections, hopefully lessening the wall of lead being sent their way.

It only took a moment to follow through with his plan, Albert continuing to lay down withering fire after a moment's pause to take everything in. Mentally keeping a rough estimate of how many rounds he had left even as lead spat from his postion towards the truck just needing one or two shots to put the truck gunner out of commision.

(Essentially keep doing what I'm doing, but if I can get the kill switch to the right side enemy squad instead of the other gunners)

greendoor · Jul 30, 2024

Sir_Travelsalot said:
So, with the cover of smoke, Celine ducks beneath the wreck of the Scarab. Even slain, this mass of steel shall offer shelter to the Emperor's faithful.

She just needed a moment to catch her breath. Frankly, she could do with at least a full half-day of sleep, but a chance to let the agony settle into the morass of aches and fatigue she has carried for much of today.

The rest of the legion have all this in hand.

Stumbling in the choking smoke, you clamber beneath the vehicle's carriage, groping for handholds to pull the bulk of your body beneath the mass of steel. It's tough, with everything in pain, exhausted, and feeling like your guts were about to bust the staples holding them in. You only manage to wedge the upper half of your body under the vehicle, your gut and legs dangling out and obvious for anyone who made a close inspection-but at least it was cover.

Distantly, you can hear the SDF soldier who'd just wounded you shouting something. You try to make it out.

"...Just on the other side of the Scarab. Slide them under!"

You have just enough time to realize the predicament before the first grenade slides under the vehicle's axis.

With a blast of Iron Thunder, the world goes away. Your vision fades and blacks out, your hearing shot. After a moment, the world returns, and the pain in your chest is even worse-you're sure several ribs are broken, your armor peppered with red hot shrapnel. You're probably lucky your legs weren't broken by the blast, if you could call anything about this lucky.

Then your eyes catch the object sitting about half a meter from your head. A second frag grenade, the spoon released and pin extracted.

Sitting there. Motionless.

A long moment staring at the object of death, waiting for it to end you.

One, two, three.

Nothing.

"Ok, I think we got the Heretic!" Somewhere else, a Miltiman shouts.

"Good job, now let's get out of here!" The SDF Trooper rejoinders, the diminishing thunder of Stubber fire giving testament to that intent.

Ok. Maybe you could call that lucky.

(OOC: You got severely (see the Squad status panel for deets) wounded by that grenade...but the second one flat out was a dud, and they critically failed an Intelligence test to confirm the kill. You actually failed the Athletics test to climb under by 1 DoF, but I gave you some light cover since it was a minimal failure, which ended up saving you from the grenade (it would've killed you stone dead otherwise))

+++++++++++++++++++
@Shephard @Easter @Kensai @xjax1 @Svend

Away from the vehicle, the fight continues to it's finish.

Jerad and Gorm, keeping their heads down in cover, blaze away at the gunners in the trucks, hoping to score a lucky hit and drop one. There is no such luck for them, their shots merely glancing off the welded armored plates protecting the gunners, leaving burning scorch marks. Jerad can at least take some satisfaction in a gunner flinching back as a spray of white sparks causes him to flinch backwards in his gun position.

The more effective position is Albert's. The Heavy Stubber thunders against his hands, and the trail of bullets cuts through the smoke cloud and at the rearmost truck. The gunner tries to duck more fully into the armored position as Albert walks the line of bullets onto his position, but one fat slug slams right through the thin metal of the gun shield, spins, and slashes directly through the man's shoulder. He goes down in a spray of gore, slumping in the position as a welter of blood drains into the cabin below.

Elsewhere, on the far right of the defenses, Smoop can see an enemy infantry infantry squad pressing home their probing attack on the defenses. Unlike the previous one, she can tell, has made several grievious errors. They had advanced without stubber support, the angle wrong and now most of the gunners down. Secondly, they had not accouted for the Heavy Stubber position, and it's ripcord lines of fire cuts several men down at the dash across the street. The Penals meet them at the barricades with bayonets fixed, and on both flanks of the defensive position, the Penals drive the enemy back with steel in hand, their comparatively heavy military flak armor, bayonets, and bloodthirst overcoming the reluctant courage of the militia and their thinly placed SDF NCOs.

THe tide turns first on the left, as the militia are pushed back by bloody bayonets, only a few of their numbers escaping. Their SDF Leader, a limp preventing her escape, attempts to take one of the Penal's leaders with her, but she is born down under a thicket of bayonets first, her surviving subordinates fleeing for cover and the trucks.

On the right, the enemy doesn't even manage an orderly retreat, breaking upon only a bare few exchanges of bayonets, fleeing as the Heavy Stubber position gleefully fires into their backs and scythes men and women down like wheat. "You want to worship Corpses? Here, let me make you a few more!"

At the trucks, the remaining vehicles are already pulling out. The SDF Trooper who'd tried to kill Celine dashes for the lead truck, shoves the unconcious driver into the cab seat, and jumps into the pilot position. He waits only a moment for a few militia stragglers to grab a rail or jump on board before reversing hard, relying on the burning scarab and smoke to cover his retreat.

A few desultory shots in the darkness ahead, stubber fire returning, then it's over.

Tested again, and not found wanting.

++++++++++++++

A moment of calm falls over the battlefield, but honed by days of advancing forward from near death to near death, the Squad is well aware this is just a momentary calm before the next attack, wave of refugees, or brilliant idea by command. At least none of them had gotten hurt except Celine-and given what she had pulled off, some injuries seems a light price to pay.

The best they could do was prepare for the next crisis. Rest perhaps, take the oppurtunity to scavenge kit off the enemy slain, ask after rumors from the higher ups-or perhaps from the refugees still cowering in cover near the front lines. Anything to be ready for what comes next.

(OOC: Everyone can take a narrative action here except Celine, who needs to be medically evacuated (again)-I'll have something for her next update, which should hopefully be Friday.

-Albert: 12/12 Wounds. 0/5 Fatigue, 152/200 rounds in belt
-Jerad: 16/16 wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Cheri: 11/14 Wounds. 1/7 Fatigue (-5 to All Tests)
-Gorn: 13/13 Wounds, 0/6 Fatigue
-Ramona: 14/14 Wounds: 0/7 Fatigue
-Celine: 0/13 wounds. 7/6 Fatigue (-15 to all Tests, will make a Resolve test vs. KO for each additional Fatigue), Crippled Torso (Large penalties to St and Ag tests, moderate penalty to Toughness and movement speed, chance to fall down when moving. Needs medical attention!)
-Nyla: 13/13 wounds. 0/6 Fatigue

Easter · Aug 3, 2024

Albert hissed quietly, well as silent as his artificial lungs and rebreather would allow, as he worked over the heavy stubber. Mummering benedictions and praise for the machine spirit within and for the shot that took out the gunner. Alongside prayers for the God-Emperor on the other fortuitous events of the event like Celine's attack and the lucky mine placements. As he did so a well-used and oiled rag was swept over the dusty stubber barrel to clean it off and check for warping, luckily the imperium builds for endurance and the barrel is showing that with it's dirty but otherwise perfect condition. Once done inspecting the weapon he pulled out another box of ammo from his bag and moved to switch it out with a partially empty one without stopping his prayers.

With that stubber reloaded he continued his prayers, focusing on the God-Emperor and seeking guidance or aid in doing the holy duty of their mission, that Albert may serve some minute part in His glorious plan for this planet. That the holy fury of the legion will strike down the heretics when they come, that they may push them back the traitors further into the Hive.

Not once did his prayers ever touch on his own survival.

The Bloody Gates

Laziest lazier

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(Verified Door)

Never wakes up tired.

Still in Statis

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A Professional Dumbass

Never wakes up tired.

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Never wakes up tired.

Fighting ALL the fires

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Laziest lazier

Still in Statis

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(Verified Door)

Never wakes up tired.

Laziest lazier

(Verified Door)

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