Cheri Grimaces and pushes off from her position hiding against the wall, grabbing Zothene's limp body and dragging them away from the opening, pulling them to relative safety as she breathes heavily. "Keep up the pressure, the grenades and fire will clear them from safety before we advance in to clear up the rest" She says as she lays against the wall, catching her breath for a moment before she moves into position once again to fire into the breach
It is fortuitous that Celine had not yet gone to fish her grenades out of their webbing, for as the wave of blasts rings in her ears, she has both hand free to stem the encroaching headache. "Aquila and thunder, give it up already in there! Your wire's gone, your mines are gone! We've got you surrounded and dead to rights in a fight besides! In God-Emperor's name, Cease! And! Repent!" Someone shouts over the deafening noise of the battlefield.
It is only a few seconds later that Celine realizes the shout came from her.
(OOC: Attempting a Charm test to get them to surrender. Otherwise, Defensive Stance.)
"This is a bad spot" Mikael thought "They will keep us pinned if things continue like this"
So he did his best to cause a distraction for his squadmates, grabbing one of his granades he trew it at the enemies and without waiting for lt to go off continued providing fire from cover.
Taking the opportunity of a moment without fire flashing by, Jerad springs up and runs for the side of the Bunker, where Nyla had pointed earlier. The former Heathen moves quickly, but not so quickly as to become incautious-which turns out be a good decision. A pile of pipe bombs connected to a tripwire, half buried in the rough pavement. Jerad tries not to think about what would've happened if he hadn't been paying attention.
(OOC: Passed your Awareness test to notice a mine literally on the dot lol)
Meanwhile, the Imperials continue to bombard the interior of the bunker with grenades. Mikael pulls off his loadbearing mount and shoves it through a firing port, then braces against the earsplitting blast inside. Antonious does much the same, rolling on his side, pulling the pin, and hurling the grenade deep into the bunker. Someone cries out, and a body clatters to the floor somewhere inside. Filly, exhaustion flowing through her veins instead of stimulant, can only find the strentgh to force a grenade into the firing port before she slumps against the side of the bunker wall.
Kathial joins this bombardment with a hail of lasfire, catching a militiaman with a trio of bolts. The man slumps against the bunker wall, screaming in agony as flesh sloughs away from a severe burn across his arm. Mikael let's loose a hail of buckshot to join it, forcing a militiaman to duck down into cover.
Celine shouts a demand for surrender into the bunker, then steps back into cover. One of the Militiamen, sprawled from his feet by a grenade explosion, instead of jumping to his feet to attack, simply ducks into cover deeper into the building, and another man, instead of firing wildly through a firing port, instead focuses on dragging a wounded comrade away from the fighting.
(OOC: Charm success. Not going to force any surrenders, but it did convince a few to avoid sticking their neck out and getting shot)
The SDF soldier leading the defenders seems to be having none of it, and shouts "Cowards will be shot!" Then, after a moment, pulls a second grenade from his rigging and hurls it at the grouping of Legionaries clustered outside the bunker. Mikael throws himself flat, and Celine ducks down and covers her face as the grenade detonates in a spray of killing shrapnel that would've been disastrous if not for the Legionaries laying flat in the dirt.
Meanwhile, Jerad pushes forward around the flank. His supposition about the enemy turns out to be quite right, as he's able to walk into the nominal entrance to the bunker, a pathway studded with murder holes and grenade ports with no one firing on him. The heavy door to the bunker, to the Legionnaire's surprise and suspicion isn't even locked. One would suppose that the enemy needed it unlocked in order to evacuate or perhaps bring up additional reinforcements, but it still seems all too easy to a man of Jerad's disposition.
Regardless, there is no way forward but forward, and the Legionnaire shoulder checks the door open then half breaches, half stumbles inside....right into one of the enemy. The Militia, as surprised as Jerad, is in the midst of picking herself up, numerous bleeding cuts indicating shrapnel injuries. "Apostate!" She screams into her gashood, and Jerad half rifle butts, half shoulder checks her as she tries to bring up her shotgun, which only ends up discharging into the ceiling.
At the main breach, the two remaining Legionaries of Squad 123-A who'd previously been laying down hails of covering fire advance out of the smoke, bayonets affixed onto their lasguns and screaming battlecries.
"For the Emperor!"
"FUCK EM UP!"
Before any of the enemy could raise their weapons to gun them down or otherwise stop them, both spring over the piles of debris and charge forth at the SDF trooper leading the defense. One bayonet thrust is easily parried aside by a sword, a second wasting itself on a hard flak plate.
"Apostates! I have steel for you!" The SDF trooper shouts, a heavy swing of his sword barely being ducked away from, but two shots from his pistol forcing one of the two Penals to stagger back with heavy burn craters across his flakplates.
Cheri doesn't know where to scream at the idiots, or applaud them. Now the enemy would hesitate to throw more grenades for fear of hitting their squad leader, but neither could the Legionaries do the same safely. At least she'd finally managed to get her laspistol to work properly, if only by ejecting the power pack, whispering sweet promises to the gun, and slowly reinserting the power pack until the rune flashed green.
Imperial Legionaries slowly pick themselves back up from the ground, readying their weapons. It may just be the point of the assault where it came down to steel and courage, though being Penals most would say they had a deficit of the latter quality.
Inside, the Militia are rallying, some dropping their rifles and drawing blades, crude maces, and E-tools, coming at the call of their squad leader to join the burgeoning hand to hand battle forming. The former Stubber gunner, wounded earlier, picks himself, and turns to fire his stub pistol into the back of one of the Legionaries, and Mikael snaps up his shotgun and fires a shell. The Militiaman is hurled against the wall, gore splattering from the red ruin of his right arm, and he goes still.
The rest of the militia are not so easy targets, and may well have to be killed in a more up close fashion. The only question is who would have the courage to apply steel to the problem...
(OOC: This is where the close combat fun begins
On a related note, you all have Drug Injectors, and each have a dose of Frenzon, which can temporarily put you into a killing frenzy, granting +10 to Strentgh, Toughness, Willpower, and Weapon Skill, along with making you immune to Stun, Fear, and Fatigue.
Of course, it also puts you in a murder Frenzy and forces you to attack the nearest enemy in melee and not defend yourself, but given the current situation, might just be what you need.
-Jerad: 10/15 wounds, 3/7 Fatigue (-5 to all tests), Out of Grenades, 50/60 Lasgun Charge
-Antonius: 5/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all Tests), one spent charge pack stowed, Lascarbine Charge 11/40, 1/2 Grenades
-Nyla: 2/13 wounds, 3/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests, -25 to Strength and Agility tests due to Stimm Wearing off), 28/30 Laspistol Charge, hunkered down in cover.
-Celene: 6/13 Wounds, 1/6 fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Filly: 6/13 Wounds, 5/7 fatigue (-15 to all tests, -35 to Strentgh and Agility tests due to Stimm Wearing off), 7/40 Lascarbine Charge, 1/2 Grenades Left
-Kathiel: 7/14 Wounds, 2/6 fatigue (-5 to all tests), acting as NPC character until he dies or we reach the end of the part, Out of Grenades
-Cheri: 2/13 Wounds, 2/6 fatigue (-5 to all tests), 28/30 Laspistol Charge, Prone
-Zothene: 0/13 Wounds, 8/6 Fatigue (-15 to all tests), Damaged Torso (Lasts until First Aid), Deafened (5 Minutes), Unconscious (Goes away naturally in 20 minutes or if Stimmed again), Armor Damage 1 (Torso)
Taking the opportunity of a moment without fire flashing by, Jerad springs up and runs for the side of the Bunker, where Nyla had pointed earlier. The former Heathen moves quickly, but not so quickly as to become incautious-which turns out be a good decision. A pile of pipe bombs connected to a tripwire, half buried in the rough pavement. Jerad tries not to think about what would've happened if he hadn't been paying attention.
Jeradresh knew he would've died, of course, but the Emperor yet again proved He smiled upon His convert. With every passing moment, Jeradresh became more certain of the hand of the divine upon him, and he was certain that the bearer of that hand sat upon a Throne of Gold. The Corpse-Emperor was certainly a more beneficent and forgiving god than his old ones. The possibility of the ending if he hadn't been blessed did not even bear thinking about.
Regardless, there is no way forward but forward, and the Legionnaire shoulder checks the door open then half breaches, half stumbles inside....right into one of the enemy. The Militia, as surprised as Jerad, is in the midst of picking herself up, numerous bleeding cuts indicating shrapnel injuries. "Apostate!" She screams into her gashood, and Jerad half rifle butts, half shoulder checks her as she tries to bring up her shotgun, which only ends up discharging into the ceiling.
"Apostate? You dare call me an...Actually, I suppose that is technically correct, is it not?" Jeradresh mulled as the ringing from the shotgun blast left his ears. "Well, you are also an Apostate, and the wrong sort of one at that! Die and be damned, apostate!"
As he brought his bayonet to bear, he half-glanced behind him to spot another heretic at his back. Two to one wasn't ideal.
"And I would be obliged if you died swiftly at that," he snarled back at his first foe, grinning cruelly. Two to one wasn't ideal, but the Emperor's protection they had not.
OOC: Try to cut down the heretic in front of Jeradresh. Switch to full defensive if hard pressed and pop frenzon if notably wounded.
Smoop shivered. It wasn't just fear, though there was plenty of that. Not just cold, though she was damp with sweat and mud. She was getting to the shakes part of the comedown from the Stimm.
Just in time for the enemy to come boiling out of their hidey holes.
Well, she didn't much care for getting up close and personal. They were getting too damned close, and some of her own squad members were getting ready to mix it up with them.
Not mama Smoop's little girl.
She slipped a grenade out of its pouch and primed it. What was the phrase? "Kill them all, the Emperor will know His own."
Smoop took a glance at the screen of the Auspex and tried to identify the biggest knot of rebels in throwing range. Then she popped up and hurled her grenade more or less in that direction before diving back into cover.
You couldn't say she wasn't trying to do her best....
Well, nothing to it but to do it. Celine had already been the first into the breach today, what was third compared to that terror? Instead of the remaining grenades, her hands grasped the shined sword at her hip, drew it with a rasp that even over the clamour of battle seemed deafening to her senses, and charged forth. God-Emperor, ward Your servant from the heretic's fire.
Antonius Breathe deep to rein in his shaking hand as he slowly take the bayonet out and carefully put it on the lascarbrine all while taking more and more deep breathe. Then he slowly mumble a small blessing for bravery as stand up to prepare to charge into the bunker.
Smoop pokes her Auspex over the precarious lip of what cover she can find, and scans, other hand drawing a grenade. Large concentration of enemies just ahead....and a lot of friendlies there too. As much as it rankles to be unable to contribute (And thus likely be seen as a coward), it probably was worse to blow up half of one's squad.
Probably. You never know with the Commissars.
(OOC: Nowhere where you safely can throw a grenade currently)
Inside, the Imperials push forward into the morass of broken rockcrete, smoke, and cordite. Celine leads, sword raised as if she were a heroic leader of a million Imperial publications, Antonius and Mikael following just behind.
"Good of you to join us!" One of the Penals fighting against the pair of militia and SDF NCO defending the way forward shouts. "Plenty of heretic blood to spill!"
"You would dare name us heretics, Apostate?" The SDF soldier says, the bone charms along his gasmask rattling in his rage. "The Emperor is risen! OFFER HIM THE SLAIN!"
A crack of a laspistol, and one of the two Penals from Squad 123-A falls backwards, his helmet smoking. The SDF trooper's sword licks out and strikes the already wounded man in the leg, leaving a sickening crack as it strikes flak, and the bone and flesh beneath.
"Obed!" The remaining 123-A soldier shouts, and steps over the fallen body of his comrade, protecting him while he recovers. Celine steps into the breach beside him, and the find themselves battling against the militia. The Penal's bayonet strikes out into the leg of one, embedding in muscle and causing the man collapse against the wall in agony, and Celine forced to catch the other's mace strike on her blade as he rushes to take advantage of the other Penal's bayonet being stuck in his victim's leg.
Up north, Jerad finds himself embattled on all sides. Bullets flash by as one of the Militia unsuccessfully tries to shoot him in the back, but the hail of bullets distracts him from his killing strike. His intended victim ducks back, raising her shotgun. Desperately, Jerad's bayonet lances out, and catches her in the shoulder in a scythe of tearing muscle and blood. The shotgun drops from her hands, and she stumbles back, a torrent of blood pouring from the wound.
"Kill the Rustiek!" One of the severely wounded shotgunner's comrades shouts, and bullets tear across the hall from two directions, and Jerad is forced to duck into cover ahead of a fan of bullets. He tries to spring to his feet to charge back into bayoent reach of one of his attackers, but they come around the corner he'd duck behind first, and a fresh hail of bullets come. Most waste themselves against the wall behind him, or else embed into his flak jacket to little or no effect, but Jerad hardly notices those, for one of those bullets slips into the open face of his helmet, and slashes across the side of his eye socket.
Blood splashes out, painting his face, the side of his helmet, the wall. His vision goes dark in that eye, and agony shoots across his face. In his one remaining eye, he can see his assailant raising his rifle to finish him off.
The Corporal, with only a split second to think, slams the rightmost button on his drug injector Collar. Liquid Frenzon pulses directly into his Jugular vein.
The pain that's shot through his face like fire is suddenly replaced with white hot rage. The Corporal springs up, the vision of his one remaining eye seeming to tunnel forward towards the bastard pointing a rifle as him. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Jerad springs forward like a coil coming undone and rams his bayonet up to the hilt into the man's armpit. The man drops his rifle, going limp as blood pours from what will eventually be a fatal wound, and Jerad shoves the man aside, turning for his next victim.
His previous victim is trying to pull a sidearm, but she stumbles backwards, then collapses, bloodloss taking her. Then, he's suddenly on his knees, dull impacts slamming into his back like a drumbeat.
"Die, dammit, just die!" The remaining autogunner cries, trying to simultaneously to climb to his feet from his prone position and reload his now empty Autogun.
But Jerad would not die. The Corporal claws to his feet, still screaming, and rushes the man. He only just manages to ram the next magazine home as Jerad's rage propelled muscles slams the butt of his lasgun into the man's helmet, and with a sickening crack, makes sure he won't be getting up for some time.
Jerad's scream still echoing through the building, the Penals push forward. Fighting shoulder to shoulder, Celine and the soldier from squad 123-A push through the Militia, with Kathiel, Antonius, and Mikael's bayonets thrusting over their shoulders. The one with a bayonet wound in his leg manages to hold onto his feet and conciousness for another half minute before a blow from Celine sword slashes into his arm, and he collapses, bleeding badly.
The other swing his mace wildly, and Celine grunts as she takes the impact on her Pauldron. The attack is joined by the crack of the SDF trooper's laspistol once more, and Celine staggers back, pain shooting up her stomach as the flakplates absorb the shots.
Antonius doesn't let that go unanswered, and his bayonet strikes forward, into the maceman's jaw, and up into his brain. The man's jaw tries to move, tries to form words, tries to form a pained expression in the twilight seconds of the man's conscious experience, but it can only twitch into an almost rictus grin before Antonius rips the bayonet out in a fan of blood and grey matter, and the twitching corpse hits the floor.
"Pull back!" The SDF Soldier says. The one remaining militiaman slides past a bayonet thrust and ducks a las blast from the recently arrived Cheri, and runs into the next room. The SDF soldier fires a pair of parting shots that Cheri's breastplate stop handily, then retreats, ducking one bayonet, blocking another with his sword, and agilely ducks backwards ahead of a pair of shots from Cheri's pistol.
"Fire! Gun them down!" The SDF trooper shouts, and two freshly arrived militia in the corridor ahead obey, hosing down the corridor in a hail of lead. Celine doesn't quite get a chance to recover from the twin blows, as a storm of bullet slams into her armor. Most deflect off her plates, or leave painful bruises in where they strike soft armor, but some find vulnerable points, including one that slams into her elbow with a crack, leaving the limb in agony, and Celine only able to topple to the floor.
The other bullets slash through the crowd, and the rest find themselves more lucky as they do little damage.
"They're running! Cut their throats, boys and girls!" The soldier who'd fought alongside Celine shouts, even as Cheri shouts her own encouragement. The previously wounded man climbs to his feet and follows his comrade into the next corridor, Antonius and Kathiel not far behind.
Behind, Mikael helps drag the wounded Celine into cover.
Then the corridor ahead is a nightmare of desperate men, thrusting bayonets, and blood.
The wounded man, Obed, rams his bayonet into one of the Militia's flak, carrying him screaming to the floor. "Fuckers ain't so tough, eh Iven?" He says to his comrade, just as one of the militia's bayonets slams into the rim of his helmet. He staggers back, stunned, and Jerad, murder in his eyes, shoves the man aside to take his position.
"Damnit! Obed!" Iven shouts, then turns to focus on the enemy. Before he can make his next move, Jerad's bayonet lances out and catches one of the Militia in the Collar, and the woman screams as her collarbone cracks in half even as her flak jacket holds, then collapses against the wall, writhing in agony.
"Spires! What do we do!" The remaining Militiaman cries, panicking.
"No heretic can be allowed unto Lozepath's sacred threshold! We die before we allow that!" The SDF trooper cries.
"Well, one part of that's true." Iven grins cruelly as he springs forward to bayonet the remaining militiaman down, only for the man to duck aside the blade.
"He is Risen!" The man croaks out, obviously terrified. His blade embeds in Iven's flak jacket. "You don't belong he-" The Militiaman only manages half his battlecry before Jerad's bayonet pistons into his eye, punches through the thin bone at the back of the eye socket, slices through the frontal lobe, and severs the brainstem. The body collapses like a puppet with it's strings cut, but with his bayonet still embedded into Iven's plates, the corpse drags the man forward and down.
The SDF trooper takes the opportunity of the man being unable to dodge to lower his laspistol, switch the selector rune, and fire a pair of painfully bright shots directly into his chest. Iven looks down at the glowing hole in his flakplates, tries to mouth something, then collapses, shock claiming him.
Simultaneously, the man's sword whips out, striking at Kathiel's knee, and the Technomat collapses, crying out in pain.
"Your bones will make a fine firmament, and your blood a fine offe-" The SDF Trooper doesn't manage to finish his sentence before Jerad storms forward and through sheer rage driven strength impales his bayonet through the man's flak jacket, and into his heart. Blood jets out, and the SDF's trooper's eyes narrow behind the lenses of his gasmask.
"...Risen Emperor..I am coming..." He breathes out one final time, hand grasping for a grenade on his loadbearing gear, but his slack fingers cannot pull the pin before he expires.
Jerad spins around, pulling the bayonet out in a fan of blood and tearing flak, and brings the blade down onto the next target, screaming.
Antonius falls back against the wall, a flak plate on his leg cracking under the force of the blow. Jerad yanks the blade back, fully prepared to slash the fellow legionaries through, but even with one eye he can see the man's uniform. Ally, Ally, Ally, his chemically suppressed sense of restraint screams into his unconscious mind, and the contrast between the chemical drive to kill and the conscious drive to not kill specific people wars in his mind.
Screaming, both in primal, chem driven rage, and frustration, Jerad spins the blade around then slams it into the rockcrete wall of the bunker. The blade stuck up to the hilt, he snarls, twisting and worrying at the bayonet to try and pull it free. For several long moments a flurry of punches, kicks and incoherent curses assail the offending wall before Jerad manages to pry the blade free.
He breathes in, then out, carefully pacing each ragged breath. Though still shuddering from the frenzon pulsing from his system, Jerad manages to slowly lower the lasgun and raise a twitching hand to show he's back under control. Eye blood-shot, he gives an apologetic smile to Antonius even as the other man points his own carbine at what what had been a moment ago been a screaming berserker.
(OOC: Willpower test to avoid attacking allies after no remaining enemies, Success)
A moment passes. Stillness.
Then, the groans of the wounded.
+++++++++++
Not a single foeman remains standing, and most of those who survived are slowly bleeding to death.
The Imperials sort through their wounded and dead first. Iven, from Squad 123-A, is dead, the lasbeams from the SDF soldier's last act having fried his heart. Fortunately, Mikael, Antonius, and Obed, those who remain of the man's squad, still live. Among 123-B, casualties are more numerous, but less lethal.
Zothene slowly wakes in pain, and climbs to xeir feet amid the rubble and clearing smoke. Xey feel like perhaps it would've been better if they could've slept for a few more hours. Jerad is utterly exhausted by his murderous rampage, and covered in a dozen minor wounds, blood still caking his right eye. Celine climbs to her feet, and then winces in agony as she tries to move her left arm. Hopefully it's not broken, then again, maybe hopefully it is. Wounds could deliver one from the battlefield after all.
Now, as to duty. A quick search finds a ladder that leads up to the second floor, and the massive howitzer that is the objective of this whole battle. A pair of loading servitors stand plaintively next to it, it's crew no doubt dead on the first floor along side the rest of the militia. There still is, however, the matter of sabotage.
On the first floor, there is other points of interest. A door near the back of the bunker is marked with the near universal red helix of a Medicae post. Through the partially opened door, the flicker of candles are also partially visible, reflecting off of marble. A shrine or statue, perhaps?
Near the center, a dataslate is mounted to the wall, 'Orders for the day' written above it and partially obscured blood from a fallen militiaman slumped next to it. Various pieces of gear lay around, along with ammunition and supplies that might be scavenged.
(OOC: How do you disable the guns? And what does everyone else do? Anyone attempt first aid (You can do this without medicae training, since you have Sylvia's medicae pack)?
-Jerad: 0/15 wounds, 6/7 Fatigue (-15 to all tests), Out of Grenades, 50/60 Lasgun Charge, Blind Eye (-20 to Bs and Awareness. Goes away with First Aid)
-Antonius: 0/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all Tests), one spent charge pack stowed, Lascarbine Charge 11/40, 1/2 Grenades
-Nyla: 2/13 wounds, 3/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests, -25 to Strength and Agility tests due to Stimm Wearing off), 28/30 Laspistol Charge, hunkered down in cover.
-Celene: 0/13 Wounds, 6/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), Damaged Torso (-5 to Ws, S, T, -10 to Ag, goes away with First Aid), Crippled Left Arm (-30 to everything with left arm. Needs to be looked at by a proper medicae (You'll get a chance in an update or two)).
-Filly: 6/13 Wounds, 5/7 fatigue (-15 to all tests, -35 to Strentgh and Agility tests due to Stimm Wearing off), 3/40 Lascarbine Charge, 1/2 Grenades Left
-Kathiel: 0/14 Wounds, 2/6 fatigue (-5 to all tests), acting as NPC character until he dies or we reach the end of the part, Out of Grenades
-Cheri: 2/13 Wounds, 2/6 fatigue (-5 to all tests), 28/30 Laspistol Charge, Prone
-Zothene: 0/13 Wounds, 8/6 Fatigue (-15 to all tests), Damaged Torso (Lasts until First Aid), Armor Damage 1 (Torso)
As a note, you'll all get a chance to reduce fatigue and get proper Medicae help in an update or two, so don't worry overmuch about that for now.
"My...Deepest apologies, my comrade," Jeradresh managed, grinding his teeth together. "Frenzon, yes? More...Kick than I anticipated. You are not hurt too badly, I pray?" He asked, doing his best to suppress the tremors running through his muscles. "We should have a medicae around here somewhere, if you are hurt much. I will speak with my sergeant. Need to be looked at myself, no?"
The former heathen swallowed dryly, bringing a hand up to his eye. Schrait, now that the red haze was lifting that hurt like a mryka's bite. He hoped the reason he couldn't see out of it was just the blood and swelling and not something more serious.
"Hail, my sergeant! A glorious victory to your command!" Jeradresh called out, holding a hand to the bloodied side of his face. "I am glad I did not arrive too late. Felled a fair few heretics. I think, at least. Everything is a bit of a blur after I hit the frenzon."
He glanced back at the piles of fallen heretics, an involuntary twitch seizing his sword arm, then shook his head. "In any case,Sergeant Cheri, can you point me to where Sylvia is lurking? I have yet to see her around, and I think this needs some looking at," he said, motioning vaguely at the wound across his eye socket. "Just blood in it, I think, but I can't get it open."
After that Jeradresh needed to get a count of how many wretches he'd reddened his bayonet with. Commissar couldn't call him a coward after that showing! He must have killed at least a half dozen of them himself! Or well, at least one, he was sure.
It takes a minute or so of tugging at the sash about her waist with only one working hand, but soon enough, Celine's injured arm is tied with an improvised sling. Handing the medicae pack to the Sergeant, she heads for the shrine. After all the terror of battle, it would do much to soothe her spirit to have the chance to pray in a properly sanctified shrine, assuming that it was so. And if there was soon to be demolition work done here, it would not be right to chance destruction or damage to holy icons and texts.
And if the rustieks were truly heretics rather than mere Recidivists, it would reassure her to know that fellow and otherwise faithful subjects of the God-Emperor were not massacring each other for something so banal as material concerns.
(Going to check out the shrine/medicae post. Can I use Lore(Rorschach Mundi) to check whether the contents of the shrine are in line with the Imperial Creed's variants that Celine would be familiar with?)
"Hail, my sergeant! A glorious victory to your command!" Jeradresh called out, holding a hand to the bloodied side of his face. "I am glad I did not arrive too late. Felled a fair few heretics. I think, at least. Everything is a bit of a blur after I hit the frenzon."
He glanced back at the piles of fallen heretics, an involuntary twitch seizing his sword arm, then shook his head. "In any case,Sergeant Cheri, can you point me to where Sylvia is lurking? I have yet to see her around, and I think this needs some looking at," he said, motioning vaguely at the wound across his eye socket. "Just blood in it, I think, but I can't get it open."
After that Jeradresh needed to get a count of how many wretches he'd reddened his bayonet with. Commissar couldn't call him a coward after that showing! He must have killed at least a half dozen of them himself! Or well, at least one, he was sure.
Cheri grimaces at the mention of Sylvia, the sight of her head being removed flashing through her mind before she shivers a bit, shaking her head "She out by the truck, somewhere in that smoke, dead." she sighs and starts walking over to the heretics, checking to see If there is any sort of noble or rank insignia "Help me search the bodies for any useful prisoners, and grab me an LHO stick off their bodies if you can find one, I need a damn smoke after this" Cheri rarely smoked, but this seemed like good a time as any, perhaps even a better time than normal, given her slightly shaking hands and trembling nerves.
Once she had finished off a few of the wounded or knocked out militiamen, she sighs before speaking into her vox, transmitting over their squads net "Unless someone has a better idea, I'm going to have the artillery piece blown with our remaining satchel charge, I know I sure don't know how to disable that thing on a permanent basis in another way, so if someone else does, speak up, that charge could be useful for our next mission if we don't waste it here" She grimaces and leans back against the wall of the bunker, cleaning the blood off her stained hands and rubbing her face, doing her best to steady herself.
For a moment Mikael hestiated but ultimately decided that the Emperor deserved his best and nothing else.
Speaking loudly he said "I could set the charge if you want sargeant, I know my way around demolitions somewhat, or alternatively we could see if there are enought granades lying around so I and someone else with a more engineering inclination could jury-rig it to save the charge for the next mission but it would come at the cost of many granades, the more used the better chance it all works out, your call sargeant."
While the sargeant was deliberating he set to grab more shotgun ammo, he was sure there were some thrown around and he could certainly use it.
Cheri grimaces at the mention of Sylvia, the sight of her head being removed flashing through her mind before she shivers a bit, shaking her head "She out by the truck, somewhere in that smoke, dead." she sighs and starts walking over to the heretics, checking to see If there is any sort of noble or rank insignia "Help me search the bodies for any useful prisoners, and grab me an LHO stick off their bodies if you can find one, I need a damn smoke after this" Cheri rarely smoked, but this seemed like good a time as any, perhaps even a better time than normal, given her slightly shaking hands and trembling nerves.
Jeradresh stared blankly at Cheri for a moment. "What? She's dead? But..." He trailed off. What was he to say? She'd seemed like a good person for a former ganger? That the sergeant had gotten their preciously important medicae and demolitionist killed? That this would put back his efforts to convince other squads to take extra care to guard theirs and their precious medicae?
It didn't matter. Where mortals were concerned dead was dead. Only Gods and Daemons had time enough to weep.
"Understood, Sergeant. The blood of martyrs is the bedrock of the Imperium," he added, hoping he'd gotten that quote right. Jeradresh remained still as his sergeant began to give orders. He hoped she didn't notice the twitch in his one good eye. "...I...suppose if you are sure you want me on that duty, sergeant. I will keep an eye out for any Lho sticks."
More like keep his only eye out. Daemons' blood, he hoped his blind one really did just need need some washing out and didn't need urgent care. He didn't care how fashionable bionic eyes were, he was in no hurry to gain one. Still, she was the superior, and if there was one thing he'd learned about the Imperium, it was that blind obedience was just self-preservation. Even if it was a touch literal in this case. First priority: Find some lho-sticks. They'd make a good bribe for other Legionnaires anyway. And mayhaps even the enforcers. Second priority, double-check exactly how many heretics he'd killed for bragging rights.
(Going to check out the shrine/medicae post. Can I use Lore(Rorschach Mundi) to check whether the contents of the shrine are in line with the Imperial Creed's variants that Celine would be familiar with?)
You approach the shrine, sidearm pointed at the door in your good arm. You wince in pain as you're forced to open the door with your injured arm, then quickly sweep the small room with your weapon.
Clear.
In the center of the room lies the Shrine. A plasteel table, clearly in good repair and maintained regularly. Four Candles, one each at the corners, still lit and their flames burning. From the smell, actual Wax, instead of the cheaper Tallow or synthetic materials. A purity seal is affixed to the front of the table, seemingly torn from an actual holy book made from actual Paper, though you can't read the High Gothic.
All of this, these materials highly expensive on Rorschah Mundi, where Paper and Wax often gives way to cheaper synthetics or ersatz materials made from recycled corpses, and any belonging of the common folk is cheaply made and weathered by centuries of passing down family lines, tells you that whoever made and worshiped at this shrine spared few expenses.
Which is why the centerpiece of the shrine is all the more concerning.
A small Statue of the Emperor, in precious Marble all the more expensive for it's impractically as a building material. There is nothing wrong with the statue itself, it is not defaced as far as you can see, it doesn't have the Four Arms folklore says is characteristic of the twisted worship of the Genestealers, nor is there the profane symbols you once saw carved into a statue used by a preacher who claimed the Gods of the Warp and the Emperor were one and the same (Before the man was dragged off by Witchfinders).
But the statue is laid on it's face, as if fallen. The way it is balanced and the otherwise pristine state of the shrine says it was deliberately laid that way, instead of carelessly knocked over.
(OOC: Lore (Rorschah Mundi) success, 0 DoS)
Whatever you decide to do with the shrine, you check the rest of the room. The medical closet isn't especially well stocked, but you manage to find a few things of interest. A trio of Cans of Synthskin and one of Cast Spray, Medical luxuries that the downhive clinics you've experienced have always had in short (if not nonexistent) supply. A few additional stimms, which you quickly stuff into the pockets of the Medical pack. A pair of vials containing a clear liquid that looks similar to stimm, mounted to a wristband, which also goes in the pack.
(OOC: +3 Stimms, 2 Bioboosters, 3 Cans of Synthskin, and 1 Can of Cast Spray obtained
What do you do with the Shrine?)
You already know what Stimms do.
Bioboosters, if worn on the Wrist, gives a +20 to resist the next test to resist Death or KO the character would suffer, which consumes the Biobooster.
Synthskin can be consumed to give a +15 bonus to treat Energy weapon wounds, and can be applied as a full action to automatically end 2 levels of Bloodloss.
Cast Spray can be expended to grant a reroll on a First Aid or Medical Care test to heal Damaged, Cripled, and Useless limbs, and allows you to treat their required treatment level as one level lower (IE, Surgery to infield Medical treatment, infield Medical treatment to First Aid)
For a moment Mikael hestiated but ultimately decided that the Emperor deserved his best and nothing else.
Speaking loudly he said "I could set the charge if you want sargeant, I know my way around demolitions somewhat, or alternatively we could see if there are enought granades lying around so I and someone else with a more engineering inclination could jury-rig it to save the charge for the next mission but it would come at the cost of many granades, the more used the better chance it all works out, your call sargeant."
While the sargeant was deliberating he set to grab more shotgun ammo, he was sure there were some thrown around and he could certainly use it.
You grab up a trio of fragmentation grenades from the enemy dead and wounded, and then head up the ladder to the gun platform.
It doesn't take you but a moment to notice the breach of the gun is open, and moreover, large enough for a pair of grenades. You carefully grab up both grenades, pull the pins, and holding their safety levers, place them within the breach, wedged in so that the breach will (Barely) hold the levers.
Then, taking in a breath ,you slam the breach block shut and dive for the ladder.
Fortunately, your reflexes are sharp, at least when it comes to explosives, and you get halfway down the ladder before the grenades detonate in a scream of tortured metal.
You wait one moment. Then two.
Then you head back up the ladder and check on your handiwork.
The breach is completely blown open, the pressure of the pair of grenades cracking the breach in two places and blowing the breach block clean off. Nobody will ever fire this gun again, even if they were to retake this place from Imperial arms.
And even better, you didn't even have to use all three frag grenades.
(OOC: Demolitions Success, 4 DoS. +1 Frag Grenade. You also scavenge 8 additional shotgun rounds, and you get to keep the demo charge)
More like keep his only eye out. Daemons' blood, he hoped his blind one really did just need need some washing out and didn't need urgent care. He didn't care how fashionable bionic eyes were, he was in no hurry to gain one. Still, she was the superior, and if there was one thing he'd learned about the Imperium, it was that blind obedience was just self-preservation. Even if it was a touch literal in this case. First priority: Find some lho-sticks. They'd make a good bribe for other Legionnaires anyway. And mayhaps even the enforcers. Second priority, double-check exactly how many heretics he'd killed for bragging rights.
Fortunately, all the eye needs is a bit of washing out.
One of the soldiers from squad 123-A, Obed, after he's done unsuccessfully checking Iven for a pulse, takes the Medical kit from Celine, and goes checking everyone for injuries.
"Hold Still." The Legionary says, then takes a sanitary cloth dowsed in disinfectant to your eye socket. It stings like your Family Daemon was showing you it's affection, but the man carefully clears away the blood, and gradually sight returns alongside the pain.
"Lucky man." Obed comments at the fact the round must've barely missed your eye. "Guess it's in the name, eh?"
It takes you a second to get what he means, but you nod regardless. The Knowledge Saint Sophon was also renowned for their inexplicable luck and good fortune, a kin of the trickster Daemons you used to worship.
Then again, you suppose Sophon must've made their own luck, while you are merely protected by the blessing of the God Emperor.
You nod your thanks, and promise the man the first Lho you find.
It's probably fortunate that you do indeed find some. Each man has a few on them, tubes of plastek wrapped around poor quality nuggets of what you think is Lho. You discard those, thinking they'd be an insult to a proper soldier, used to the (at least middling) quality of the provided Lho rations.
Fortunately, you find a bit better fair on the dead man in proper soldier's garb. A dozen sticks of proper Lho sit in the man's flak jacket pocket, just beneath one of those odd shards of metal. You fish them out, spilling out a few strange local coins, a pair of dice, and...ahah, a lighter!
You toss one of them to Obed, who produces a lighter of his own by seeming sorcery, and then you get to counting your slain.
One, his jaw broken. Not dead you think, but certainly unconscious. You kick his rifle away from him. Two more in a bloodstained heap, bled out by now or close to it, bayonet wounds on the armpit and top of the arm.
Another, her collar broken, breathing only in very shallow, ragged breaths. A fifth, a bayonet wound in the eye socket, gore and brain matter still leaking out the hole. And finally, the leader of this motley band, blood staining where your bayonet had punched through his flak jacket and into his lungs.
Six. You'd killed or critically injured six of them.
If redemption was bought in blood, you were surely well on your way.
With that reassuring thought, you go to find Cheri, in order to appease leadership by offering of Lho.
++++++++
After perhaps ten minutes of rooting through the dead and dying and disabling the gun, it's time to move on.
Cheri's voxcaster receives a call, Captain Remfew's voice booming out from the speaker.
"Well done with that gun position, the second wave is landing now and they're reporting no fire from Position Delta 5! That is no reason to tarry though! Press Forward towards the power conduits ahead, and await further orders!"
The Penals, well used to the punishing schedule of combat, sigh, gather up their gear, and push forward.
Fortunately, it seems the enemy defenders have pulled back, or else all been slain. Nobody remains to fire down upon the Penals as the climb up the metallic soil and scrap piles that stand between the bunker as the Power Conduits at the edge of the Hive.
The Power Conduits themselves are a massive 2 meter tall construction of metal and titanic cabling, which Celine knows circles the entire Hive. Rust and signs of damage and scavenging are everywhere on the conduits, and bits of corroded and rusted metal sit at the foot of the conduits where maintenance has not prevented damage, but they still present excellent cover against the defenders, and it is there that the Penals wait for their next orders.
That wait stretches on, and as it does, more and more Penals reach the the Power Conduits. Many squads, most of them missing people, or with walking wounded, reach the conduits, then sit down to rest.
The ragged remains of platoon 123 congregate 123-B's position, what was once 50 Penals down to forty or there about, and many of the remainder with their own wounds. A medic from Company headquarters passes by, checking over the wounded with a Diagnosticator. Zothene, despite xeir lack of external injuries, gets a frown from the Medic, and an order to follow him back towards the company medicae post. Something about internal injuries.
Finally, your platoon commander, a dour man named Lieutenant Ansalm appears, his bearing and trim uniform marking him for a career military officer before the Penal Legions. He gives an appraising look at the squad, as if glancing over a particularly poorly preforming group of military cadets.
"Only one dead, and one Medical Evac? You won't earn your redemption like that." He says, shaking his head. He glances at the three surviving members of squad 123-A, with much more approval.
"Dales, Mikael, you're with 123-B now." He glances at his dataslate. "Swanr, report to Company headquarters. Our Technomat took a hit, and you're on the replacement list."
Kathiel packs up his kit, and turns to leave.
The LT turns to leave, and it seems the squad will be left with merely seven for now, before he pauses. "Wand, you're with 123-B."
(OOC: @Easter ,now is the time to Introduce yourself)
"Don't get him killed like the Medicae, Pict-Star." The Lt. adds, giving a disproving frown at Cheri. "Technomats are valuable." The implication that Cheri or the rest of her squad's lives are not of course, goes unsaid.
Finally, fortunately, the LT leaves.
A minute or two later, a much more welcome interruption to their meager rest arrives. A soldier with a heavy ammunition backpack stops by the platoon's position. He drops off a device with a long series of cables, designed for plugging into a Lasgun's power pack and rapidly recharging it.
"Take your pick, lads and lasses. It's on the Munitorum's decithrone." The Ammo carrier opines, handing out spare magazines and grenades on request.
(OOC: Everyone's Las power cells recharge. Also gain +1 Magazine for all officially issued Guns, and +1 Frag Grenade)
Finally, resupply and reassignment complete, the squad is given the blessed opportunity to rest, consume their field rations, and wait for the next push. A thin luxury, but one can't ask for much more in the Penal Legion.
(OOC: Everyone removes 2 Fatigue (This is already marked out on Squad Status), and can take a single action from the following list. Make sure to check your personal status before you choose one.
-Clean Weapons: Make a +30 Tech Use test (+20 int if you don't have Tech Use). On success, your guns are cleaned, and ignore the first Jam they would take in the course of combat and the next 'Equipment Failure' result that'd affect you. Each 3 additional DoS let's you reroll a single ranged attack with them in the next mission.
-Get Medical Aid: Seek out the Platoon Medic, who will attempt Medical Care on you.
-Pray: Make a +10 Piety (Fel) roll. On success, you may reroll a single test of your choice in the next mission, or gain +10 and +1 DoS if you already had a reroll. You gain +1 Reroll per 3 additional DoS.
-Get Sleep: Just sleep for a while. Recover 1 wound, and an additional 2 fatigue.
-Scrounge up food: You go and look for something better than Corpse Starch. You'll make a Survival (+30) or Scrutiny (+20) test. On success, you manage to scrounge up something, enough for the rest of your squad. Each character may recover an additional 2 fatigue, and 1d5-2 (min 1) wounds. If you get 4+ DoS, you might find something especially prized, such as Alcohol or Chocolate rations.
Note you can still attempt this if you don't have the relevant Skill, you just roll Perception (+20)
-Scrounge up Gear: You go and look for equipment. You'll get a Survival (+10) or Scrutiny (+0) test. On success, you may scavenge up gear based on your DoS: You may make particular requests for what kind of gear you're looking for.
Note you can still attempt this if you don't have the relevant skill, you just roll Perception (+0)
-Assist: Assist up two other character's tests. You must have a skill that is applicable to the tests. If you do so, the assisted character's gain +10 and +1 DoS on their test.
-Jerad: 1/15 wounds, 4/7 Fatigue (-15 to all tests), 1 grenade.
-Mikael: 13/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue
-Antonius: 1/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Celine: 2/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), Crippled Left Arm (-30 to everything with left arm. Needs Medical Aid to heal or to Expend Cast Spray to heal as part of earlier First Aid)
-Filly: 8/13 Wounds, 3/7 fatigue (-5 to all tests)
There's an orchestra playing in Filly's cerebrum. The maestro, survival that gave birth to vigorous enervation, waves its biochemical baton. From the pineal gland, melatonin rides forth bravely; it links up with the adenosine that was accumulating steadily in her blood.
The matrimony undermines the neurotransmitters instructing Filly's body to stay up. Ah, the large loan of hours to stir awake in the service of His immortal shadow is coming due.
Having the dignity to sit voluntarily rather than flop violently, she props herself next to a stable looking wall. The masonry is warm–just like her helmet, her gun, her boots, her vest, her armor, her skin.
'Wish we'd ice,' Filly thinks before surrendering and going slack.
You approach the shrine, sidearm pointed at the door in your good arm. You wince in pain as you're forced to open the door with your injured arm, then quickly sweep the small room with your weapon.
Clear.
In the center of the room lies the Shrine. A plasteel table, clearly in good repair and maintained regularly. Four Candles, one each at the corners, still lit and their flames burning. From the smell, actual Wax, instead of the cheaper Tallow or synthetic materials. A purity seal is affixed to the front of the table, seemingly torn from an actual holy book made from actual Paper, though you can't read the High Gothic.
All of this, these materials highly expensive on Rorschah Mundi, where Paper and Wax often gives way to cheaper synthetics or ersatz materials made from recycled corpses, and any belonging of the common folk is cheaply made and weathered by centuries of passing down family lines, tells you that whoever made and worshiped at this shrine spared few expenses.
Which is why the centerpiece of the shrine is all the more concerning.
A small Statue of the Emperor, in precious Marble all the more expensive for it's impractically as a building material. There is nothing wrong with the statue itself, it is not defaced as far as you can see, it doesn't have the Four Arms folklore says is characteristic of the twisted worship of the Genestealers, nor is there the profane symbols you once saw carved into a statue used by a preacher who claimed the Gods of the Warp and the Emperor were one and the same (Before the man was dragged off by Witchfinders).
But the statue is laid on it's face, as if fallen. The way it is balanced and the otherwise pristine state of the shrine says it was deliberately laid that way, instead of carelessly knocked over.
(OOC: Lore (Rorschah Mundi) success, 0 DoS)
Whatever you decide to do with the shrine, you check the rest of the room. The medical closet isn't especially well stocked, but you manage to find a few things of interest. A trio of Cans of Synthskin and one of Cast Spray, Medical luxuries that the downhive clinics you've experienced have always had in short (if not nonexistent) supply. A few additional stimms, which you quickly stuff into the pockets of the Medical pack. A pair of vials containing a clear liquid that looks similar to stimm, mounted to a wristband, which also goes in the pack.
(OOC: +3 Stimms, 2 Bioboosters, 3 Cans of Synthskin, and 1 Can of Cast Spray obtained
What do you do with the Shrine?)
You already know what Stimms do.
Bioboosters, if worn on the Wrist, gives a +20 to resist the next test to resist Death or KO the character would suffer, which consumes the Biobooster.
Synthskin can be consumed to give a +15 bonus to treat Energy weapon wounds, and can be applied as a full action to automatically end 2 levels of Bloodloss.
Cast Spray can be expended to grant a reroll on a First Aid or Medical Care test to heal Damaged, Cripled, and Useless limbs, and allows you to treat their required treatment level as one level lower (IE, Surgery to infield Medical treatment, infield Medical treatment to First Aid)
The job turns out a lot simpler than you thought.
You grab up a trio of fragmentation grenades from the enemy dead and wounded, and then head up the ladder to the gun platform.
It doesn't take you but a moment to notice the breach of the gun is open, and moreover, large enough for a pair of grenades. You carefully grab up both grenades, pull the pins, and holding their safety levers, place them within the breach, wedged in so that the breach will (Barely) hold the levers.
Then, taking in a breath ,you slam the breach block shut and dive for the ladder.
Fortunately, your reflexes are sharp, at least when it comes to explosives, and you get halfway down the ladder before the grenades detonate in a scream of tortured metal.
You wait one moment. Then two.
Then you head back up the ladder and check on your handiwork.
The breach is completely blown open, the pressure of the pair of grenades cracking the breach in two places and blowing the breach block clean off. Nobody will ever fire this gun again, even if they were to retake this place from Imperial arms.
And even better, you didn't even have to use all three frag grenades.
(OOC: Demolitions Success, 4 DoS. +1 Frag Grenade. You also scavenge 8 additional shotgun rounds, and you get to keep the demo charge)
Fortunately, all the eye needs is a bit of washing out.
One of the soldiers from squad 123-A, Obed, after he's done unsuccessfully checking Iven for a pulse, takes the Medical kit from Celine, and goes checking everyone for injuries.
"Hold Still." The Legionary says, then takes a sanitary cloth dowsed in disinfectant to your eye socket. It stings like your Family Daemon was showing you it's affection, but the man carefully clears away the blood, and gradually sight returns alongside the pain.
"Lucky man." Obed comments at the fact the round must've barely missed your eye. "Guess it's in the name, eh?"
It takes you a second to get what he means, but you nod regardless. The Knowledge Saint Sophon was also renowned for their inexplicable luck and good fortune, a kin of the trickster Daemons you used to worship.
Then again, you suppose Sophon must've made their own luck, while you are merely protected by the blessing of the God Emperor.
You nod your thanks, and promise the man the first Lho you find.
It's probably fortunate that you do indeed find some. Each man has a few on them, tubes of plastek wrapped around poor quality nuggets of what you think is Lho. You discard those, thinking they'd be an insult to a proper soldier, used to the (at least middling) quality of the provided Lho rations.
Fortunately, you find a bit better fair on the dead man in proper soldier's garb. A dozen sticks of proper Lho sit in the man's flak jacket pocket, just beneath one of those odd shards of metal. You fish them out, spilling out a few strange local coins, a pair of dice, and...ahah, a lighter!
You toss one of them to Obed, who produces a lighter of his own by seeming sorcery, and then you get to counting your slain.
One, his jaw broken. Not dead you think, but certainly unconscious. You kick his rifle away from him. Two more in a bloodstained heap, bled out by now or close to it, bayonet wounds on the armpit and top of the arm.
Another, her collar broken, breathing only in very shallow, ragged breaths. A fifth, a bayonet wound in the eye socket, gore and brain matter still leaking out the hole. And finally, the leader of this motley band, blood staining where your bayonet had punched through his flak jacket and into his lungs.
Six. You'd killed or critically injured six of them.
If redemption was bought in blood, you were surely well on your way.
With that reassuring thought, you go to find Cheri, in order to appease leadership by offering of Lho.
++++++++
After perhaps ten minutes of rooting through the dead and dying and disabling the gun, it's time to move on.
Cheri's voxcaster receives a call, Captain Remfew's voice booming out from the speaker.
"Well done with that gun position, the second wave is landing now and they're reporting no fire from Position Delta 5! That is no reason to tarry though! Press Forward towards the power conduits ahead, and await further orders!"
The Penals, well used to the punishing schedule of combat, sigh, gather up their gear, and push forward.
Fortunately, it seems the enemy defenders have pulled back, or else all been slain. Nobody remains to fire down upon the Penals as the climb up the metallic soil and scrap piles that stand between the bunker as the Power Conduits at the edge of the Hive.
The Power Conduits themselves are a massive 2 meter tall construction of metal and titanic cabling, which Celine knows circles the entire Hive. Rust and signs of damage and scavenging are everywhere on the conduits, and bits of corroded and rusted metal sit at the foot of the conduits where maintenance has not prevented damage, but they still present excellent cover against the defenders, and it is there that the Penals wait for their next orders.
That wait stretches on, and as it does, more and more Penals reach the the Power Conduits. Many squads, most of them missing people, or with walking wounded, reach the conduits, then sit down to rest.
The ragged remains of platoon 123 congregate 123-B's position, what was once 50 Penals down to forty or there about, and many of the remainder with their own wounds. A medic from Company headquarters passes by, checking over the wounded with a Diagnosticator. Zothene, despite xeir lack of external injuries, gets a frown from the Medic, and an order to follow him back towards the company medicae post. Something about internal injuries.
Finally, your platoon commander, a dour man named Lieutenant Ansalm appears, his bearing and trim uniform marking him for a career military officer before the Penal Legions. He gives an appraising look at the squad, as if glancing over a particularly poorly preforming group of military cadets.
"Only one dead, and one Medical Evac? You won't earn your redemption like that." He says, shaking his head. He glances at the three surviving members of squad 123-A, with much more approval.
"Dales, Mikael, you're with 123-B now." He glances at his dataslate. "Swanr, report to Company headquarters. Our Technomat took a hit, and you're on the replacement list."
Kathiel packs up his kit, and turns to leave.
The LT turns to leave, and it seems the squad will be left with merely seven for now, before he pauses. "Wand, you're with 123-B."
(OOC: @Easter ,now is the time to Introduce yourself)
"Don't get him killed like the Medicae, Pict-Star." The Lt. adds, giving a disproving frown at Cheri. "Technomats are valuable." The implication that Cheri or the rest of her squad's lives are not of course, goes unsaid.
Finally, fortunately, the LT leaves.
A minute or two later, a much more welcome interruption to their meager rest arrives. A soldier with a heavy ammunition backpack stops by the platoon's position. He drops off a device with a long series of cables, designed for plugging into a Lasgun's power pack and rapidly recharging it.
"Take your pick, lads and lasses. It's on the Munitorum's decithrone." The Ammo carrier opines, handing out spare magazines and grenades on request.
(OOC: Everyone's Las power cells recharge. Also gain +1 Magazine for all officially issued Guns, and +1 Frag Grenade)
Finally, resupply and reassignment complete, the squad is given the blessed opportunity to rest, consume their field rations, and wait for the next push. A thin luxury, but one can't ask for much more in the Penal Legion.
(OOC: Everyone removes 2 Fatigue (This is already marked out on Squad Status), and can take a single action from the following list. Make sure to check your personal status before you choose one.
-Clean Weapons: Make a +30 Tech Use test (+20 int if you don't have Tech Use). On success, your guns are cleaned, and ignore the first Jam they would take in the course of combat and the next 'Equipment Failure' result that'd affect you. Each 3 additional DoS let's you reroll a single ranged attack with them in the next mission.
-Get Medical Aid: Seek out the Platoon Medic, who will attempt Medical Care on you.
-Pray: Make a +10 Piety (Fel) roll. On success, you may reroll a single test of your choice in the next mission, or gain +10 and +1 DoS if you already had a reroll. You gain +1 Reroll per 3 additional DoS.
-Get Sleep: Just sleep for a while. Recover 1 wound, and an additional 2 fatigue.
-Scrounge up food: You go and look for something better than Corpse Starch. You'll make a Survival (+30) or Scrutiny (+20) test. On success, you manage to scrounge up something, enough for the rest of your squad. Each character may recover an additional 2 fatigue, and 1d5-2 (min 1) wounds. If you get 4+ DoS, you might find something especially prized, such as Alcohol or Chocolate rations.
Note you can still attempt this if you don't have the relevant Skill, you just roll Perception (+20)
-Scrounge up Gear: You go and look for equipment. You'll get a Survival (+10) or Scrutiny (+0) test. On success, you may scavenge up gear based on your DoS: You may make particular requests for what kind of gear you're looking for.
Note you can still attempt this if you don't have the relevant skill, you just roll Perception (+0)
-Assist: Assist up two other character's tests. You must have a skill that is applicable to the tests. If you do so, the assisted character's gain +10 and +1 DoS on their test.
-Jerad: 1/15 wounds, 4/7 Fatigue (-15 to all tests), 1 grenade.
-Mikael: 13/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue
-Antonius: 1/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Celine: 2/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests), Crippled Left Arm (-30 to everything with left arm. Needs Medical Aid to heal or to Expend Cast Spray to heal as part of earlier First Aid)
-Filly: 8/13 Wounds, 3/7 fatigue (-5 to all tests)
A tall and broad young man with what seems to be an oddly sunny look on his face walks towards the squad from where he was called from. A heavy stubber thumped with each step from where it was slung next to a rather large and stuffed backpack that hung flush against his back. He opens his mouth to say something before seeming to notice the mood of the squad and pausing before starting again and finally saying, "Good to meet y'all, you can call me Wand. I suppose I'll be both your resupply and your heavy stubber operator if you need some suppressing fire, ammo, a grenade, or as our L.T said a bit of help with tech you can give me a holler and I'll do what I can!"
(Hope I didn't make that too short or mess up anything else, If I did please tell me and I'll fix it. As for my action, I think my guy would go prey with his token in held in his hands. )
Heroically resisting the urge to scratch at the freshly sealed cut beside his eye, Jeradresh strode up to Sergeant Cheri. "You requested a lho-stick, sir?" Hopefully that didn't agitate her like the last NCO he'd spoken with. Why did calling someone 'sir' imply they didn't work for a living?
Ignoring the moment of doubt, he holds up a freshly looted lho-stick up for the good sergeant's perusal. "How does the expression go? From the Emperor's mouth to my ears, yes?"
A tall and broad young man with what seems to be an oddly sunny look on his face walks towards the squad from where he was called from. A heavy stubber thumped with each step from where it was slung next to a rather large and stuffed backpack that hung flush against his back. He opens his mouth to say something before seeming to notice the mood of the squad and pausing before starting again and finally saying, "Good to meet y'all, you can call me Wand. I suppose I'll be both your resupply and your heavy stubber operator if you need some suppressing fire, ammo, a grenade, or as our L.T said a bit of help with tech you can give me a holler and I'll do what I can!"
After a moment, a man with a corporal's marks on his left pauldron stepped up. He gives a bright smile, despite the exhaustion evident on his dark features and bloodshot eyes. "A pleasure to have you, Trooper Wand. I am Corporal Jerad Sophon, after the Saint. Sergeant Cheri is commanding," he said, running a hand through a shock of messy white hair in a doomed attempt to straighten it. "It will be good to have a heavy gunner with us. And you know your way around the Machine Spirits? That is good news. Our last tyekh-ah, pardon me, lay-tech got evacuated. Injury."
"If there is anything you need, just speak to me, yes? I will be resting over there, but do not hesitate to wake me if need be."
Truthfully Jeradresh would rather not be interrupted from his rest, but the heavy gunner looked like the sort of man who could take a fair few bullets. He'd had his fair share of excitement storming the bunker as it was. And six kills was enough for anyone.
OOC: Jeradresh will be catching some Zs. 4 fatigue is a lot.
Mikael sighed in relief, his idea of using granades worked even better that he originally thought, honestly it was unexpected how easy it was to disable the gun, he even managed to not only save the breach charge but an extra granade as well.
Watching what everyone else was doing he decided to search for some extra gear, he seemed to be in the best physical condition besides the new guy so that probably means that the both of them will take point or rather go as meat shields for those wounded.
Hopefully he would manage to find something to reinforce his armor or some kind of improvised shield
Gingerly, you set the small statuette back up on it's base.
Then you kneel, and begin to pray, softly murmuring those prayers that you could remember from a prior life.
This place, despite it's richness, felt much like many shrines you've seen. Even the poorest family or business on Rorschah Mundi kept a shrine, and given the lack of space in a Hive, most of them were located in small closets like this, often next to stacked up emergency supplies.
(Though rarely of such high quality. The Spire Lords will spare much for their own defense that the average Hiver will never see.)
But as you try to remember the old words, you mouth feels dry. You knees, well suited to running and fighting and trying not to get shot, groan in protest at your own armored weight. You can feel the blood in your ears, which some would say is simply a symptom of coming down from an adrenaline high, but it's been minutes.
The Emperor's marble eyes stare down at you, expression unreadable. You feel cold.
You finish your prayer.
Then you pack up the Aid supplies, and you very deliberately shut the door to the shrine behind you.
You set out from the group quickly, pistol in one hand, Auspex in the other. Look for food. Easy enough, food was something everyone needed, so it should be everywhere.
Unfortunately, warzones have a way of defying such easy expectations.
The first place you'd looked, what looked like a storehouse for supplies, was blasted open by a direct artillery impact, and everything inside black with char after the detonation set a fire. You look away from the pair of blackened, fused skeletons of what must've once been guards.
Next attempt, local housing. A barracks perhaps, might have some rations to loot. Nothing but rubble instead, rubble and shattered walls.
An empty supply carrier, it's driver dead beside it, the crates in the back twisted scrap, ammunition that cooked off from the shell detonation that'd killed the driver.
Perhaps the Bunker itself? You know that's still intact, and well, you'd hardly cleared out every inch of it. You set out, thankful at least that the Stimm crash had past and you were your own alert, jumpy self once again.
The bunker...which way had it been? You trundle forward through the rubble, gazing around warily. No enemies remaining, but packs of your "Fellow" Penals move through the rubble like wolves, and worse, the Commissariat is following up the successful assault. It would be difficult to answer any questions they might have-
Click
You freeze, any such thoughts about Commissar or finding food fading from your mind. You glance down, being very careful to remain still. A metal disk, partially buried in the metallic soil, sits beneath your left boot.
You curse silently. Had you failed to check your auspex readings, or had the local soil been too metallic to be properly scanned? Was this user error, or just the whims of cruel fate?
You suppose it only mattered if you got out of this, and that's a relatively big if.
(OOC: Survival and Awareness tests both failed with 3 DoF (The second included your Auspex Bonus). You got a random encounter ("Stepped on a Mine") as a result of your failure with degrees.)
You set out to look for equipment. Had to be a cakewalk, if only because there was a lot of dead enemy soldiers, and a lot of gear to salvage from them, right?
Not so much. There are a fair few dead militiamen of course, but there was little you could do with their armor. It was all light flak vests and helmets, lighter than your Penal Legion issue gear. In many cases it's holed, shot through by lasguns and stubbers.
You're going to have to range a bit beyond the bunker. Maybe you could find another of those SDF soldiers and pick some extra flak plates off them?
A few minutes of wandering from broken supply truck to burning armored car, and you find something of potential use. A small ravine, and at the bottom, another supply truck, on it's side, a glint of metal in it's back.
You step up the edge, glancing over for a ladder, a climbable ramp or ladder, anything. Nothing, so far as you can tell. Very unfortunate, you begin to reconsid-
Something gives underneath your foot.
A bit of metallic debris slips out from the rest of the soil, and takes your right boot with it. Before you can react, you're tumbling down the sides of the Ravine. You do your best to roll, dispersing force so that when you hit the bottom it won't be so bad. At least your existing armor means you won't be torn to shreds by the metallic refuse strewn throughout the ravine sides.
You hit the ground, surprisingly softly, though there is a brief sharp pain as a bit of pipe, sticking out of the ground, strikes the side of one of your hard plates. Fortunately, nothing substantial.
You get up, brush yourself off.
A moment to catch your breath.
You check the truck, levering open a crate with your bayonet.
Artillery shells. A dozen crates with the same.
Fantastic. A million thrones worth of ammunition and completely worthless to you.
Just great.
(OOC: Failed Survival test with 1 DoF, got Random Encounter "Rough Terrain". You can either head back up the ravine sides rapidly with an Athletics test (And risk fatigue on a failure), or you can take it slow and hope nobody hostile notices you trying to climb out. Or you could try something else, though that's hardly a guarantee of success.)
(Hope I didn't make that too short or mess up anything else, If I did please tell me and I'll fix it. As for my action, I think my guy would go prey with his token in held in his hands. )
Love the Emperor
for He is the salvation of mankind
It's hard to concentrate on the words with the din of arriving Penal troopers, the low murmuring of conversation, and the sound of distant artillery fire.
Obey His words
for He will lead you into the light of the-
Somewhere past the power conduit, an artillery shell lands with a scream and a detonation, and something cooks off as a result, the detonation rumbling out so as to punch at the ears of the soldiers sheltering some distance away.
You try to start again.
Heed His wisdom
for He will protect you from evil
You breath out, and proceed to the next verse.
Whisper His prayers with devotion,
for they will save your soul
Honour His servants,
for they-
A sergeant shouts, interrupting your whispered prayers. Something about insufficient resupply of Combat drugs? You shake your head, and try again, but the words won't come to you.
You sit there for a moment, on your knees, listening to the sounds of War. You'd just have to hope the Emperor was listening, even if you could not complete the full prayer.
Conventional wisdom would say it's difficult to sleep in a combat zone.
Conventional wisdom in this case, like many others, was wrong.
If climbing a Dam with only an unpowered cable was exhausting, combat was something that was hardly describable, a bone deep malaise that sapped the energy of even the most fanatical warrior. Add to that coming down from the mix of combat drugs, pain, and various other aches and complaints, and both combatants were almost walking skeletons, with all hints of stamina sucked out of them like the moisture out of a mummified corpse.
Slump against a wall, or else lay a combat pack down on the ground and use it to prop the head up. Eyes closed.
It'd almost seem impossible to ignore the rolling thunder of artillery detonations, the murmur of conversation, the shouts of orders, and the occasional crackling discharge of small arms uncomfortably close.
But in the end, it turns out to be easy.
Both Filly and Jerad are asleep with five minutes of hitting the ground. And though it hardly restful, the two or three hours of sleep they can snatch before being shaken awake seems a panacea against a hundred ills.
A half dozen people ahead of you. A woman who if she wasn't bald before, certainly is now for the hastily treated burn wounds across her scalp. A Genebulk, an arm as nearly as thick as your torso bound up with a dozen bandages. A few others, lesser injuries, but still considered more important than your own.
Long minutes of waiting. Maybe it'd be have been better if you'd gone to scrounge up some Caff instead.
Then finally, it's your turn.
The Platoon medic is a slightly built, golden-brown skinned man who'd only given his name as 'Royal Medicae Karem' during training, which you figured indicated a previous life in Medicine, possibly in service to a King somewhere. Hopefully a sign of competence.
As you approach, he glances at his dataslate. "Sergeant...Cheri." He fumbles over the name, then nods. "Minor kinetic impact injuries and burns."
He glances up at you, then puts his hand on another piece of gear, halfway between a dataslate and a Picter, and as arcane as anything electronic. It whines and hums as he holds it so that the small aperture at the front is pointed at you. "Hold still. The Machine Spirit is temperamental."
You nod and hold still, even though you're not sure what for.
A beep, then the 'Royal Medicae' nods. "No internal injuries. This makes things simple."
Then, treatment. A tiny injection of Morphia for your aches and pains, a few fresh new bandages for your minor wounds, and some advice to take it easy for the next hour or two.
That was fine with you. You certainly weren't going to be volunteering to carry crates or anything until the Commissars sent you into the next bloodbath.
'Royal Medicae' Karem glances over your wounded arm. It's been such a pain for the past half or so that someone even looking at it seems to send a fresh spiral of pain through the left side of your body.
The Medicae picks up the same device he'd used on the Sergeant. A Diagnosticator, you think. You've never seen one in person of course, such was the remit of those higher than your lot, but you've seen them described. Everyone on Rorschah Mundi knew someone who was at least peripherally involved in the tech-salvage industry, and the Hiver who didn't know a wide variety of Machine Spirits and how to appease them was an ignorant fool (And swiftly dead).
The Diagnosticator beeps, it's Machine Spirit signaling it has completed it's examination.
"Impact trauma on your arm. Serious bruise, some minor internal bleeding, but nothing life threatening." Karem says, glancing at the device's small screen.
"I'm going to roll up your sleeve." The Medicae says, carefully. Did he think you were going to shiv him with the other arm if he didn't warn you?
You stand still, gritting your teeth as the Medicae slowly rolls up the sleeve, exposing your arm.
You can see what he meant by serious bruise. The flesh around the elbow is a deep, mottled purple. At the impact site where the bullet had struck flak cloth, the flesh is actually torn by the force of impact, and blood drips out slowly. Intellectually, you know it'd be a lot worse if that bullet had hit unprotected flesh rather than the thin flak-cloth protecting the elbow, but you can't help but grimace at the severe appearance of the injury.
Then again, unlike a lot of hivers, you have an actual trained Medicae available, at least right now. That's something, at least?
"This is going to be painful." The Medic says, as if he were stating the Emperor is on Terra. He grabs something from his bag, a bandage which he begins to wrap around the wound. It takes a full minute, which you spent with your teeth grit and trying not to spit curses. Once it is done however, you feel the area of the bruise grow cold. Combined with a quarter vial of Morphia, and you can actually move your arm again, albeit slowly.
"Remove the bandage in two hours, and you should have function in your arm again." The Medicae says. Then, without missing a beat. "Next!"
Two hours later, those members of Squad 123-B who haven't died, been reassigned, or headed out to scout and scavenge, sit with the rest of their platoon, and wait for the inevitable order to move out once again.
Sergeant O'Garan, her own squad as ravaged as 123-B, sits on her own combat pack, a cheap looking lho between two of her fingers.
"Heard about your medic. Sylvia, I think?" She says. "Real scrapping shame."
Another of Squad 123-F, the woman who'd called herself Nora, simply shakes her head. "We lost two of our own, and had one of them replaced by a Tumeng-a dirt worlder, and you're worried about some dead Ganger?"
"Have a heart, or get one implanted, Nora." Corporal Hansan, from the same squad says. "It's called sympathy. We're all in gasping in the Void right now."
An odd analogy, but fitting.
"I'll have you know I'm from a Hive World." Obed says, the man having been transferred from his shattered squad to O'Garan's 123-F. "Not a lot of dirt on my little stretch of Rantisari Hive spire."
"...Isn't that an Agri-World? Lot's of Nobs with Horses." Someone comments from one of the other squads, a heavily muscled killer busy carving kill notches into a shotgun.
"The Horse lords can have their fields and their crops. The real Rantisari is in the Hives." Obed insists.
"What, did you kill a Nob or something?" Corporal Hansan asks, half intrigued at the idea.
"Oh no, I stole from one." Obed says cheerfully. "Me and Iven, we..." He pauses, no doubt remembering the other man is dead on the ground a few hundred meters back.
He shakes his head. "Forget I said that. What do you think our illustrious masters will have us do next?"
"Rumors, and the Maps I've seen, say there's a big open stretch for nearly a kilometer beyond this power conduit." O'Garan says, shrugging.
That could be true. Or there could be shanty towns for ten million Rustiek, Gen-sins, and other outcasts crowding the entire area, Celine knows. It's impossible to tell. The Rorschah Mundi hives hadn't been anything like standardized since anyone could remember.
(OOC: Lore (Rorschah Mundi) failed by 3 DoF.)
"Sounds like Tank Country." Sergeant Colm speaks for the first time. The man sits beside his squad, religious tattoos running up his bare arms. "I pray the Hezeans will make good use of it." The Hezean mechanized who'd transported the Legionaries across the lake. Hard bitten Fortress worlders, and well equipped with armor. It would seem good country for them.
"Hah, you kidding?" Someone else says, from 123-E, whose name-patch reads 'Dasrek'. "They'll send us in to die before they commit even a single Tank. Meat's in endless supply."
"If the God Emperor commands that, then so be it." Sergeant Colm says, simply.
The rest of his squad doesn't quite look so sure. "Our souls are stained by sin, but surely they have a better use than just dying charging across an open field?" One of them says, a man named Bellock. "The Emperor commands we achieve meaning by dying in battle. A slaughter isn't a battle, nor does it have meaning."
"Nobs will say differently, if they even care to say anything." Dasrek says, then he mimes turning a handle, as if he were a servitor turning the handle of the meatgrinder all of you are going to be fed into.
"Dunno about all that." O'Garan says. "Never was a soldier before now. What do you think?" She asks ,glancing at the five members of Cheri's squad present.
A chance to share opinions on this wretched situation, and perhaps distract yourselves from where in the Warp Nyla, Mikael, and Antonius have gone.
Or to build up hopeful expectations of the coming battle to be swiftly dashed.
++++++++++++++
OOC:
@kosi You didn't specify which Scrounging attempt you would be helping, so I'll say you can choose whether you're with Kensai/Nyla or Mikael/Teyao. You can help out either of them getting out their sticky situation, and if they want to try again after they get out, you can help there.
@Sir_Travelsalot you can still pick an action if you wish as well, and I'll edit it into this update.
-Jerad: 2/15 wounds, 2/7 Fatigue ( to all tests), 1 grenade.
-Mikael: 13/16 wounds, 0/7 Fatigue
-Antonius: 1/13 wounds, 0/6 Fatigue
-Nyla: 5/13 wounds, 1/6 Fatigue (-5 to all tests)
-Celine: 6/13 Wounds, 4/6 fatigue (-15 to all tests)
-Filly: 9/13 Wounds, 1/7 fatigue (-5 to all tests)
"...Does anyone else here know how to sing or dance? We could put on a show of our own devising for a while, until the order to march comes. Certainly seems like it'd be nicer than sitting here and thinking about what's like as not to happen."
Albert grimaced at the interruption to he prayer but decided to get up and move more towards his new squad rather than dwell on the possible implications of his prayer being cut short.
———————————————————————
Arriving in time to hear Celine's question Albert pipes up with a bit of an embarrassed look "I've only ever sang when my brother and I went to the shrine to attend service, outside of that I've not much experience with anything like that."
This was not a good situation but perhaps it wasn't as bad as it seemed, the information of where this crates were and what they contain should be useful, now the only problem would be exiting.
Seeing no other option and not wanting to loss time Mikael decided to go for the ravines as quick as he could in order to share this information, hopefuly the Emperor would look out for him this day.
Two hours later, those members of Squad 123-B who haven't died, been reassigned, or headed out to scout and scavenge, sit with the rest of their platoon, and wait for the inevitable order to move out once again.
Sergeant O'Garan, her own squad as ravaged as 123-B, sits on her own combat pack, a cheap looking lho between two of her fingers.
"Heard about your medic. Sylvia, I think?" She says. "Real scrapping shame."
Another of Squad 123-F, the woman who'd called herself Nora, simply shakes her head. "We lost two of our own, and had one of them replaced by a Tumeng-a dirt worlder, and you're worried about some dead Ganger?"
"Have a heart, or get one implanted, Nora." Corporal Hansan, from the same squad says. "It's called sympathy. We're all in gasping in the Void right now."
Jeradresh sighed. Of all the people to go and get themselves shot. "Sylvia was her name, yes, Sergeant O'Garan. We all could have used another medicus around, but..." he trailed off. Little more needed to be said about that.
The heathen coughed into his fist at Nora and Hansan's interruption, and raised a hand. "It is fine, I understand where Nora comes from. Where I came from...Well, only the God-Emperor had time or strength enough to weep for the fallen, if that makes sense? Right now, it's enough for the living to concern themselves with staying alive. The dead are dead, and I feel it best we worry about them once we no longer need fear join them, yes?"
"Nonetheless, my sympathies for your fallen. I am sure they dwell with the Emperor now."
"I'll have you know I'm from a Hive World." Obed says, the man having been transferred from his shattered squad to O'Garan's 123-F. "Not a lot of dirt on my little stretch of Rantisari Hive spire."
"...Isn't that an Agri-World? Lot's of Nobs with Horses." Someone comments from one of the other squads, a heavily muscled killer busy carving kill notches into a shotgun.
"The Horse lords can have their fields and their crops. The real Rantisari is in the Hives." Obed insists.
"What, did you kill a Nob or something?" Corporal Hansan asks, half intrigued at the idea.
"Oh no, I stole from one." Obed says cheerfully. "Me and Iven, we..." He pauses, no doubt remembering the other man is dead on the ground a few hundred meters back.
"Nobs?" Jeradresh muttered, brow furrowed. "Isn't that some sort of euphemism for...Oh. Nobility, that's it." He said, snapping his fingers. So the man had stolen a noble's...
Jeradresh's head jerked upward, eyes wide. "By the Holy Emperor, did you say you stole a horse?" he asked, leaning forward. "There are not any in my homeland, but I have read of these 'horses'! Such fearsome, noble warbeasts, the pride of the Imperium's famed 'rough riders'! There was a quote by some Imperial Guard commander, I forget the name, talking about how they're even more stirring than a Titan! I am amazed you stole one of those beasts and lived to tell the tale! It didn't tear your throat out with its deadly fangs or vicious claws?"
"I know such a brave act would have left my kin swooning! Are they not famously loyal creatures? How did you not..." Jeradresh paused, seeing the other man's hesitation. "Perhaps another time then..."
He shakes his head. "Forget I said that. What do you think our illustrious masters will have us do next?"
"Rumors, and the Maps I've seen, say there's a big open stretch for nearly a kilometer beyond this power conduit." O'Garan says, shrugging.
That could be true. Or there could be shanty towns for ten million Rustiek, Gen-sins, and other outcasts crowding the entire area, Celine knows. It's impossible to tell. The Rorschah Mundi hives hadn't been anything like standardized since anyone could remember.
(OOC: Lore (Rorschah Mundi) failed by 3 DoF.)
"Sounds like Tank Country." Sergeant Colm speaks for the first time. The man sits beside his squad, religious tattoos running up his bare arms. "I pray the Hezeans will make good use of it." The Hezean mechanized who'd transported the Legionaries across the lake. Hard bitten Fortress worlders, and well equipped with armor. It would seem good country for them.
"Hah, you kidding?" Someone else says, from 123-E, whose name-patch reads 'Dasrek'. "They'll send us in to die before they commit even a single Tank. Meat's in endless supply."
"If the God Emperor commands that, then so be it." Sergeant Colm says, simply.
The rest of his squad doesn't quite look so sure. "Our souls are stained by sin, but surely they have a better use than just dying charging across an open field?" One of them says, a man named Bellock. "The Emperor commands we achieve meaning by dying in battle. A slaughter isn't a battle, nor does it have meaning."
"Nobs will say differently, if they even care to say anything." Dasrek says, then he mimes turning a handle, as if he were a servitor turning the handle of the meatgrinder all of you are going to be fed into.
"Dunno about all that." O'Garan says. "Never was a soldier before now. What do you think?" She asks ,glancing at the five members of Cheri's squad present.
A chance to share opinions on this wretched situation, and perhaps distract yourselves from where in the Warp Nyla, Mikael, and Antonius have gone.
Or to build up hopeful expectations of the coming battle to be swiftly dashed.
Jeradresh shrugged his shoulders. "Well, whatever happens I will be fine. The Emperor loves me," he chuckled, raising his palms. "I know I must sound like a madmen saying that, but I should be dead a dozen times over! Charging across an open field is significantly less frightening than having to convince a platoon of Imperial Guardsmen and their bloody tank not to shoot me."
"I saw my favorite servant eat a tank shell, and the butler chopped in half by lasgun fire. But here I am, safe and sound. Whatever the enemy have got, the Emperor they have not."
Jeradresh frowned, considering a moment. "Ah, and yes, I did have servants. Well, my mother had servants. I suppose I am ah, nobility, though I certainly did not have a tower in the clouds. More a few head of grox and a dilapidated country estate. If the latter did not get sold to cover my uncle's gambling debts. At the rate things were going I would have been lucky to inherit three grox and a groundbike. Honestly, the Imperial liberation was lucky. I took out some hefty loans at the university on the assumption I would actually inherit anything."
"I would call if unfortunate my degree is worthless now, but my mother would say it was useless even before the Imperium happened," Jeradresh chuckled. "I think the evidence speaks for itself, it's just like that Inquisitive fellow said, the Emperor must truly love me."
He waved a hand. "Still, for your lots' sake I hope it's not charging across open ground. I mean, our artillery is pounding the ground hard, so at the very least we should have cover, I think? Has anyone heard if the enemy has tanks? If they don't, then our own armor should have free reign, no?"
"...Does anyone else here know how to sing or dance? We could put on a show of our own devising for a while, until the order to march comes. Certainly seems like it'd be nicer than sitting here and thinking about what's like as not to happen."
"I can sing quite well, but I am afraid I know no Imperial songs," Jeradresh said, shrugging his shoulders. "I would offer to sing my own native songs, but well, last time I did there was a small misunderstanding and I am wary of doing so again."
Of all the things to get almost shot over, it had to be 'The Wandering Crotalid' because some idiot couldn't tell the difference between it and 'Foul heretic sorcery'. Like he knew any magic. Would have gone farther than his art degree.
