[WH40K] - Colonizing A Peaceful Planet

Da Huntaz of Deff were, to Zak's silent delight, beginning the lengthy preparations for marching to war. Boyz and Grots marched here and there for Meks to give them last-minute adjustments for their arms and armors while other formations were still handed their equipment or waiting to be issued uniform and shoota. But, of course, Zak already had had his equipment on him; he would never dare to go anywhere without his cloak, paint, maps, compass, longlazz, boots, stabba, night-eyes, stikkbombs, and all the little bits and bobs that any Kommando worth their teeth should have and know.

Still, he made a mental note to stock up on the supplies he had used in his training of the young'uns that were only now getting the hang of propa Marching. Dodging a Mek carrying a dozen Kustom Force-Fields for the Fanguards and Deffcoptas to ward them against the shootas of the enemy, Zak unpacks one of his rations, squigrolls, his favorite!, and begins to slowly eat the meal as he enters the sizeable fortified tent in Kamp Krump.

"Hoz 'da reckruts doing?" Kommisar Krug asked the Sargants within the tent, his eyes scanning over a large map showing the surrounding jungles and forests, pieces of carved metal indicating their forces. For a moment, Zak allows himself to feel a massive amount of pride at seeing the map, as he had penned it entirely himself.

"Da gitz and boyz are doin' jus' fine. Got a dozen new Stormboyz intraducted yestarday," Gutta of tha Secund Brig'gad of the South-North Highland Boyz declared, grinning malevolently while punching his fists together in anticipation of the upcoming campaign. Zak agreed to the sentiment. Everyone wanted to flex the muscles once more after retreating to the planet from the spiky gits by Weirdboy. "Da rokkits are ready and tested!" He boasted, to much acclaim.

"Good, good," Kommisar Krug spoke, scratching his chin as he moved several pieces around, replacing some with updated versions due to the new information. "Whut about tha deffcoptas? We'z got tha fuelz, but the dakka got low last sally."

"Ma gitzs stand ready ta fly, Kommisar!" A boy shouted, saluting with crisp and perfect statue, all business and serious. Must be one of tha new ones; Zak had been wondering why they had deffcoptas in the Kamp. "New shoota-drills improved accurazy by lots!"

"We'll see," Krug replied, once more adjusting the pieces on the table. "What about youz?" He spoke, looking at the only Gretchin in attendance.

"My good sir, the ladz are ready and assembled," Grot-Lord Terrington the Third spoke as he set down his cup of tea onto the saucer on the table. "The First Albion Gentlemen Grenadiers are as eager to show these rapscallions what's what as my fellows are. Give my ladz the order, and we'll strike the fear of Tha Empra's Greenest in these scoundrels."

"Make sure ya got the new green bombs from tha Meks, they'z extra 'zplody," Krump spoke, setting down the last piece onto the map. "Now than, where'z Zak?"

"Roight 'ere, bozz," Zak spoke up, raising his hand, eager to reveal the information about the Space Marins falling onto their outer lines already.

Seconds passed. Nobody seemed to perceive Zak as heads swiveled around for any trace of the Kommando, though nobody noticed him speaking up.

"We'rez tha git?!" The Kommisar spoke, impatiently tapping onto the table.

"'ere?" Zak responded, confused about the boss no-oh. That's why. Whit long-practiced ease, Zak went to the corner of the room and heaved up a large bucket of water, upending it over himself. The purple paint washed off within an instant, even though it had held against rain, monsoons, and wading through a raging river on his way to and back the lines.

"Zak!" Krug spoke, looking at the Kommando with irritation and anger. "You'z late. Report!"

For a moment, Zak wanted to speak up about him being there but decided against doing so. There were more important things to speak about. "There's Space Marines in the north!" He said instead with a grin, stabbing the map with four daggers inscribed with the exact force-composition of the Marins that fell from the sky and where they were headed.

"YES!" The Kommisar shouted, loading his burna-shoota with glee. "We'z gonna foight the spiky beakies! MARCH!"

And with that, everyone within the tent shouted their excitement right back, the 'tally-ho' of Grot-Lord Terrington the Third ignored in favor of organizing the assault.

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